the tao of cycling

on being gruntled

2012-02-01T09:17:00.000-07:00

He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.

P. G. Wodehouse, 1938, The Code of the Woosters

I am not disgruntled.
but I'm not exactly gruntled, either.

the word disgruntled has been in use since the 1600's, but it wasn't until about 1926 that someone decided there should be a "gruntled" to contrast it. this is--in my opinion--one of those words that just doesn't quite work. gruntled does not sound at all like being in good humor, which is what it is supposed to represent. it sounds more like rooting around, grunting, being annoyed . . . rather like being disgruntled, I suppose.

regardless, I am not exactly gruntled.
maybe it's the continuously gray skyed dry and monotonous "winter" we're experiencing, maybe it's that I'm tired of being cold. maybe it's the third phase of power camp where excitement (and attendance by others) has waned and the work load is heavy, maybe it's that aspects of my work life seem to have stagnated, maybe it's that I haven't been up enough canyons. maybe it's a combination of all of these things, with dashes and pinches of others as well.

and thus I sit here somewhere between disgruntled and gruntled, waiting for little miracles to tip me into gruntledom.

hope you're on the gruntled side today, and I hope to join you there shortly.

human frailty

2012-01-31T13:17:00.000-07:00

I've been writing today about fallibility.
about how try as we might (or, sometimes the opposite, with no attempt at all) we often fail to be our best selves.

ok, and by our best selves I suppose I mean as members of the human race, not as intellectuals, as athletes, as scholars, or as whatever we claim to be professionally.
it's scary to be authentic, to dig deep down and come up with what truly matters in any given situation, and then act upon it in a loving way.
it's much easier to acquiesce, to pretend things don't matter, to decline invitations, to turn a blind eye, to withdraw into cocoons of solitude, to play whatever the roles are we've so well learned how to play.

as part of the research I'm doing for the book I'm working on I am reading a book by kay jamison called an unquiet mind. the subject is bipolar disorder, the author, one who suffers from it. she mentions a poem by robert lowell--famous american poet, also afflicted with bipolar disorder--and I share it below for its powerful last line:

Epilogue

But sometimes everything I write
with the threadbare art of my eye
seems a snapshot,
lurid, rapid, garish, grouped,
heightened from life,
yet paralyzed by fact.
All's misalliance.
Yet why not say what happened?

(the poem is a reflection on the "confessional" school of poetry, the form of poetry which Lowell is often considered to be the founder of. I know, I ended my sentence with a preposition. bad girl.)

why is it so easy to pretend nothing happened?
why do we struggle with admitting our shortcomings, our faults, our errors?
in counseling school children I often worked to help them understand that by accepting responsibility we are empowered, strengthened, kept whole. this is so very hard for many of us to believe, harder still to understand, often impossible to practice.

we hold expectations of ourselves, of groups, of foundations and organizations that stifle humanity. we try so hard, we box ourselves in, our weaknesses explode, we fail.
not always.
but across our lives we can pinpoint the points of explosion, implosion, failure, and if we're unable, others will help do it for us. these occurances are inevitable, and as leonard cohen said, it's those cracks that let the light shine in.

not a one of us is perfect.
the very fact of being human fills one with frailty and the potential to err.
it isn't until we admit this, speak it out loud, that we can begin to heal, whether its within ourselves, or part of a larger healing, outside ourselves.

lack of inspiration

2012-01-29T16:29:00.000-07:00

it's about 41 degrees and just gray enough to keep the sun from shining through. the wind is from the northwest, not crazy, just everpresent and a little cold.

I was not the only one out on a bicycle today, but nobody looked particularly happy.
no great big grins.
but outside is still better than inside.

and because it was a little too cold I stayed flat(ish) in the city. no canyon climb today.
I asked the universe for inspiration. I hoped to see, smell, experience something that would be worth writing about here, and nothing happened. nothing came to me. nothing stirred me, inspired me, made me whoop with joy or frown in disgust. nothing clicked, nothing sparked, nothing jogged a memory cell or made a synapse fire.
nada.
nothing.
blah.

my ride was as boring as today's sky, uninspiring, uneventful.

so I won't belabor the point, I will just, in conclusion, hope that for all our sakes, inspiration returns tomorrow.

quirks

2012-01-27T09:33:00.000-07:00

it's friday.
and I've written before about power camp fridays, how they are usually recovery days that involve gerbil leg work.
today's workout:
15 minute warm up, zone 2, 95 rpm
15 minute zone 3A 110-115 rpm
15 minute zone 3A 115-120 rpm
5 minute zone 3A 120-125 rpm
10 minute cool down, zone 2, 95 rpm
then off to the weight room, pump a little iron, stretch a few bands, do some balancing acts on the bosu ball.

blah, blah, blah, my only real point in listing it is to let you know that the cadence requirement kept going up, and that it got ridiculously high.
biking buddy bob suggested that J.R. just made this workout up so that it would appear we were doing something when really it was just about recovery.
recovery that makes me sweat like crazy.

and that was the long segue just to get to the conversation of the morning.
often it's Trivia Fridays, like last week, when we learned the speed records for riding a bike downhill on snow.
today it was about quirks.
leslie is helping us get to know about each other by asking us to reveal a quirk about ourselves.
when she first mentioned the topic and that we would have to share a personal quirk, I laughed. I have so darn many I could probably share one a day for the rest of power camp.
and they are all harmless, just silly things that are probably more revealing than I want to think about.
so for now, I'll share some quirks that belong to others in the class:

I never let my gas tank go below half full

I can't stand to be sticky, I shower at least three times a day, more often in summer

I love stale Peeps, but they have to be yellow, chicks, and exactly three days' stale

I count everything

I have to leave an even dollar amount for a tip, can't leave any change

when I microwave something I never use the number 5

I have this thing for odd numbers, always choosing them when I can over an even number

I love stale gummy bears

I can't stand to have any hair touch my face when I sweat

my closet is organized by color and sleeve length

I have to touch the outside of an airplane before I'll get in it

I have to check twice or even three times to make sure I've locked the door behind me

now the nice thing about this is you see just how normal you really are, that everyone else is full of what we'll nicely call "quirks" too.
and okay, I did slip mine in there, and it doesn't stick out at all, does it?
I'm sure all y'alls would slip neatly inside this list, too.

limitless

2012-01-25T09:19:00.000-07:00

power camp has taught me that my body can handle more than I think it can.
again and again.

life has taught me that my heart and soul can handle more than I think they can.
again and again.

of course naps, ugly dolls, chenille blankets, chocolate, coffee, and peanut butter all help.
as does the occasional mountain peak, ray of sunshine, hug, snowfall, full moon, amazing song, fabulous book . . .

creatine phosphate

2012-01-23T07:19:00.004-07:00

most of our mondays in power camp are semi-recovery days. j.r.---program designer---arranges them to be either "speed" or "technique" workouts, which usually means higher cadences and lower resistances.
this morning was a speed workout, a lot of just spinning around, peppered with little events he calls CP jumps. creatine phosphate, if you care.

facts:
creatine phosphate shuttles high-energy phosphate from mitochondria to sites of muscle contraction. an energy-rich muscle has lots of creatine phosphate, whereas a fatigued muscle has little creatine phosphate, (mathews/van holde/ahern, 3rd ed.)
and when extra creatine is stored in the muscles, you have that extra energy backup which will help you work harder.

I tried to do some research into creatine phosphate training, and basically what I found is that most people try to increase their creatine with supplements rather than naturally. for those of us who desire a natural solution, I guess we get to do CP jumps.
all they are is a sudden, extremely fast spin-up, like a sprint, for ten seconds.
we do a half dozen of them, one each minute, then do nine more, the latter spaced sporadically throughout the next twenty minutes or so. ( this is an attempt to replicate an actual racing event, where at any moment a competitor can take off, sprinting away, requiring you to react quickly and jump along with him--or her.)

I suppose they're good for me.
but here's what I'm trying to analyze:
I much prefer the first six. during the next--sporadic--segment, all I want is for them to be over.
not sure if this ties into some kind of character flaw, but am thinking it might.
I just want them to be over. give me 15, one a minute, then let me be done.
is it that I don't like the anxiety of anticipation?
or I just don't like the workout and want it to end?
I hope it's the latter, but fear it has more to do with the former.

regardless, this creatine phosphate stuff seems to be a good thing to have, and I certainly hope that all of my CP jumps this power camp season have been helping me increase mine.
then I'll only have to work on my decreasing my resistance to the darn things.

trivia

2012-01-21T14:13:00.004-07:00

thursday was a time trial in class, so friday was a recovery day.
our friday coach likes to bring in trivia for us, as to alleviate the boredom of our 40-minute spin in 3A at 120 rpm, prefaced and followed by zone 2 spinning at only 95 rpm.

the subject of all trivia was cycling, and one segment of stats had to do with speed records.
I went to wikipedia this morning to get a copy of these to share here:

Name /Year /Speed /Type of record

Sam Whittingham 2009 133 km/h (83 mph) Flat surface, unpaced
Barbara Buatois 2010 121 km/h (75 mph) Flat surface, unpaced (woman)
Fred Rompelberg 1995 268 km/h (167 mph) Flat surface, motor-paced
Bruce Bursford 1996 334 km/h (208 mph) Riding on a roller
Markus Stöckl 2011 164.95 km/h (102.50 mph)Downhill on a volcano
Eric Barone 2002 172 km/h (107 mph) Downhill on a volcano, on a prototype
Markus Stöckl 2007 210.4 km/h (130.7 mph)Downhill on snow
Eric Barone 2000 222 km/h (138 mph) Downhill on snow, on a prototype

I draw your attention to the last two lines: Downhill on snow.

Downhill on snow.

What are these guys thinking????

I don't think I have anything else to say, except this: do you see a woman's speed record for bicycling downhill on snow?

point made.

endorphins

2012-01-19T08:03:00.004-07:00

endorphins:
long chains of amino acids, or polypeptides, that are able to bind to the neuroreceptors in the brain and are capable of relieving pain in a manner similar to that of morphine. There are three major types of endorphins: beta-endorphins are found almost entirely in the pituitary gland, while enkephalins and dynorphins are both distributed throughout the nervous system. Scientists had suspected that analgesic opiates, such as morphine and heroin, worked effectively against pain because the body had receptors that were activated by such drugs. They reasoned that these receptors probably existed because the body itself had natural painkilling compounds that also bonded to those receptors. When scientists in the 1970s isolated a biochemical from a pituitary gland hormone that showed analgesic properties, Choh Li, a chemist from Berkeley, California, named it endorphin, meaning "the morphine within." Besides behaving as a pain reducer, endorphins are also thought to be connected to euphoric feelings, appetite modulation, and the release of sex hormones. Prolonged, continuous exercise contributes to an increased production of endorphins and, in some people, the subsequent "runner's high." (American Heritage Science Dictionary)

hmm.
here's my thought.
the definition above states that the exercise must be prolonged and continuous to increase endorphin production . . . I'm thinking that one of my power camp classes might not be long enough, nor would a simple climb up to the top of emigration . . . yet I often feel this powerful sense of good (not sure if I can get to euphoria!) after a time trial like today's class, and at the top of hills.
so . . . might what I experience simply be a mental woo hoo--a sense of pride, accomplishment, proof of capability--and not a purely physiological event?
when I bike for hours and hours (certainly that qualifies for prolonged and continuous) I don't usually experience a state of euphoria (except, perhaps, for brief moments at the tops of hills).

just thinking.

years ago my sister-in-law asked me if I experienced a "runner's high" when cycling, and I said, no, not really. or if I do, it seems to always coincide nicely with a downhill swoosh . . .

so those are my thoughts about endorphins, sparked by today's time trial, which allowed me to experience--at its completion--a pretty darn great feeling, almost euphoric, mostly because I survived it, and even more so because
it
was
over.

being a dull boy

2012-01-17T12:33:00.000-07:00

okay, so I've been writing like crazy lately, and I am starting to feel a little bit like jack nicholson in the shining . . .

all work and no play . . .

I can't seem to stop myself, though, the computer draws me to it, it teases me, the word count piling numbers on top of numbers and leaping by great bounds, each day a new challenge to see how many words I can add to the total . . .
and there's my notebook, full of notes, jottings, thoughts, experiences, lists, all waiting to be poured into a computer file in some cohesive way . . .
I can't keep myself from opening the word file and plugging away, as much as it's turning me into some kind of a psychotic zombie.
I don't cook, I barely clean, I resist showering, I only do laundry because layering smelly clothes on top of a smelly body is gross, I don't call anyone, I barely pay attention to my children . . .

okay, I'm exaggerating. but I'm unwell.

I've been on this crazy writing binge for three weeks now, and biking buddy bob has been keeping tabs on me. last week he asked if I'd reached Jack Nicholson stage yet, and I laughingly said oh no, of course not.
this morning, I said I fear I'm there.

his prescription (he is a physician, you know): take 2 days off, and read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

eek! two days off???
I asked, can I just watch the movie?

sure, he said. then confirmed the 2-day part of the prescription.

I came home from class, made coffee, read a so-so book for a while, took a short nap, and kept myself away from the computer completely. had more coffee, toasted half a bagel and applied peanut butter, ate . . .
and turned the computer on.
checked email, blogger stats, played a coldplay song . . .
searched for the Hitchhiker movie, found it on youtube, started watching it . . .
then opened my word file.
argh! I cannot keep myself from it.

I am trying to. something has got to give, because I am a little nuts, and can't even think of anything to post here that has even the remotest connection to cycling.
unless you wanted to be clever and decide that---given everything I've shared about myself regarding cycling, and now about writing---I might be a bit confused about whether or not I have an addictive personality, and that I might be living in a state of denial.

whatever. I call it passion.
grin.

and thank God we're not snowed in.
in a monstrous hotel in remote colorado.
with a little boy on a tricycle . . .

5,4,3

2012-01-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

yesterday the skies split wide open and let the sun pour over our valley, and many people went outside and played.
not me.
I thought about it, considered it, rejected it, mainly because of this pain-in-the-neck cold I have. it's actually a pain in the chest and throat every time I cough, and I decided the bundling up against the cold/sweating/freezing aspect of riding outside in 43 degree weather was probably not the best thing I could do for my body.
so instead I went to class.

I went early to get some good medium heart rate zone work in, which was a good thing because the class itself was a little shy on that.
the workout was, after a 15 minute warmup,
5 minutes in zone 4A (lactate threshold place) at a fast climbing pace (75 rpm)
4 minutes in zone 4B (halfway between lactate threshold and ventricular threshold), same pace but standing,
3 minutes zone 5 (VT), 85-90 rpm, seated
3 minutes recovery,
repeat,
repeat.

well .. .. .. when one works in zone 4B and above, it really helps to be able to breathe fully, easily, without restriction.
a chest cold can comprise one's breathing, just a bit.

4A was fine. and 4B was fine for the first two minutes, and then I found I couldn't pull breath into my lungs well, and I decided I was stupid--yes, stupid--to try to force it. so I backed down to 4A and stayed there until the zone 5 phase was over.

round two: 4A was fine. 4B was okay, and I found myself in zone 5 at least a quarter of the time. decided not to push to zone 5 for those 3 minutes, stayed in 4B. I'm not stupid.

round three: 4A was fine. 4B was fine. decided to go for zone 5. did it. don't want to discuss level of stupidity.

I think I was correct to stay indoors for my workout. but it was disheartening, especially as I watched cyclist after cyclist spin past my house all afternoon.
today is warmer, even, but windy and gray and I am not called at all to go tool around outside.

being sick sucks. there's no other conclusion to be drawn.
I sit inside, typing, writing away, being productive, but wishing the cough away.
sigh. maybe tomorrow I'll wake up healthy.
I wish the same for you, for us all, actually.

namaste.

feed a fever, stuff a cold?

2012-01-13T16:31:00.000-07:00

I have a cold.
I am pretty ticked off by the whole situation, because I don't think I deserved this, I have no idea where it came from, and I just darn well don't think it's fair.
it started last sunday with a cough deep down in my chest.
just a little cough, infrequently.
and day by day it's gradually grown bigger, more frequent, until now it is racking and terrifying.
it's picked up something new each day: neck ache, shoulder ache, head ache, stuffiness, tiredness, grumpiness (yes, I admit to this), sore throat, and these past few days, a voracious appetite.
what's up with that?
I can't stop eating.
partly because it feels good going down my scratchy icky throat, I realize this. but I've sent enough food down my esophagus to feed three of me during these past four days, and I keep finding myself searching out more.

when I was out of town last month and my kids' dad stayed here he rearranged some of my kitchen cupboards. this is his comment,"you have candy stashed everywhere!"

I used to.

it's all gone: I have tracked down and eaten every possible thing I can find. cookies, candy, treats, breakfast bars, bread, and this most dangerous concoction my children's ex-nanny made for them: peanut butter mixed with crumbled oreos and chocolate pieces. oh, goodness, that stuff is lethal. (okay the latter is not gone, and don't tell my daughter it's me who is stealing bites of it from her jar.)

I'm on day 6 here. it doesn't feel to me like it's leaving anytime soon, but it had better or I'll have to go shopping for new clothes.

that's all, gotta go, I feel a box of cereal calling me . . .
help!

flexion

2012-01-11T10:23:00.000-07:00

power camp has tough days, and not-so-tough days, yesterday falling into the former category and today the latter.
alpe d'huez was yesterday's theme: picture steep grades and competitive cyclists zipping past you up them.
spin-o-rama was today's theme: picture a gerbil on that neverending, incessant, monotonous, spinning wheel.

I prefer to work somewhere in between the two, which thankfully we usually do.

today during our 40-minute, 110-120 revolution-per-minute, zone 3A (fairly low) work segment, our coach, greer, walked around with the mirror.
our classroom has a few of these mirrors, the kind you can buy at home depot to attach to the inside of your closet door. tall and narrow in a white artificial wood frame, they have a simple cardboard backing and are lightweight. today greer picked the "skinny" mirror, my favorite, the one that takes about ten pounds off and reflects back a svelte, muscular image. yep, good times.

the purpose: to let us see our form as we ride, to catch wobbly or angled knees, misaligned feet, bouncing, pointed toes, rounded shoulders, all of those things we are reminded to correct. as well as allowing us to see ourselves, it gives the coach an opportunity to study our form and pick up on opportunities they might not see from their perch in front of the room.

when greer propped the mirror in front of me this morning, my first thought was oh thank you, it's the skinny mirror. I look great! (I'm grinning -- but I really do like the skinny mirror.)
then I focused on my form. knees look good, everything looks dead on, I don't see anything that obviously needs correction.
greer stood there, studying my legs, her eyes focused on my calves, my ankles, my feet. silence. then,
"are your ankles flexed?"
"ah, not sure exactly what you mean..."
"like are they tense? can you relax them? because what I see is a lot of tension there, like your calf muscles are bulging, more than they should be. can you relax your foot?"

okay, wow. this is the first time in my four years of power camp that anyone has ever said this to me, and I think she's dead on. anytime we have fast spinning workouts its my ankles and shins that give me the most grief.
why? because I always--fast or slow--work so so hard to drop my heel that I create unreasonable tension in my ankle. it's been drummed into my head to drop my heel, so (me being me) I am going to darn well be a good heel-dropper.

