" . . . preailing Victorian fashion . . . required women to wear full-length dresses or skirts that hid any 'immodest' display of an ankle. These heavy petticoated garments, however, sometimes using over twelve yards of fabric, significantly confined the physical activities of women. When the bicycle craze emerged in the 1890s, the long skirts and slips hampered safe, comfortable cycling.
Fashion designers solved this with the 'reform dress,' but convincing American women that shorter skirts or bloomers were respectable presented a formidable challenge. Both the thought of women riding bicycles and daring such a radical change in dress met stiff resistance in some circles. The Rescue League of Washington formed to fight against women riding 'the devil's agent' and wearing bicycle apparel. The organization launched a national crusade to ask clergymen and women to supress the bicycle craze because of its vulgarity." Linda Lawrence Hunt, Bold Spirit: Helga Estby's Forgotten Walk across Victorian America, Moscow, ID: University of Idaho Press, 2003, p. 85.
we have come a long way, baby.
I'm just about ready to put on my cycling tights, bare a little ankle, and go flirt with my favorite devil's agent.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
on not being home
71 degrees and sunny.
red rock, sweeping vistas, buttes and plateaus and gently swooping inclines. stunning views, sagebrush and wheatgrass and prickly pear cactus.
57 miles yesterday, ending with a swoop down snow canyon, 52 miles today that included a swish around sand hollow reservoir: a utah century (we can't seem to stop at just 100 miles), split in half, which is, I believe, probably the best way one can do a century.
it's a treat to be in st. george, having escaped from the dreary, cloudy, rainy, depressing, wet, gray,green greasy limpopo river---ooops, I mean salt lake valley.
ahh.
red rock, sweeping vistas, buttes and plateaus and gently swooping inclines. stunning views, sagebrush and wheatgrass and prickly pear cactus.
57 miles yesterday, ending with a swoop down snow canyon, 52 miles today that included a swish around sand hollow reservoir: a utah century (we can't seem to stop at just 100 miles), split in half, which is, I believe, probably the best way one can do a century.
it's a treat to be in st. george, having escaped from the dreary, cloudy, rainy, depressing, wet, gray,green greasy limpopo river---ooops, I mean salt lake valley.
ahh.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
the story of april 20
once upon a time there was a girl who fell in love.
she married her knight in shining armor, and soon they decided to start a family. when they learned she was pregnant, they were ecstatic. four months later they learned she was carrying twins, and their excitement doubled, if you can imagine that.
it wasn't long until they were told that their identical boy twins needed to be monitored due to a size discrepancy, and within two months they were asked to come in for testing. when the doctor gently placed his hand on her knee, fuzzy images on the ultrasound behind them, she knew that the smaller twin had died.
he lived a beautiful life anyway.
she married her knight in shining armor, and soon they decided to start a family. when they learned she was pregnant, they were ecstatic. four months later they learned she was carrying twins, and their excitement doubled, if you can imagine that.
it wasn't long until they were told that their identical boy twins needed to be monitored due to a size discrepancy, and within two months they were asked to come in for testing. when the doctor gently placed his hand on her knee, fuzzy images on the ultrasound behind them, she knew that the smaller twin had died.
the young girl's heart broke when this was confirmed, and that heart was hastily pulled together when her surviving son was born, prematurely, two days later, april 20, 1991. tape and bandages and some string wrapped round and round, holding that heart's pieces from falling apart.
it was a gray and rainy day, and the girl spent most of it sleeping and trembling in her dreary hospital room while her new son slept on a warming table in the newborn ICU. it wasn't until the next day that she learned her precious son had suffered a severe cerebral hemorrhage before birth. as he grew it became clear he would never able to completely fulfill the three wishes she had for him: that he would be able to discover the joy of using his intellect, that he would be able to glory in the beautiful world around him, and that he would be able to give and receive love.
he lived a beautiful life anyway.
and in january of 2010, he left the girl and rejoined his twin.
now the girl rides her bike on april 20, she rides her favorite ride, up emigration canyon and down to the reservoir, around the paint-chipped yellow gate, and up toward big mountain as far as she can before the snow stops her progress. at that point she stops, she talks with her son for a few minutes, and she spreads a few of his ashes beside her favorite road.
yesterday she rode in the rain and the sleet, and paused a mile and a third past the gate. she talked to her son, she smiled, she shook the rain from her helmet and she wrapped her arms and tucked her gloved hands into her armpits.
