once upon a time emigration canyon road was paved with smooth, shiny, black asphalt. poured thick and hot, it was rolled into a flat and even surface and care, motorcycles, and bikes began rolling over it with speed and ease. then the seasons changed; air and ground heating and cooling, snow falling and freezing, plows scraping, snow melting, sun beating. one day the sun rose over a road cracked and worn, pitted and bumpy.
the powers that be gathered in a room in a building miles and miles away, scrutinizing numbers, plotting futures, and decided that the road would receive a new surface, but this time, one of something called chip seal. chip seal, a lesser cousin of asphalt, is not smooth. chip seal consists of an asphalt binder, applied to existing pavement, topped with a layer of aggregate chips, then rolled . . . with the goal of embedding all those little (and not-so-little) aggregate chips into the binder and creating something similar to smooth road surface.
chip seal is what a governmental agency does to roads when they decide they cannot afford asphalt.
I've bemoaned chip seal before; I will certainly do it again. if anything on your bike isn't attached and screwed down tightly (like a front light), chip seal will let you know about it. my hands sometimes go numb from all the vibrations. chip seal is not my buddy.
this morning's story isn't completely about chip seal, but now that you know about b u m p y chip seal you might have greater understanding of the personal quirk I will now share.
emigration canyon road--as I stated above--was once entirely paved with asphalt. when they decided to apply chip seal to the surface, they skipped a few sections. the lowest mile or so is chip seal-free, and there are another few stretches without it. in addition, the chip-seal applications, at times, don't quite make it all the way across the bike lane/shoulder out to the edge.
there's a particular spot about 2.5 miles up where a beautiful, newly poured asphalt pullout juts out to the right. and then when that ends, a length of road exists where the chip seal is one to three feet shy of the road's edge.
I always swing out into the pullout apron because it is bump-free and lovely, and then I ride the old-asphalt narrows to avoid the chip seal. it lasts 12 yards or so, but the first couple yards are extremely narrow, probably less than a foot wide.
during the winter when I ride the canyon this strip of old asphalt is covered with snow, affording me no opportunity to ride it. but as spring commences, the snow pulls back and it is once again revealed.
finally, to the point!
in april, it's hard to ride this little strip.
by may, I'm getting a little better.
when june rolls around, I'm pretty confident of riding it easily, without bumping into the chip-seal edge that could grab my tire and, at a minimum, unsettle me, at the end of the spectrum, send my sprawling.
this morning I nailed the transition beautifully, no question, confident, smooth.
practice is a beautiful thing. well, practice (committed, disciplined practice) is actually a lot of work. but the result of practice is awesome. it is confidence, certainty, improvement. it is mastery. and if you never truly practice something, you will never know the joy---yes, complete and utter joy---of doing something well.
whatever it might be.
for me, this morning, it was being balanced on a narrow width of asphalt: talk about quirky. but it's something I challenge myself with each time, just like my hands-free riding on beacon drive (with which I'm also growing more confident.)
never stop growing. never stop learning. never stop challenging yourself to be just a little bit better tomorrow than you were today. because this is the secret to life.
namaste.
Showing posts with label asphalt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label asphalt. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
remiss
I've been remiss: I actualized my asphalt dream and rode my bike outside last week and haven't posted about it until now . . . my penance? 550 words on the topic. see below.
it began as just a tiny thing, a niggle, nothing more. I sipped my coffee and folded laundry, read a book, changed sheets on the bed. it existed, but nothing about it impeded my activities. at least not for the first hour.
then it grew. I felt compelled to look outside (gray) and check the weather report (27 degrees) and the forecast (high in the low 30's, partly sunny). I read a little more, finished my coffee, paced. what began as a niggle was growing into an itch.
I again checked the weather report (27 degrees) and looked outside (gray). the itch was changing into a magnetic pull toward asphalt, possibly even toward emigration canyon. but it was still cold, still gray. so I read, did more laundry, moved a dust rag across a few surfaces.
then went downstairs to grab my cold-weather biking gear.
sorting through the bin, I pulled out my new-and-not-yet-used booties, my skull cap, a headband. my lightweight full-finger gloves, and my lobster gloves. from my closet I pulled tights, a base layer shirt, and my hot pink/black gore jacket. smartwool socks. an extra wind jacket for the way down (that is, if I decided to go up . . . )
the weather report told me it was now 28, and a peek out the window allowed a slivery glimpse of blue.
john went out to the garage to unearth ruby and dust her off for me; I started getting dressed.
when I hopped on my bike it was 29 degrees and my back pockets were filled with a skull cap, my lobster gloves, and the wind jacket. I clipped in and pedaled (and actually moved forward! whee! those of you who've been spinning indoors will relate to my exhilaration at forward movement), and then turned and pedaled myself back to my front door where I unclipped, went inside and grabbed a neck gator (for the way down, that is, if I decided to go up . . . )
I went up. how could I not? it looked more blue that direction than any other, and I thought it might even be warmer with the elevation gain that would send me up above the inversion.
the road was dry (mostly), the air was clear, the sun shone enough that I could see my shadow for clumps of minutes at a time, my heart was pounding with effort (and joy), and I felt like I was home.