"I'm being really picky here," greer continues, "this is a really little thing."
but to me it's big, it's something I can work on, and maybe if I tweak this, these fast spinny days won't bother me so much. I concentrate on relaxing (imagine that), and know this is going to take a while to figure out. but I'm all over it, what a great insight.

and the moral of this story, as with so very many other stories in life, is that to perform best--to be your best--you must find that perfect balance between not enough, and too much.

namaste.

brown stuff

2012-01-09T10:21:00.000-07:00

with crumbly chopped up nuts on top.
and big fat macadamia nuts inside it.
toffee.

argh.

this box of toffee has been sitting on my sideboard, staring me down, since Christmas, and it finally won yesterday.
I opened it.
I started eating it.
I didn't finish it--not yet--but I'm well on my way.

and unfortunately, yesterday was a day off for me, so I didn't even have a vigorous bike ride or run (ha) or snowshoe to blame my appetite on. not even a yoga class. I sat, I wrote, I sat, I ate. I ate some toffee.
I ate more toffee.

this morning the box is still there. my goal is to have it still be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next all the way to the weekend, but I'm not sure that will happen.

in the weight room after class today biking buddy bob told me about an article he'd read over the weekend about will power. he said the finding was that will power is finite.
"finite?" I asked. "I can't believe that--I see it as a character trait, something deep within you. I don't see that running out."
"I think the meaning was more that it can only go so far, such that if you use a lot for one area, you might not have as much for something else."
ah, I nodded my head. I get it.
I use all my will power to exercise and clean and work and care for my family, which leaves none left over for resisting toffee. yep, makes perfect sense.

and sometimes it's okay to use things up.
my friend holly posted in her blog yesterday an erma bombeck (gotta love her) quote that I plan to incorporate, with just one small tweak that you will notice below:

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent [or toffee] left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.”

time for just one small bite, gotta go.

white stuff

2012-01-07T10:55:00.004-07:00

we woke up to snow this morning, our city covered with the thick, wet white stuff.
woo hoo!
as a cyclist I know I shouldn't be woo-hooing this, but as a complete human being, I am so excited I am almost jumping up and down.

first, it's beautiful. absolutely beautiful. fresh, clean, our world is the proverbial winter wonderland.

second, it's covering up all my ugly plant beds, my leaves, and my winter worn grass.

third, it kept me from having to go for an outdoor ride in 35 degree weather today.

fourth, our ski resorts have been in desperate need.

fifth, our land needs the moisture.

sixth, it is simply beautiful.

seventh, this means there's a chance I might be able to go snowshoeing sometime soon.

eighth, it makes me appreciate even more greatly my warm bed, soft couch, indoor heat.

that's enough, though if I worked at it I'm sure I could come up with several more.
back to my world-changing book, nestled securely and warmly as I am in my snug little home.
woo hoo!

mirror, mirror, on my . . . floor

2012-01-05T07:33:00.000-07:00

I broke a mirror this morning. and then knocked a glass of water over onto the counter, rug, floor, and my socks.
both before the clock turned 4:50.
most of my mornings go more smoothly, at least the segment of morning when no children are involved. this was was exceptionally different.

back to the mirror.
what's the first thing you think of when you hear about a broken mirror?
seven years of bad luck.
well, I've decided that my broken mirror is bringing the end to my past seven years of, at times, questionable "luck." I decided it was heralding in, with its tinkling, chiming sound as it splintered and its little pieces danced across the tile floor, a long and prosperous period of my life. I'll begin with seven years, and consider it renewable without need of future breakage.

sounds good to me.

I could also consider it an opportunity to let go of my limited vision of myself, to let go of who I might think I am. to not be held to what a traditional mirror reflects, but to acknowledge a deeper, inner core of who I am, which will never be captured by a simple hand held mirror. (coldplay's viva la vida is running through my head, be my mirror, my sword, my shield . . . and not for the first time, either.)

that sounds good, too.

think I'm set for the day.
namaste.

mastery

2012-01-03T11:04:00.005-07:00

my first waking thought this morning, after I silenced the beeping alarm, was
this is ridiculous.
quickly followed by,
why am I doing this?

the answer came about seventy minutes later, well into my power camp class, after I'd hit zone 5 about five times:
because it starts my day off really well, and gosh, I feel great.

today's workout was one of those interval things, up to zone 5 for just a minute, then back down to a low intensity work level for three minutes, then repeat. nine more times.
these things aren't easy, but man oh man I feel great when it's all over. it is, more than anything else, that sense of mastery, of accomplishment, of pushing your limits and finding you are capable that makes me feel so great.

and my intention for this year--and the rest of my life--is to live more in that place of feeling capable, accomplished, and great.

in last saturday's yoga class our instructor, at the end of savasana, read to us from neale donald walsch's conversations with god. it was a brief passage about letting go of doubt, of fear, and celebrating who you are, living that being fully and beautifully, just as you were meant to do. every time I hear this I think yes, this is how I want to be.

every time I finish a time trial, hit zone 5 ten times, or ride powerfully up the canyon, I feel this.

every time I speak to my children from my heart, I feel this.

every time I dip deep into my internal river and find words, phrases, entire paragraphs that convey what I wish to convey, I feel this.

even when I successfully scrub a toilet, fold and replace laundry, and mop my floors, I feel this.

how do we live this all times and all ways? this is our challenge, our life challenge, and I will do my darnedest (I cannot simply try, can I?) to live it.

so off I go, returning to the manuscript I'm creating, next year's best-selling book that will change lives across the world.
and tomorrow morning I'll arise early once more, go spin my heart out and feel that powerful sense of accomplishment, then return home and dig into that manuscript again.
and again.
see ya on the best-seller's list!

a year of moments

2012-01-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

a year that begins with an outdoor ride in crisp, clean air under steadily blue skies has got to be a good one, right?

I think it does.

there are many reasons why I bike, but the one I contemplated most today is this: it's difficult to stress about anything going on (or not going on) in your life while you're riding a bike.
I see two main reasons for this:
first, I'm usually working too hard to have enough oxygen (thus brainpower) to think too greatly about anything besides what I'm doing, and
second, during the moments when I'm not working too hard I am too full of joy and gratitude for the experience to worry about any other little thing in my life.

steven lane taylor is the author of Row, Row, Row Your Boat, and has a blog titled Living Life in the Divine Flow. he travels, speaking and conducting workshops on incorporating a healthy spirituality into daily life. in his new year's message this year he emphasizes the concept of living in the present moment: setting goals and then letting them go and living life in each moment it presents.
I was thinking about this today as I rode, realizing that biking is an excellent tool for keeping me in the moment. it's difficult to be anywhere else when you're working hard, watching for hazards, staying balanced and in good form, and enjoying the heck out of your experience out in this great, big, wonderful world.

so here's to a year of moments. a year filled with awareness. a year of joy, exuberance, flowing. a year of surrendering to what is, and accepting it as perfect. (yes, even every moment of my biking performance.)
here's to being grateful that we are given the moments we have, and for loving the hell out of all of them, whether we are tempted to label them good or bad or awful. they are what we have; they are all that we have.

here's to a year of moments: millions of them, all held together with a common theme of gratitude and my very favorite, knuckle worthy, never-to-be-forgotten concept,
faith.

namaste, always

physicality is not enough

2011-12-31T15:37:00.000-07:00

yes, I'm back.

yes, I missed my bike.

yes, it's taken me a while to wrap my mind around all that is life.

and no, I'm not quite done with that.

but observer of tradition that I am, I determined I'd better post something here today, or forever hang my head in shame for not getting my act back together.

I don't have my act back together yet.

years ago I had a teacher who believed that there was no such thing as trying. you either do, or you don't. you don't try to do something, for in the very act of trying you are doing something, which means you've left the place of "try" and moved into the place of "do."
I mention this because I made a mental attempt last week to post something here. I told myself I tried. but I really didn't at all. I put a half-hearted attempt into three sentences in draft form, and then walked away. not only did I not do, my efforts barely qualified as trying.

so this is what's going on:
three and a half days after returning home from nepal, I had to do a time trial at power camp. twenty minutes at VT, zone 5, that "ow" place.
and it went extremely well.
I attended six days of power camp that first week back, caught up on all the work I had to do, shopped for christmas, baked and wrapped and vacuumed and delivered presents and shuttled kids to and from activities. I slept fairly well, I ate everything in sight, and it was clear that my physical body had returned.
the mental/emotional part of me must have gotten stuck somewhere over the atlantic ocean, because it's not quite back with me yet. I think it fell out of the plane and started swimming, and has maybe only now reached north carolina. then it will probably rent a bicycle and start pedaling this direction.
it might be here by the middle of january, if it works really hard.
I feel it every once in a while, I'm pretty sure it's out there somewhere. I'm almost certain it's heading home.

but it's not here yet.

I'm operating from some place that knows how to function, to perform, that place we call rote.
it knows how to do everything but be fully there.

I miss me!
I'm hoping I make it back to myself soon, because it's painfully obvious that I'm not all here.

so that's my story. it's terribly difficult to write and post here when the important parts of me are not here but are instead involved in some wacky kind of triathlon, trying to get back home to this now sugar-and-carbohydrate inflated body. (I'm hoping when all parts of me reunite the need for sugar will dissipate.)

I plan to ride my bike tomorrow. the forecast is for a sunny day with a high around 45. maybe if I pedal fast enough, and far enough, I'll be able to find part of myself somewhere out there.
and that will be my new year's goal: to find the rest of myself, somewhere out there.

subhakamana

2011-12-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

if you are gifted with a bright sunny warmish day in these next few weeks, I hope you hop on your bike and think of me.

a friend found the above greeting and passed it along to me for my upcoming globe trot to nepal tomorrow (and the next day): it's meanings are good luck, good health, best wishes . . .

I offer the same to you all during these next few weeks, and if all goes well, I'll be back shortly before Christmas.

namaste, and salud!

Going On A Trip

2011-11-29T16:13:00.001-07:00

who remembers car games?

my family drove everywhere for vacations while I was growing up, spending hours and hours in the monza, the blue station wagon, the snug little (fuel efficient) yellow rabbit. we would play the license plate game, word games, and that old standby, the I'm Going On A Trip and Taking My . . .

if you don't remember that one, the first person makes the statement then adds something that begins with the letter A. the next person repeats what the first one said, then adds something that begins with the letter B. the pattern continues, and halfway through the alphabet it gets a little more challenging to remember what everyone's items were.

if I were to play the I'm Going On A Trip game these last few years, my B item would always be a--oh big surprise--bicycle.
well, since I am now truly Going On A Trip (and for the first time in a long, long time, I won't be able to take my bicycle), I played the game with myself.

my list includes all sorts of fun, strange, unusual, and hopefully unnecessary items:

aspirin
bandanas
cough drops
day bag
eye pencil (giggle)
fleece hat
go girl (check it out)
headlamp
imodium
journal
kindle (borrowed)
large ziploc bags (to pack stuff in)
mints
neck pouch with slash-proof cord
open mind (so open, it's at risk of falling out)
pepto bismal
quirky earrings that are bike chainrings with hearts in the middle
reading glasses (how embarrassing)
sunglasses
toilet paper
underwear, lots
v-neck tee-shirt from the MS bike ride this year
wet wipes
xylophone (just to see if you're still with me)
yellow jelly beans in a bag with those of every other color, too
zithro (azithromycin, yes, I cheated)

and, unfortunately, about a hundred and five more things that I get to squeeze into my big-old bikeless backpack.

so, it's back to packing for me.
now where did those silly tweezers go? oh, and my mascara . . . and the straightening iron . . .

hilary clinton, or the village

2011-11-27T20:43:00.001-07:00

hilary is credited with spreading this statement far and wide:
it takes a village to raise a child.

well, I've figured out that it takes a village to send me to a village.

I leave four days from now on a journey to a small village in the base of the himalayas in nepal. it's been quite a process to get me to this point, and there's even more to happen before I walk onto the first plane.
and this has become quite clear: I have a village surrounding me.
from friends who have contemplated which book to loan me, to my kids' dad who is moving in to my house while I'm gone to keep things steady, to my girls who are going to keep my business running, to the friends who are lending me supplies, I am buoyed up by soul after soul.
a sleeping pad, a duffle, some stuff sacks, a headlamp, a kindle, a camera, some sleeping pills, some medicated ointment . . . my daughter's nalgene bottle . . . a digital voice recorder . . . all things loaned to me.
a set of tibetan prayer flags, and bracelets engraved with a buddhist prayer, om mani padme hum, for my girls to wear and connect with me while I'm gone: gifts from one who will stay here and support me from afar.
two days of labor, a gift from my mother, given to help me prepare a significant order to ship before I leave.
commitments from other friends who have said they will help in any way needed while I'm gone, just give their number to my girls and their dad.
I can feel this palpable sense of love and support with me now, before I've even packed my backpack, and I know it will travel with me across time zones and continents.

my job, then, will be to remember the village that's enabled me to visit kathmandu and points beyond, and carry that love with me into the village I will inhabit next week.
what if each one of us could feel, always, that we had a village surrounding and supporting us?
what if each one of us knew, with certainty, that we ourselves were part of a village that surrounded and supported others?
my guess is that we would all be one step closer to understanding what love truly is.

once again, namaste.

nocturnal attack

2011-11-25T18:41:00.000-07:00

sometime in the dark hours of last night I got hit.
hard.
it started when I realized it hurt to swallow.
then I discovered my head hurt.
next I sniffled.
and came completely awake, stunned.
I was getting a cold.
correction: I'd gotten a cold.
it had me; it was wrapped all over me.

sigh.

sniff.
moan.

I don't do sick very well.
and here's perhaps where I should turn some spiritual wisdom upon myself:
what you resist, persists.

okay, I have a cold, it's the pits, I'm disappointed, and I'll take my tylenol and pray it goes away soon.

sniff. groan.

sigh.

tracks

2011-11-23T17:01:00.005-07:00

it's the day before thanksgiving and it hit 61 degrees this afternoon, so guess who had to go ride her bike?
well, me, of course, and so many other people I couldn't believe it. the canyon was crowded with smiling cyclists, and the people I rode with were having so much fun they said, let's ride to the gate, see if it's locked.
yep, it's locked.
there was some remaining snow directly under the gate, but the road beyond stretched pale gray and dry as far as we could see.
so it became, how about we ride a little further, maybe to where the creek crosses under the road.
yep, let's go.
well, maybe to the Quaking Asp. sign.
sure, why not.
not half a mile past the gate little mounds of icy snow sat on the road, here and there. and then the clumps stretched further in each direction, small puddles of meltage sitting between them. more and more snow sat on the road the further we went, and my heart just thumped happily away.
as the dry, clear road gave way to greater and greater swaths of snow, we moved forward slowly, picking and choosing our way through the white and gray maze.
tire tracks provided spots for our skinny tires, at times two feet wide and well melted, at times much narrower. stretches of road were dry, and great expanses were wet with run-off. on every dry spot I could see skinny tire tracks from those who had traveled upward before us.

I love that I'm not the only one who finds great pleasure in riding up to the snow.
or perhaps I project my pleasure on all the other cyclists . . . but it's hard to believe that anyone could ride up that gated, car-free, snowy length of road and not experience joy.
I assigned great delight to every one of those tire tracks as I watched them connect one damp spot of road with the next.
and there was a lot of delight, happiness, pleasure, and even bliss occurring in that space today. impermanence lay deep within every skinny tire track, yet even deeper lay the gift of joy that bubbled forth from each cyclist, joining the spirit of those who traveled before and those who have yet to travel, enriching the universe that surrounds us all.

more music

2011-11-21T17:55:00.000-07:00

since it's been raining/snowing/sleeting/blowing/freezing
and
I have indoor power camp classes every day anyway,
and
it's the season for contemplation and marination,
I have little inspiration bubbling up from within.
so it's back to music.

this morning I had the radio playing in my car, and I heard a song I hadn't heard in so many months I can't remember. I love this song: it captures what I believe, at times, is the essence of my life.
anyone who knows me well has probably heard me say I believe I'm from a different planet. that I somehow got sent here by mistake, and no one bothered to give me the rulebook.
so, yael naim wrote a song called New Soul, which was used in a macbook air laptop advertisement a few years back, that captures this concept beautifully. I'm sharing some of the lyrics with you here:

I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world
hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take.
but since I came here
felt the joy and the fear
finding myself making every possible mistake.
see I'm a young soul
in this very strange world
hoping I could learn a bit 'bout what is true and fake.
but why all this hate?
try to communicate
finding trust and love is not always easy to make
this is a happy end
cause you don't understand
everything you have done
why's everything so wrong
this is a happy end
come and give me your hand I'll take you far away . . .

I'm not alone, am I? obviously there are others here from distant planets as well.
maybe I'll meet you all on the road, biking, one day.

some days

2011-11-19T17:20:00.003-07:00

there are days when my theme is perfectly captured by the words of a popular song by Hot Chelle Rae (just had to research the origin of that name . . . comes from a stalking fan with a fake name):

I don't know if I'll make it,

but watch how good I'll fake it . . .

nuf said.

prepare yourself

2011-11-17T10:59:00.001-07:00

and skip this if you are one easily offended, disturbed, repulsed, disgusted, or if you are narrow-minded or misogynistic. (right, like anyone who is these things would admit to it. if you continue reading, it is by your own choice.)
it has little to do with cycling, unless you were to look back at the scandal caused by the women who first wore the split-skirted outfits that allowed them to ride a bicycle. if you were to look at that, then this would just flow right into it all.

my step-father recently sent me a copy of an article from the New Yorker about planned parenthood's history and present battle. it's lengthy. it shines a light on how very far we've come in understanding humanity. it showcases our progress, and our lack thereof. it highlights our fears, our lack of vision, our inability to see anything outside of what we choose to see.

and although I hold a position on abortion atop the fence, believing that it is at times necessary and always awful, what planned parenthood offers communities is much, much more. and there are times when a girl, a young woman, a female, needs a place to go for help.
so my conclusion is a simple one, and I phrase it in the form of a query:

what if we could remove all of the men from the discussion, the voting, the laws?

this removal is justified by the fact that not a single male could ever, ever, possibly comprehend what is involved. ever. no matter what they think or believe or feel.

perhaps then, and only then, could we come to fair and reasonable decisions that support life in all forms.

men, back off.

power camp day two

2011-11-15T15:19:00.000-07:00

argh.
my days of outdoor riding have been sharply curtailed by the 6-days a week power camp program that began yesterday. and yesterday, of course, was a beautiful, sunny, 57 degree fall day, when I should have been riding my bike.
instead, I spent an unfortunate hour on a spin bike and then 25 gloomy minutes in the weight room.
today, an hour and a half on the bike (yes, these seats are different than my real saddle and yes, I am in a state of transition and yes, I move around a lot because IT'S UNCOMFORTABLE) and then home, drenched with sweat and saddened by the entire process.

however, I'm sure it's good for me.
change is good.

and today's coach is new to our little community at the JCC, though an old friend of the power camp program. he was generous with tips and instruction, and darn it all, he made me work hard while I tried to emulate his impeccable standing form. transfer your weight from the down leg to the other at 5 o'clock, keeping your hips squared and centered. don't let your body weight shift, use your leg muscles.
oh my gosh.
I was dripping sweat, my legs were screaming at me, and the pitch black sky mocked me, real people throughout the world are still asleep right now . . .

my beautiful cycling fall is over.

change is good.

so they say.

stay hungry, stay foolish

2011-11-13T10:13:00.001-07:00

from the whole earth catalog via steve jobs via his 2005 stanford university commencement address via my stepfather, mike. whew:
stay hungry, stay foolish.

may I always remember to do this, no matter how much planning I do and protection I wear.
no, it doesn't mean don't overeat.
no, it doesn't mean don't educate yourself.
instead, it means don't let yourself be satisfied with median fare, and never let yourself believe that you know all there is to know about anything: be open to knew thoughts, knowledge, beliefs.

in the tarot card deck, the card assigned the value zero is called The Fool. often called the card of infinite possibilities, it is described by the learntarot.com website in this way:

the Fool is a newborn - fresh, open and spontaneous. The figure on Card 0 has his arms flung wide, and his head held high. He is ready to embrace whatever comes his way, but he is also oblivious to the cliff edge he is about to cross. The Fool is unaware of the hardships he will face as he ventures out to learn the lessons of the world.

if we were aware of the hardships, difficulties, pain and sorrow ahead of us, we might all be immobilized. the fool carries with him a small bag which contains everything he will need along the way, and the fool moves forward with an open heart, trusting in the universe to provide him the experiences he needs and his own spirit to guide him through what lies ahead.
when we are willing to approach life from a position of being foolish, we are giving up our barriers and supports, masks and facades, and instead living from a place of vulnerability. this is when we say, I don't know, I don't have the answers, I may need help, I might need to learn how to see things differently.
I will move this way, take this class, open myself up to whatever comes, follow my intuition, and eventually, it will all make sense.
I will admit I don't know, I will let others share their wisdom with me, I will learn to see through eyes not my own.

most of us strive to be competent, experts in our fields, learned. excellent goals, all. but we can at the same time retain the spirit of the fool, being willing to admit our ignorance, being willing to take a chance on the unknown. expand ourselves, fail, lose. step off a cliff. experiment. climb out of our rut, no matter how successful we are within it, and stub our toes on the rocky hillsides that surround it.