she likes to think her son watches her ride, every time she rides, and she's certain he joins her at times. yesterday he was the tailwind pushing her home, back home into her new life without him, but always with him.
happy birthday jake, happy day, little joe.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
waiting to be told you're good enough
waiting is often difficult.
it requires this thing called patience, which is a trait I swear I wasn't born with. I've been working to develop it, and have increased my stores of it substantially over the years. but I also swear I'm using it up at a pace which far exceeds my ability to replenish. by this thursday it's possible I'll be completely out of it, and start working into the negative. not sure what happens then.
but back to waiting.
the last few months have been filled--overflowing--with waiting.
my son, and thus I, too, have been waiting to hear about college: acceptances, scholarships, financial aid, housing. argh.
I have been waiting to hear from agent after agent I have queried about my book project.
every day I wait for the phone to ring/the fax to spit/email to pop up with orders for my company.
I've spent hours and days waiting for the rain to stop.
each day I wait for the mail, hoping for checks and other forms of good news.
and now I wait to hear from lotoja, to be told whether or not I get to spend the next four and a half months training for the never-ending day-long ride.
sigh.
it all fits this pattern: waiting for someone/thing/group/institution to tell me (us) they want me (us).
I have this fantasy that someday the mail will pile up, I'll avoid my phone, I'll have to hire someone to deal with my email because everyone, at the same time, will decide they want me.
doors will open, I will be ushered through. offers will come to me, I will be begging for peace and quiet and time to go ride my bike by myself, whenever and wherever I want.
for now, though, my son and I wait. we wait for the powers that be to make their decisions, to assess and evaluate our offerings. and we work to strengthen our cores, those parts of us that hold our self-worth and esteem, so that we can take the answer when it eventually comes. we steel ourselves for the no-thank-you's, the not-this-time's, the not-a-good-fit explanations. and we hope for the yes, we tell ourselves we've earned it, we're good enough, we are the right one at the right time.
I receive no's daily, delivered by silent phones and pleasantly understanding emails.
I take these in daily, and patch myself with a little more mortar, then I go ride my bike.
knowing that someday I won't have time to ride my bike, and I'll look back at today with longing.
yep, that's how it goes.
it requires this thing called patience, which is a trait I swear I wasn't born with. I've been working to develop it, and have increased my stores of it substantially over the years. but I also swear I'm using it up at a pace which far exceeds my ability to replenish. by this thursday it's possible I'll be completely out of it, and start working into the negative. not sure what happens then.
but back to waiting.
the last few months have been filled--overflowing--with waiting.
my son, and thus I, too, have been waiting to hear about college: acceptances, scholarships, financial aid, housing. argh.
I have been waiting to hear from agent after agent I have queried about my book project.
every day I wait for the phone to ring/the fax to spit/email to pop up with orders for my company.
I've spent hours and days waiting for the rain to stop.
each day I wait for the mail, hoping for checks and other forms of good news.
and now I wait to hear from lotoja, to be told whether or not I get to spend the next four and a half months training for the never-ending day-long ride.
sigh.
it all fits this pattern: waiting for someone/thing/group/institution to tell me (us) they want me (us).
I have this fantasy that someday the mail will pile up, I'll avoid my phone, I'll have to hire someone to deal with my email because everyone, at the same time, will decide they want me.
doors will open, I will be ushered through. offers will come to me, I will be begging for peace and quiet and time to go ride my bike by myself, whenever and wherever I want.
for now, though, my son and I wait. we wait for the powers that be to make their decisions, to assess and evaluate our offerings. and we work to strengthen our cores, those parts of us that hold our self-worth and esteem, so that we can take the answer when it eventually comes. we steel ourselves for the no-thank-you's, the not-this-time's, the not-a-good-fit explanations. and we hope for the yes, we tell ourselves we've earned it, we're good enough, we are the right one at the right time.
I receive no's daily, delivered by silent phones and pleasantly understanding emails.
I take these in daily, and patch myself with a little more mortar, then I go ride my bike.
knowing that someday I won't have time to ride my bike, and I'll look back at today with longing.
yep, that's how it goes.
