I began this web log on July 19, right in the heat of cycling season. I chose to create this site for a couple reasons: first, to force myself to write at least something on a consistent, daily basis, and second, to give me an opportunity to "put myself out there," sharing thoughts about an activity I love, following that Christian (? not sure how many other religions hold to this same tenet) belief that we are supposed to let our light shine out for the world to see.
"this little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine . . . hide it under a bushel? no! I'm going to let it shine!" . . . those are words from a song we teach our children: what kind of an example am I to them if I don't live by those words as well?
so, I'm letting my light out, and the world can choose to enjoy and make use of my light, or not, and either choice is fine because my light is still exposed and contributing to the greater light in the universe. I am doing my part.
I don't put my thoughts and observations out there to make you all agree with me, but to just share my perspective on the world. for it is by being exposed to and finding some understanding of others' perspectives that we come to participate more fully in the world. if we continue to just walk our own narrow path, never listening to or experiencing that of others, we are limited in how and what we give back to the world.
if I help to challenge a thought someone holds, or expose a new thought, then I am helping to increase understanding, awareness, and ultimately compassion in our world. and I truly believe this all begins with one simple candle and one simple mind. as mother teresa said, there are no great acts, just small acts performed with great love.
I have great love for my writing, for my cycling, and for the relationships we create with each other. and that is why I write as I do, why I share here as I do.
now, this is not anything like what I sat down to write here today.
this is an example of how there are times when the thinking mind can be undermined. I was going to write about this morning's yoga class, the snow, and my need for a better program of cross training. and I even began that way, as I mentioned the date I started this site, and how it was peak cycling season at that time. I was then going to move into how things have changed, now that it's october 12th.
but you can see what happened instead . . .
I could go back and change it all, revert to my original plan, just junk all those other thoughts. but I won't, because I believe those "other thoughts" came out of my fingers for a reason.
so I am done now, off, my point made and not wanting to be belabored.
I am heading out the door to go do a small act, one I will do with great love.
as I did my yoga class this morning, with great love for myself, because guess what? that counts, too.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
snow, volleyball, soccer, basketball and lacrosse
the title of today's entry could have a subtitle: Things That Keep Me From Cycling.
summer is such a delicious season, full of sunshine, warmth, and time. what it lacks is snow and team sports, and as such, it's just the perfect season for my cycling self.
fall, spring, and winter, on the other hand, are full of those TTKMFC: primarily, my children's sports.
this morning I spent 2 hours watching my daughters play volleyball. which was fine, as it was windy and cold and wet.
this afternoon, I spent an hour and a half sitting outside in the wind and wet (a little mix of sleet, rain, and snow-ish stuff) and cold, watching one of my daughter's soccer games.
some days obviously contain more than one thing from the TTKMFC list.
but the soccer game was played at a field directly west of the mouth of millcreek canyon, which ties nicely into my story about yesterday's ride . . .
the temperature dropped about 10 degrees yesterday, leaving our high in the city about 50 degrees. which is tolerable riding weather, especially when the sun is shining down on us. since the weekend weather prediction was pretty gloomy, it made sense to get a good friday ride in. and since the season is winding down pretty quickly, it made sense to get a (possibly) last ride up millcreek canyon in.
now 50 degrees in the city means . . . significantly cooler at the top of millcreek. we started from my house a little after 4:00.
I wore my full tights, a long-sleeved warm jersey, a jacket, my headband, and full gloves. and I brought arm-warmers for the ride down.
the sky was clear above us as we rode up, and I was sweating quite a bit for the first two-thirds of the climb. the temperature kept dropping, degree by degree, as we climbed higher up the canyon, and by the last two miles I was fairly consistently cold. at times the sun dropped behind clouds, and by the end, the twists and curves of the canyon walls kept us separated from it even when it wasn't hiding behind those clouds. by that point my sweat had cooled off so that I was cold and damp, a delightful combination if it's above 75 degrees, but not such a great combination when it's in the upper thirties.
at elbow fork, which is perhaps 3 or so miles from the top, a cyclist was stopped on the downhill edge of the road, blowing on his hands, his cheeks and nose bright red. "It's really cold, coming down," were the words of encouragement he offered us. hmmm. no surprise, and I didn't really want to think about the down when I still had all that up to do.
it was a tough up, by the way. maybe it was the cold air, maybe it was the end of the season, maybe it was the time of day: something was making it a very challenging climb for me. I'd like to think it's just because I couldn't breathe through my nose since it wouldn't stop running, but it's possible I was just having a wimpy day.
nevertheless, I reached the top, where I circled the parking lot until my heart rate climbed down from the stratosphere and settled into only a slightly elevated zone where I was at least able to speak words out loud. I circled a few more times, then, finally certain I wouldn't drop dead if I were to stop, I stopped. I pulled on my arm warmers, watched my breath for a minute (yes, really), then steeled myself for the downward plunge.
it was cold.
really cold.
you know how you get a headache from eating ice cream too quickly?