I realize that I am just one of countless humans talking, writing, and thinking about steve jobs and the impact he had on our world. I am simply passing along--with commentary--words and thoughts he put out into the universe years ago. but this is how we operate, this is how we process and learn and grow. I don't profess to offer much original thought: the world ran out of that long, long ago.
but like all good marketing students, I know that we learn through repetition. so each time we hear that we should stay hungry, stay foolish, it builds upon the previous times we heard that, and eventually it impacts our beliefs and behavior.
give it a chance.

stay hungry, stay foolish.

have faith.

the commencement address

corduroy, canyons, and setting the stage

2011-11-11T11:11:00.000-07:00

first, happy corduroy day! hope you're celebrating in appropriate fashion.
I, myself, own not a single item made of corduroy, having gotten rid of the old and never quite been sold on the new.
and if you don't get it, think 11 11 11 and let your thoughts go crazy.

now on to my thoughts today.
they are about my whining the other day about city riding. yes, I whined. and when it got almost warm enough, I rode up the canyon to keep from going crazy with boredom.
yesterday was a little warmer, and today looks to be the same, so it's up, up again.

thank goodness.

I think better when I get to go up, and I think less when I get to go up, and the combination of the two is just a gift. the project I'm currently involved in exists vaguely and nebulously in my mind: I can see the finished product, it has a title and a feeling and a wholeness to it, but I don't yet know how all the little parts are going to come together. I don't even know what all the little parts are yet. and in those infamous words from my box manufacturer's production man, sometimes you can't know.
I can't know yet how it will all come together, it's not time. I must be patient, I must let things come to me and work their way through me, and finally appear on paper. I can open myself up to it, ask for it, spend time thinking about it, but the deepest and most beautiful creative work occurs below the surface of my mind, bubbling up only when it's ready.
and mindlessly riding my bike is often the setup that allows this bursting forth from the surface.
17 miles into my ride yesterday I was struck by a lightening bolt. a metaphorical one, of course. it wasn't a Huge Thing, it was just a small piece that was exactly what I needed for the section I was working on. every time these things happen, I just grin and shake my head. you can't force it,
you can't wave a magic wand and be filled with inspiration.
all you can do is set the stage and be open to what comes to visit.

my stage just happens to be a canyon: lucky me.

you knew this

2011-11-09T14:44:00.000-07:00

of course, I went up.
grin.

city riding

2011-11-09T10:39:00.004-07:00

it feels like forever since I've ridden up a canyon, though it's been just 5 days.
I've been riding in the city because it's too darn cold to come down the canyons, and I am missing my uphill escapes.
I miss the quiet, the much reduced number of cars, the smells of trees and leaves and the occasional wood fire, the long continuous demand of the incline, the absence of stop lights, all of which allow me to escape to that meditative state I love.
city riding is full of stops and starts and vigilance, not too conducive to mental jaunts to distant shores.

however, as I'm currently in the process of trying to gear myself up for a ride a bit later, I thought I'd focus on the positive, and list a few excellent things about city riding. (I'm working hard, here, and I hope you appreciate how deep I've dug for some of these.)

the smell of freshly baked bread as I pass Great Harvest

the aroma of brewing coffee as I pass that strange hangout on 33rd and 20thmore street signs to read, offering words to sound out and play around with in my mind

more people watching

more opportunities--on residential streets--to ride dead smack in the middle of the road

none of those awful, swooping, really fast descents that freeze your fingers and cheeks and chin

more obstacles in the bike lanes and shoulders, allowing me to test my maneuvering skills

more opportunities to study architecture and personal taste

lots of opportunities to stop at rest at stoplight after stoplight after stoplight. m-hmm.

okay, that's it, I can't try any harder.
I miss my canyon, I crave the peace and calm of that routine, and the opportunity to numb my mind. decision time: will I go for numbing my entire body just to reap the reward of numbing my mind?
it's a tough call.
I'll let you know the decision.

me and the condor

2011-11-07T17:59:00.000-07:00

in a 1990 interview steve jobs told the story of his reading an article about locomotive efficiency in animals. the research compared animals across the spectrum, eventually determining that the condor was the most efficient, using the fewest calories for the furthest travel. we humans fell far, far down toward the bottom of the list.
until you put that human on a bike.
then human efficiency surpasses even that of the condor.

jobs went on to describe a computer as a bicycle for the mind, extolling the computer's virtues, capabilities, and life-changing offerings.

I think of a bike that way: full of virtues, capabilities, and life-changing offerings. does it make me more efficient? apparently.
do I really care about that? not so much: I am lucky enough to have a car for those times I truly need to get somewhere.

steve jobs started the discussion with efficiency but we all know he was about much, much more. he was about style, gracefulness, creativity, experiences, opportunities, thinking the unthinkable, achieving the unimaginable.
I don't even know if steve jobs found pleasure riding a bicycle, but I like that he appreciated the efficient grace of a bicycle.
and if heaven is anything like my vision of it, steve jobs is up there right now, tooling around, swooping, discovering the pure pleasure of the perfect machine, riding his bike.

fallow

2011-11-05T12:39:00.001-06:00

some days I have to be the ant,
some days I'm swamped with simply being a mom,
and some days,
it snows.

riding has been great all week as I've fit in those hour or ninety minute rides.
but come this weekend, when I want to ride longer, what happens?
snow happens.

lyrics to that old byrds song (though I did just discover that pete seeger wrote and first recorded it) are strumming through my head, to everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn . . .

at the moment, looking out my window, I believe we have some seasonal confusion occurring. my majestic old trees are thick with leaves, many of them still green and only beginning to brown and curl at the edges. my maple has turned gold, but for some reason is reluctant to drop its decor. the others (lindens, maybe?) are rife with green, thick and heavy, drooping, now, under the weight of four inches of powdery snow.

to live in a place where the weather varied little would challenge me: as much as I love (love) to ride, my appreciation for it only grows when I am kept from it by seasonal disruptions. there is a time when fields should lie fallow.
these are difficult times to work through in life, frustrating times, times where emotions surge and our egoic mind tells us we are missing out/worthless/on the wrong path/confused.
stillness does not come easily to us, and none of us ever want to move in a direction that seems to be backwards from where we were.

but stillness is also a period of regrowth, of healing, of mending things we had no idea needed to be mended. just as our muscles strengthen during the rest cycle, and relationships strengthen after rupture and repair, our psyches themselves become stronger and richer when we allow ourselves to slow down, rest, and be still.
and simply be.

so, today I am enjoying the snow. I will putter around my house and dust when I want to, straighten as it calls to me, do laundry if I feel like it, and put pen to paper when so moved. I will not stress about my lack of exercise, and I will light candles in my rooms. I will breathe deeply and know that the snow has allowed my physical self and my internal self to have a break from routine and to relish the simply act of being.

namaste.

(okay, but if the sun stays out and the roads dry up . . . hmm . . . )

tennis, anyone?

2011-11-03T19:33:00.000-06:00

stranded in a waiting room this afternoon without book, notebook, or pen, I turned to the magazines scattered on the endtable. Family Fun, Home Journal, Newsweek, Cruising World (really?), Ser Padres . . . nope, nope, nope, ah, Tennis. well, it was the best of a weak selection.
and what did I turn to but a column titled The Gift of Tennis. the author began by describing how happy he felt to pass by people jogging on treadmills---staring dead ahead, solemn, bored---and spinning maniacally on spin bikes---music pounding loudly while the instructor yells at them---and move on to the tennis court, the best place in the world to be.
I grinned.
we all find our favorite places, don't we?
and thank you, God, we don't all choose the same place, for then my bike lanes would be much too crowded.

every time I ride up emigration canyon I pass through a golf course and a set of tennis courts, the latter uncovered and open to the sun for five months, hidden under a huge white bubble the rest of the year.
I don't envy the golfers, but I do experience a twang of envy for those playing tennis. I do love tennis. and to be good at it would be a thrill. but it's hard to do by yourself, whenever you can fit it into your day, spontaneously.
some day I will play tennis again. the columnist pointed out its benefits: hand-eye coordination, strategic thinking, and---in his eyes, the best---the society surrounding the sport.
cycling does ask us to think strategically at times and to be coordinated (especially in pace lines), and to share ourselves with others . . . but, quite obviously, not to the same degree as tennis.
rushes are provided by both, fitness, joy, camaraderie.
and someday, perhaps, I'll add a smidgen of tennis back into my life.
but for now I'm happy to pass the bubble and inhale fresh, clean, crisp air, as the days draw me nearer and nearer to the stuffy, smelly, dreary spin room (which is thankfully blessed with a wall of windows that let me connect with the real world), where the music is loud and the instructors yell at us, and people walk by and think thank God I'm not in there but am heading to the tennis court, instead.

my moose, joe

2011-11-01T15:01:00.002-06:00

some people feel a strong connection to loved ones who have left this life. they dream about the loved one, they may feel messages coming through subconsciously, or they may sense their loved one's presence, either just surrounding them, or in some element of the natural world or some other living being.

I'm reading a book set in China during the cultural revolution of the mid twentieth century, in which a chicken wanders into a Chinese widow's home, immediately convincing the woman that it is really her husband, returning to her. she grooms the chicken, cares for it, engages in conversation with it, and is devastated when it disappears (and unbeknownst to her, gratefully, ends up in someone else's cooking pot).

my son jake died three months before his 19th birthday. on his birthday that year, a reasonably warm and wintry april 20th, I rode my bike up emigration, down to the reservoir, around the locked yellow gate and up toward big mountain as far as the road would allow. snow hunched deep and heavy in the shaded stretches as the elevation increased, and I was finally thwarted about halfway to the top. I paused and had a chat with his spirit, spread a few of his ashes, and created a new touchstone, a place of memory and meaning, by the side of the road and the spread of the hill.

on my way home from that ride I saw a moose, and immediately I thought of little joe, jake's twin.
I do not know why.
I sensed a message as well, one of comfort and confirmation, letting me know that it was okay to feel alone as I did, that those feelings were part of the natural rhythm of existence, and that they were truly nothing more than an illusion, anyway.

but now, when I see a moose anywhere within that area, I connect it with little joe and a message from what is most easily called the other side of the veil.
perhaps I make up these messages, or perhaps they are placed within my awareness only through a divine will.
I can't know.

yesterday, little joe visited again, strutting right in front of me, big and bold and fully in his young manhood. I had just left the top of emigration, heading down and toward home, when I rounded the second curve and saw a huge beast walking across the road. I braked 60 feet away, and the distance kept closing as he moved regally across the asphalt toward the hill on the right. at 30 feet he paused, and I decided I would be best off to simply stop, as he had to be a good 8 times bigger than me.

not a car around, not even another cyclist, it was just the two of us sharing this space.

I crept a little closer as he turned his head from side to side and then back to the hill in front of him and began his plodding, head thrusting climb up the hill. bushes bent for him, the ground held firm under his majestic hooves. his antlers were slender and spiky and rounded, and his entire body shouted power, ownership, possession. as he moved up the hillside I started to lose sight of him; he paused again near the top and I saw him through a screen of tall golden grass and shrub, then lost him over the ridge.

the grin didn't leave my face for ten miles, and still hasn't left my heart.
was it little joe? it doesn't matter. it's always little joe to me, and the message is always one of peace and certainty. of faith and patience. of being on the right track, of perseverance, of moving along, pausing, and moving along again.

a reminder about ants and grasshoppers

2011-10-31T09:51:00.000-06:00

I realize that some of you may think that I live a life of ease, picking and choosing my preferred ride times, never having to work, just floating with the sunny skies and perfect air.

I do live an amazingly beautiful life, but that is due, in part, to the fact that I am an ant.

long ago, aesop told a tale of a happy, songful grasshopper who spent his summer singing and enjoying the warm weather, and of an ant who spent his summer storing food for the winter. the grasshopper played, the ant worked. and lo, come winter, the grasshopper had nothing to eat, no stores to use, nothing to get him through the harsh and difficult season.
the ant, meanwhile, had set aside plenty to see him through, as he had worked all summer, planning for his future.

I tend to be an ant.

I am always doing today what might not need to be done until tomorrow. I like to be prepared; I like to be ahead of the game.
I like to fill my shelves with inventory long before the orders come.
so I work early in the morning and late at night and whenever my ant-ness makes me.
and then if the sun breaks out and warms the air I can hop on my bike and go enjoy it, riding, singing, playing in our big, beautiful world.

come to think of it,
perhaps I'm really a hybrid. an anthopper. a grant.
a happy, productive, farsighted, singing grant.

so there, aesop.

hold on loosely

2011-10-29T07:25:00.000-06:00

I have an ipod nano that my family gave me for Christmas years ago. I'm not too much of a geek, nor do I have too much music, so it suits me just fine. but it has this issue, which it seems to have always had: it doesn't always respond when I hold the "turn off" button. I usually have to try more than once, and I press and press, and often become frustrated by the difficulty of the process. geez, I just want to turn the darn thing off! I've considered just getting a new one, thinking there's just some little flaw with that button that's not even a button, just a spot on the little white wheel.
it's old, I've told myself, so I shouldn't expect it to work perfectly.

well, that's how it's been, up until about two weeks ago.
at that magical time, I discovered that when I just lightly tapped the "turn off" button-that's-not-a-button, it turned right off.
and every time since, I've turned it off easily by just tapping that little button.

the roads I ride aren't always coated with smooth asphalt.
often it's chip seal, or worn chip seal (which is better than new), or some patched mess of various kinds of road surfacing. occasionally I cross cattle guards or railroad tracks. and there are always cracks, potholes, uneven surfaces, and what some call "road furniture," debris that could knock you over if it got you before you saw it.

I've learned, over time, that there's a point of perfect tension in my handlebar grip, a place where I'm holding on well enough, yet allowing space and opportunity for my bike to show me where it wants to go. too tight, and I throttle its efforts to move smoothly over bumps and holes, and too loose, I risk letting it get sucked into gouges and ridges and toss me over the handlebars.
a natural tendency---as I demonstrated with my ipod---is to try too hard, to press to firmly, to hold on with a near death grip.
my car is a wiggly little thing, and I've learned this with when moving over the metal bridge expansion grooves on a curve: when I grip the steering wheel too tightly, my car is thrown a bit with each one. when I find that perfect balance of tension, the car moves through them more smoothly. I give it a little space to do its job, while still performing my own.

38 special is one of those american rock bands that had a handful of hits back in the '80s, and is still plugging along. their "hold on loosely" was a number one hit back in 1981 (!) and I think of that title frequently as I navigate through life, bike rides, car rides, ipod use.
as I began to write this today I pulled up the complete lyrics to the song, and was amazed by how well these words convey the truth of all sorts of relationships. and although the rhyme itself leaves something to be desired, this couplet sums it up beautifully:

your baby needs someone to believe in
and a whole lot of space to breathe in

mali rising

2011-10-27T09:29:00.000-06:00

I could be approaching the end of my life.
I could be experiencing my last year, everything winding down, the end terribly in sight. this could be it for me, and for all of my peers as well.
many of my friends, a good portion of my biking buddies, my brother and his wife, definitely my mom, her husband, my dads, their partners . . .
were we living in Mali, we would likely all be dead or rapidly approaching death.

the average life expectancy for males in Mali is 48, and for females is 49.

a while back I attended a fundraiser for an organization called Mali Rising.
this group, run by a man named Yeah Samake, focuses on increasing education for the children of their nation. they use funds to build schools, to train teachers, to expand educational opportunities for all children, especially girls. in many third world countries females come second to males when educational options are limited: Mali Rising is one of many organizations which are trying to change this practice.
Mali is a land-locked nation in northwestern africa, with the following statistics:

Population: 13 million
Capital: Bamako
Area: 1.25 million sq km (482,077 sq miles)
Major languages: French, Bambara
Main exports: Cotton, gold, livestock
Annual per capita income: US $500
Economic base: Agriculture and fishing (80%), Industry and service (20%)

everything about me---from my home ownership to cycling to my graduate degree to the ease of my life---would not be, had I been born to a typical family in Mali.

I often express the fact that I'm glad I'm not in charge of the world, for I don't know what I'd do. I don't know how I'd solve its problems, structure its government, design its roads (except they'd all be fresh, smooth asphalt, of course). I am overwhelmed by the enormity of challenges presented, and although I excel at seeing the Big Picture, I am not always so good at envisioning solutions, let alone implementing them.
there is a line from a beatles song, we all want to change the world.
well, I would like to change the world.
I'd like the people of Mali to live longer, lose fewer children to preventable childhood diseases, be less poverty-stricken, have access to more support/food/clean water/job opportunities/education.
and bicycles.
so that they all could, at least a half dozen times, feel the joy of riding a bike in the early morning when the world is fresh and new, and everything is possible.

other

2011-10-25T15:09:00.001-06:00

may we never stop learning, may our curiosity never be sated, may we always seek new knowledge and understanding. may we always be alert, aware, open, observant, inquisitive, and full of faith that whatever enters our life is part of an opportunity to deepen ourselves and increase our wisdom.

the following are not my words, but those of thomas moore. I think I'll adopt them, however, for I find them quite adaptable to bike rides, daily movement, relationships, and most every aspect of life:

the purpose of any meaningful journey is to become other than what we were.

forward ho.

lobster & lambs

2011-10-23T17:19:00.001-06:00

I don't own these.
I probably should own these.
If I owned these I could have worn them today.

I'd never even heard of these until last winter sometime when someone said, oh there goes a bunch of cyclists in their lobster gloves.
their what?
see, there is always, always something new to learn.