Monday, April 18, 2011
a break in the clouds
it's rained all day.
about 5 o'clock I saw a break in the clouds: I made a run for it.
not my best decision ever.
let's just say I got wet.
very wet.
but I did have a glorious two miles without rain, out in holladay, with a beautiful storm-driven tailwind at my back . . .
of course, you know what that means, and I paid the price all the way home.
the scary thing? I returned home soaked, dirty, a bit cold, and so very glad I went.
yikes.
about 5 o'clock I saw a break in the clouds: I made a run for it.
not my best decision ever.
let's just say I got wet.
very wet.
but I did have a glorious two miles without rain, out in holladay, with a beautiful storm-driven tailwind at my back . . .
of course, you know what that means, and I paid the price all the way home.
the scary thing? I returned home soaked, dirty, a bit cold, and so very glad I went.
yikes.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
go until the snow
my friend ivy is training for a race, and thus offering us---her biking friends---multiple opportunities to "go for a ride." she thinks we'll all be in great shape by the time her race rolls around: I'm not so sure. I might just be plain old exhausted if I keep following her around.
example: saturday's ride. she sent an email out friday, alerting us to her plans and welcoming our company. it was to be a hill day, her coaching instructions being to go climb as many hills as she could.
for eight hours.
her plan was to start by climbing city creek canyon as far as she could, until the snow blocked her path. then on to emigration canyon, and up east until the snow blocked her path. next would be millcreek canyon, until---you guessed it---the snow blocked her path. after that would be big cottonwood, a canyon which is only blocked by snow after the road ends.
I was up for a significant ride, itching to have something under my belt longer than a ride to draper and tougher than just emigration. so I signed on for the ride, planning to keep riding until I felt I'd hit my limit. unfortunately, I started to feel my limits closing in on the way up the first canyon . . . I had hoped that ivy and crew might be riding at an endurance pace, but it seems that ivy has increased her endurance pace to something that puts me in oh-gee-how-long-can-I-maintain-this pace.
I survived city creek. and emigration, past the gate toward east, down to george washington park, and back up little mountain.
all the way down emigration I debated how much more I wanted to do. our original 6 riders had pared down to 3 by then, and one more was leaving us at the bottom of emigration. that would leave me and the ivy machine, and I was torn. the thought of riding up 3 canyons 'til the snow stopped me in mid april was hugely appealing. I also was eager to head up millcreek, not having been there since last fall. I wanted to see the snow, to see if one could ride past the gate, and if so, how far.
but my legs were moaning. whining, really, and well, hurting. oh, yes, no, yes, no.
we turned left at the bottom of the canyon and my mind pulled me south, my grumpy legs reluctantly revolving around and around. those legs moaned all the way to the mouth of millcreek, when they stopped the moaning and began shouting. no! no! I refuse to go!
5 miles, I told myself, that's all. it's 5 miles to the gate, and the likelihood of there being visible pavement after the gate is slim to none. way too much snow up there. 5 miles, susan, you can do this.
I have never, ever, climbed that canyon as slowly as I did yesterday. but did it I did, limping up, and cruising down feeling like I had conquered my own small battle, mind over muscle.
and that is the story of go until the snow.
the epilogue is that ivy continued on, riding south again, heading up to brighton and snarfing a cheeseburger before heading back home. I, myself, was plenty proud to wiggle and wimp my way home, where I fed myself like I'd climbed 4 canyons instead of 3. no cheeseburgers, but just about everything else in the fridge.
73 miles, somewhere just shy of 6000 feet elevation gain, in mid-april. not too bad. perhaps if I keep following ivy around I'll get in great shape. or perhaps I'll just get exhausted.
example: saturday's ride. she sent an email out friday, alerting us to her plans and welcoming our company. it was to be a hill day, her coaching instructions being to go climb as many hills as she could.
for eight hours.
her plan was to start by climbing city creek canyon as far as she could, until the snow blocked her path. then on to emigration canyon, and up east until the snow blocked her path. next would be millcreek canyon, until---you guessed it---the snow blocked her path. after that would be big cottonwood, a canyon which is only blocked by snow after the road ends.
I was up for a significant ride, itching to have something under my belt longer than a ride to draper and tougher than just emigration. so I signed on for the ride, planning to keep riding until I felt I'd hit my limit. unfortunately, I started to feel my limits closing in on the way up the first canyon . . . I had hoped that ivy and crew might be riding at an endurance pace, but it seems that ivy has increased her endurance pace to something that puts me in oh-gee-how-long-can-I-maintain-this pace.