I had the headache without the pleasure of the ice cream.
I couldn't talk, or even move my facial muscles, as they were frozen into position. literally. who needs botox? a nice fast ride down a canyon when it's 35 degrees ought to freeze those muscles for a good week or two.
brrr.
so this afternoon, sitting at the base of the canyon, looking up into it, I thought of where I had been less than 24 hours before. I watched the blanket of clouds come down, covering every foothill and mountain on the eastern edge of the city, and lost my view of even the very mouth of millcreek. the clouds, grey and fog-like, settled in for a while and then, their work done, pulled back and up, once again revealing the hills. what had been brown and dotted with green, red, and gold was now dusted with white. as if a giant bowl of confectioner's sugar had been sprinkled over every ridge, there was snow visible on every surface I could see.
when I left the top parking lot of millcreek canyon yesterday I knew it may be my last visit of the year. I tried to drink in every aspect of the mountains, the trees, the hills, the foliage on the ground. it will soon be covered with snow, and soon they will close the gate that stretches across the road halfway up the canyon.
millcreek will then become a haven for hikers and snowshoers, and it will rest under it's thick blanket of snow, peacefully, so quietly.
and I will go watch my daughters play volleyball, and soccer, for a little while longer. then they will play basketball, and toward the end of that season my son will start playing lacrosse again. and when it's just about time for his first game, I will be pumping up the air in my bike tires, digging out my long tights, skull cap and full gloves, and I will try to weave a little riding into his season.
because truly, there are not too many TTKMFC.
summer is such a delicious season, full of sunshine, warmth, and time. what it lacks is snow and team sports, and as such, it's just the perfect season for my cycling self.
fall, spring, and winter, on the other hand, are full of those TTKMFC: primarily, my children's sports.
this morning I spent 2 hours watching my daughters play volleyball. which was fine, as it was windy and cold and wet.
this afternoon, I spent an hour and a half sitting outside in the wind and wet (a little mix of sleet, rain, and snow-ish stuff) and cold, watching one of my daughter's soccer games.
some days obviously contain more than one thing from the TTKMFC list.
but the soccer game was played at a field directly west of the mouth of millcreek canyon, which ties nicely into my story about yesterday's ride . . .
the temperature dropped about 10 degrees yesterday, leaving our high in the city about 50 degrees. which is tolerable riding weather, especially when the sun is shining down on us. since the weekend weather prediction was pretty gloomy, it made sense to get a good friday ride in. and since the season is winding down pretty quickly, it made sense to get a (possibly) last ride up millcreek canyon in.
now 50 degrees in the city means . . . significantly cooler at the top of millcreek. we started from my house a little after 4:00.
I wore my full tights, a long-sleeved warm jersey, a jacket, my headband, and full gloves. and I brought arm-warmers for the ride down.
the sky was clear above us as we rode up, and I was sweating quite a bit for the first two-thirds of the climb. the temperature kept dropping, degree by degree, as we climbed higher up the canyon, and by the last two miles I was fairly consistently cold. at times the sun dropped behind clouds, and by the end, the twists and curves of the canyon walls kept us separated from it even when it wasn't hiding behind those clouds. by that point my sweat had cooled off so that I was cold and damp, a delightful combination if it's above 75 degrees, but not such a great combination when it's in the upper thirties.
at elbow fork, which is perhaps 3 or so miles from the top, a cyclist was stopped on the downhill edge of the road, blowing on his hands, his cheeks and nose bright red. "It's really cold, coming down," were the words of encouragement he offered us. hmmm. no surprise, and I didn't really want to think about the down when I still had all that up to do.
it was a tough up, by the way. maybe it was the cold air, maybe it was the end of the season, maybe it was the time of day: something was making it a very challenging climb for me. I'd like to think it's just because I couldn't breathe through my nose since it wouldn't stop running, but it's possible I was just having a wimpy day.
nevertheless, I reached the top, where I circled the parking lot until my heart rate climbed down from the stratosphere and settled into only a slightly elevated zone where I was at least able to speak words out loud. I circled a few more times, then, finally certain I wouldn't drop dead if I were to stop, I stopped. I pulled on my arm warmers, watched my breath for a minute (yes, really), then steeled myself for the downward plunge.
it was cold.
really cold.
you know how you get a headache from eating ice cream too quickly?
I had the headache without the pleasure of the ice cream.
