albert einstein's brilliance

"There are only two ways to live your life:

One is as though nothing is a miracle.

  The other is as though everything is a miracle."

I think I'll try the latter.
how about you?

why les miserables is on my ipod

I have learned many things this past week.

first--and terribly importantly--the brighton store and cafe is open again.  whew!  I don't know the entire story, but they reopened for the summer season june 15.  john and I caught them preparing, restocking shelves, filling coolers, moving fixtures around, on the 14th.  so all my sadness and bemoaning the loss of an institution was unnecessary.  whew.

next, although they repaved state route 65 (which we ride from the bottom of little mountain all the way to east canyon dam), which is a huge woo-hoo, they've painted the white stripes so far to the side of the road they fall off at points.  a huge truck and boat nearly took me out this morning, and I don't think the driver cared one teeny bit.  I waved; he kept driving up the road.  my geez! was loud and accompanied by a slightly fearful and incredulous shake of my head:  I swear the rear right side of that trailer was a foot away from my left hip.  I thought about riding all the way down to the east canyon reservoir, tracking him down, and letting him know what I thought of his driving . . . but then thought better of that.
the sad news is that all the mile- and kilometer-markings on the road have been covered over:  I enjoy those bits of encouragement.  they'll be back soon, I'm sure, as the Deseret News marathon down from the top of big mountain is coming up next month.
the great news, though, is they've widened the shoulder alongside little dell reservoir so that stretch of road is safer and a little more bike friendly.  and as soon as that lovely asphalt gets tamped down a bit more and all the little crumbly black things get brushed/blown/squished away, it will be absolutely lovely.

saw my first porcupine of the year this morning!  a big fat thing just sitting in the gully off the shoulder somewhere around little dell.  living, thankfully.  didn't learn much from this sighting, except how much joy it brings me to see those darn things.

got shivers this morning listening to the finale (6:25 minutes in) of les miserables on my ipod---and just got them again as I googled this to make sure of my accuracy---when jean valjean sings,
to love another person is to see the face of God.
this isn't something to learn in a moment, like the opening of the brighton store, or that a road is recently paved, or that fat porcupines still live in dell canyon.  this is something to come to understand through time, through experience, through commitment, and during quiet moments in a verdant canyon.

of everything I learned this week, my favorite---as much as I love the brighton store and cafe---is that I want to keep on seeing the face of God in as many different ways and times as I can, for as long as I live.

with gratitude to victor hugo,
namaste

hope, commitment, friendship, intimacy, fun

in my heart, in my soul, I am a writer.  a storyteller, I like to believe.  very little fulfills me more than the actual process of writing, especially when I am in depth of my thrall in it all.  it's said that you've found your true place when you are outside of time's strict boundaries while there:  when I am deeply involved in a writing project time has no meaning, the words just flow through me as if given by one outside of me, and I feel I'm in complete harmony with the world.
I love to write.

I haven't been involved in a project for the past few months, and the resulting ache pulls at me.  I want to be back in that place of synchronicity and bliss.
so this morning---after my demanding (me demanding of myself) ride to little dell and back---I decided to use this desire to write, and tell the story of last saturday's ride.  although I'll share many things here, I've held back on some very personal things because they're, well, deeply personal.  but it's time to tell the tale.
like all good stories, it begins with once upon a time. 


once upon a time there was a boy who met a girl.  they dated, they separated, they found their way back to each other.  they separated again, and found themselves together again.  no fighting, no drama, just plateaus and personal growth that ebbed and flowed.
then came the day the two of them decided they were ready to stay together without further parting, that they had climbed past the plateaus and knew how to stay on life's ridgeline.  ups, downs, rough terrain, smooth:  a ridgeline is not always an easy place.  but it's possible to live life balancing up there on the top edge.

so the boy divined a way to show the girl just how much he loved her.
he let her arrange a bike ride with her friends, then planted cairns along the way, markers that let her know he supported and loved her and would always be there for her.

at the top of little mountain, he set up a table with white linen cloth, a vase of lilies, a jug of water, packs of shot-bloks (electrolyte treats), and a scrolled up note telling her that lilies represent hope.

at the top of big mountain, he set up the same table with cloth, lilies, water, a bunch of perfectly colored bananas, and a scrolled up note telling her that lilies represent commitment.

at the east canyon resort store, well, he got caught.  she descended a bit too quickly and caught him in the parking lot, where he handed her an envelope with snack money in it and a scrolled up note telling her that lilies represent friendship.

