I can't believe myself sometimes.
I missed my own darn anniversary not quite 2 weeks ago, and didn't realize it until just now.
they say the mind is the first thing to go, don't they?
july 19, 2008, the tao of cycling launched itself into cyberspace, and here I am, three years later, still experiencing new events, seeing life through new eyes, viewing new fawns each spring, listening to a new generation of crickets each fall.
I began by posting every day, and made it through over a year that way, but then settled into my "odd day" posting pattern.
many days I ponder my purpose here (both on earth and in cyberspace), consider going on hiatus, and find myself unable to give it up and walk--I mean pedal--away.
today, as I reflect upon the past 3 years and 12 days, I'm not committing to another year; I'm simply committing to doing what I believe is best.
it's not yet time to stop riding,
and I think it's not yet time to stop writing here.
training is good.
training keeps us from resting on those prickly laurel wreathes (like those strewn all about my home.)
so happy anniversary, belatedly, to me,
and happy (and healthy, though weary) return to slc, to me,
and I think tomorrow I'll share my story of pedaling with 300 or so other slightly-wacky people from saintville to sinville.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
allez-y !
and off we go,
toward the bright lights in the middle of the desert. which probably won't be so striking when we (hopefully) arrive in the middle of the day.
however, we are ready to roll, ready for what I call the grand adventure.
catch the updates on
www.facebook.com/highdesertsales
and I'll be back sunday!
allez-y!
toward the bright lights in the middle of the desert. which probably won't be so striking when we (hopefully) arrive in the middle of the day.
however, we are ready to roll, ready for what I call the grand adventure.
catch the updates on
www.facebook.com/highdesertsales
and I'll be back sunday!
allez-y!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
the message
I intended to preface the passage below by stating, this isn't about biking.
but then I decided that it really is.
it's about biking, about life, about being. because who and how we are as we ride along, is who and how we are.
for the past 4 weeks we've had a 15-year-old northern irish girl living with us, participating in the Ulster Project with one of my daughters. it has been an amazing, beautiful, incomparable experience. it has touched us all deeply, and extended our community across the atlantic to that fragile island. the 14 irish who were here with the project left yesterday morning to return home, but the evening before that we had a "closing ceremony" at a local church. the pastor of this presbyterian church shared with us a passage from Romans, both in its TNIV (today's new international version) form, and in a form from a book called The Message: an interpretation/translation of the new testament directly from the greek, put in today's words.
I'm copying it here, sharing it, because I thought it was some of the best guidance available for teenagers, cyclists, and all human beings:
Love from the center of who you are; don't fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle. Don't burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don't quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians*; be inventive in hospitality. Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they're happy; share tears when they're down. Get along with each other; don't be stuck-up. Make friends with nobodies; don't be the great somebody. Don't hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you've got it in you, get along with everybody. (Romans 12:9-18, The Message)
(I want this changed to Humans)
if you've got it in you, get along with everybody.
and if you don't have it in you, never give up the goal of someday finding it within you.
but then I decided that it really is.
it's about biking, about life, about being. because who and how we are as we ride along, is who and how we are.
for the past 4 weeks we've had a 15-year-old northern irish girl living with us, participating in the Ulster Project with one of my daughters. it has been an amazing, beautiful, incomparable experience. it has touched us all deeply, and extended our community across the atlantic to that fragile island. the 14 irish who were here with the project left yesterday morning to return home, but the evening before that we had a "closing ceremony" at a local church. the pastor of this presbyterian church shared with us a passage from Romans, both in its TNIV (today's new international version) form, and in a form from a book called The Message: an interpretation/translation of the new testament directly from the greek, put in today's words.
I'm copying it here, sharing it, because I thought it was some of the best guidance available for teenagers, cyclists, and all human beings:
Love from the center of who you are; don't fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle. Don't burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don't quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians*; be inventive in hospitality. Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they're happy; share tears when they're down. Get along with each other; don't be stuck-up. Make friends with nobodies; don't be the great somebody. Don't hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you've got it in you, get along with everybody. (Romans 12:9-18, The Message)
(I want this changed to Humans)
if you've got it in you, get along with everybody.
and if you don't have it in you, never give up the goal of someday finding it within you.
Monday, July 25, 2011
what to say
squirrel girl, hamstring, firecracker . . . the girl has a few nicknames.
if I could come up with a new one, it would simply be supergirl.
supergirl, aka ivy, rode her 520 miles this past weekend, ending at 3:30 this morning. as our biking buddy bob put it, she rode more this weekend than he's ridden all month.