I survived city creek. and emigration, past the gate toward east, down to george washington park, and back up little mountain.
all the way down emigration I debated how much more I wanted to do. our original 6 riders had pared down to 3 by then, and one more was leaving us at the bottom of emigration. that would leave me and the ivy machine, and I was torn. the thought of riding up 3 canyons 'til the snow stopped me in mid april was hugely appealing. I also was eager to head up millcreek, not having been there since last fall. I wanted to see the snow, to see if one could ride past the gate, and if so, how far.
but my legs were moaning. whining, really, and well, hurting. oh, yes, no, yes, no.
we turned left at the bottom of the canyon and my mind pulled me south, my grumpy legs reluctantly revolving around and around. those legs moaned all the way to the mouth of millcreek, when they stopped the moaning and began shouting. no! no! I refuse to go!
5 miles, I told myself, that's all. it's 5 miles to the gate, and the likelihood of there being visible pavement after the gate is slim to none. way too much snow up there. 5 miles, susan, you can do this.
I have never, ever, climbed that canyon as slowly as I did yesterday. but did it I did, limping up, and cruising down feeling like I had conquered my own small battle, mind over muscle.
and that is the story of go until the snow.
the epilogue is that ivy continued on, riding south again, heading up to brighton and snarfing a cheeseburger before heading back home. I, myself, was plenty proud to wiggle and wimp my way home, where I fed myself like I'd climbed 4 canyons instead of 3. no cheeseburgers, but just about everything else in the fridge.
73 miles, somewhere just shy of 6000 feet elevation gain, in mid-april. not too bad. perhaps if I keep following ivy around I'll get in great shape. or perhaps I'll just get exhausted.
Friday, April 15, 2011
amazing, fabulous, powerful people
I'm sure you've had this happen.
you meet someone, somewhere, and then you bump into them (not always literally) somewhere else, some time later. you remember them, but they have no recollection of ever meeting you before.
they look at you with a blank expression, shaking their head, and tell you it's nice to meet you.
I've had this happen numerous times, (and I have also been the blank-faced one.) and upon first reflection I question myself: am I so unmemorable? I have a forgettable face? I just blend in with the crowd and am of no interest to them?
further reflection reveals the truth: it's really all about them.
it has nothing to do with my face, my personality, my very self. it's just about whatever is going on for them: they're preoccupied when they meet you, they're at a stressful point in their life, they're overwhelmed, they're forgetful, they lack certain social skills, they purposefully ignore cool and fabulous people. whatever.
what brings this to mind today is that while I was out on my glorious, early-spring ride today I exchanged smiles with a woman coming downhill on her bike while I was headed up. I've met this woman oh, perhaps four times now. met as in, introduced myself. she rides on the same Bad Ass Cycling team as I do. we've ridden stretches of rides together.
and she never remembers who I am.
this morning I could tell she had no idea who I was, and the cool-great-wonderful thing is that it didn't matter. I've finally figured out that it's all about her and not about me. she just isn't good at remembering amazing, fabulous, powerful people who introduce themselves to her.
hey, no one's perfect.
at least she has the good sense to ride a bike.
you meet someone, somewhere, and then you bump into them (not always literally) somewhere else, some time later. you remember them, but they have no recollection of ever meeting you before.
they look at you with a blank expression, shaking their head, and tell you it's nice to meet you.
I've had this happen numerous times, (and I have also been the blank-faced one.) and upon first reflection I question myself: am I so unmemorable? I have a forgettable face? I just blend in with the crowd and am of no interest to them?
further reflection reveals the truth: it's really all about them.
it has nothing to do with my face, my personality, my very self. it's just about whatever is going on for them: they're preoccupied when they meet you, they're at a stressful point in their life, they're overwhelmed, they're forgetful, they lack certain social skills, they purposefully ignore cool and fabulous people. whatever.
what brings this to mind today is that while I was out on my glorious, early-spring ride today I exchanged smiles with a woman coming downhill on her bike while I was headed up. I've met this woman oh, perhaps four times now. met as in, introduced myself. she rides on the same Bad Ass Cycling team as I do. we've ridden stretches of rides together.
and she never remembers who I am.
this morning I could tell she had no idea who I was, and the cool-great-wonderful thing is that it didn't matter. I've finally figured out that it's all about her and not about me. she just isn't good at remembering amazing, fabulous, powerful people who introduce themselves to her.
hey, no one's perfect.
at least she has the good sense to ride a bike.
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