I love riding my bike on asphalt.
when I reached the top of the canyon I layered on everything I'd brought in my back pockets (skull cap, gator, lobster gloves, wind jacket), and rode down little mountain to the little dell reservoir, then over to the locked gate where the road up big mountain is piled with 2 - 3 feet of snow. I turned, looking at the frozen white reservoir and the huge blue sky, and took a few deep breaths. then I climbed back up to the top, and rode my bike home.
these are the times you feel vibrantly alive, connected, at peace with the world, fulfilled, complete.
sometimes the best things begin with the tiniest little niggle which grows into an itch, then a pull, then a demand that leads to a dream come true.
it began as just a tiny thing, a niggle, nothing more. I sipped my coffee and folded laundry, read a book, changed sheets on the bed. it existed, but nothing about it impeded my activities. at least not for the first hour.
then it grew. I felt compelled to look outside (gray) and check the weather report (27 degrees) and the forecast (high in the low 30's, partly sunny). I read a little more, finished my coffee, paced. what began as a niggle was growing into an itch.
I again checked the weather report (27 degrees) and looked outside (gray). the itch was changing into a magnetic pull toward asphalt, possibly even toward emigration canyon. but it was still cold, still gray. so I read, did more laundry, moved a dust rag across a few surfaces.
then went downstairs to grab my cold-weather biking gear.
sorting through the bin, I pulled out my new-and-not-yet-used booties, my skull cap, a headband. my lightweight full-finger gloves, and my lobster gloves. from my closet I pulled tights, a base layer shirt, and my hot pink/black gore jacket. smartwool socks. an extra wind jacket for the way down (that is, if I decided to go up . . . )
the weather report told me it was now 28, and a peek out the window allowed a slivery glimpse of blue.
john went out to the garage to unearth ruby and dust her off for me; I started getting dressed.
when I hopped on my bike it was 29 degrees and my back pockets were filled with a skull cap, my lobster gloves, and the wind jacket. I clipped in and pedaled (and actually moved forward! whee! those of you who've been spinning indoors will relate to my exhilaration at forward movement), and then turned and pedaled myself back to my front door where I unclipped, went inside and grabbed a neck gator (for the way down, that is, if I decided to go up . . . )
I went up. how could I not? it looked more blue that direction than any other, and I thought it might even be warmer with the elevation gain that would send me up above the inversion.
the road was dry (mostly), the air was clear, the sun shone enough that I could see my shadow for clumps of minutes at a time, my heart was pounding with effort (and joy), and I felt like I was home.
I love riding my bike on asphalt.
when I reached the top of the canyon I layered on everything I'd brought in my back pockets (skull cap, gator, lobster gloves, wind jacket), and rode down little mountain to the little dell reservoir, then over to the locked gate where the road up big mountain is piled with 2 - 3 feet of snow. I turned, looking at the frozen white reservoir and the huge blue sky, and took a few deep breaths. then I climbed back up to the top, and rode my bike home.
these are the times you feel vibrantly alive, connected, at peace with the world, fulfilled, complete.
sometimes the best things begin with the tiniest little niggle which grows into an itch, then a pull, then a demand that leads to a dream come true.
Friday, February 1, 2013
asphalt dreams
I'm trying to remember what it feels like to ride my bike.
since last november 12th I've attended 66 indoor sweaty spinning (grinding, grunting, groaning) sessions, and ridden outside only 4 times.
the last time I rode outside was almost 9 weeks ago, and my bike has been resting, dejectedly, against my garage wall since that day. sigh.
during these winter weeks I've been paying close attention to all of the bicycling commuters I see out on the roads: some of these people are almost impossibly committed to their programs. we've had mornings of 10 degrees, of 8 and 5 and even a few at 0. we've had mornings where neither road nor sidewalk is plowed and the snow sits 6 inches thick. we've had mornings where there is nothing even close to a bike lane or a shoulder and there's barely enough room for two cars to pass by each other. it's been icy, slushy, frozen, snow-packed, glacial. and the intrepid cyclists pedal on.