I rode over 50 miles this morning, climbing about 5000 feet, and that was one-tenth of what she did.
one-tenth.
so, I have little to say today.
every ride I've ever done pales (bleaches itself to nothing) in comparison to what this girl has done.
but perhaps this will be helpful: whenever I begin to feel tired, weak, sore, hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, miserable . . . I can just think of ivy and what she survived, riding straight through for 46 hours.
then I can just tuck my little head back down, suck it up, and---in ivy's infamous words---HTFU. (I'm too good of a girl to put the words out there, but maybe you can figure it out.)
I'm still glad to me, but I admire the squirrel girl like no other.
go, ivy, you are my hero!
if I could come up with a new one, it would simply be supergirl.
supergirl, aka ivy, rode her 520 miles this past weekend, ending at 3:30 this morning. as our biking buddy bob put it, she rode more this weekend than he's ridden all month.
I rode over 50 miles this morning, climbing about 5000 feet, and that was one-tenth of what she did.
one-tenth.
so, I have little to say today.
every ride I've ever done pales (bleaches itself to nothing) in comparison to what this girl has done.
but perhaps this will be helpful: whenever I begin to feel tired, weak, sore, hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, miserable . . . I can just think of ivy and what she survived, riding straight through for 46 hours.
then I can just tuck my little head back down, suck it up, and---in ivy's infamous words---HTFU. (I'm too good of a girl to put the words out there, but maybe you can figure it out.)
I'm still glad to me, but I admire the squirrel girl like no other.
go, ivy, you are my hero!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
solidarity and night lights
my friend ivy is riding the race across oregon today.
and tonight.
and tomorrow.
and possibly even part of tomorrow night.
520 miles: she began at 5 am this morning and by 4 pm had 145 miles behind her . . . can you imagine having ridden 145 miles and thinking to yourself, gosh, only 375 left to go?
the thought alone exhausts me.
I, in solidarity, am going to join her spirit out on the road tonight, in the dark.
okay, it's only partly about ivy, with the larger chunk being about my upcoming relay race next friday/saturday. race, hah. event, better.
since I will be riding during the day, then during the night, then during the day again, I decided that it would be good for me to experiment with a little day riding/night riding.
so . . .
today I rode 80 miles. and now I've had a break for (more than) a few hours, and I'm getting ready to head back out again as soon as it gets dark.
I've got my super bright tail light, my mega-watt front light, my reflective vest-thingee (which looks more like a super-sized bright green upper-body jock strap than anything else), two water bottles chilling, and, well, a slightly-anxious me.
I've ridden in the early-morning dark many times, but it always lightens up by the end of my ride. and I've usually had a healthy(ish) amount of sleep before heading out.
this will be a new experience.
I'm going to head up the canyon so it will be nice and dark, like the highway we'll be riding next friday night, and so that I'll have a descent to learn how to navigate without sunlight.
right now the trick is mostly about keeping myself from falling asleep before it's time to leave.
and then there's ivy.
who will probably finish her 520-mile race in about 40 total hours (that's my guess).
the least I can do is go ride for two hours in the dark tonight, sending positive energy and good vibes up into the night sky, directing it in a north-westerly direction, asking that it float down and find her wherever she may be, and give her just a teeny, tiny little boost.
and tonight.
and tomorrow.
and possibly even part of tomorrow night.
520 miles: she began at 5 am this morning and by 4 pm had 145 miles behind her . . . can you imagine having ridden 145 miles and thinking to yourself, gosh, only 375 left to go?
the thought alone exhausts me.
I, in solidarity, am going to join her spirit out on the road tonight, in the dark.
okay, it's only partly about ivy, with the larger chunk being about my upcoming relay race next friday/saturday. race, hah. event, better.
since I will be riding during the day, then during the night, then during the day again, I decided that it would be good for me to experiment with a little day riding/night riding.
so . . .
today I rode 80 miles. and now I've had a break for (more than) a few hours, and I'm getting ready to head back out again as soon as it gets dark.
I've got my super bright tail light, my mega-watt front light, my reflective vest-thingee (which looks more like a super-sized bright green upper-body jock strap than anything else), two water bottles chilling, and, well, a slightly-anxious me.
I've ridden in the early-morning dark many times, but it always lightens up by the end of my ride. and I've usually had a healthy(ish) amount of sleep before heading out.
this will be a new experience.