I couldn't talk, or even move my facial muscles, as they were frozen into position. literally. who needs botox? a nice fast ride down a canyon when it's 35 degrees ought to freeze those muscles for a good week or two.
brrr.
so this afternoon, sitting at the base of the canyon, looking up into it, I thought of where I had been less than 24 hours before. I watched the blanket of clouds come down, covering every foothill and mountain on the eastern edge of the city, and lost my view of even the very mouth of millcreek. the clouds, grey and fog-like, settled in for a while and then, their work done, pulled back and up, once again revealing the hills. what had been brown and dotted with green, red, and gold was now dusted with white. as if a giant bowl of confectioner's sugar had been sprinkled over every ridge, there was snow visible on every surface I could see.
when I left the top parking lot of millcreek canyon yesterday I knew it may be my last visit of the year. I tried to drink in every aspect of the mountains, the trees, the hills, the foliage on the ground. it will soon be covered with snow, and soon they will close the gate that stretches across the road halfway up the canyon.
millcreek will then become a haven for hikers and snowshoers, and it will rest under it's thick blanket of snow, peacefully, so quietly.
and I will go watch my daughters play volleyball, and soccer, for a little while longer. then they will play basketball, and toward the end of that season my son will start playing lacrosse again. and when it's just about time for his first game, I will be pumping up the air in my bike tires, digging out my long tights, skull cap and full gloves, and I will try to weave a little riding into his season.
because truly, there are not too many TTKMFC.
Friday, October 10, 2008
this is me
do you ever find yourself surprised by where you are or what you're doing?
say you're going along, doing whatever it is you're doing, and all of the sudden you think, this is amazing, that this is me, doing this. whether it's spending an enormous amount of money on a luxury item, climbing a mountain peak that's been on your wish-list for years, driving a car you never thought you might own, walking through a small village in vietnam, bungee jumping . . . just something that seemed a far distance away for a long time. and then, there you are, having the experience.
some people are really good at setting goals for themselves, but I am not one of them. and perhaps when you have a goal, it's written down, you've been thinking about it for a long time: maybe then it's not so surprising when you actually reach it. maybe those people don't experience what I do, the "oh my gosh, this is really me, doing this" kind of feeling. it's a feeling of excitement, and of awe. it's exhilarating. it's a re-working of my self-image, as I incorporate this new experience into Who I Am.
yesterday morning I had another dose of "this is really me" thinking. I was at the base of little mountain, right by little dell reservoir. I know I've described this spot before, but for some inexplicable reason it is just a magic place for me. the road down from little mountain summit meets with route 65, and it is a huge space of asphalt with rarely a car around. to me it's peaceful, and I keep thinking of that movie title My Own Private Idaho. I've never seen the movie, and I know the subject doesn't really fit my usage of the name, but I often think of that title when I'm cycling, alone, in such a spot as this that I've just described. this place is My Own Private Idaho. there are cars out there, sure, and I can see I-80 by the mountain dell/east canyon exit, so I know I'm not far from a major freeway. but there are also acres and acres of raw land, stretching seemingly forever in all directions. there is the reservoir, and there is a big, beautiful piece of asphalt on which I can circle and circle and circle, as I drink in the quiet, the natural beauty, the solitude.
the "this is really me" at this spot has a lot to do with the fact that cycling is still so new to me. three years ago that would not have been me. and cycling has given me this amazing gift, of teaching me that I am a constantly changing being. that me, 3 years ago, couldn't experience that exhilaration, and now this new me can. and me, three years forward, will be having experiences that the me of today would never predict or even fathom.
how cool, to be this ever-changing, evolving me!
jewel, the singer, wrote and recorded a song in which the refrain is "I am becoming." I think of this frequently when I'm having the "this is really me" feeling. we are not static beings: every encounter and experience changes the who of who we are. how great is that? that the me of this morning will be different tomorrow because of what I do, see, hear and absorb throughout this day.
I'm with jewel: I am becoming.
say you're going along, doing whatever it is you're doing, and all of the sudden you think, this is amazing, that this is me, doing this. whether it's spending an enormous amount of money on a luxury item, climbing a mountain peak that's been on your wish-list for years, driving a car you never thought you might own, walking through a small village in vietnam, bungee jumping . . . just something that seemed a far distance away for a long time. and then, there you are, having the experience.
some people are really good at setting goals for themselves, but I am not one of them. and perhaps when you have a goal, it's written down, you've been thinking about it for a long time: maybe then it's not so surprising when you actually reach it. maybe those people don't experience what I do, the "oh my gosh, this is really me, doing this" kind of feeling. it's a feeling of excitement, and of awe. it's exhilarating. it's a re-working of my self-image, as I incorporate this new experience into Who I Am.