I rode to the top of lamb's canyon this morning, a chilly place to be, as narrow and shaded and high above sea level as it is. when we left home it was in the low 40's but the sun hung there in a cloudless sky, promising warmth and support along the way.

it was cold. and at times, downright freezing (that's the speeding downhill in the shade part).
and beautiful.
and stunning, fabulous, amazing, unbelievable.
and steep, darn it.

the top is somewhere around 8200 feet, and the views are a gift from the mountain gods. many aspen have already shed their leaves, but a significant number are still clinging to their bright gold clothing. these dancing gold leaves bedeck slender white trunks which stand tall against a brilliant blue backdrop, and if you peer through them and out as far as you can see to the east, snowy tips of mountain peaks sit firmly to anchor the scene.
you can't see this from home.
or even on a drive, because the upper half of lamb's canyon is protected by a locked gate which only those of us on leg or bi-wheeled machines can easily skirt.

I had no lobster gloves on my hands, simply my basic fingerless nice-weather gloves.
lobster gloves would have kept me warmer, may have kept the circulation moving more freely.
but nothing could have increased my joy, my excitement, my gratitude for once again having made it to the top of a hill so I could reap the rich and almost inexplicably spectacular reward.

nemesis

2011-10-21T16:43:00.000-06:00

inexorable divine retribution is a key theme in greek mythology, and nemesis is the goddess of such divine retribution, especially against those who succumb to hubris or arrogance before the gods.* we commonly use the word nemesis to describe a source of harm or ruin, or an opponent that cannot be beaten or overcome.

the first time I rode up (and I mean up) the back side of big mountain from east canyon resort, I had to stop 3 times to catch my breath and recommit myself to the climb.
the next time, I only had to stop twice.
and then I stopped once.
this climb was my nemesis, the one stretch of road out of all my usual rides that struck fear in my heart and exhaustion in my legs. as noted, it became more possible each time, but it remained my nemesis for years. it's only been in this last season that the climb up the back side of big mountain has slipped into the "challenging but not awful" category, and has faded into something less than it once was.
it is an opponent that, while not beaten, can at times be overcome.

it is no longer my nemesis.

I realized today that I've chosen a new nemesis.
or perhaps it's chosen me.

it's name is mariah, more commonly known as the wind. (and if you didn't get that, you are entirely too young.)
yep, the wind.
I don't stop when confronted with it, but I am easily disheartened and exhausted by it, and it has become the one thing I need to find a way to work through/combat/conquer/something.
I try not to hate things, I work hard on accepting what is, but I often come close to hating the wind.
I've conquered climbing hills: though it's challenging and outright hard, I know I can climb just about anything. I can handle the flats: I know my limits, I know that I'll always have to work harder than the guys, and I expect, at times, to fall off the back of a paceline. I can handle high heart rate stuff: I know I can recover, I know I won't die, I know it's all okay.
but the wind.
it beats me every time.
it is my new nemesis.

so my goal this coming year is to change this. to learn how to tweak my mental processes so that I'm not frustrated or overwhelmed. to learn how to pedal more strongly into a headwind. to learn how to tune out the sound, the pain, the reduction in speed. to become more confident and competent when confronted with wind in my face.

the greek gods believed in divine retribution for those who succumb to arrogance, and nemesis was the goddess of this act. the wind, mariah, is perhaps a manifestation of nemesis' caution thrown my way: just because you can climb a hill, manage your heartrate, recover easily, hold your own . . . doesn't mean you are a cycling goddess. not until you conquer the wind will you be allowed that title.

the wind.
my nemesis.
for now.

* good old wikipedia

happy

2011-10-19T15:11:00.000-06:00

it's a beautiful fall day and I'm riding up the canyon. a rider or two pass me, I say hi, and I stay in my little happy place. the air is clean, it's sunny, and I am just grateful to be where I am.
I pedal up a little rise, the fourth one of the canyon, the one where my heart rate climbs significantly faster than I do. then the road eases, flattens, and I recover and take big, fulfilling breaths.
there's a cyclist ahead of me, a female, and since this is my first sight of her and we're almost five miles up, I know that I'm moving faster than she is and will soon pass her. as the distance between us decreases I can see more detail: she's a brunette, hair in a ponytail, trim, with an earphone cord snaking along her side and into a back pocket.
I'm almost upon her when I hear it.
singing.
she's singing. singing loudly, singing along with her ipod, singing like no one is listening.

singing like no one is listening.

I perk up, I grin, I say hi and she startles, then nods at me.
and keeps singing.

how cool is that?
it's my lesson for the day, possibly my lesson for the month.

if you're happy and you know it, sing out loud. sing like no one is listening.
I dare you.

9533

2011-10-17T09:59:00.000-06:00

coming up on it, you see sky, blue and vibrant, reaching down to touch the road and it looks as though, as the road bends, you will climb up and fall off the top, down into the abyss of the far away valley, its rounded hills coated with gold and orange aspen and deeply dark sharp-tipped pines.
there are few true passes that I climb around here, and guardsman is the sharpest, the highest (my garmin says 9533, but it's stated to be 9700' above sea level), the narrowest, dustiest, most invigorating and empowering of them all. the road from the big cottonwood canyon turnoff to the top---a mere three miles---is so painfully steep at times that I most always experience, at least once, a desire to vomit. yesterday it was right after the hairpin turn where the grade is somewhere around 16 percent and the road just sits there, taunting, unwilling to compromise and soften, just a bit. you're halfway, I told myself. the whole thing is only three miles, which, relatively, is absolutely nothing.

anyone can climb three miles.

I thought about turning around. I thought about stopping, just for a minute or two. and what kept me from that is the knowledge that I'd done it before, I'd survived, and I'd done it without stopping. if I had made it before, I could make it again.

I sat at the top, resting my bike against a rocky shale hillside then perching on the same tumbly rocks, sprigs of pungent sage fragrancing my little oasis. the pass rounds the hill, the road hugging snugly the hillside upon which I sat. a snow frosted mountain side faced me, its north-facing self protected from the melting power of the sun. the valley spread before me, ridges separating midway from park city from the snyderville basin. I can see bits of deer valley, I can see mechanical structures from the ski resort. I see the dirt road, pathways, little teeny cars in the distance, thousands of feet below me.
I chewed my s'mores protein bar (oh I love that marshmallowy stuff on top) and sipped my water, and thanked God for not letting me turn around a mile or three miles back.

I tend to ride here just once a year, in the fall, and each time I make my way up the hill I'm reminded why I don't do it more often.

and each time I sit at the top, I wonder why I don't do it more often.

namaste.

looking ahead

2011-10-15T13:50:00.003-06:00

a while back I wrote about carving curves, about the joy and exhilaration that comes with such activity.
big mountain has a few curves, and four big switchbacks in the last two point something miles to the top. on the way up they provide relief, and oftentimes alternating headwinds and tailwinds with each change of direction.
on the way down, though, they provide opportunities for curve carving.
as I moved into the first one this morning, I thought about those possibly conflicting bits of advice: keep your eye on the ball, and look where you want to go.
so I kept my eyes on the road, and focused on that point, out in the distance, of where I wanted to be as I moved through the turn.
and I curved, carved, ended up exactly where I wanted to be.
the next switchback worked the same way.
but then on the third, I suddenly found myself moving too quickly, unable to brake enough, and moving so far into the lane that I crossed the double yellow line into the oncoming lane.
what happened?
I don't know, but it was such a different experience from the first two, scaring me a bit, reminding me that I'm not quite there yet. (you know, that infamous there, that place we'll all be when we can do everything as the experts do.)
did I shift my gaze too far down, too close, instead of looking further out? was I overconfident in my ability? I am not sure.
but for the rest of my descent I focused on that constantly moving spot in the distance where I eventually wanted to be.
peripheral vision kicks in and helps me scan for road debris, potholes, cracks in the surface, but my eyes stay softly focused down, down ahead, where I will momentarily be, always stretching just a bit further to my next future.

I hear wise words in the back of my brain, don't sweat the small stuff, don't focus on the details, keep your eye on your goal, don't be distracted by what are actually insignificant things along your path.

just keep looking ahead, stretching your way into your goal, your next position, your next best version of yourself, and carve your pathway there gently, with strength and wisdom and oh yes, just a bit of faith.

cycling with a tailwind is like . . .

2011-10-13T13:54:00.004-06:00

the first bite of a triple layer chocolate chocolate cake
receiving good news
standing at the top of the hill, looking out over the world
floating in warm, gentle water
having a surprise show up in your mailbox
being in love
being given a promotion
being surrounded by your very favorite people on earth
knowing you get to sleep in
actually being physically able to sleep in
nothing but green lights all the way home
swinging on a park swing
licking the brownie batter off the spoon
curling up on the couch with an incredible book and no time limit

yep, had one today, and loved every bit of it. didn't even mind its opposite on the way home . . .
well, not too much, anyway.

where we fail

2011-10-11T19:53:00.000-06:00

People always think something's all true.

~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

snow

2011-10-09T17:29:00.001-06:00

someone built a snowman on the shoulder of the first graceful switchback heading up big mountain, complete with cheery, multi-limbed tree branches for arms.
by the time I passed it early this afternoon, its head had deserted its body, but a grin slowly snuck onto my face anyway.
after four days of cold and wet, the sun worked hard to reestablish its benevolence today, for which I'm exceedingly grateful. 44 degrees is just darn cold, and 48 degrees with lightly spitting rain isn't one bit better: my last 3 rides have been less than fabulously exhilarating.
snow chunks dot the side of the road up big mountain, and by the last mile snow is consistently visible on the hillsides beside you. it's surreal, it's shockingly out of place while completely familiar, and while my ipod is playing a song with the lyrics "summer is here" I am forcing myself to accept the fact that summer is decidedly over.
I'm not quite there yet.

addiction

2011-10-07T09:27:00.002-06:00

I had brunch with my handful of female friends a while back, something we do much too infrequently. we are connected through former employment and our children's schools, and the seven of us bring amazingly different backgrounds and life experiences together in a beautifully successful, crazy quilt kind of way.
two of us are from michigan, two have lost sons, one has lost a husband. five of us worked for the same company years ago, and four of us have children who have attended the same schools. two of us married boys they dated in high school, and one is currently dating a boy she went to the prom with. one just returned to college, three have graduate degrees, and between us we've given birth to nineteen children. one has a sister with addiction issues, and one has an ex-husband with addiction issues.
while we are all healthy, a few of us walk, a few run, a few own bikes, only one of us is as committed to cycling as I am. yep, that would be me.

one of us has a son who died of an oxycontin overdose five years ago.
his mother has fought for years now to spread the word about this dangerous drug, to warn others, and to have oxycontin banned.
so some of our conversations are about addiction.
and at brunch, it turned to other kinds of addictions, and suddenly I was addicted to cycling.

now, certainly, people can say that, think that, even believe that.
I can get defensive, I can agree with it, or I can try to put it in perspective by understanding their perspective as one who doesn't live inside my skin.

I begin with a definition of addiction. the following is the most relevant one I could find, as most definitions focus on the use of drugs or other habit forming, harmful substances:

a recurring compulsion by an individual to engage in some specific activity, despite harmful consequences, as deemed by the user themselves to their individual health, mental state, or social life. (the infamous wikipedia.)

so . . . compulsion? well, I do feel compelled to move. (I think we're supposed to do that. doctors tell us to, and God gave us all those muscles and capabilities for a reason.) I just happen to like to move on a bicycle as opposed to walking or running. but I also love my books and my couch.
harmful consequences? like . . .? a healthy heart? toned muscles? a boosted metabolism? not sure I can find a harmful consequence. I manage to balance responsibilities and social activities with my cycling. and my mental state is mostly improved by biking.

some say we get addicted to the endorphins, and push ourselves to keep experiencing that high.
well . . . I think I grew up learning that a "natural high" was what we were to reach for, to "get high on life" as opposed to alcohol, drugs, food, shopping, and on and on.

I've stated this before, and I still hold it to be true: I am not addicted to cycling, nor am I even obsessed with it. I am someone who finds peace, joy, and a way to be healthy, all on my bicycle.
and on those days (weeks) when the phone doesn't ring, the editors don't respond, and orders for my work are nonexistent, riding my bicycle is a way to keep my sanity.
I train hard for the events I choose to participate in, and I love feeling strong and capable, but the meditative aspect of cycling is probably the most important piece of all.

a beautiful bit of advice I once heard was this: don't explain, don't defend.
so to even write about this is difficult, as I don't want to be one who doth explain too much.
I am firmly committed to my mental health, to my physical health, to experiencing joy in our world, and to being a peaceful, loving, helpful member of our shared planet.
riding my bike dovetails perfectly with my goals, and for as long as it brings me health and joy, I will continue to hop on ruby and pedal away.

you can call it addiction if you'd like, or even obsession. but I know the truth about me, and I'm okay with it. I've got a fabulously healthy heart, and I've got my sanity.
works for me.

genetics

2011-10-05T08:31:00.000-06:00

I rode yesterday, finding a hole in the clouds, a sunny gap between rainstorms.
it had just finished raining and the road was still wet. dark, shiny, water clinging to my tires.
occasionally I would come up to a dry spot, a stretch of road lit by sunshine, pavement just a touch higher and thus drained dry more quickly, or an area protected by overhanging trees, leaving the road surface pale and dry.

my bike steered itself toward each dry spot. as if on auto-pilot. the kind of movement you don't think about as it's happening: it just happens.

my question is this: which genetic code is it that draws me there? is it simply the move toward safety, knowing that dry surface is always safer than wet? or is it the desire to leave tracks, to mark that spot with my wet tire, to validate my presence, to boldly state "I was here"?

the first unconscious pull to the dry spot happened before I could think about it, catching me by surprise. as I reflected on it once past the spot, I came up with these two possible reasons for why I was drawn in that direction. in trying to determine which one is more likely the "correct" reason, I'm stymied. how can I really know?

I love making first tracks, marking my trail, validating my existence.

but I'm also reasonably cautious, eager to stay upright and unmarred.

I suppose that determining the True Reason my bike was guided to the dry pavement isn't necessary: it's enough to acknowledge that some of our decision making is guided by wisdom so deep within us that we won't ever detect its true origin.

and perhaps we don't need to, if we can simply learn to accept that the wisdom deep within our genes, our cellular structure, our unconscious, is ready to guide us along our path if we can only learn to let go and let it do so.

cresting

2011-10-03T16:00:00.001-06:00

peter wilborn calls it riding through the top of a climb.
shannon mulder, one of my favorite power camp coaches (think Korn, raunchy jokes, drop your shoulders and consistently genuine enthusiasm) told us not to let up just because you've reached the top.

I simply describe it as don't stop pedaling as you crest, and this has been one of the best tricks in my little cycling bag.

many cyclists dread hills.
I don't; I rather like them.
I prefer them to the flat (ish) sections where men (and strong women) can outpower me significantly, where I usually find myself at the back of the pace line, heart pounding just below zone 5, trying to hang on until I eventually get dropped.
the hills are much better: the line splits up, everyone goes at their own pace, and I get there when I get there without that fear of falling off, being dropped, failing to hold on to the draft off someone's wheel.

and shannon taught me, that first year of power camp, always ride through the top of the hill because that's where people slack off. now I don't care too much what everyone else does, but this taught me a huge lesson that has benefited my training (and experiences) significantly. this is when I learned one of cycling great truisms:
you can always recover on the down.
since I don't race, it's really not about beating anyone else, being faster than anyone else, getting further down the hill before they do: it's about training your body that it can work just a little bit harder for just a few seconds longer, and then find its way to a resting place while coasting (or pedaling with much less intensity) downhill.
to stop at the top of the hill destroys my momentum. it's anticlimactic: I find myself so much more gleeful as I ride through the top and start the descent, grinning and relishing the joy of the much-deserved swoop. my heart will still be pounding as the grade slips into negative numbers, then gradually tick its way down to a hardly-working place as the scenery slips by.
I love this.

to be clear, there are definitely times when I stop at the top of a climb. brighton, alta (or albion basin), city creek, lamb's canyon, millcreek: when you reach these summits the road ends and it's time to savor your victory for a bit.
but on the climbs that are simply leading you to the next leg of your ride---whether they be 10-mile climbs or 1-mile rises---the trick of powering over the top and continuing on teaches you that you are tougher than you thought, more capable, stronger, and, I dare say, wiser.
the road will ease, you'll be given an opportunity to recover.
need I say this holds true in other aspects of life as well?
nope, didn't think so.

power on, don't stop when you reach the crest.
keep striving, keep reaching, give it a little more, and the rewards will shortly follow, when you can doubly enjoy your swoop.

PS: nineteen years ago today at this exact time I welcomed my incredible son beau into the world . . . happy birthday, big guy!

willingness to learn

2011-10-01T15:59:00.004-06:00

our awesome team Bad Ass captain, ann hoffman, alerted me to a great article about riding in groups.
our team has a good hundred or so names on the roster, but group rides usually range from a fat handful to a few dozen at most. as members of this fundraising and social team, we're not all about riding at the same tempo, so many of us just do our own thing. we have team members who are licensed racers, and we have team members with MS and ALS who get there when they get there, and riders who slip in at just about every point of the continuum anchored by those extremes. so our groups often consist of people at different levels of skill and ability, and ann is terrific at herding us all in an appropriate way.

the article she found points out what often happens when groups of cyclists try to ride together, and it brings home some fundamental truths while offering hope for the future. you can access it by clicking on this link
the lost art of the group ride

the author makes a few excellent points, and at the end, provides a list of skills/knowledge that a cyclist should incorporate. he suggests each cyclist does best with a mentor, someone more experienced who is able to teach all of these skills and awarenesses.

I've had a few key mentors in my cycling life, and I've learned from them everything from how to lean into a curve on a descent to how to keep my helmet clean. without my biking buddies bob, andy, ivy, brad, bill, bill and patty I'd still be cycling in a less efficient and effective manner.
with a stinky helmet.
ann hoffman is another mentor, one who has instilled in me a desire to be an ambassador for cycling whenever I'm out, whether I'm wearing a Bad Ass jersey or not. she is the epitome of kindness, common sense, generosity, agility and grace on a bicycle, and I hold her up as one to strive to emulate.

so check out the article when you have time: it's full of reminders of how we can be our best selves while sitting on a bicycle saddle out in the real world.

(and on a side---but oh so wonderful---note, it's october 1, the trees are vibrantly outdoing each other, and it averaged 75 degrees on my 57-mile ride to east canyon reservoir and back . . . what more could one ask for?)

crunchy leaves

2011-09-29T17:19:00.001-06:00

the first crisp leaves of the season have begun spotting the bike lanes, dancing, skittering, leaping with the wind and, between gusts, coming to rest on the dry road. they crunch under my tires, brittle things that they are.

signs of the changing seasons, a symbol of the life--and death--cycle, an indication of what is yet to come, the quieting of spring and summer's riotous growth, the slowing of earth's proliferous period, the easing into winter and dormancy.

I like to view it as simply an outward manifestation of the inner process of growth.
without the shedding away, a new cycle is unable to begin. the tree remains strong, the tree continues to grow, its roots dig deeper and its limbs reach further skyward. it lets loose of what it no longer needs, and the colored leaves slip down, away, gone into what will become new earth.

the crunch is pleasing to my ears for some reason, and I do not weave my way between them but ride smoothly, straight, forward, smiling with each hearty crunch and smiling, as well, at the silence between.

math

2011-09-27T20:38:00.002-06:00

I am riding stronger and better than ever right now.