my guess is that there's a thrill in it, somewhere, that must outweigh the drudgery and difficulty.
some are likely so determined to honor their commuting commitment they will put up with whatever they have to; some may have no other acceptable form of transportation. some might not have licenses or own cars, like my bike shop boy jared.
but some, I believe, like the challenge.
they like overcoming what the world decides to throw at them. they know they can tough it out; they get a kick out of the adrenaline spikes as they slip, slide, overpower the impossible. they are fueled by the satisfaction of reaching their destination via a path full of mental and physical challenge.
and maybe, just maybe, they like the quiet inside their skull caps and neck gators and face masks and helmets as they pedal their fat tires through mute piles of fresh white snow.
I'm not this tough.
my joke is that I commute to work, getting up early in the morning for my 23-mile ride before settling into my work day at home. but I don't do this during the nasty weather, the extreme cold, the wet, the snow and sleet and hail and ice.
and I intensely admire those who do. my jaw dropped as I watched a cyclist come spinning down our street two mornings this week when I didn't want to let my daughters even take a car out on the terrible roads.
today the roads are wet, drenched with meltage from four days of snow earlier in the week. it's warm enough for a chilly ride, but the water is keeping me from feeling excitement about hopping on ruby and heading out and about. I'm dreaming of asphalt--dry, smooth, dark--and accepting the fact that I'm not quite tough enough to go out there and take it the way it is.
since last november 12th I've attended 66 indoor sweaty spinning (grinding, grunting, groaning) sessions, and ridden outside only 4 times.
the last time I rode outside was almost 9 weeks ago, and my bike has been resting, dejectedly, against my garage wall since that day. sigh.
during these winter weeks I've been paying close attention to all of the bicycling commuters I see out on the roads: some of these people are almost impossibly committed to their programs. we've had mornings of 10 degrees, of 8 and 5 and even a few at 0. we've had mornings where neither road nor sidewalk is plowed and the snow sits 6 inches thick. we've had mornings where there is nothing even close to a bike lane or a shoulder and there's barely enough room for two cars to pass by each other. it's been icy, slushy, frozen, snow-packed, glacial. and the intrepid cyclists pedal on.
my guess is that there's a thrill in it, somewhere, that must outweigh the drudgery and difficulty.
some are likely so determined to honor their commuting commitment they will put up with whatever they have to; some may have no other acceptable form of transportation. some might not have licenses or own cars, like my bike shop boy jared.
but some, I believe, like the challenge.
they like overcoming what the world decides to throw at them. they know they can tough it out; they get a kick out of the adrenaline spikes as they slip, slide, overpower the impossible. they are fueled by the satisfaction of reaching their destination via a path full of mental and physical challenge.
and maybe, just maybe, they like the quiet inside their skull caps and neck gators and face masks and helmets as they pedal their fat tires through mute piles of fresh white snow.
I'm not this tough.
my joke is that I commute to work, getting up early in the morning for my 23-mile ride before settling into my work day at home. but I don't do this during the nasty weather, the extreme cold, the wet, the snow and sleet and hail and ice.
and I intensely admire those who do. my jaw dropped as I watched a cyclist come spinning down our street two mornings this week when I didn't want to let my daughters even take a car out on the terrible roads.
today the roads are wet, drenched with meltage from four days of snow earlier in the week. it's warm enough for a chilly ride, but the water is keeping me from feeling excitement about hopping on ruby and heading out and about. I'm dreaming of asphalt--dry, smooth, dark--and accepting the fact that I'm not quite tough enough to go out there and take it the way it is.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
just sayin'
there are brand new, shiny, smooth, black stretches of asphalt beyond the locked gate heading up toward big mountain . . .
now, what did the snail say as it was riding on the turtle's back?
whee!!!
now, what did the snail say as it was riding on the turtle's back?
whee!!!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
too
one of my many thoughts this morning:
I am one of the luckiest people on earth.
this had to do with the fact that I had just had a great ride, and was sitting in my cool and comfortable house on my favorite aubergine couch, book in hand, coffee beside me, with my purple chenille blanket wrapped round my legs. and I had a little bit of time before I had to hit the ground running.
wow. blessed am I.
and here's one of my many blessings: I have so darn many great places to ride my bike that I can't keep on top of them all. things change, and I don't find out about it until the next time I ride there, at which point I ask myself, gosh, when's the last time I was here?
this happened to me monday, on wasatch drive. there have historically been two cross streets on wasatch that do not have stop signs while wasatch does. the stop signs on wasatch are clearly marked "Cross Street Does Not Stop." these intersections are bummers for us on bikes, as both the cross streets are of steep grades: while riding we must almost stop to get a clear view of whether or not a car is coming.