yesterday morning I had another dose of "this is really me" thinking. I was at the base of little mountain, right by little dell reservoir. I know I've described this spot before, but for some inexplicable reason it is just a magic place for me. the road down from little mountain summit meets with route 65, and it is a huge space of asphalt with rarely a car around. to me it's peaceful, and I keep thinking of that movie title My Own Private Idaho. I've never seen the movie, and I know the subject doesn't really fit my usage of the name, but I often think of that title when I'm cycling, alone, in such a spot as this that I've just described. this place is My Own Private Idaho. there are cars out there, sure, and I can see I-80 by the mountain dell/east canyon exit, so I know I'm not far from a major freeway. but there are also acres and acres of raw land, stretching seemingly forever in all directions. there is the reservoir, and there is a big, beautiful piece of asphalt on which I can circle and circle and circle, as I drink in the quiet, the natural beauty, the solitude.
the "this is really me" at this spot has a lot to do with the fact that cycling is still so new to me. three years ago that would not have been me. and cycling has given me this amazing gift, of teaching me that I am a constantly changing being. that me, 3 years ago, couldn't experience that exhilaration, and now this new me can. and me, three years forward, will be having experiences that the me of today would never predict or even fathom.
how cool, to be this ever-changing, evolving me!
jewel, the singer, wrote and recorded a song in which the refrain is "I am becoming." I think of this frequently when I'm having the "this is really me" feeling. we are not static beings: every encounter and experience changes the who of who we are. how great is that? that the me of this morning will be different tomorrow because of what I do, see, hear and absorb throughout this day.
I'm with jewel: I am becoming.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
coffee
I want to write about coffee this morning.
but to get there, I have to start with Atlas Shrugged, which I am currently re-reading. if you're not familiar with it, this book is Ayn Rand's 1168 page classic, a philosophical novel, or what I call a really really long fable.
the protagonist is Dagny Taggert, a beautiful, intelligent, driven, productive, capable, amazing woman. who smokes. seemingly constantly. she is forever lighting a cigarette, smoking one, having one lit for her, buying cigarettes, lighting one for someone else . . . now I know this novel was written over 60 years ago, but didn't they even have a clue back then that smoking was not the best thing for your health?
what I've decided is that Dagny was Ayn's semi-autobiographical creation, and that Ayn herself was a committed, determined, heavy duty smoker.
okay, that said, now I can turn to coffee.
I drink a lot of coffee every morning. and like the question I asked of myself last week about cycling: is it an addiction? or just a strong habit? and what does it say about me if it is an addiction?
was Dagny addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that take away from the competent, capable, truly astounding woman she was? was Ayn Rand addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that make her any less of a philosopher, writer, intellectual, and truly astounding woman that she was?
I love drinking my coffee. I make a small pot each morning, and it has become a very special routine for me. I take one of my favorite mugs, and pour into it an ounce or so of milk. then I warm this for 19 seconds (laugh all you want: I know my idiosyncrasies), and then add coffee and artificial sweetener (another no-no) until I have a mug full of sweet, hot, dark brown fluid that warms me up and makes me smile.
I usually end up zapping my mug in the mircrowave a few times before I fill up again, as I sip on my coffee for hours, in between writing and reading and working and making hot chocolate and lunches and driving kids to school and cleaning the kitchen and doing laundry and whatever else comes up each morning.
my coffee is a caf/decaf mix: 1 to 3 is my current ratio. for me it's not all about the caffeine, it's more about the ritual, the routine, the habit. so I try to just do a little caffeine and a lot not. but here's the thing: I don't really know how significantly I am hooked on this stuff. because I don't want to stop making and drinking my coffee.
could I give it up? I'm sure I could, if I had to.
will I give it up? not unless I absolutely have to.
about the only time I will forgo coffee is when there's neither milk nor artificial sweetner that I like. (I detest splenda, can tolerate equal, and definitely prefer the little pink packet kind.) my mother-in-law used to have a little bottle ~ like the kind you get prescriptions in from the pharmacy ~ with saccharin pills in it, these itsy bitsy teeny little white things that would dissolve in liquid. those are okay with me, but I always felt like some kind of a drug addict when I used one.
you know I am desperate for coffee when I drink it black with real sugar. ick.
you know I've completely lost my mind when I use cream. ugh.
(please pardon the break: I just returned to the computer after leaving for the kitchen to refill my mug of coffee.)
on mornings like this there is also something about holding that warm mug between my hands, feeling the heat through the smooth ceramic surface, knowing that the liquid inside will warm my body and give comfort to my soul. this small event contributes to my sense of well-being: to me it means warmth and security, comfort and luxury. no matter what the rest of my life holds, at the moment I sip from this mug I am safe, warm, happy, and have all of my needs met.
that is a pretty amazing gift from some water, some beans, a little milk, some saccharin, and a beautifully shaped piece of ceramic.
so, like Ayn Rand, I may have certain traits and habits that seem to belie the "I have it all together" posture I present to the world. or like Archilles and every other character in Greek mythology, I, too, have my tragic flaws. and I suppose if drinking my mugfuls of coffee each morning is on that list, I am happy to have it remain there because guess what?