I am riding less and getting more rest than ever right now.

do you think I should do the math??

shouting

2011-09-23T16:21:00.000-06:00

if you know me well, you know that I need to write. it's part of what I'm meant to do here on earth, and I can't shake it off. I've tried: I've worked in retail, I've earned a MSW and been a counselor, I've owned a business in the wholesale industry, I've raised children . . . and through it all, something has continued to pull me to notepaper and pens, word processors, laptops, keyboards, pencils, scraps of paper. I cannot walk away from this.
so I keep writing, accepting little projects that occasionally come my way, creating my own new projects, starting this blog, beginning another project when the spirit moves me, and 15 months ago, finally saying "yes" to a big project that came my way.
that big project was a book that someone hired me to write.
completed last winter, we spent months trying to solicit an agent, then finally sent the manuscript directly to a publisher in june.

and this past monday I received an email from someone at the publishing company telling me that the first reviewer of my manuscript didn't want to put it down, and now it was in the hands of a second reviewer.

didn't want to put it down.

didn't want to put it down.

didn't want to put it down!!!

I had planned that day to be a day off the bike, a full recovery day for me. but late in the afternoon my quads were aching and that thing inside me that tells me to do things told me to go for a ride.
by the time I got out it was evening, and I grinned all the way up to the top of emigration. sunlight was fading fast, but I had to ride down to the reservoir, I had to share my good news with my favorite body of water.
all the intelligent cyclists had by then headed home, as the sun sunk low in the sky and shadows grew thick and voluminous.
and I rode down to the reservoir, shouting, as I swooped, they didn't want to put it down!
the water heard me, it swallowed my words, it pushed them to its shores, it echoed them back to me. they didn't want to put it down.

I was one of those unsafe riders on my way home, taillight blinking but lightless in front, shocking motorists with my sudden presence, scaring myself with my next-to-nothing vision.
but I had to shout. I had to sing it out, I had to share it with my world.

didn't want to put it down.

stay tuned . . .

kill ratio

2011-09-21T15:39:00.000-06:00

my son is a gamer. luckily he manages to hold down a part-time job, go to school, and earn decent grades while being one.
my friend ivy is an incredible cycling machine and fabulous all-round athlete.

what they have in common---besides the fact that ivy's a pilot and my son would like to become one---is that they both talk about kill ratios.

I cannot speak to the gaming version, but in the cycling world it's just this silly little game we play when out riding . . . how many people we pass divided by how many pass us.

it makes me smile.

some days I have a positive (greater than 1) kill ratio; some days I don't. to be honest, most days it's not at the forefront of my brain.
but this morning I choose an excellent time of day to have a positive kill ratio: late mid morning. the serious guys are out early, lunchtime, and after work . . . often the late-mid-morning crowd is more female, more aged, and---dare I say it---more relaxed.
I passed the first person not quite 2 miles into my ride, starting me off in the positive.
the next two came in a lump about 3 miles later.
then one more.
and no one passed me: we're talking a 4:0 very positive ratio!

and then came sight of the next cyclist ahead of me, someone I was gradually approaching.
and I was flummoxed.

what I saw first was the trailer behind the bike, obviously carrying a small child. then I saw the woman riding the bike.
I wanted to give her all my kills, and slink back home, slacker that I was. how fast would I climb a canyon towing a trailer and toddler?? not very, methinks.

so I had to decide: do I count this as a kill?
maybe half a kill.
maybe it should be neutral.

maybe I should subtract one of my previous kills, in honor of her efforts.

I didn't resolve the issue on my ride: it actually caused me to stop playing the game.
in fact, maybe that should be my next training move: buy a trailer and start out just hauling the empty contraption around. then maybe I could borrow someone's small child. small being key.

or maybe I can just hope to not encounter her again on one of my rides.

I don't think my son goes through these mental gyrations while he's playing his games. however, I like my version of the game better because I really don't understand how to work those silly little controller thingees . . . it's much easier to ride a bicycle.
in fact, it's one of those things you never forget how to do, whether you ever pass anyone, get passed by others, or simply have an amazingly peaceful time all by yourself.

the Big Nasty

2011-09-19T15:05:00.000-06:00

saturday I conquered the Big Nasty.
conquered, nailed, attacked, beat, kicked, trampled.
woo hoo!!!

okay, maybe you don't know what the Big Nasty is.
so it would be hard to be impressed, or to even understand my enthusiasm.

I'll help you out. the Big Nasty is a climb up the La Sal mountains outside of moab, utah, that has been given a bunch of cute names for many of its little phases. "3000 feet in 7 miles" is its claim, and it has been waving its little hand at me for about 4 years now. come and get me, it has whispered, and I've always found one excuse or another to avoid it.

until last saturday.

the day dawned wet and gloomy. rainy, gray, all of moab's red dirt washing over the roads and leaping to attach itself to any surface, carbon, nylon, wool, plastic. the rain pulled itself back into the heavy clouds by about half past seven, and shortly after that we set out, hoping to conquer the mountain before the predicted afternoon thundershowers showed up.

the ride begins with a slow, steady (depressingly false-flat like) climb to the base of the La Sal mountains at pack creek ranch. the headwind began about 2 miles in, and the rain joined it about 8 miles in. slogging away at the 3 percent grade, shivering, wondering when the 74 degree, sunny day was going to show up, we were extremely grateful to reach the beginning of the real climb when both the rain and the headwind disappeared.
instead, like magic, before us rose the Little Nasty.
it was nasty.
but brief---those 10-13% grades were just a tease during that short little climb.
next came Tom's Misery--another relatively brief ascent--and then came the Launch Pad (guess which way the slope leaned), before, finally, the Big Nasty itself.
it was nastier.
but it, too, ended, and I thought I'd survived it amazingly well, warming myself by the fire pit at the aid station at the top.
next came the downhill.
oops, no, not really.
we started down, and then suddenly we were going up again . . . then down then up, up, up . . . eventually climbing Heaven's Staircase, and finally reaching the real peak at Heaven's Overlook.
I love it when these climbs receive cute little names. mainly because it gives you something else to concentrate (hah! like I can concentrate with no oxygen!) on while you're convincing yourself 10 percent is not a big deal, nor is 12. or 13.

what I really want to share is that I conquered the darn thing last saturday.
so did a hundred and fifty other brave souls, many of whom haven't had nearly the coaching, training, and miles logged that I have.
we were all awesome.
we all conquered, kicked, trampled, beat, attacked, and nailed that darn thing.

and I hope every one who has ever done the same thing has the same little smile inside that I do, the one that hops up and down and giggles, I kicked the Big Nasty!
woo hoo!

another open letter to those lotoja organizers

2011-09-15T09:23:00.000-06:00

this was the 29th lotoja.
once again, I feel the need to share a few thoughts, no surprise there.

dear epic guys:
thanks for another grand event . . . I know you can't really take credit for the weather, but once again, I am excessively grateful for the mild temperatures and the absence of rain (and snow). your event gives us all the opportunity to push ourselves, to travel through beautiful country, and to spend time (all day) in a positive, energized environment full of support and enthusiasm.
however, I do have a comment or two about a few things . . .

check-in in logan: come on. that was ridiculous. you should have it nailed by now. to tell each rider---after they've shown their license and had their folder pulled---to step back and wait until their name is called, then to expect them to hover, then work their way around the crowd to the spot they're called to (25 minutes later) in the inner sanctum . . . just not efficient. you've done it better before.

volunteers: amazing. absolutely fabulous, terrific, helpful, kind, cheerful. how do you get them to do this?

award pick-up in teton village: see check-in comments. why did you stop just handing it to us as we crossed the line? don't we look like we've just ridden 200+ miles? and if not, just send the clean and happy looking people to the "possible impostors" booth. don't make us stand in another ridiculous line for twenty minutes. we're tired, cold, thirsty, nauseated, dizzy, achy . . . oh, maybe that was just me.

those mountain america water bottles: thanks, that was a nice sentiment. however, only people of a certain height can use these darn things. yes, those of us "shorter" people don't have enough room on our down tubes and seat tubes. embarrassing but true.

the girl-cut t-shirt: woo hoo!! thank you! I now own a lotoja t-shirt that I might wear! I have the other 4 t-shirts stacked in my closet, pristine, never worn. I've always said that when I'm a great-grandma I'll gather my progeny around and drag out these perfectly un-used t-shirts to talk about what I used to do in my younger and crazier years, and how these handsome men's t-shirts were just not my style, yet too precious to give away or do anything else with.

the mileage: I came up short this year. did I miss a turn? is my garmin not the same as yours? was the route really 2.6 miles short and you just didn't want to change your tag line? I am not complaining: I might not have made another 2.6 miles by the end . . .

and that's it.

oops, except this: thanks, once again, for keeping with the "sprocket" and not trying to give us hangers.

warmly,

susan

ps

2011-09-14T11:33:00.003-06:00

I just made Lotoja-Banana Bread:
this is what you do with all those leftover bruised and weary bananas that traveled from salt lake to logan to jackson to salt lake and look like it.

as I don't truly like bananas, I find it easy to hand this bread over to other people so I can concentrate on just eating chocolate and pastries.

I am not in charge

2011-09-14T09:33:00.001-06:00

what would our worlds be like if we were in charge of our own paths?
I hesitate to even contemplate too deeply: to dig too far into this philosophical discussion makes my head spin.
would every ride be under clear skies with a seventy degree air temperature?
would there be smooth asphalt everywhere? (duh, yes.)
would opportunities present themselves to us regularly and gratifyingly?
would we always ride just the teeniest bit better than the time before?
would we always sleep well, would our stomachs never hurt, would we never cramp, would we always make good choices about fuel and hydration?

I am not in charge.
not of wind, nor of weather. not of other riders, automobiles, wildlife, rumble strips, or street sweepers.
there is so very little I'm in charge of it's almost frightening. we train, we try to rest, recover, fuel efficiently. but the gap between what I am in charge of and what, in reality, is, can only be closed and covered by that nebulous, intangible, seeping/growing/expansive thing called faith.

thanks to God, faith, oatmeal, bananas, john, bill, brad, michael, ivy, numerous unnamed souls, a deer, an elk, the snake river, mountain dew and swedish fish, I earned my 1000-mile award last saturday. (never mind the fact that they won't award it to me until next year: I know I earned it.)
I did what I could, and last friday I let everything go, embracing the fact that I was no longer in charge.
it's freeing, it's liberating.
you take ownership for your part, and let go of absolutely everything else, because it's simply not in your control.
whee!

now, if I can just remember to be this way all the time.
when participating in biking events, when simply riding, when parenting, while running my business, while navigating life.
I'm not in charge.
I'm simply responsible for doing my best, fueling and resting, and never ever letting go of that great big thing called faith.

onward!

fine

2011-09-09T12:43:00.000-06:00

walking across the REI parking lot yesterday I saw a big, bronze, mud-splattered truck in the parking lot. a company logo was plastered on the driver's door, the words Teton Whitewater prominent under an outline of mountain peaks.
a zig of excitement ran through me.
then a smile took over my face.
I was happy.

tomorrow is the Big Day, the day I spend entirely too much of my year training for, the day that sits in the back of my mind, always, the day that strikes fear in hearts across the nation. well, maybe not that last one.
tomorrow is lotoja, and I am not only ready to ride the thing, I am even a bit more excited than usual. and it's not just anxious excitement, it's even a bit of enthusiastic excitement.
the reason?
because I've told myself---and the world---that this will be my last one. that I'm ready to give it up, to create more balance in my life, to find a different way to spend big chunks of time on my weekends.
as a result, what has snuck into my cycling self is this nostalgically eager little girl who is ready to observe everything along the way, to memorize vistas and views and trees and coves, and to say a sweet goodbye to the path that has brought her oh so very far.

I have somehow, miraculously, gotten myself to a place of what will be will be. however the next day and a half unfold, all will be well. whether I ride incredibly well, fairly, or poorly, whether the sun shines or the wind howls, whether I sail through without a single mechanical issue or I don't (I can't bring myself to list any of those things that might but I still hope don't happen) . . . I will be fine.
I will have honored my path, this phase of my life, these amazing experiences of riding my bike from a small, university town in northern utah to the storied, resort village in a geographic hole in the middle of western wyoming.

I have let go the reins; I am not in charge.
I have done my part: I have trained and hydrated and figured out how to keep enough electrolytes floating around in my body. I have stretched and rested and pushed and sweat, I have breathed in and out, in and out, in and out.

now it's just up to the universe, to all of those forces and energies and desires swirling in elaborate, invisible patterns to give me the experience I need tomorrow.

I'd like a fast ride, I'd like a good ride, I'd like to do it without tears and swear words. I'd like to find myself full of patience and trust and---yep, you guessed it---faith.

so, my best to all of you in whatever endeavors fill your day tomorrow, saturday the 10th.
you know where I'll be, and you can have faith in your knowledge that regardless of what comes my way, I will be absolutely
totally
completely
faithfully

fine.

thank you for the porcupine

2011-08-24T11:59:00.000-06:00

thank you for the porcupine.
how often do you get to say that, and mean it?

as I was pedaling in the dark this morning, I was bemoaning the fact that I don't think I've seen as much wildlife as usual this biking season. not once have I seen a coyote, no foxes or cute little fox kits, no raccoons, no porcupines (the one dead porcupine I saw a few weeks ago does not count.) I've seen deer, fairly regularly, but I have been a bit disappointed in the overall variety of critters presenting themselves to me.

I had to leave super early this morning to be back before my daughter left for school, and I scheduled it so that I'd have time to ride to the reservoir and back, but just barely. I considered only riding to the top of little mountain, but then decided I'd rather forgo that extra 11 minutes of sleep and go all the way down to the water.
it was a good ride, quite dark, with the sky just beginning to lighten my last mile and a half to the top. when I began my swooping descent to the reservoir, the world was lit with that beautiful, soft light that comes before the sun actually shows its vibrant face. ever observant, my eyes raked the road, the edges of the road that blend into hillside, and the hillsides themselves, searching for evidence of others beginning their own days.
and there it was.
waddling, low to the ground, its body thick and pokey: my first porcupine of the season! across the road to my left, its butt was wiggling as it moved down the uneven ground beside the asphalt.

when will I learn?
all things in time: patience, susan, patience.

but thank you, anyway, God, for the porcupine. it made my day.

ps: I know I said I was taking a break, but when one receives such an Obvious Message from the universe, one is obligated to share it.
bye!

wordless

2011-08-23T11:57:00.002-06:00

I have run out of words.

I ride; I see, feel, absorb, glory in, and melt into the world around me. but lately I come home and effort intensely to pull words out of space and subconscious to place here, and still find myself short.

I'm reading a fabulous book called the social animal, by david brooks, and I want to share two passages relevant to today's theme:

"The key factor separating geniuses from the merely accomplished is not a divine spark. Instead, what really matters is the ability to get better and better gradually over time. As K. Anders Ericsson of Florida State University has demonstrated, it's deliberate practice. Top performers spend more hours (many more hours) religiously honing their craft. As Ericsson has noted, top performers devote five times more hours to become great than the average performers devote to becoming competent." (p. 136)

"As Angela Duckworth of the University of Pennsylvania has argued, people who succeed tend to find one goal in the distant future and then chase it through thick and thin. People who flit from one interest to another are much, much less likely to excel at any of them. School asks students to be good at a range of subjects, but life asks people to find one passion that they will follow forever." (p.177)

I take these bits of information in, I sit with them, I let them marinate.
I am all about honing my craft, working to become better, committing to practice, growth, learning, improving. that is why this blog exists.

but here is where I will insert a bit of wisdom I've learned from cycling: we only grow stronger through rest and recovery.
when we work our muscles with intense effort, we actually create microscopic tears in the small fibers that make up the muscle and the connective tissues. this results in a chain of events that leave our bodies in need of rest to rebuild and refuel, leading to eventual strengthening of said muscles.

it's time for a bit of rest and recovery for my writing self, so that I can return stronger, better, wiser, more committed to honing my craft so that I can follow the one passion that sings to me the siren's song.

off for a bit of mental electrolytes, some soul GU, a resting of my writing muscles propped high above my heart. rest, recovery, pampering, fuel.

see ya on the flip side: I'm sure it won't be too very long, because a passion is a passion. a passion doesn't fade away or disappear, but remains simply the beacon that draws us forward throughout our lives.

be back soon,
susan

God's presence on a hell ride

2011-08-21T20:29:00.001-06:00

thank God it was beautiful.

I mean that literally; I was thanking God for the beauty surrounding me, primarily because that beauty was the only thing keeping me going.

pedaling up, forever up, american fork canyon, you can take a stretch of road called the Alpine Loop. the base of the canyon is approximately a mile above sea level (5280' for those of you who've forgotten your equivalents), and the summit of the Alpine Loop is just over 8000 feet.

by the time we reached that summit we had about 5o miles in, and I had used up every electrolyte stored anywhere in my body. biking buddy bob (a physician, no less) said, you don't look good.
I didn't feel good.
in fact, I felt awful. I felt worse than I've ever felt on a ride: dizzy, dripping with sweat, pale, a bit nauseated . . . and it kept getting worse as I stood there, straddling my bike, trying to recover. I finally had to sit down, and eventually I could feel stability (and blood) return.

the next 6 miles were downhill, to sundance ski resort, where we split a sandwich and I downed a powerade and found myself returning to life.

the alpine loop is unbelievably beautiful. in fact, I've placed this picture here to save me the proverbial (and woefully insufficient) thousand words.

and the conifers, the aspen, the trickling stream, the steep granite hillsides, the view of stunning mount timpenogos, are what combined to help me survive the ride from hell.

by the time I made it home, 110 miles, 10,800' elevation gain, 8.5 hours riding time behind me, I felt like I'd survived the most intense (possibly the most intensely insane) thing I'd ever done. I'd been craving a chocolate milkshake for the past 20 miles, and settled for icy chocolate milk, feeling it flush my body with cool hope of recovery.

I promise to never, ever, again undertake a ride longer than 30 miles without electrolytes in my bottle.
and I promise to always, always, to bring God with me on every single ride.

light

2011-08-19T18:49:00.000-06:00

it was dark when I left home this morning, my tail light flashing in red morse code, my front light casting a small cone of white into the gray before me.
we are slightly less than a week out from a full moon, and it is waning into less than half of its circular self. the moon was hanging more west than east, more south than north, most of the time somewhere behind my right shoulder.
I glanced back to see it about four miles into my ride, and was instantly washed with a memory of moonlit rides, how beautiful and joyful they were. I clicked my front light off, hoping moonlight would spill before me to illuminate my path.
some did.
but not much.
dawn was close and the moon was far, and I kept my light off to determine just how well my eyes would operate in the faint light surrounding me. I could see well enough to get by, and the joy it brought to my heart was worth every skip of fear. a half mile after I went dark I saw a shape of some kind, possibly, in the bike lane twenty yards in front of me, and it remained motionless as I drew closer, sharpening slowly into a form that became a deer. I pedaled softly, approaching, then turned my light back on as it jumped across the road and up the hillside. did I want it to know I was a cyclist? did I think turning my light on would impact its thought process?
I turned my light off, and continued up the canyon in the slowly brightening dark, feeling rather than seeing the particles of air release their dark grasp.