I'm going to head up the canyon so it will be nice and dark, like the highway we'll be riding next friday night, and so that I'll have a descent to learn how to navigate without sunlight.
right now the trick is mostly about keeping myself from falling asleep before it's time to leave.
and then there's ivy.
who will probably finish her 520-mile race in about 40 total hours (that's my guess).
the least I can do is go ride for two hours in the dark tonight, sending positive energy and good vibes up into the night sky, directing it in a north-westerly direction, asking that it float down and find her wherever she may be, and give her just a teeny, tiny little boost.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
what I'm grateful for this morning
cool air
smart wool socks
hummingbirds
playful, soaring, dipping birds
all birds, really
quick-footed chipmunks with those vertical tails
beating the sunrise at the top of little mountain by 90 seconds
being able to stare a young deer in the eyes from 12 feet away
gradual inclines
tailwinds on the way home
coffee
a warm shower
and what brings even a greater rush of gratitude is the knowledge that
I can do it all
again
tomorrow.
smart wool socks
hummingbirds
playful, soaring, dipping birds
all birds, really
quick-footed chipmunks with those vertical tails
beating the sunrise at the top of little mountain by 90 seconds
being able to stare a young deer in the eyes from 12 feet away
gradual inclines
tailwinds on the way home
coffee
a warm shower
and what brings even a greater rush of gratitude is the knowledge that
I can do it all
again
tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
forced recovery
ruby is in the bike shop.
and has been since yesterday, post my early-morning emigration ride.
I told the bike shop boy he could keep her until today, and, (wince) possibly until tomorrow, if he really needed to . . .
sigh.
last weekend was tough. I rode 250 miles last week: up emigration three times, millcreek twice, big cottonwood once, and little cottonwood twice. by sunday, when I simply rode out to the mouth of little cottonwood and back (1700' elevation gain), I was Pretty Darn Tired.
then came yesterday's ride, then yesterday's trip to the bike store, and now doday: Forced Rest Day.
so I went to yoga, then for a two-hour hike.
and at the moment, I'm not feeling too bad about not riding ruby tomorrow.
I'm sure you're concerned: my bike is just having a little issue, completely fixable I'm sure. bike shop boy suggested it's likely time for new cables, and I'm hoping that's the fix for the problem I've been experiencing. I feel like the prototypical female talking to a mechanic:
well, when I pedal it goes around like it's supposed to and then it kind of slips, makes a little hiccup thing where there's just air for a minute, and then it's right back to normal. and it does it sometimes, more when it's flat, but not all the time, and it makes me pedal funny. then there's this little whirring sound, and a clink, and I think it might be coming from somewhere on the left side, except sometimes it sounds like it's on the right . . .
okay, I made that last part up.
but it's difficult to explain some of these things when you're a female like me.
so, my hope is that ruby will come home tomorrow, and that by thursday I'll feel like taking her back out for a spin.
she gets a little recovery, I get a little recoery, my saddle interface gets a bit of recovery . . .
it's all good.
and has been since yesterday, post my early-morning emigration ride.
I told the bike shop boy he could keep her until today, and, (wince) possibly until tomorrow, if he really needed to . . .
sigh.
last weekend was tough. I rode 250 miles last week: up emigration three times, millcreek twice, big cottonwood once, and little cottonwood twice. by sunday, when I simply rode out to the mouth of little cottonwood and back (1700' elevation gain), I was Pretty Darn Tired.
then came yesterday's ride, then yesterday's trip to the bike store, and now doday: Forced Rest Day.
so I went to yoga, then for a two-hour hike.
and at the moment, I'm not feeling too bad about not riding ruby tomorrow.
I'm sure you're concerned: my bike is just having a little issue, completely fixable I'm sure. bike shop boy suggested it's likely time for new cables, and I'm hoping that's the fix for the problem I've been experiencing. I feel like the prototypical female talking to a mechanic:
well, when I pedal it goes around like it's supposed to and then it kind of slips, makes a little hiccup thing where there's just air for a minute, and then it's right back to normal. and it does it sometimes, more when it's flat, but not all the time, and it makes me pedal funny. then there's this little whirring sound, and a clink, and I think it might be coming from somewhere on the left side, except sometimes it sounds like it's on the right . . .
okay, I made that last part up.
but it's difficult to explain some of these things when you're a female like me.
so, my hope is that ruby will come home tomorrow, and that by thursday I'll feel like taking her back out for a spin.
she gets a little recovery, I get a little recoery, my saddle interface gets a bit of recovery . . .
it's all good.
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