at odds

I have this thing about honoring commitments.  doing what you say you're going to do.  integrity.
so when I fail to keep my word, I am at odds with myself.

I'm at odds with myself.

which means out of sorts, in conflict, not in integrity.

the reason I'm there is because I've committed to posting here regularly, and I haven't been.  I'm in one of those phases that most writers eventually move into (and hopefully through) where writing isn't coming easily.  the phrase I'll never write again dances through my mind, dipping and twirling and taunting; flirting.

in the past few weeks I've ridden a 140-mile fundraising ride for cancer research, a self-made century following a route I've wanted to ride for years, and multiple terrific, awesome, beautiful, challenging, and difficult rides.  I've seen owls in flight, listened to crickets and grasshoppers, stared a deer in the eye, and had a coyote howl and bark and yip as it sat fifteen feet away from me.
I've sweated and glowed, ached and revived.  I've laughed, smiled, and sang as I pedaled.  I've sworn.

but I haven't been able to come home and write about it.

so I'm apologizing for not keeping my commitment, because it doesn't sit well with me.

july 19, 2008, I began writing here and committed to posting daily.  eventually I pulled back a bit, and committed to posting only on odd days.  then I wanted more freedom, and agreed with myself to post weekly, or more often if spirit moved me.
and now, almost 6 years into this blog, I am again negotiating with myself for an agreement that allows me to be in integrity . . .
so I will post when I do.
no more, no less, no conflict, no being at odds with myself.

I'm making peace with myself, and hoping that when the world ~ spirit, nature, what is ~ moves me, I will find a way to share it here that will make it worthwhile for both you and me.

namaste.

hand shadows

my babies are graduating high school, one last saturday and one this coming wednesday.
this is a big deal.
I've been parenting for over 23 years, and although I won't stop being a parent, with these events my role changes dramatically.  in a way, I'm done.

yesterday I rode up millcreek canyon.  the upper half of the canyon is gated and closed to cars from november through june, and during those months the road is used by hikers, cyclists, walkers, dog-walkers, and when the road is covered with snow, skiers and snowshoers.
not long after I'd passed the gate and begun the second half of the climb, I noticed a little boy toddling along with his father, coming down the road.
it was still early in the morning and the sun was before me as I rode up the canyon, eastward.  the dad was behind his son, his hands up above his head, thumbs entwined, hands together, and it hit me: he's making shadows on the road for his son.

I haven't made shadow pictures for my children in years and years.
my children haven't toddled down roads in years.
my children aren't children anymore.

it's been a long road.
there have been seemingly unending climbs, and gates.  some swooping, a few crashes.
stunning vistas and bleak, gray mornings.  ferocious winds, headwinds, tailwinds, crosswinds.  astonishingly calm hours, easy flat stretches, gradual descents filled with coasting.
bumps, rises, uneven pavement, frost heaves, terrible patch jobs, litter in the lane.
sightings of wildlife, fear, pure joy, apprehension, loss.
rewards, accomplishments, peaks, certificates of completion, medals, hugs.
more bumps.
glorious unending tailwinds, crisp air, joyful descents.

and through it all, a constant commitment to pedaling.

we, like most every family out there, have had our ups and downs.  it's virtually impossible to have one without the other.  and we're now here at the next milestone, where paths spread before us, options, choices, decisions to be made.  one of my daughters will soon be heading to the north northwest, and the other to the south south west.
and I'll be here, still pedaling.  still being a parent, but in a very different way.

still pedaling up, still swooping, and always--forever--holding them in my heart with me as I pedal along whatever roads rise up to greet me.

can't we all just get along?

I did not see my coyote friend this morning.
but over the hill and down the other side





I saw two little deer.

I hope my coyote friend doesn't see the two little deer.

common sense, gut, instinct, desire

the forecast was rain.
it rained, then it slowed, then it stopped.  the roads began drying.
the hourly forecast said that at 11am there was a 0 % chance of precipitation, and at noon there was a 30% chance of precipitation.
I hopped on my bike.

I rode up the canyon, mostly under blue skies with sun on my head and a tailwind at my back.
at the top, I turned to look behind me and saw, mmm, clouds.
hmm.
common sense:  says turn around and go home now.
gut: pulls me back home
instinct: gonna disregard it
desire:  tells me keep going, go to the gate, what's another 15 or 20 minutes?