E.L. Doctorow has compared aspects of life to driving a car at night (which I will compare to riding a bicycle in the early early morning):
You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.

and with that thought, I bid you happy trails, whether you have a little or a whole lot of light.

muddy bottom bracket!

2011-08-17T12:19:00.000-06:00

I'm terribly excited, all because my bike has a muddy bottom bracket!
woo hoo!
I received this news yesterday, and it brightened my day as sun will after a day of gloomy rain.
all I have to do now is have it fixed, which is minor. it's the diagnosis that made my day.

why, you ask?

simply this: it's an excuse for why it's been harder than usual to pedal my darn bike (the treatment for my "muddy bottom bracket" is simply to clean it, relubricate it, and get those crank arms moving smoothly and easily again.)
this is a huge woo hoo! it's not all about me, my tired legs, my weak heart, my wimpy self. it's also about the bike!

how often in life do we try to sort through "our stuff" versus "someone else's stuff" or "the universe's stuff"? speaking for myself but believing I can't be alone in this, the answer is frequently.
is the traffic worse than usual today, are other drivers unusually impatient, or is it just me?
my kid and I are in an argument, and I'm certain I'm right but . . .
that person was so rude to me! or am I just hypersensitive today?
life is so, so difficult . . . or is it just a bad day . . . or do I need to make some changes?
gosh I'm having a hard time cycling up this hill today: is it the wind, the wheaties, my legs, or--please, please-- the bike?

if we're aware, we are constantly presented with opportunities to assess ourselves. we compare today's behavior/thoughts/actions/abilities with those from our past and those we hold as ideals, and rate ourselves. yep, I'm doing pretty well, or nope, could've handled that one better, or hmm, guess I'm having an off-day.
it's this cycle of awareness and assessment that keeps us growing, learning, striving, reaching for that next best version of ourselves.
but sometimes it's extremely difficult to filter out everything that doesn't belong to us.
it's hard to always know whose stuff is whose: it takes a brave, aware person to work through and come to an understanding of their own place in this often messy world.

thus ruby went to the bike shop late this morning, to get her stuff back together so that I don't confuse mine with hers.
when I next go for a ride, I'll have a more clear vision of what's mine, and what's not.
at least on the bike.

lines drawn with invisible ink

2011-08-15T07:15:00.000-06:00

each of these past few augusts I've had to look back at what I wrote the year before to see how I was feeling during this stage of my training.
I feel the need to do that today, to see if I felt as concerned as I do today.

last week I was feeling pretty good about my riding, my strength, my overall ability.
this past weekend, not so much.

I've noticed over the past month that it seems to be taking my heartrate longer to recover from intense riding events.
it began with the IThinkICanyons (you know, 110 miles, 12,000' vertical gain, 4 canyons): for the next four or five days my heartrate wouldn't climb up to its usual place, staying anywhere from 4-10 beats below.
then I noticed the same issue after my next weekend's big ride, then the next, then the next.

two days ago I rode long and fairly hard (95 miles, 6100' gain), and experienced some nausea/dizziness on the big climb portion. then yesterday after 35 medium-hard miles I started up little cottonwood canyon, and did not have a great climb. I was, however, able to get my heartrate up to its high spot. but I felt like crap.

and that brings me to today, feeling unsure of what to do. do I take a recovery day? or do I take the day off? do I try to dig a little deeper into understanding the nauseated/dizzy experience? do I cut back a bit, or do I push through it?
I'm not suffering a mental burnout as I sometimes do, but it's possible that my body is trying to tell me something.
sigh.

yesterday I watched the tour of utah professional cyclists finish their 100-mile stage, climbing little cottonwood canyon to snowbird. a small few of them cracked smiles as they passed us a mile and a half from the end, and we watched individual riders have water thrown on them, have donuts handed to them, and receive running pushes from well-wishers. most looked hot, exhausted, and ready to be done with the suffering.
which is encouraging, because I often look (and feel) that way at the end of my long rides/hard climbs.

a line exists somewhere between "enough" and "too much," and I think its drawn in invisible ink. perhaps if I owned spy goggles I could find it more easily . . . but since I don't, I suppose I will resort to a little meditation, a little inner focus, a little more intensive listening to my own body's communication with me.
recovery, rest, recovery, rest . . . some water, some good food, a lot of sleep . . .
it all sounds good to me.

mending

2011-08-13T22:09:00.000-06:00

today I rode 95 miles, from pinebrook up wolf creek pass and back. we were blessed with tailwinds for more of the ride than seems possible, and it was a stunningly beautiful day.
that's all I need say about biking.
what I really want to pass along is that I was pleasantly caught by someone else's words today, and I want to pass them along:

anything you do from the soulful self will help lighten the burdens of the world. Anything. You have no idea what the smallest word, the tiniest generosity, can caue to be set in motion . . . Mend the part of the world that is within your reach.
-clarissa pinkola estes

let's all go mend.

trees and forests

2011-08-11T17:55:00.000-06:00

the trees are back!
they cropped up everywhere yesterday, shouting here I am! see me! I'm right here!
they dotted my path, they took root right in front of me.
they made themselves known.

the day before I had whined about not being able to see them.
what I really meant, if you haven't already figured it out, is that I couldn't determine what my next right step was.
I could see the whole great big forest, the best of what's out there waiting for me, the contentment, the results, the kudos, the validation, the launching of children and projects and new creative endeavors.
but I couldn't see the next right step.

so, yesterday, those darn trees cropped up everywhere:
daughter 1 to the doctor, to piano, and on another doctor's schedule for next week.
daughter 2 to a hair appointment, to volleyball tryouts, and to the concert downtown last night.
appointments made for me.
communication with a vendor in india, trying to rectify a boo-boo.
an inspiration for a new item I can sell that will make use of already-owned inventory.
another appointment made, a lunch date requested, another lunch date made.

I know I'm supposed to focus on my human being-ness, but for some reason the human doing-ness feels better.
I tackled each project that planted itself in front of me yesterday, and by moving through each one of those "next right steps" I found myself further along the road, moving toward that great big green forest.

I like seeing trees.
and forests.
and maybe that's the way it's supposed to be: that we learn to see the beauty of each individual tree, and, as well, the glorious collection that forms the forest.

trees

2011-08-09T17:15:00.001-06:00

I'm having one of those lost-in-the-wilderness days.
you know the kind, where you can't see the trees for the forest: there's just one great big gob of LIFE out there, one big ball made of 5000 rubber bands, one big overwhelming THING that I can't make enough sense out of.

I can't see any individual trees today; they are all blurring into a vast hillside of green.

the good news is this: I love green. I haven't given up hope, and that huge, overwhelming forest is at least made up of a color I find pleasing.
it just happens to be blurry, indistinct, fuzzy around the edges and, well, all across its expanse.

I think I'm spiraling. I've been here before. I've been in this place of vagueness, of blurred lines, of feeling as if I'm moving through life blindfolded with my hands stretched out before me seeking bark and limbs and leaves and encountering nothing but space, empty space.

in yoga this morning the instructor asked us to set the intention of lifting our hearts up, skyward, with each inhale, and of rooting down solidly and firmly with each exhale.
since I can't seem to orient myself horizontally---can't feel or smell or even see those trees---perhaps I am supposed to simply focus on my vertical alignment today. perhaps today I am to simply be a human, rooted in what is, lifting toward what frees us, fuels us, keeps us centered, that belief in a higher being.

the trees are there, I'm certain. some have been carved with my initials, maybe even lifetimes ago. I'll eventually find them, embrace them (tree hugger that I am), and move between them, moving even more deeply into the place I am meant to be.
someday, just not today.

God's Blog, reproduced here for you

2011-08-07T11:48:00.005-06:00

this came to me from my step-father, and it is so so so good (and much better than anything I thought about writing today: I rode around a lake yesterday, rode up a canyon today, blah blah blah) that I am sharing with all y'all. enjoy!

God’s Blog
by Paul Simms August 8, 2011

UPDATE: Pretty pleased with what I’ve come up with in just six days. Going to take tomorrow off. Feel free to check out what I’ve done so far. Suggestions and criticism (constructive, please!) more than welcome. God out.

COMMENTS (24)

Not sure who this is for. Seems like a fix for a problem that didn’t exist. Liked it better when the earth was without form, and void, and darkness was on the face of the deep.

Going carbon-based for the life-forms seems a tad obvious, no?

The creeping things that creepeth over the earth are gross.

Not enough action. Needs more conflict. Maybe put in a whole bunch more people, limit the resources, and see if we can get some fights going. Give them different skin colors so they can tell each other apart.

Disagree with the haters out there who have a problem with man having dominion over the fish of the sea, the fowl of the air, the cattle of the earth, and so on. However, I do think it’s worth considering giving the fowl of the air dominion over the cattle of the earth, because it would be really funny to see, like, a wildebeest or whatever getting bossed around by a baby duck.

The “herb yielding seed” is a hella fresh move. 4:20!

Why are the creatures more or less symmetrical on a vertical axis but completely asymmetrical on a horizontal axis? It’s almost like You had a great idea but You didn’t have the balls to go all the way with it.

The dodo should just have a sign on him that says, “Please kill me.” Ridiculous.

Amoebas are too small to see. They should be at least the size of a plum.

Beta version was better. I thought the Adam-Steve dynamic was much more compelling than the Adam-Eve work-around You finally settled on.

I liked the old commenting format better, when you could get automatic alerts when someone replied to your comment. This new way, you have to click through three or four pages to see new comments, and they’re not even organized by threads. Until this is fixed, I’m afraid I won’t be checking in on Your creation.

***SPOILER***
One of them is going to eat something off that tree You told them not to touch.

Adam was obviously created somewhere else and then just put here. So, until I see some paperwork proving otherwise, I question the legitimacy of his dominion over any of this.

Why do they have to poop? Seems like there could have been a more elegant/family-friendly solution to the food-waste-disposal problem.

The lemon tree: very pretty. The lemon flower: sweet. But the fruit of the poor lemon? Impossible to eat. Is this a bug or a feature?

Unfocussed. Seems like a mishmash at best. You’ve got creatures that can speak but aren’t smart (parrots). Then, You’ve got creatures that are smart but can’t speak (dolphins, dogs, houseflies). Then, You’ve got man, who is smart and can speak but who can’t fly, breathe underwater, or unhinge his jaws to swallow large prey in one gulp. If it’s supposed to be chaos, then mission accomplished. But it seems more like laziness and bad planning.

If it’s not too late to make changes, in version 2.0 You should make water reflective, so the creatures have a way of seeing what they look like.

S*H*O*E*S!!! Manolo Jimmy Choo Vuitton Prada +++ All sizes Great deals Free shipping! @@@ [www.shoezwarehouze.com]

Penguins are retarded. Their wings don’t work and their legs are too short. I guess they’re supposed to be cute in a “I liek to eat teh fishes” way, but it’s such obvious pandering to the lowest common denominator.

There’s imitation, and then there’s homage, and then there’s straight-up idea theft, which is what Your thing appears to be. Anyone who wants to check out the original should go to www.VishnuAndBrahma.com. (And check it out soon, because I think they’re about to go behind a paywall.)

Putting boobs on the woman is sexist.

Wow. Just wow. I don’t even know where to start. So the man and his buddy the rib-thing have dominion over everything. They’re going to get pretty unbearable really fast. What You need to do is make them think that there were other, bigger, scarier creatures around a long time before them. I suggest dinosaurs. No need to actually create dinosaurs—just create some weird-ass dinosaur bones and skeletons and bury them in random locations. Man will dig them up eventually and think, What the f?

Epic fail.

Meh. ♦

cheap therapy

2011-08-05T18:25:00.000-06:00

a while back I was talking with a friend about budget crunches.
about how things have been tight these past few years, and how I manage to pay for the important things, always. and how those important things get prioritized: the kids come first.
I wasn't quite moaning, nor whining, but I was sounding like a sad sack anyway, so I said, but I do manage to take care of me, too: I did buy myself a bike.

ah, cheap therapy, was the response, hitting the nail dead on the head.

if I divided the number of hours I've ridden into the dollar amount I've spent on my bike (even throwing in the cost of tubes, tires, cartridges, maintenance, and event entry fees), I think I"d come in somewhere around $1.50 an hour.

if I took snapshots of my mental health 5 years ago and today, and compared the two, I believe any trained therapist would acknowledge my progress.

where else can you get great, productive, calorie-burning, fresh air therapy for such a price? (please don't say running: been there, considered that, think it's great, would like to do it, maybe someday I'll try again . . .) I consider all biking expenses to be "health insurance" premiums, and I think this is a pretty good way to approach it.

yesterday john and I rode up big mountain early in the morning, drinking in the dark green hillsides, still lush with growth, the cold pockets in the shaded stretches, the bright sun in the blue sky, the peace, the quiet. I try to hold these moments, storing them inside, reconnecting with them later in my day when the world seems off kilter. I take myself up on the hillside, looking out across the valleys to the mountain ridge to the south, listening to bird chatter and chipmunk scamperings, feeling the chilly air before it's warmed, and I know that all will resolve itself, the world will eventually right itself, and I am as centered as any human has the right to be.

cheap therapy, yep. cheap but effective.
and the daily visits are just a bonus.

the set of fresh hounds, part II

2011-08-03T16:34:00.000-06:00

mike started us off, one of twelve cyclists in our starting pack, taking off at the horn, 9 am.
patty brought us home, 30 hours later, pedaling into henderson, nevada at 3 pm the next day.
in between came karl, john, susan, patty, and mike, in various couplings and trios.

the first relay for all of us, this was a wild experience. the entire ride was broken down into 30 segments, and each of us was assigned 6. but then some of us--ahem--rode additional legs, either to help pace our teammates, or for the sheer pleasure of it.
the legs averaged about an hour riding time: some closer to 45 minutes, some closer to 2 hours.
the timing chip went from bike to bike to bike, and we just kept pedaling south.
all day.
then all night.
and all morning.
until three.

jeb drove and was the best pit crew boss ever, full of encouragement, offers of ice water and supplies (as when I flew past him yelling "shot blocks at the next transition zone" and his quizzical expression told me he had no idea what I was talking about, but sure enough, I got a bag of them handed off to me at the next transition zone), and a master at moving bikes on and off the bike rack and tightening front wheels.
tony did great hand-offs from the vehicle as it passed us, and from the ground, running as we passed the transition zones; he updated our facebook page, and basically said "yes" to every request we threw his way.
we bonded, the 7 of us, in the way that people in challenging circumstances do. we were all in it together, and the only way out of it was through it.

the sun tried to do us in, as did the aridity, sucking every molecule of moisture from our skin, our mouths, our eyes. the undulating rollers broke our hearts as they relentlessly rose and fell and rose again, and again.
some of us napped between riding legs better than others, and by about 24 hours into it we were all terribly sick of GU's, power bars, electrolyte drinks and other riding food. I started craving eggs: an egg mcmuffin loomed above me, fragrant and anything-but-prepackaged-energy-food.

jeb kept notes of what to do differently next year. add this to the list, add that.
I have only one note of what to do differently next year:
not sign up.

it was a grand adventure, a once-in-a-lifetime event, and I'm extremely glad I did it.
but I'm also happy to leave it in the past tense: I did it.
I'm good.

but the rest of you should absolutely get out there and give it a shot.
it's a great test of your stamina, and it gives you a terrific opportunity to bond with your own team, and others who are in the same darn boat.
I mean bike.

http://www.saintstosinnersbikerelay.com/

go for it!

the set of fresh hounds, part I

2011-08-01T18:05:00.000-06:00

it's dark, dark as tar, and it reaches out as far as I can see, which isn't very far at all.

the air is cool, chilly, and the sweat I'm producing sits thickly on my torso and causes goosebumps to dance across my legs. I'm wearing ivy's super-reflect-y, bright orange, super-fast arm warmers, and I'm going to get to the top of this climb as quickly as I possibly can.

it's spooky, and for long stretches of time I'm the only one, anywhere, on this road. anyone human, that is, for the occasional rodent dashes across the asphalt, and one graceful deer has leapt from left to right in the far outer edge of the glow from my front light.

I'm somewhere near cedar breaks national monument, I'm somewhere between 9500 and 10,000 feet above sea level, and although it is quite possibly a beautiful place, all I see is a limited conical space of gray. when I turn to look behind me I see nothing but black.

I'm nearing the top (I can only tell by watching the mile markers: I've calculated from where I began and am counting them down, panting, eager for the end of up and the beginning of down) when I smell fire, and then see a faint orange glow. the tiny spot of orange becomes larger and larger, and soon I can almost discern bodies, and the outline of a camper behind. another orange glow dots the hillside far to my left, and another, further ahead, small and hopeful, warms my heart if not my legs.

I'm singing, almost to myself, but loud enough so that if anyone were near (hah) they would hear me. hallelujah, hallelujah. leonard cohen is getting me up this hill. I don't know all the lyrics, so I either fill in with words I like, words that have the right rhythm, or I la-la to fill in the spaces.

when the grade eases, and a faint, faint glow lies somewhere beyond the hills and clouds before me, I shiver, and sigh. I am so glad to be done with this climb. I pull on my gloves, and my teammates help me lift my reflective vest so that I can slip a wind jacket on beneath it. I decide I can live without the headband, and I push off with a cheery see ya soon! I have 7 or so miles to go, downhill, before I hand the timing chip off to karl.
there's a bit of flat I have to pedal through, then some down--only down, not wicked down--and suddenly I am shifting gears and my cadence is slowing and I am unbelievably pedaling back up a hill. no. no, no, no, this is not part of the plan.
I laugh and shake my head, no, no.
my legs yell at me and the hallelujah's have left my head, and finally I've crested whatever little bugger of a hill I've had to deal with, and I start down again. shift, shift, shift, my speed increases, and the cold night wind pushes against me. I'm slowing, impossibly slowing, and soon I'm shifting again and no, this can't be, oh, I am climbing again.
argh.
this one is shorter than the last, and soon I'm gliding down again.
a loud flapping noise is suddenly behind my left shoulder, and I turn my head, expecting to see a rider passing me, but it is only me, my jacket catching and releasing the wind.
jake is with me, and we have a conversation during the next five or so miles, talking about the dark, the cold air, the silence but for my jacket, the creatures that surround us, the angels above us, the friends waiting for us below, the love in our hearts, the joy of just being where we are.

we're somewhere past a third of the way to vegas, and I'm finishing up my second official leg. I've drawn this "king of the hill" leg up near cedar breaks, and I'm grateful. hallelujah, thank you leonard, this is a grand, beautiful experience. I'll be ready to hand my chip to the next hound, rest a bit, then hop back on the road again.
and sing, just a little, under my breath, words of thanks and praise.

relay, from relayen, middle english: set of fresh hounds

a missed anniversary

2011-07-31T17:55:00.000-06:00

I can't believe myself sometimes.

I missed my own darn anniversary not quite 2 weeks ago, and didn't realize it until just now.
they say the mind is the first thing to go, don't they?

july 19, 2008, the tao of cycling launched itself into cyberspace, and here I am, three years later, still experiencing new events, seeing life through new eyes, viewing new fawns each spring, listening to a new generation of crickets each fall.
I began by posting every day, and made it through over a year that way, but then settled into my "odd day" posting pattern.

many days I ponder my purpose here (both on earth and in cyberspace), consider going on hiatus, and find myself unable to give it up and walk--I mean pedal--away.

today, as I reflect upon the past 3 years and 12 days, I'm not committing to another year; I'm simply committing to doing what I believe is best.

it's not yet time to stop riding,

and I think it's not yet time to stop writing here.

training is good.
training keeps us from resting on those prickly laurel wreathes (like those strewn all about my home.)

so happy anniversary, belatedly, to me,
and happy (and healthy, though weary) return to slc, to me,

and I think tomorrow I'll share my story of pedaling with 300 or so other slightly-wacky people from saintville to sinville.

allez-y !