when she returned home after her ride, another table greeted her in her house, one with a huge bouquet of lilies, a diet coke can resting on ice, and another note telling her that lilies represent intimacy . . . and that he'd see her at 6:15 to take her out to dinner.

when he arrived to pick her up, he brought the display he'd decided not to leave at a spot during her ride home:   a box of chocolate turtles with a can of escargot on top and a note that lilies represent fun.
(one of her favorite jokes is about what the snail says as it's riding on the turtle's back.)

when he picked her up for dinner, he drove her back up emigration canyon first, up to the top of little mountain where another white-draped table sat, this one holding a bucket of champagne on ice, two glasses, a vases of lilies, and a small box.
when he asked her to spend the rest of her life with him, she said yes.

so....  the snail says wheee!


and that is my new response to those who might ask how I feel about getting married and spending the rest of my life with john.  cycling has taught us both a lot about hills and valleys, about effort, about tenacity and perseverance.  about the rewards of hard work, about support, about the joy of swooping.  about falls, crashes, healing.  about balance.
and we're ready.

so....  wheee!   
   

a tailwind and a rabbit

I have a story to tell about last saturday's ride, but I'm not quite ready to do so yet.
instead, I'll tell you about rabbits and tailwinds.

the predicted overnight low last night was about 47 degrees, so I slept in (first day of summer break for my high schoolers!) and didn't ride until the temperature crept its way past 65 and sun filled the skies.
I chose to head up my favorite canyon, and started feeling the little push from behind before I even reached the mouth of emigration.
I seldom---okay make that never---mind a tailwind, even when I know it's going to hit me in the face the moment I turn around.  it's just plain old fun to go faster and work less as you're heading, well, anywhere, whether it's up a hill or on a flat stretch or even downhill.
about a mile into the canyon I caught site of two cyclists ahead of me.   the gap lessened and lessened, and soon I could tell one was male and one was female.  when I was almost within jersey-reading distance, the female took off ahead of the male.
I offered a hello as I passed the gentleman, and was just a couple bike lengths behind the female as she settled into a nice pace.
I was close:  I thought about passing her, but didn't want the pressure of knowing she was just right behind me for the rest of the climb, so eased off a bit.
and then had to step on it.
she kept going, and fairly soon I was 3 bike lengths behind her.
then 4 or 5, then 3 for a while, and then 4 or 5 and darn her, then about 6.
7.
8, maybe 9.
then 10.

it's fun having a rabbit, someone out there in front of you.
I tend to work fairly hard when I'm on my own (or with others who are better than me), but sometimes that complacency kicks in and I slack a bit, as I told you the other day.  but this woman today made me work harder than I otherwise would have, and I have a new record for my 23-mile ride for the season.
which is great fun.

no slacking today.
not with a tailwind and a rabbit.

operating at full capacity*

while pedaling up the canyon the other day I caught myself giving somewhat less than one hundred percent.
somewhat less that seventy percent, to be honest.
so I flicked my right ring finger and clicked up a gear, and putting a little more effort in, started moving a bit faster.  my heartrate increased a few beats, I dug my heels in with every rotation, and I kept pedaling with that improved effort.
all it took was an awareness of my pedaling mediocrity to get me back on track.

sometimes we float---flow, back off, slack off---without realizing it.
sometimes we realize what we've done and continue, anyway.
sometimes we need that break .  .  .  and sometimes we don't.

at times I find myself pedaling listlessly through life's activities.  it's not easy to give one hundred percent to every activity we undertake when those activities include things such as laundry, feeding the dog, mowing the lawn, returning difficult phone calls, paying bills.
creating blog posts.
riding up canyons.
preparing dinner for teenagers.

but as I was brainstorming that list, I realized that I couldn't add "yoga" to it.  because yoga class is one place where I am always challenged (encouraged, enticed, persuaded, even seduced?) into giving my best.
its very philosophy is about awareness:  listening to and understanding your body, paying attention to your experiences, focusing on how you're feeling and breathing.  yoga asks you to give fully of what you're able to in that moment.
I try to do this with my teenagers---breathing slowly, focusing, paying attention and being fully present---but it doesn't always work.
I try to do this with work, but I often get impatient and caught up in what's wrong instead of what's great.
I try to do this with cycling, but my mind often slips into comparisons and, well, whining.
I often find myself focused on finishing a task instead of giving my complete attention to it along the way.
(and truthfully, this also happens during yoga:  I'll glance at the clock and calculate how much longer I have until I'm released.  but I still manage to move through the asanas giving close to all I have.  and I guess if I'm glancing at the clock and hoping to be done, what I have to give in that moment---though less than ideal---is all I have to give.)

today, I want to give more to every activity.
I don't want to wish anything away;  I want to be fully present and aware, to breathe deeply, to give all that I'm capable of giving.
perhaps my experience will reward me.   well:  it already has.

namaste and remember to live each day of your life.