I love my coffee ritual.
especially after a 23-mile early morning ride in the 40 degree dark.
mmm, mmm, aah.
but to get there, I have to start with Atlas Shrugged, which I am currently re-reading. if you're not familiar with it, this book is Ayn Rand's 1168 page classic, a philosophical novel, or what I call a really really long fable.
the protagonist is Dagny Taggert, a beautiful, intelligent, driven, productive, capable, amazing woman. who smokes. seemingly constantly. she is forever lighting a cigarette, smoking one, having one lit for her, buying cigarettes, lighting one for someone else . . . now I know this novel was written over 60 years ago, but didn't they even have a clue back then that smoking was not the best thing for your health?
what I've decided is that Dagny was Ayn's semi-autobiographical creation, and that Ayn herself was a committed, determined, heavy duty smoker.
okay, that said, now I can turn to coffee.
I drink a lot of coffee every morning. and like the question I asked of myself last week about cycling: is it an addiction? or just a strong habit? and what does it say about me if it is an addiction?
was Dagny addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that take away from the competent, capable, truly astounding woman she was? was Ayn Rand addicted to cigarettes, and if so, does that make her any less of a philosopher, writer, intellectual, and truly astounding woman that she was?
I love drinking my coffee. I make a small pot each morning, and it has become a very special routine for me. I take one of my favorite mugs, and pour into it an ounce or so of milk. then I warm this for 19 seconds (laugh all you want: I know my idiosyncrasies), and then add coffee and artificial sweetener (another no-no) until I have a mug full of sweet, hot, dark brown fluid that warms me up and makes me smile.
I usually end up zapping my mug in the mircrowave a few times before I fill up again, as I sip on my coffee for hours, in between writing and reading and working and making hot chocolate and lunches and driving kids to school and cleaning the kitchen and doing laundry and whatever else comes up each morning.
my coffee is a caf/decaf mix: 1 to 3 is my current ratio. for me it's not all about the caffeine, it's more about the ritual, the routine, the habit. so I try to just do a little caffeine and a lot not. but here's the thing: I don't really know how significantly I am hooked on this stuff. because I don't want to stop making and drinking my coffee.
could I give it up? I'm sure I could, if I had to.
will I give it up? not unless I absolutely have to.
about the only time I will forgo coffee is when there's neither milk nor artificial sweetner that I like. (I detest splenda, can tolerate equal, and definitely prefer the little pink packet kind.) my mother-in-law used to have a little bottle ~ like the kind you get prescriptions in from the pharmacy ~ with saccharin pills in it, these itsy bitsy teeny little white things that would dissolve in liquid. those are okay with me, but I always felt like some kind of a drug addict when I used one.
you know I am desperate for coffee when I drink it black with real sugar. ick.
you know I've completely lost my mind when I use cream. ugh.
(please pardon the break: I just returned to the computer after leaving for the kitchen to refill my mug of coffee.)
on mornings like this there is also something about holding that warm mug between my hands, feeling the heat through the smooth ceramic surface, knowing that the liquid inside will warm my body and give comfort to my soul. this small event contributes to my sense of well-being: to me it means warmth and security, comfort and luxury. no matter what the rest of my life holds, at the moment I sip from this mug I am safe, warm, happy, and have all of my needs met.
that is a pretty amazing gift from some water, some beans, a little milk, some saccharin, and a beautifully shaped piece of ceramic.
so, like Ayn Rand, I may have certain traits and habits that seem to belie the "I have it all together" posture I present to the world. or like Archilles and every other character in Greek mythology, I, too, have my tragic flaws. and I suppose if drinking my mugfuls of coffee each morning is on that list, I am happy to have it remain there because guess what?
I love my coffee ritual.
especially after a 23-mile early morning ride in the 40 degree dark.
mmm, mmm, aah.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
quantum physics
if everything is working well on my bike, I hear very little from it as I ride along.
a noisy chain means I need to clean, degrease and lube it, and other noises generally mean I need to take it to the shop. (aren't I an amazingly gifted diagnostician?)
occasionally, however, I will be riding along and suddenly hear the sound of my tires, and it always catches me by surprise.
this happens when I am riding past a concrete barrier, a guardrail, or some kind of fencing, and this "wall" will bounce the sound of my tires back up to my ears while I pass. and depending upon the type of material the wall is made of, the sound changes.
a concrete barrier or wall will throw back a steady, thick-ish sound, while a guardrail with spaced metal posts will give me a rhythmic whoosh-pause-whoosh-pause-whoosh sound. a metal guardrail will echo back a thinner sound, and on those rare times I pass close to a wooden fence, I get a more dampened whirring rubber sound.
and each of these times, I am on the same bike pedaling in the same manner. yet the sound reflected back to me is remarkably different.
ooh, just imagine where I am going to go with this!