2011-07-29T05:59:00.002-06:00

and off we go,
toward the bright lights in the middle of the desert. which probably won't be so striking when we (hopefully) arrive in the middle of the day.

however, we are ready to roll, ready for what I call the grand adventure.
catch the updates on
www.facebook.com/highdesertsales

and I'll be back sunday!
allez-y!

the message

2011-07-27T09:59:00.001-06:00

I intended to preface the passage below by stating, this isn't about biking.
but then I decided that it really is.
it's about biking, about life, about being. because who and how we are as we ride along, is who and how we are.

for the past 4 weeks we've had a 15-year-old northern irish girl living with us, participating in the Ulster Project with one of my daughters. it has been an amazing, beautiful, incomparable experience. it has touched us all deeply, and extended our community across the atlantic to that fragile island. the 14 irish who were here with the project left yesterday morning to return home, but the evening before that we had a "closing ceremony" at a local church. the pastor of this presbyterian church shared with us a passage from Romans, both in its TNIV (today's new international version) form, and in a form from a book called The Message: an interpretation/translation of the new testament directly from the greek, put in today's words.
I'm copying it here, sharing it, because I thought it was some of the best guidance available for teenagers, cyclists, and all human beings:

Love from the center of who you are; don't fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle. Don't burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don't quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians*; be inventive in hospitality. Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they're happy; share tears when they're down. Get along with each other; don't be stuck-up. Make friends with nobodies; don't be the great somebody. Don't hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you've got it in you, get along with everybody. (Romans 12:9-18, The Message)

(I want this changed to Humans)

if you've got it in you, get along with everybody.
and if you don't have it in you, never give up the goal of someday finding it within you.

what to say

2011-07-25T16:06:00.004-06:00

squirrel girl, hamstring, firecracker . . . the girl has a few nicknames.
if I could come up with a new one, it would simply be supergirl.

supergirl, aka ivy, rode her 520 miles this past weekend, ending at 3:30 this morning. as our biking buddy bob put it, she rode more this weekend than he's ridden all month.

I rode over 50 miles this morning, climbing about 5000 feet, and that was one-tenth of what she did.
one-tenth.

so, I have little to say today.
every ride I've ever done pales (bleaches itself to nothing) in comparison to what this girl has done.
but perhaps this will be helpful: whenever I begin to feel tired, weak, sore, hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, miserable . . . I can just think of ivy and what she survived, riding straight through for 46 hours.

then I can just tuck my little head back down, suck it up, and---in ivy's infamous words---HTFU. (I'm too good of a girl to put the words out there, but maybe you can figure it out.)

I'm still glad to me, but I admire the squirrel girl like no other.
go, ivy, you are my hero!

solidarity and night lights

2011-07-23T19:59:00.000-06:00

my friend ivy is riding the race across oregon today.
and tonight.
and tomorrow.
and possibly even part of tomorrow night.
520 miles: she began at 5 am this morning and by 4 pm had 145 miles behind her . . . can you imagine having ridden 145 miles and thinking to yourself, gosh, only 375 left to go?

the thought alone exhausts me.

I, in solidarity, am going to join her spirit out on the road tonight, in the dark.
okay, it's only partly about ivy, with the larger chunk being about my upcoming relay race next friday/saturday. race, hah. event, better.
since I will be riding during the day, then during the night, then during the day again, I decided that it would be good for me to experiment with a little day riding/night riding.
so . . .
today I rode 80 miles. and now I've had a break for (more than) a few hours, and I'm getting ready to head back out again as soon as it gets dark.
I've got my super bright tail light, my mega-watt front light, my reflective vest-thingee (which looks more like a super-sized bright green upper-body jock strap than anything else), two water bottles chilling, and, well, a slightly-anxious me.
I've ridden in the early-morning dark many times, but it always lightens up by the end of my ride. and I've usually had a healthy(ish) amount of sleep before heading out.
this will be a new experience.
I'm going to head up the canyon so it will be nice and dark, like the highway we'll be riding next friday night, and so that I'll have a descent to learn how to navigate without sunlight.
right now the trick is mostly about keeping myself from falling asleep before it's time to leave.

and then there's ivy.
who will probably finish her 520-mile race in about 40 total hours (that's my guess).
the least I can do is go ride for two hours in the dark tonight, sending positive energy and good vibes up into the night sky, directing it in a north-westerly direction, asking that it float down and find her wherever she may be, and give her just a teeny, tiny little boost.

what I'm grateful for this morning

2011-07-21T10:59:00.000-06:00

cool air
smart wool socks
hummingbirds
playful, soaring, dipping birds
all birds, really
quick-footed chipmunks with those vertical tails
beating the sunrise at the top of little mountain by 90 seconds
being able to stare a young deer in the eyes from 12 feet away
gradual inclines
tailwinds on the way home
coffee
a warm shower

and what brings even a greater rush of gratitude is the knowledge that
I can do it all
again
tomorrow.

forced recovery

2011-07-19T17:29:00.000-06:00

ruby is in the bike shop.
and has been since yesterday, post my early-morning emigration ride.
I told the bike shop boy he could keep her until today, and, (wince) possibly until tomorrow, if he really needed to . . .

sigh.

last weekend was tough. I rode 250 miles last week: up emigration three times, millcreek twice, big cottonwood once, and little cottonwood twice. by sunday, when I simply rode out to the mouth of little cottonwood and back (1700' elevation gain), I was Pretty Darn Tired.
then came yesterday's ride, then yesterday's trip to the bike store, and now doday: Forced Rest Day.
so I went to yoga, then for a two-hour hike.
and at the moment, I'm not feeling too bad about not riding ruby tomorrow.

I'm sure you're concerned: my bike is just having a little issue, completely fixable I'm sure. bike shop boy suggested it's likely time for new cables, and I'm hoping that's the fix for the problem I've been experiencing. I feel like the prototypical female talking to a mechanic:
well, when I pedal it goes around like it's supposed to and then it kind of slips, makes a little hiccup thing where there's just air for a minute, and then it's right back to normal. and it does it sometimes, more when it's flat, but not all the time, and it makes me pedal funny. then there's this little whirring sound, and a clink, and I think it might be coming from somewhere on the left side, except sometimes it sounds like it's on the right . . .
okay, I made that last part up.
but it's difficult to explain some of these things when you're a female like me.

so, my hope is that ruby will come home tomorrow, and that by thursday I'll feel like taking her back out for a spin.
she gets a little recovery, I get a little recoery, my saddle interface gets a bit of recovery . . .
it's all good.

the outcome

2011-07-17T00:01:00.000-06:00

110 miles
12,123' of elevation gain
8.5 hours riding time

no stops on the way up the 3rd canyon to keep myself from dying this year

bottom line: better than last year

woo hoo!

I Think I Canyons is now behind me . . . and I'm just darn sure I'll never want to do it again.

sincerely,
susan

thinking, hoping, believing

2011-07-15T16:05:00.003-06:00

don't have much time to write here today, as I'm busy hydrating (as brad says, a good mountaineer always pees clear), keeping my electrolytes balanced, icing my knees, being kind to my saddle-interface area ('nuf said), fueling myself, and pretending I'm the little engine who could.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can is the mantra I've been chanting all day.

tomorrow is the IThinkICanyons 4-canyon challenge, and I plan to do it again, with the primary goal of comparing last year's ride to this year's. last year I was 5-weeks post clavicle surgery: this year I have no excuse.
so I darn better think my way up all four of those canyons, hoping and believing that I'll ride all 110 miles, climb all 12,000 feet, and survive to tell about it another day.

back to hydrating (and peeing), ice, a few more carbs, and
I think I can(yon), I think I can(yon), I think I can . . .

breaking through barriers

2011-07-13T18:09:00.000-06:00

it's a week of barrier-breaking.
as many years as I've ridden, as many hills I've climbed and summits I've reached, as many thousands of miles I've pedaled, I still, at times, question my abilities to reach the top of the hill.

I place little barriers in my mind, rectangular things with signs on them that say, uh-uh, not sure.
it's hard.
it's steep.
it will hurt.
you'll barely make it, if you do.
you're probably not ready.

it doesn't matter how many times I've climbed a hill: each new season brings a slew of barriers and---oh, I so hate to admit this---doubt.

I want to be the person who is so full of faith and certainty that nothing deters her, the person whose lexicon does not contain the word "doubt."

so this week I've been tackling the "first time up this season" barriers. on sunday, I climbed millcreek, and this morning I climbed little cottonwood. neither canyon softened or lessened its grades over the winter, but I made it all the way to the top of each without either dying, stopping, crying, or falling over as a result of my (lack of) speed.
I survived.
and now those firsts are behind me, where they can now hang out with that nebulous, insidious, clammy thing called doubt.

by climbing those canyons I receive 2 gifts: first, the certainty that I can still do it, and second, the rediscovery of the incredible beauty surrounding me the entire time.

sunday morning I left my home at half past six, and the road up millcreek was lightly traveled and damp from the previous night's rain. sun rays threw themselves upward from far behind the hill as I headed east, and the light filtered its way down and rested gently upon the trees. the creek, boisterous and frothy, spread mist for twenty feet above and beside it, where it hovered, sparkling, in the light that sat in the narrow valley of the canyon.
the descent---oh the descent!---was everything I'd forgotten: unbelievably fast, carving it's way down, cold, green walls ebbing and flowing, runoff splashing beneath my tires, the day coming into its own.

today I was on the road at 5:40, hitting the mouth of little cottonwood just before 7. the pinkened clouds of sunrise hovered, teasing, as I journeyed south, and the canyon was well lit by the time I began to climb. huge boulders balance precariously throughout the 8 mile climb, the walls steep and rocky. a shockingly white waterfall streaks down a southern wall, and the relentless climb leads to a lush, green ending where fat wallows of snow still sit, dirty and thick, awaiting just a few more weeks of summer sun.

this beautiful world exists with or without me, but it is only by breaking through my barriers and climbing these canyons that I am able to immerse myself within it and glory in the magnificence of this place in which we so amazingly are blessed--yes, blessed---to live.

thump

2011-07-11T14:02:00.004-06:00

hmm.

I don't think a tire is supposed to look like this.

four miles into this morning's ride I began to hear a rhythmic thump which seemed to be coordinating with the turn of my wheel. there is nothing more lovely than a silent bike, but it's not often that I have one of those for longer than a ride or two. something is always happening. (how zen a statement is that?)

so, this morning when the thumping began, I just smiled, rolled my eyes, and thought, okay, something new to challenge my not-so-highly-evolved mechanical skills.

after a minute or two of cyclical thumps and a visual inspection that saw no culprit lodged between the brake pads and the wheel or anywhere else that could explain what I was hearing, I pulled over and stopped. leaning over my bike, I lifted the front end and spun the wheel and what did I see? what you see, above.

I don't think bike tires are supposed to look like that.

but, being already out on my ride . . .

yep, of course, I just kept going.

thinking that at any moment I might have a blowout.

or I might not.

I cornered carefully, I braked as little as possible, I tried to ride exactly like an unhappy tire would want me to.

and I made it home, to take this cool pic and post it here.

now I'm going to go fix the darn thing.

then next time I post I can tell you about my incredible, awesome, fabulous season-inaugural ride up millcreek canyon where the hummingbirds, mist, and deer came out to greet me . . .

psi and a ps about hydroplaning

2011-07-09T18:59:00.001-06:00

I do believe that properly inflated tires make a significant difference (as compared to those that are woefully underinflated) when one is riding a bicycle.
especially up a hill.
say, the back side of big mountain.
especially when you're already 65 miles into your ride and you are a wee bit tired.

of course I speak from experience.

I started my morning with a deadline and a flat tire. a phone call and a hurried flat-fix later, I was out the door and on my way.
which ultimately led to my woefully underinflated tire 65 miles later.
yes, the number one rule of changing a flat tire is to run your finger along the inside of the tire itself to see if there's a little thorn/piece of glass/sharp something/owie that poked its way into your tube.
yes, sometimes yours truly, when in a hurry, forgets the number one rule of changing a flat tire.

what kills me is just how long it took me to figure out that my tire was bulging out and gripping 5 times as much pavement as it needed to, dramatically (and exhaustingly) increasing my rolling resistance.

when I finally had to pull over and stop halfway up my climb because I was exhausted, I just happened to notice my incredibly soft front tire. geez. it was hot, I was beat, and I wasn't about to change the darn thing out so I just pulled out my cartridge and pumped the tire up, praying it would get me home.
at the top of the hill the tire still felt firm enough, and at the top of the next hill it felt good enough to get me home, so I let it be and cruised on home.
where I proceeded to do a little research into tire inflation, and learned that I've probably been overinflating my tires for quite some time.
if you'd like to check your own process out, here are some helpful pages:

bicycle tires and tubes with sheldon brown

bicycle quarterly

and to just top off my educational day, I learned (from the first link above) that I don't need to worry about my bike ever, ever hydroplaning.
whee!
what a great day.

off to check that my tires are inflated to 96 psi in the front and 104 psi in the back . . .

the I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-this event

2011-07-07T16:27:00.001-06:00

so.
when I first heard of this I scoffed.
snickered.
smirked.
rolled my eyes and said, who does this? and why?

and now here I am, registered, committed, part of a team, gonna do the darn thing.
"the thing" is the (excuse me, I just rolled my eyes again) Saints to Sinners bike relay.
argh.

I still don't know the answer to the "why" question above, but apparently the "who" in the "who does this" now includes, gulp, me.

and it's really all my fault. because I love to ride, which helped john learn to love to ride, which got his colleague on board with the joy of riding, which led to said colleague looking out for all the great riding experiences he can find . . . which led him to find this Really Great Relay and convincing john's company to sponsor a team.
yep, I take responsibility.
argh.

saints to sinners is a relay event, offering teams of 5 or 10 riders the Glorious Opportunity to ride from salt lake city (home of many saints) to las vegas (home of many supposed sinners). the ride is split up into thirty legs, and there is a lengthy "bible" that supplies all the rules and regulations about which team member is allowed to ride when. the relay begins friday morning (july 29) and ends whenever the team reaches las vegas, 500+ miles down the road.
we have a team of 5, which means each of us will be riding approximately 100 miles as the official team rider; we're also allowed to ride along to pace the official rider if it's a leg not directly before or after our own leg.
got it?
so I could actually ride 3/5 of the entire thing if I so chose.
I will not so choose.

the route includes a bit of climbing, and a lot of descending.
and here's the thing: the team rides all day friday, and all night friday night. I've never ridden during the dark of night (5 in the morning doesn't count). and I'm a little apprehensive about this. riding on the flats or uphill in the dark is fine---I'm used to that---but descending makes me a bit nervous!
can you say, big old light?

I think I'm going to have to do a night trial. (luckily I know someone who is well-schooled in night riding: our ivy league friend.)
the colleague who got us all excited about (suckered us into) this event has already done a hundred-mile ride in the dark, just for practice. the thing here is that I like sleep too much. then again, when the event arrives, I'll be riding in the middle of the night after not much--if any--sleep.
argh.

I just rolled my eyes again.

so back to the never say never thing.
although I did say "never" to this, I am now apparently doing this. so I've reframed it into "wow, what a great opportunity I have now for this grand adventure, doing something I've never before done."

grand adventure, yep. lucky me, uh-huh. wow, can't wait!
see you at the bike store: I've got to go buy a really big, really bright light.

rocks and mountains

2011-07-05T17:35:00.003-06:00

there are two haitian proverbs I am sharing with you today, both which can--of course--be related to cycling. and if you're stumped while trying to make the connection, you could turn on the tour de france and look at those cyclists, then reflect on my experiences . . . it's good to be who and where I am, and it's right for them to be who and where they are. and as I said in my last post, I'm glad I have--and know my--limits.

first, this:

the rocks in the water do not know how the rocks in the sun feel.

and then this universal bit of wisdom, so gloriously true:

beyond mountains there are mountains.

may we all keep climbing our mountains, and meet new ones beyond.

(with thanks to tracy kidder, mountains beyond mountains, 2003)

ivy leagues and layne lanes

2011-07-03T18:15:00.000-06:00

many, many people ride harder than I do. harder, longer, faster . . . all of those adjectives. they are gnarlier than me, they are twice as tough, and they sign up for events that I'd like to think I could do but in reality, should never even consider.

I rode with two of them yesterday for a portion of their training rides.

and when I got home after my 6 hours of riding time (layne's target was 8, ivy's was 16) and stood under the pummeling shower, I thanked God that I wasn't training for anything remotely like they were.
my 90 miles were hard enough.
my body was beat-up enough.
and I was so very, very grateful to be off my bike and inside, drinking water from a glass and stuffing my face with (recovery) carbohydrates.

the sole point of my missive today is simply that I have limits, and I'm pretty aware of where they are. I don't mind pushing them sometimes, but I'm really not as crazy as a lot of people might think.
I'm pretty sure I'm never going to sign up for the official Death Ride (129 miles, 15,000' elevation gain over 5 mountain passes) like layne did.
I'm positive I'm never going to sign up for the Race Across Oregon (520 miles, something like 40,000' elevation gain over numerous mountain passes...) like ivy did.

however . . . there was a time, not so long ago, when I described a ride as crazy, absolutely nuts, and something I would never do . . .
and now, it appears I will be doing it. I know, I know, never say never.
stay tuned; more coming about my ridiculous upcoming I-know-I-said-I'd-never-do-it-but riding adventure.
sigh.

I know my limits, I know my limits, I know my limits . . .

gearheads and toys

2011-07-01T18:29:00.003-06:00

I am not a gearhead.
I'm the kind who wants to know the minimum capabilities of a gadget, how I get said gadget to do those things, and where the on/off button is.
I'm the terrible kind of person who never, ever learns to use all the functions on a calculator, a phone, a computer . . . or even an alarm clock. I place my hands over my ears, widen my eyes, and shake my head back and forth, no, no, don't tell me, I can't retain that kind of information.

I am not a gearhead.

but I am friends with a few.

in fact, I think "gearhead" is such a large subset of "male" that they could almost be one and the same . . .

this is leading up to the fact that I received a toy for my birthday.

from a gearhead, oops, I mean a male, the cute one named john.

it's a thingee. you know, one of those cyclometer-thingees. a gadget. the kind that keeps track of 18 million things from outside temperature to heartrate to cadence to what time it is in france. (if you want to set it to french time.)

and not only does it keep track of all these things, it will upload this information to your online database when you finish your ride, so you can view your stats.

you can name your ride.

you can see if tuesday's ride was stronger, faster, more productive or mellower than wednesday's ride along the same route.

you can compare your average and highest heartrates.

you can watch your cadence, comparing it to the elevation changes.

you can match your heartrate to the climb and descent, and pinpoint the spots where you might have opportunities.

eek.

and I'm sure there are hundreds of uses of this gadget-wing-ding that I can't imagine yet.

so far I've mastered the Power and Start/Stop button, and I'm improving my functioning with the Reset button.

I can read some of the numbers on the screen when I ride, and am learning where to look for which tidbit of information.