I rode to the gate.
turning around, the wind slapped me and the clouds had piled heavily and darkly above the summit, the place I was headed.
at the summit, I pulled on my rain jacket, watching the rolling, misty clouds hang over the road I was about to descend. then thunder clapped its gleeful hands, and I wondered just what a cyclist is supposed to do during thunderstorms.  lightening, rubber tires, hmmm.
ten yards down, the rain drops started splatting on my helmet, my shoulders, my hands and knees.
I started singing My Girl, the part that goes, I've got sunshi-ine, on a cloudy day....
I kept singing and smiling and laughing as rain drops kept falling.
the first two miles were fine.
and then all hell broke loose.

wind screamed and whipped, sleet-y hail-y rain came down in a torrent, the road quickly began flooding in spots and edges. I slowed, gripped the handlebars tightly with one hand so I could hold the other hand above my eyes, trying to protect my face from the onslaught.
I stopped singing.
gusts caught me, and I slowed further. I thought about finding cover, but more than anything just wanted to be home . . . so I kept going.  hail pinged my helmet and dashed my face.
six miles to go, then five.
my feet squished with each pedal crank, and I was so thoroughly soaked I could feel the weight of water in all my clothing, pulling me down, maybe stabilizing me as cross winds shoved.
four miles, three, out of the canyon, two.
I took a shortcut, one.
home.

I unpeeled in the laundry room, wrapping myself in a spare towel, wet footprints following me directly into the hot shower.

sometimes I need to honor common sense, and tell my desire to keep quiet.  feel my gut, listen to instinct. if only I could teach myself to do that while I'm on a mountaintop, in fresh air, surrounded by nature, flushed with joy and accomplishment . . .
perhaps next time.

death of a banana

before my ride, before it sat in my little bento box for hours, this banana was bright, cheery yellow, with the tiniest bit of green still hovering along the edges of its ridges.

I'm sure it still tastes good . . . to someone who likes bananas . . . but I can't even stomach the thought of peeling it open and eating it.

sigh.

all that potassium gone to waste.

sea legs

I finally have them.
my cycling legs.
it's taken a few months, but they are back.
thank goodness.

every spring, no matter what's taken place over the winter, it's like starting from the beginning.
the first month's rides are almost full of zone 5, my heart pounding like crazy with each little rise and hill.  then it settles a little so that only 80% of the time am I up in zone 5.  then it backs off a little more, and I'm only in zone 5 half the time.
the rest of the time I'm in zone 4B, just a few beats lower than zone 5.
then comes a day when I am more often in 4B than 5:  the scale tips,
alerting me to the fact that one day, soon, I'll have my cycling legs back.

according to most every source, the roots of the phrase "sea legs" come from seafarers being unable to hold on stably while a vessel constantly rollicked on the water, recognizing that they needed to develop their sea legs.  it's believed the phrase first came into use in the early 1700s.

a period of adjustment exists for every sea-goer, allowing them to get used to walking, sitting, and simply being on something that rolls with the motion of the water.  and when the sea-goer spends time on land again, the sea legs gradually disappear, until they return to the vessel and adjust again.

the same thing happens for us cyclists who are unable to ride our real bikes during the winter months... we lose our cycling legs, and have to earn them back.

I think I've finally earned mine back.
I ride up hills and rises and just barely touch zone 5; I feel I'm back in control.
I have my cycling legs back.
thank goodness.

a capricious wind

a cycling mentor of mine says she loves the wind.
I am constantly trying to incorporate---bring into my body---that attitude.  I think about it, I tell myself I love the wind, I say I am grateful for it . . .  and it still, almost always, gets my goat.*

some days are excellent for riding east, some for riding south.  occasionally, we'll get a day that's perfect for riding north.  and sometimes it's a pure pleasure to ride west.

today, however, was a perfect day for riding, and I loved the wind.
it was behind me, then beside me.  it was in my face and then on my other side.
and then it was behind me again.
then in my face.
and it was all good.

and I'm going to work very hard to remember my enjoyment of the wind today, to remember that wind isn't evil, to remember that it's always a gift of one kind or another.  I know that what made it better today was its fickleness, the fact that it wasn't continuously against me for any significant length of time.  the longest stretch of in-my-face was perhaps 4 miles, which is tolerable.

so, outside of having a tailwind my entire ride, my next choice is a capricious wind.  here, there, leaping from side to side, playing catch as catch can with leaves and with soaring hawks.
and with cyclists.


*if you want to have a little fun, try to find the origin of this idiom.