I am a pretty consistent me, just like my riding is a pretty consistent pedaling process. yet what the world reflects back to me is not always the same. sometimes I am given feedback that I'm great, I'm wonderful, things are good: I see smiles and hear kind words and have people respond to me in positive or loving ways. other times what I get is quite different: I am ignored or talked down to, yelled at or told I'm not doing things well at all. and all along I am still this fairly consistent me.
which tells me that people and circumstances I encounter in life are going to take in what I give or put out, color it with their own selves, and bounce back at me a combination of my action and their internal process. sometimes I come back quite clearly to myself, and at other times what I get back is only vaguely similar to what I've given out.
the life lesson here is just to be able to differentiate between clear reflections and muddy ones. a clear one can make you feel pretty good, while a muddy one can cause you to question yourself and your actions. it takes a strong, grounded person to accept all the feedback the world offers, separate the wheat from the chaff, and stay true to their path. I think this is something most of us work on for a good portion of our lives.
I am a strong, consistent, valuable me, regardless of what feedback the world bounces my way. I am the same, whether I pass concrete walls, wooden fences, or guardrails made of wood and metal. I am me, regardless of how the world responds to, reacts to and interprets me.
and then again, I am what you perceive me to be, aren't I?
a noisy chain means I need to clean, degrease and lube it, and other noises generally mean I need to take it to the shop. (aren't I an amazingly gifted diagnostician?)
occasionally, however, I will be riding along and suddenly hear the sound of my tires, and it always catches me by surprise.
this happens when I am riding past a concrete barrier, a guardrail, or some kind of fencing, and this "wall" will bounce the sound of my tires back up to my ears while I pass. and depending upon the type of material the wall is made of, the sound changes.
a concrete barrier or wall will throw back a steady, thick-ish sound, while a guardrail with spaced metal posts will give me a rhythmic whoosh-pause-whoosh-pause-whoosh sound. a metal guardrail will echo back a thinner sound, and on those rare times I pass close to a wooden fence, I get a more dampened whirring rubber sound.
and each of these times, I am on the same bike pedaling in the same manner. yet the sound reflected back to me is remarkably different.
ooh, just imagine where I am going to go with this!
I am a pretty consistent me, just like my riding is a pretty consistent pedaling process. yet what the world reflects back to me is not always the same. sometimes I am given feedback that I'm great, I'm wonderful, things are good: I see smiles and hear kind words and have people respond to me in positive or loving ways. other times what I get is quite different: I am ignored or talked down to, yelled at or told I'm not doing things well at all. and all along I am still this fairly consistent me.
which tells me that people and circumstances I encounter in life are going to take in what I give or put out, color it with their own selves, and bounce back at me a combination of my action and their internal process. sometimes I come back quite clearly to myself, and at other times what I get back is only vaguely similar to what I've given out.
the life lesson here is just to be able to differentiate between clear reflections and muddy ones. a clear one can make you feel pretty good, while a muddy one can cause you to question yourself and your actions. it takes a strong, grounded person to accept all the feedback the world offers, separate the wheat from the chaff, and stay true to their path. I think this is something most of us work on for a good portion of our lives.
I am a strong, consistent, valuable me, regardless of what feedback the world bounces my way. I am the same, whether I pass concrete walls, wooden fences, or guardrails made of wood and metal. I am me, regardless of how the world responds to, reacts to and interprets me.
and then again, I am what you perceive me to be, aren't I?
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
anniversaire heureux
today my bike is two years old.
well, it's actually older than that, but it has been in my possession for two years, today, and thus it is a day of celebration!
this is the story of how I came to own my bike:
once upon a time I owned only a mountain bike, and I rode that mountain bike up and down the streets, determined to get my body and mind in shape. I discovered that I enjoyed riding this bike, and that I loved the peaceful mornings and the feeling of being on my bike. one day, I went to a bike shop to look for some new bike shorts. as I was paying, the nice salesman asked me questions about what kind of bike I had, and where I rode it. I told him I had a mountain bike, but that I only rode it on streets anymore, not having been on a trail for at least a year. to which he replied, gee, why don't you get a road bike?
speechless, I just stared at him, and finally just smiled and said, yes, someday, I should, shouldn't I?