I haven't yet learned how to page through the different screens while I'm riding, so I can't tell the time or temperature while I'm pedaling, but I can reel off my cadence, speed, and heartrate . . .

I don't think I'll ever be a gearhead.

but if I work a little harder, I might learn a little more about my new garmin toy.

power, start, ride . . . then stop, reset. bring inside, connect to computer, upload, then stare in wonder at pretty little graphs.

grin.

okay, this is a little bit fun . . .

the first of the season

2011-06-29T14:22:00.000-06:00

I've been waiting, patiently, for the hummingbirds to arrive.
I thought they were late.
I thought perhaps that our wet, cold spring had slowed their arrival.
and then yesterday I saw my first hummingbird, hovering a few feet higher than my head, centered in the middle of the road, wings moving so quickly they appear to be where they're not.
I swear it smiled at me.

I looked back at previous posts to see what time of year the hummingbirds arrived in other years, and apparently the very end of june is the very beginning of hummingbird season in emigration canyon.
and it's always the same place I see them: just over 7 miles up, where the canyon is narrow and cool, where trees reach in yoga stretches across the road.

this morning I saw my second hummingbird of the season, or perhaps it was a second sighting of the first, as it was within 20 yards of where I saw one (it) yesterday. you may laugh, but hummingbirds are extremely intelligent, and it's said they remember every flower they have been to. so I will choose to believe (you know I like to make up my own stories about things) that this particular hummingbird likes some flowers in that vicinity, and is therefore around to greet me (okay, and a few other cyclists) while spending his or her time here in utah.

their hearts can beat up to 1260 times per minute, with a typical resting rate of 250.
their metabolism is roughly 100 times that of an elephant.
they are the only bird that can fly both forward and backward, and they can fly sideways and upside down.
they can drink from over 1000 flowers each day.

I did pull some facts, because I think they're fascinating, but ornithology is something I place in the same category with golf: Things I May Take Up When I'm a Bit Older.
for now I am happy to be cheered by the whirring wings and graceful profile of the hovering hummingbird, as I make my comparatively cumbersome way up the lane.

I'm glad it's hummingbird season, again.

the bad ass crew

2011-06-27T20:53:00.000-06:00

last weekend was the MS fundraiser Best Dam Bike Ride in cache county, utah and various small idaho locales.
weather was perfect, the roads were as good as can be expected (yep, about a mile of smooth asphalt and 174 miles of chip seal in various states of repair), and the company, absolutely fabulous.
and because I'm tired and it's been one of those intense days of re-entry into motherhood/entrepreneurship/homeownership/etc. I am simply going to say that the team I ride with is a collection of incredibly terrific people. we are a social team who focus on fundraising for two local events (the Tour de Cure for diabetes, and the above-mentioned ride for multiple sclerosis), and we comprise males and females of all ages, abilities, backgrounds, and vocations. the common threads seem to be a love of cycling, and--at least to my mind--a sense of humor. we seem to enjoy each other, the gathering, the riding, the events . . . and quite a few of my teammates are Dam Good Cyclists as well. we have licensed riders, and sunday riders, and everything in between.
I'm lucky enough to be able to hold on with the faster group on this kind of event, and it makes for one wild ride. the very best hold back so that those who are down a level or two can still hang in there, and we often form a double pace line of 20 or so that just powers down the road.

I didn't mean to ramble on.

I just wanted to say that these people are awesome.
organized by ann hoffman and steve dwyer, this is a team of compassionate, giving, welcoming people who are held together by pieces of rubber, a bit of carbon/aluminum/steel, some huge hearts, and the best looking team kits around.

thanks to all my bad ass friends for an awesome weekend.

ivy league

2011-06-25T16:53:00.003-06:00

because it's my birthday, I get to take the day off from thinking and being creative.

instead, I'm going to direct you to someone much more interesting than me.

I used to be able to---sort of---ride with her.
but not now. she is out of my league, in a league of her own, which we can call the ivy league.

visit her at:

www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Ivy-M-McIver/115651221844106

and be well!

envisioning a future life

2011-06-23T15:33:00.003-06:00

someday, someday. how many times do we begin a sentence this way, a sentence which conveys an image of what might, possibly, at some future time, be?

I try to live my life as it's happening, being grateful for what is, celebrating the good that surrounds me and re-framing the not-so-good into better-than-it-might-be. I don't spend much time longing for things to be different.
nevertheless, there are times when I think about what might someday be.
what keeps this healthy, though, is that it's more about looking forward to another phase in life than it is wishing this one to be done.
got it?

like this: gosh I love having teenagers; they're so full of dreams and energy and thoughts and plans. but I'm also going to love it when they someday finish high school and college and settle down into their own lives . . .
or this: gosh it's great being an unknown author, because I don't have to deal with critics, reviewers, an unhappy publisher, or an agitated and impatient editor. but someday, when I'm published, I'm certainly going to enjoy the attention and royalty checks and validation.

so back to today.
today I rode my bike (surprise!), but in a manner I don't usually. biking buddy bill and I drove to within a few miles of the base of american fork canyon (5100'), then we parked and saddled up. we rode up the alpine loop, to the 8060' summit, then down to sundance (6100') ski resort. after a pause in the sun alongside the rushing creek, we rode back up and the down, down, down out of the canyon and to the car.
what's so different, you ask?
the difference today is that we simply rode the hills, and didn't tack on 40 or 50 miles around them.
this is rare.
and leads to my someday.

someday---a day I look forward to, without regretting my current days---I think I will ride 20 and 30 and 40 mile rides, and call it good.
I will park at the bottom of big climbs and simply bike up them then back down.
I will ride a loop and cut off the extra part so that it remains under 50 miles, instead of adding to reach 100.
I will ride 38 miles, like today, and be both pleased and satisfied.

although today I am pleased and satisfied, it has something to do with the fact that this weekend I'll be riding 175 miles.

someday, I'll be pleased and satisfied with a 38-miler being my toughest ride of the week.

I can see eyes rolling and words of disbelief forming inside minds, and my response is simply this:

hang around for another 20 years and just see.

another anniversary

2011-06-21T19:09:00.000-06:00

365 days ago I drank nothing after midnight, showed up in an office on the main floor at 9 am, handed over a thousand dollars as a down-payment, and was directed to a waiting room where I sat with two dozen others, waiting for my name to be called by a file-wielding, scrubs-clad worker bee. ten hours later, I left that building, groggy, nauseated, loopy, and titanium-enhanced.

to celebrate the fact that this event was now 365 days behind me, this morning I got on my bike and rode to paradise, with a little help from the incomparable van morrison.

the world is green and lush these days, coated with wildflowers dancing gently in the breeze, lifting their heads to the blue sky above. it's cool enough that the air tickles my skin and I'm grateful for the internal heat generated by the climb. when I reach the top of emigration and glance down to the reservoir I quickly look again: it isn't there. it is so smooth, so reflective that it appears the hillsides continue down deep, deep into a mirage of a verdant valley.
my heart soars.
I glide and swoop, pedaling to the still-locked gate that blocks the road up big mountain.
I've worn my ipod, and am listening to songs shuffling through in random order, everything from my daughters' taylor swift picks to the bare naked ladies to some guy I don't know singing about getting his dog back, his truck back, his first two jobs back, his wife back . . . all because he played a country song backward.
as I crest the top of little mountain again and begin my descent, I turn the volume up to compensate for the increased noise of the wind. after carving through the first switchback I realize I'm listening to van morrison, the third song of his I've heard on the ride. the tableau before me gradually shifts into one of my favorites: a green hillside dotted by only a few tiny roofs, a second ridge of mountain behind which is taller, browner, and holding on to rounded globs of snow here and there.

van sings, oh this must be what it's all about, this must be what paradise is like, so quiet in here, so peaceful in here . . .

it is paradise.

I am so grateful to be here that tears form, and a shiver runs across my body. through muscle and bone and skin, and titanium.

I, am one grateful human.

one long year, one quickly-passing year: I am so very grateful to be in one piece, to be able to pedal my legs around and round, to be able to drink in the astonishing beauty that surrounds us every day.

'nuf said.

hogsback and henefer: whew and woo-hoo

2011-06-19T20:00:00.002-06:00

the trip from salt lake to henefer and back seems to be a standard training ride for "serious" cyclists around here.
how would I define "serious" as used in this context?
determined, stubborn, indifferent to pain, slightly crazy, yep, words like that.

the round trip is about 80 miles, with perhaps around 7,000' of elevation gain: emigration, big mountain, hogsback (which is just a big darn silly hill out in the middle of nowhere you have to climb then descend: why do they do that?) . . . then everything again in the opposite direction. plenty climbing, plenty swooping, a tour alongside two reservoirs, and, yesterday, a chipper moose (my third of the week) trotting down the road in front of me on our way down from big mountain on the way home.

on the first leg of our ride I asked biking buddy bob if he ever got nervous before rides like this.

"nervous? no, not nervous. I might get anxious before a big organized ride, like the 1000 warriors, or lotoja, rides like that. rides like this today, I might have thoughts like 'I don't want to do this,' but it's not an anxious thing."

he nailed it. I had been trying to put descriptive words to what I'd been feeling earlier in the morning, and perhaps the most accurate word would be dread. as in, oh, this is going to hurt, I would rather stay home and eat bon-bons and life would be easier if I didn't like to ride my bike. wait, do I like to ride my bike? then why don't I want to go today? oh, that's right, because it's going to hurt . . .

the trip to henefer, standard summer ride for the serious training cyclist, is just not one of my favorites. I've only ridden it 3 or so times, and I have never loved it.

so yesterday I was experiencing some combined form of dread and anxiety, yet telling myself I had all day to do it and great company, and it would be just fine.

and it was. parts were less fun than others, but I survived it, it's behind me, and I have just jumped a mental hurdle: the first long, painful ride of the season to henefer.

it may not seem like so much, but for some reason, having this ride behind me is significant. perhaps it's like passing your first exam in a new course, or receiving your first--and favorable--review at a new job. surviving this ride is confirmation that my training has been good enough, and I'm on the right path.

it's a whew.

and a woo-hoo.

carving curves

2011-06-17T17:45:00.004-06:00

you know how I feel about swooping.
and every good swoop has a bend to it . . . a gentle curve, a tighter turn, a switchback, an S curve.
and I like flying downhill around them: leaning into the curve, watching my speed, balancing my weight against the forces of gravity and its opposite.
what I like best is knowing my comfort zone, my limitations, just how fast I can go.
I know these things, and then I push them, just a bit.

I know I crashed a year ago. but it wasn't the result of a high-speed risk-taking maneuver. it was because of a weed.

and I am not reckless: I swoop with cautious abandon.

but I can't not do it: the thrill is too great.

today was a recovery ride day, and thank goodness the weather was absolutely perfect, because there were no thrilling swoops, no tight corners, no fun carving. my top speed was a whopping 26, my slowest about 10, and the most entertainment I had was dodging the plentiful potholes.
it was still a glorious ride, the sun shining and the temperature in the low 60's.
my legs spun round and round, I held back so that my heartrate stayed low (ish), and I just envisioned myself swooping.
tomorrow.
tomorrow I'll swoop.
because a good, curving swoop makes up for cold weather, suffocatingly hot weather, even questionable company. a good, downhill curve adds flavor and excitement to a ride, and can counterbalance preoccupation, grumpiness, exhaustion.
a great, curving swoop is possibly even better than chocolate.

and carving a perfect curve on the way downhill is one of the best things you can experience on a bike. it might have something to do with how hard you worked to get to the top, but it also has everything to do with the rush of wind in your face, your perfectly balanced form, and the knowledge that you have defied gravity for even a brief span of time.

yep, possibly better than chocolate.
possibly tied with a fat slice of warm apple pie.
and I'll have to let you know if it's better than a huge slice of red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting . . .

tomorrow.

cake

2011-06-15T17:03:00.000-06:00

one year ago today, I hopped on my bike early in the morning, heading off to celebrate my Biking Anniversary by climbing up big cottonwood canyon to brighton ski resort, as I'd done the previous 3 years.
about seventeen minutes into my ride, I crashed, breaking my collar bone in two places, breaking a couple ribs, chipping my shoulder, and shredding my brand new bad ass team shorts.

today, I hopped on my bike early in the morning, heading off to celebrate my Biking Anniversary by climbing up big cottonwood canyon to brighton ski resort.
about seventeen minutes into my ride, I passed the spot where I had crashed, and I continued on, upright and solid, my collarbone still decorated with a titanium plate.

I'm big on anniversaries, on traditions, on celebrating (or at least acknowledging) the annual re-visiting of important dates. I hold most of these in my head (and that's why I forget them, sometimes), and most often celebrate them quietly, internally.
but this is a big one.
this changed my life.
it has helped me hold on, helped me clear my head, helped me escape, become healthier, meet new friends . . .
this is a huge anniversary for me.

so, since I rode a big hard ride this morning, and since it is such a special day, I will once again utilize those words of marie antoinette's that have been tweaked over time (and now by me):

let's go eat cake.

alps

2011-06-13T17:55:00.000-06:00

there is a section of road in southern colorado that connects the little town of ouray with the road between silverton and durango. one climbs from ouray (elevation 7770') to red mountain pass (elevation 11,018') on the Million Dollar Highway, taking in views that are so stunning they almost cause one to stop pedaling and fall off the bike.

this area has been called the "gem of the rockies," and also the "little switzerland of america," due to it's alp-like formation. I wrote about it when I visited last year (135) and it has never left the little spot of my memory bank where it implanted itself.

certain terrains just make me think alpine, of the lofty mountains, the alps. these are often meadows dotted with wildflowers, thick and green and guarded by rocky, craggy peaks. perhaps this is all from watching the sound of music as a child . . . but when I encounter these landscapes, I think of swiss alps.

I rode through one yesterday.

and each time I ride through this winding, steadily climbing valley, I fall in love with it again. every canyon I ride has its own personality, and I am intensely grateful for the variety and the wonder that arises in each.

yesterday's ride was the old snow basin road, and though the asphalt has shifted and collapsed in a spot or two--one such shift making the road impassable by car--the surrounding hillsides are rounded, thick with growth, vibrant and vigorously alive.

a gift of our incredibly wet winter and spring: another closed road.

I didn't mind, at all, dismounting and walking my bike around the devastated road.

I loved the silence of just four wheels whirring, spokes cutting through air, gushing water deep down in the valley below, and birdsong, simply bird chatter, gracing the peaceful space surrounding us.

I've never visited switzerland. perhaps one day I will; perhaps it will never happen. but I have inhaled the scent of flowered meadows, I've stared in awe at sharply rising alps, I've pedaled my way up through verdant green hillsides. I've stood, surrounded by silence and peace, and felt the awe of being one small human in a landscape sculpted by the gods.

I'm good.

I've been blessed;

I'm good.

~photo taken on old snow basin road, rory wallwork, 2009

you are my sunshine, my only sunshine . . .

2011-06-11T16:38:00.002-06:00

okay, my super friend holly, who is most dedicated to being a bearer of light, has gone and done it.

she gave me an award, which means I have to respond and play a game, a blogging game. I don't know how to do this, so bear with me as I try to figure it out.
eek!
she ever-so-kindly nominated me (along with 9 or so others) for a Sunshine Award.
now I still don't really know much about this, but I have a hard time seeing something with that title being a bad thing. (unless, I suppose you consider sunburns and skin cancer, which I am not about to consider.)
so, holly, whose astute and flavorful A Life-Size Catholic Blog is always an informative delight, passed this honor to me, along with the work that comes with it.
so, susan, who writes and posts here as a way to force herself to practice her writing skills, is struggling to figure out how to play the game without playing the game.

first, I needed to understand what this award is.
googling (what would I do without google?) told me that this award is given to "those bloggers whose positivity and creativity inspire others in the blogging world."
hmmm.
then I tried researching the origin of this award, and the oldest citation I found was from january of 2010, and it was simply someone writing about receiving one. couldn't find anything about who started it. of course, I was only patient enough for a two-minute search.
next came paying attention to How To Play The Game. holly states the steps are thus:
acknowledge the presenter (done!), say something about yourself (like I don't do this constantly?), choose 10 other blogs to give the same award to (oh, oh, big problem here), then let those 10 blogs know you've awarded them with this highly coveted, prestigious award (same problem as the previous step: I don't know of 10 blogs.)

my next step involved deep contemplation: do I want to play this game, and if so, how can I realistically choose 10 blogs when I really don't know of more than about 2, and will elden at the Fat Cyclist blog think I'm weird if I give him the Sunshine Award?
sigh.

this all erupted in my life yesterday, and I could hardly sleep at all last night.
so this morning I got up and went for a bike ride, hoping to clear my head and work out the problem.
then I went to the tennis court and hit (sometimes) and missed (more often) balls in a further effort to work out what I was going to do.

and now here I sit, knowing that all I really want to do is let holly know that she spreads more light and sunshine around (and knowledge and information, too), in a clever and genuine way, than any other ten people combined.

and that's my answer.

so, holly, another sunshine award back at 'ya. be well, continue your fight for good, and thanks for all of the love and light you spread around.
(and elden, you're way cool, too: if I were awarding sunshine awards I'd paste a big one right on top of your life.)

tooting someone's horn

2011-06-09T15:53:00.000-06:00

I can change a flat tire, clean and lube my chain, change tires, check my brakes for clearance and remaining life, and clean my frame.
I'm not so good with cable tension, though my cute bike shop boy has shown me and explained how it works more than once.
I haven't yet attempted to re-tape my handlebars, and I stay far, far away from chain repairs.
I carry tire levers, a spare tube, two cartridges and a cartridge holder-thingee, a small amount of cash, and a teeny tube patch kit.
I don't carry a chain tool because I would have no idea what to do with it.

yesterday during my ride ruby would occasionally slip gears, jumping to a different gear when I had not asked her to do so. this is usually (in Susan's Bicycle Maintenance Book) an issue of cable length: some cable needs to be tightened or loosened. yep. it didn't happen too terribly often, though, and I just placed it in that awesome bin of information called To Deal With.
today, I set off for my ride and ruby had a hard time holding steadily in a gear, beginning with the first block. hmm. well, I decided, I would just stay in my baby gears, spin more, try not to put too much load on the darn girl, and maybe mess with the cables when I got home.
yep.
two miles later, pulled off to the side of emigration canyon road, I discovered the real problem: a bad link in my chain.
argh.
I don't mess with chains.
well, not much, and not well. I pushed the problem pin back in but the link still looked fat and distinctly different from its neighbors.
the next twenty feet up the road went smoothly but the twenty-first foot was a problem: the chain failed, locking up, stopping me instantly.

I caved. I smushed the pin back in and limped ruby back home. where I then placed her gently in my car and drove to the bike shop for help.

where Mike Hanseen, owner of Millcreek Bicycles, fixed my chain immediately and charged me less than the price of a Domino's pizza. (this happened after his shop tech suggested I leave it until tomorrow evening, my face fell, and I moaned, oh, I can't possibly live without my bike that long....)

mike just made a new friend. me.
I will tell every biking friend I have about what he did for me.
I will shop there.
I will buy unnecessary things, just to support this guy who went beyond what many would have done.
because he cared enough to make a ten-minute repair on the spot so that I could ride my bike
tonight.

millcreek bicycles.
3969 south wasatch boulevard, slc, ut, 84124
801.278.1500

ask for mike, tell him you made susan's day.