*which reminds me of a book, full catastrophe living, by jon kabat-zinn...  all about mindfulness

chickening out

the other day I spent a little time discussing my "emerging skill" of riding without holding onto my handlebars.
(look ma, no hands!  look ma, no teeth!)
I practice this on beacon street, and on my own street.  both come during the last few miles of my ride, and both are descents.  but beacon has curves, and my street is straight as a stick.
beacon is where I practice fearlessness.

or chicken out.

this morning I was completely fearless . . . until I chickened out.
what happens is my mind starts reminding me how imperfect a hands-free rider I am, how sharp the curve is, and how much it will hurt to crash.  how the wind might gust and pull, how a bump or crack in the road might grab, how a tire might slip on a little teeny imperceptible-to-the-eye-at-twenty-mph rock.
and then fear (rationality?) takes hold and I lean down, grip the handlebars, and squawk.  bwrack!


there is a line somewhere between bravery and fear, between risk-taking and stupidity.  I'm currently trying to ride that line and more often than not I err on the side of fear (intelligence).  I truly don't want to have to explain to anyone (my kids) that I crashed while trying to ride without holding on as I rode downhill around a corner.
but darn it all, I want to be able to do that with confidence, any time I want.  the fact that I did it once is just that:  a solitary fact.  I want to know that I can do it again, and again.
so I need to keep practicing, which means being brave enough to try it, and finding a way to cross that border between "I'm scared" and "I have faith that I'll succeed."

having faith means trusting that you have within you everything you need.  and that the universe will back you up.  back to the words I learned in peter matthiessen's book about nepal,
expect nothing,
trust life.

bwrack no more!

little red riding rules

there is an extremely popular organized ride in our part of the state that happens the first weekend in june (for the past 25 years) called the Little Red Riding Hood.  the event is a fundraiser targeting cancer that impacts women.
the event is also limited to riders of the female kind.
thousands of women participate in this ride, and registration for this year's event was full within 2 hours.
I've never ridden this ride, and I never will.

one of the bands on my Current Favorites list is the script.  they sing songs that females love, all about relationships and undying love and, well, men who screw up and regret it.  of course we females love their music.  they have a song out now called fall for anything  (tried to find the official video but couldn't; this is the best I could find) in which they use the line
you've got to stand for something or you'll fall for anything.
they are not the first to use this phrase---and if you can find the origin of it you're more tenacious than I---and it's one I find myself liking.
I often say that I believe in the possibility of most everything until it's proven to be impossible . . . but there are a few things I am willing to take a position on, and little red is one of them.

we women have fought for at least a century, here in america, to be given the same rights that men were given.  many "suffragettes" went through pure hell in the process of demanding the right to vote:  ridicule, divorce, imprisonment, physical abuse, verbal abuse . . . it was a battle that took years and years to win.
as a group we women have argued, pursued legal battles, and rebelled in efforts to be given the opportunities and rewards that our male counterparts have.  we have fought against unequal pay scales and the imbalance of power.  we have made significant inroads into boardrooms, senate floors, and universities.  we have argued until we were blue about the unfairness and inequity of being excluded from anything because of our sex, whether it's positions as CEO's, ministers, or members of private clubs.
we have fought to end the belief that one sex deserves something different from the other.

and then there's little red.
an organized ride in which men may volunteer to help, but not participate.
huh?
now here's the thing---I do understand this---most men have no interest in riding this ride.
they'd just as soon be doing their own thing, especially the serious cyclists who consider themselves on an entirely different level than female riders anyway.  so it's quite likely that no one---other than me---is bothered by this event.

but I am.
I think it's wrong.
I think that we, as women, have a responsibility to behave in the way we're asking men to behave.
we would throw a fit---and probably find a way to close it down---if there were an organized ride for men only that we were excluded from participating in.
so why do we think it's okay to do what we've demanded they not do?

I take a stand here.  I am disappointed that we, as females, think it's okay to support this kind of event, as it is in conflict with the belief system that underpins the struggle we've had to be accepted as equal to men.
no fence for me:  I stand for philosophical consistency.