and now there is only one such intersection. sometime in the recent past they have changed one of these intersections to a 4-way stop. I didn't realize that monday until I was staring at the big vehicle coming down the hill, waiting for it to keep going down, trying to understand why it was stopping. then, light bulb, I saw the back of the octagonal sign on the corner where it was stopping. I wonder how many more times I will wait for cars on that street to keep going through the intersection before I finally learn that they must now stop. old habits die hard, don't they?
and this morning's bit of news-to-me (but not to the rest of the east canyon biking world) is that there is brand spanking new not-yet-striped asphalt on the road up big mountain! this is a big WOO HOO! it's not the entire road, but at least a couple long and a few short stretches, and they covered most every place where the road was breaking apart. and it is asphalt, not chip seal. alleluia! why is their budget bigger than emigration canyon's budget? no one even lives in east canyon, and all of those thousands of people live in emigration . . . hmm. don't understand that one.
but the point is, there has been new asphalt there for at least ten days and I wasn't on it until today. (I had seen the sign a few weeks back, road work july 27-30, so I knew something was up.)
and someone changed one of my intersections and I didn't even know it.
and this is all because I have too many options each day that I wake up.
what a lucky girl I am.
I am one of the luckiest people on earth.
this had to do with the fact that I had just had a great ride, and was sitting in my cool and comfortable house on my favorite aubergine couch, book in hand, coffee beside me, with my purple chenille blanket wrapped round my legs. and I had a little bit of time before I had to hit the ground running.
wow. blessed am I.
and here's one of my many blessings: I have so darn many great places to ride my bike that I can't keep on top of them all. things change, and I don't find out about it until the next time I ride there, at which point I ask myself, gosh, when's the last time I was here?
this happened to me monday, on wasatch drive. there have historically been two cross streets on wasatch that do not have stop signs while wasatch does. the stop signs on wasatch are clearly marked "Cross Street Does Not Stop." these intersections are bummers for us on bikes, as both the cross streets are of steep grades: while riding we must almost stop to get a clear view of whether or not a car is coming.
and now there is only one such intersection. sometime in the recent past they have changed one of these intersections to a 4-way stop. I didn't realize that monday until I was staring at the big vehicle coming down the hill, waiting for it to keep going down, trying to understand why it was stopping. then, light bulb, I saw the back of the octagonal sign on the corner where it was stopping. I wonder how many more times I will wait for cars on that street to keep going through the intersection before I finally learn that they must now stop. old habits die hard, don't they?
and this morning's bit of news-to-me (but not to the rest of the east canyon biking world) is that there is brand spanking new not-yet-striped asphalt on the road up big mountain! this is a big WOO HOO! it's not the entire road, but at least a couple long and a few short stretches, and they covered most every place where the road was breaking apart. and it is asphalt, not chip seal. alleluia! why is their budget bigger than emigration canyon's budget? no one even lives in east canyon, and all of those thousands of people live in emigration . . . hmm. don't understand that one.
but the point is, there has been new asphalt there for at least ten days and I wasn't on it until today. (I had seen the sign a few weeks back, road work july 27-30, so I knew something was up.)
and someone changed one of my intersections and I didn't even know it.
and this is all because I have too many options each day that I wake up.
what a lucky girl I am.
Monday, August 3, 2009
asphalt artists, documented
I had a mission this morning.
it was recovery ride day, and I lay in bed last night thinking about the morning ride, chanting to myself, don't forget the camera.
I didn't forget the camera.
I had to rearrange my bike bag, though, putting my spare tube and cartridges in my little bento box up front, so that my not-so-petite camera could have the back bag to itself.
my mission: to document something I'd seen last week while I was riding.
or something I thought I'd seen while riding.
because this is what happens to me: I'll be riding along, looking around, here and there, taking it all in, and sometimes making up stories about what I saw. I'll have gone past something before it really registers, and next thing I know I'm questioning the veracity of my eye-mind connection. was that really a giant bug, or just a wrinkled candy wrapper? was that a bunny's tail, or just a torn piece of a plastic bag caught on a weed?
or last week's query:
were those letters written in the road with asphalt crack-repair goop or was that just my imagination?
today, I returned to that spot on 39th south to see if I had made it all up, or if I had really seen a word written in a thin black ribbon of shiny black repair goop.
my eyes did not lie, and my brain truly did comprehend the truth as I flew by this spot, and here, today, is proof that some people are absolutely artists with asphalt.
or at least with asphalt repair.
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