"why don't you get a road bike?" well at that time, I could come up with about a thousand reasons why not, and they all had dollar signs in front of them.
but as the weeks went by, that little question hung out in the back of my mind. why don't you get a road bike? why don't you why don't you why don't you . . .
so I started looking at road bikes. and learned what a "drop bar" bike is. (duh: it's a bike whose handlebars drop down, as opposed to mountain bikes whose handlebars just go straight across.) and felt like an idiot. and test rode one, feeling like the wiggliest, least stable thing on two wheels. I worked on the financial end of things, and came to a place where I figured investing in a bike was really an investment in my health (little did I know just how far that little investment would go.)
and finally I went to a store determined to buy a bike.
it was REI, because the other bike shops I had visited just intimidated me too much: too many guys who knew too much about something I knew too little of. contender, canyon bicycles, bingham: it didn't matter; they were all full of guys who knew everything there was to know about bicycles, and I'm not sure they thought old women like me should be riding one, anyway.
it was the first friday evening in october. I'd been there at REI the week before, and had been given a pretty good education on different bikes that were available and likely to be appropriate for me. lots of bikes were on sale, as it was the end-end-end of biking season. which was good. and the nice salesman, after a good hour or so, helped me choose a beautiful silver cannondale that I got quite excited about.
"let's get you out there, let you test ride it." my heart fluttered, my pulse raced.
he found a helmet for me, took my driver's license in case I absconded with the pretty little thing, and walked me out to the front doors of the store.
where he stopped, looked outside, and said, "uh-oh."
I looked out, and saw a curtain of water falling from the sky.
"I don't think you're going out in this."
crushed, I followed him back to the bike shop counter, and handed the helmet back over to him.
"can you come back tomorrow?"
deep sigh. "okay. will you keep it for me?"
he nodded, and walked my pretty new silver cannondale off to the back room. I watched him go, feeling like a parent who had just left their newborn infant with a brand new babysitter.
the next day, october 7, I showed up at REI ready to ride. the sun was out, peaking through a handful of clouds, and I was excited to see my new bike.
at the counter a different salesman went off to get my bike, then got me a helmet, took my license, and walked me to the door.
he leaned the bike my way, then said, "uh-oh."
I looked outside: the sky was clear. I looked back at him.
"let me see you straddle this bike."
I did.
"okay, I'm going to hold it, I want you to sit and hold onto the handlebars, and pedal."
I did.
"I can't send you out on this bike."
my heart dropped down to my shoes.
"this bike is too big for you~ let's go back there and take a look at what else we've got."
he wheeled my pretty silver bike back to the racks of bikes, and I drug my feet, made heavy by the added weight of my heart, along behind him.
he put my beautiful shiny silver bike away, and started to look at what else was there on the floor. I moped. soon he left to go look through paperwork, searching for what bikes on the floor might be in my size. I stared at the pretty silver bike I couldn't have. I moped some more.
he came back out and showed me a few other options, then returned to the filing cabinet. then came back, and showed me another possibility. none of them were pretty shiny silver bikes. and then he pulled another bike out from a rack, and said, "now this is really similar to the other one, but it's a tri-bike." it had aero-bars on the front (narrow bars, parallel to the wheels, that shot out from the middle of the handlebar so that you could rest your forearms there as you rode your triathlon.)
it was a cannondale, but it was a frosty pale blue, not a beautiful shiny silver.
he had me sit on it, he adjusted the seat. I sat again, he measured this and that. he had me pedal, he adjusted something else. forever and a day later, he said, I want you to go ride this one.
and I did.
and that is how I came to own a frost blue cannondale tri bike. they replaced the double ring crank set with a compact double for me, helped me find a flashing tail-light, had me fill out a county bike license form, polished it up (okay, not really), and sent me on my way.
for its anniversary today, I think I will degrease and lube the chain and the rear derailleur, and maybe even give the whole bike a little wash. it could also use some new handlebar tape, maybe that would be a nice little present for it . . . maybe I could even find some tape in a pretty silver color . . . for although I love my bike, there will always be the memory in my mind of a beautiful shiny silver bike that was almost mine.
well, it's actually older than that, but it has been in my possession for two years, today, and thus it is a day of celebration!
this is the story of how I came to own my bike:
once upon a time I owned only a mountain bike, and I rode that mountain bike up and down the streets, determined to get my body and mind in shape. I discovered that I enjoyed riding this bike, and that I loved the peaceful mornings and the feeling of being on my bike. one day, I went to a bike shop to look for some new bike shorts. as I was paying, the nice salesman asked me questions about what kind of bike I had, and where I rode it. I told him I had a mountain bike, but that I only rode it on streets anymore, not having been on a trail for at least a year. to which he replied, gee, why don't you get a road bike?
speechless, I just stared at him, and finally just smiled and said, yes, someday, I should, shouldn't I?
