lobster & lambs

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

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

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

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

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 . . .

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

People always think something's all true.

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