"why don't you get a road bike?" well at that time, I could come up with about a thousand reasons why not, and they all had dollar signs in front of them.
but as the weeks went by, that little question hung out in the back of my mind. why don't you get a road bike? why don't you why don't you why don't you . . .
so I started looking at road bikes. and learned what a "drop bar" bike is. (duh: it's a bike whose handlebars drop down, as opposed to mountain bikes whose handlebars just go straight across.) and felt like an idiot. and test rode one, feeling like the wiggliest, least stable thing on two wheels. I worked on the financial end of things, and came to a place where I figured investing in a bike was really an investment in my health (little did I know just how far that little investment would go.)
and finally I went to a store determined to buy a bike.
it was REI, because the other bike shops I had visited just intimidated me too much: too many guys who knew too much about something I knew too little of. contender, canyon bicycles, bingham: it didn't matter; they were all full of guys who knew everything there was to know about bicycles, and I'm not sure they thought old women like me should be riding one, anyway.
it was the first friday evening in october. I'd been there at REI the week before, and had been given a pretty good education on different bikes that were available and likely to be appropriate for me. lots of bikes were on sale, as it was the end-end-end of biking season. which was good. and the nice salesman, after a good hour or so, helped me choose a beautiful silver cannondale that I got quite excited about.
"let's get you out there, let you test ride it." my heart fluttered, my pulse raced.
he found a helmet for me, took my driver's license in case I absconded with the pretty little thing, and walked me out to the front doors of the store.
where he stopped, looked outside, and said, "uh-oh."
I looked out, and saw a curtain of water falling from the sky.
"I don't think you're going out in this."
crushed, I followed him back to the bike shop counter, and handed the helmet back over to him.
"can you come back tomorrow?"
deep sigh. "okay. will you keep it for me?"
he nodded, and walked my pretty new silver cannondale off to the back room. I watched him go, feeling like a parent who had just left their newborn infant with a brand new babysitter.
the next day, october 7, I showed up at REI ready to ride. the sun was out, peaking through a handful of clouds, and I was excited to see my new bike.
at the counter a different salesman went off to get my bike, then got me a helmet, took my license, and walked me to the door.
he leaned the bike my way, then said, "uh-oh."
I looked outside: the sky was clear. I looked back at him.
"let me see you straddle this bike."
I did.
"okay, I'm going to hold it, I want you to sit and hold onto the handlebars, and pedal."
I did.
"I can't send you out on this bike."
my heart dropped down to my shoes.
"this bike is too big for you~ let's go back there and take a look at what else we've got."
he wheeled my pretty silver bike back to the racks of bikes, and I drug my feet, made heavy by the added weight of my heart, along behind him.
he put my beautiful shiny silver bike away, and started to look at what else was there on the floor. I moped. soon he left to go look through paperwork, searching for what bikes on the floor might be in my size. I stared at the pretty silver bike I couldn't have. I moped some more.
he came back out and showed me a few other options, then returned to the filing cabinet. then came back, and showed me another possibility. none of them were pretty shiny silver bikes. and then he pulled another bike out from a rack, and said, "now this is really similar to the other one, but it's a tri-bike." it had aero-bars on the front (narrow bars, parallel to the wheels, that shot out from the middle of the handlebar so that you could rest your forearms there as you rode your triathlon.)
it was a cannondale, but it was a frosty pale blue, not a beautiful shiny silver.
he had me sit on it, he adjusted the seat. I sat again, he measured this and that. he had me pedal, he adjusted something else. forever and a day later, he said, I want you to go ride this one.
and I did.
and that is how I came to own a frost blue cannondale tri bike. they replaced the double ring crank set with a compact double for me, helped me find a flashing tail-light, had me fill out a county bike license form, polished it up (okay, not really), and sent me on my way.
for its anniversary today, I think I will degrease and lube the chain and the rear derailleur, and maybe even give the whole bike a little wash. it could also use some new handlebar tape, maybe that would be a nice little present for it . . . maybe I could even find some tape in a pretty silver color . . . for although I love my bike, there will always be the memory in my mind of a beautiful shiny silver bike that was almost mine.
Monday, October 6, 2008
what I saw
today a little critter ran across the road in front of me, and I had never before seen such a thing out in the wild . . . it had a reddish coat, a white underbelly, and the end of its tail looked like it had been dipped in black ink. I had to come home and search the internet because I didn't know what it was.
I started with lynx (forgetting they are in the cat family), then went to mink (too big) and then ferret (not quite but almost), and finally discovered that what I had seen was a . . . .
weasel. running across the road by mountain dell golf course.
wild!!!!
I started with lynx (forgetting they are in the cat family), then went to mink (too big) and then ferret (not quite but almost), and finally discovered that what I had seen was a . . . .
weasel. running across the road by mountain dell golf course.
wild!!!!
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