Last Night of Track Deelight

I managed to convince my bosses that I couldn't leave for Louisiana tonight because it was the last night of track races of the season. (heeheee...suckers.) So off I went to Marymoor totally charged to race because I knew that for the next 2 weeks my body would be abused in a sedentary way working at the Katrina response. It was all or nothing tonight.

The track posse was all there and I braved sporting Jane's skinsuit for another night. She had tossed it to me on Monday to welcome me to the team. I did the superman thing and changed into the skinsuit in the porta-pottie. I'd never worn one before and when I came out I felt so....exposed. Like a guy wearing lycra shorts for the first time. Some things just aren't meant to POP OUT like that. But when the heads turned the catcalls came out. Whistles, yells, whooping...the whole freakin track turned around to see me in this monkey suit. I tried desperately to hide behind my ReLoad bag, but Gregg managed to attack me and wrestle it away. Calls of "Drop the bag! Drop the bag!". Yeah hahaha very funny. I walked around like a cat with wet paws. Not entirely sure what to do with myself. I wore it all night and eventually got used to it, maybe put an extra swagger in my step.

So I was back in uniform on Wed night and ready to storm. There were about a dozen girls, with 4 of us from the Track Posse. The first race was an 8 lap snowball. Jane and Izzy did well getting the first laps while I hung out in the rear sucking wheels while everyone else tore us around. By the 6th lap the pack had slowed down and I was ready to go. I sped around the leaders and took the 7th lap with a good lead. I looked behind and had no challengers and continued the lead the whole way on the bell lap. Someone yelled that I had a good 100 meters on them. I couldn't believe I had no challengers, but hell....ok by me. I settled back at the finish line and enjoyed my points. First race to me.

Second race was a miss n' out. Our track posse did well blocking the other women across the width of the track. With 3 laps to go, it was me, Izzy, and one Ti girl. Grrrr....we don't like Ti. At the bell lap Izzy took the front position and I took the back. I sucked the Ti girl's wheel and at the 3rd corner came ahead on her outside so she couldn't pass Izzy. In the homestretch I sprinted with Izzy for the finish, but she took the prize. All good with me. Izzy rocks.

Third and last race. A 4x5. Fuck this is going to hurt. Game plan is to let the pack run the race and I'll suck wheels and go ahead for the final block of laps. I swear they weren't turning the numbers on that board. At lap 17 I was convinced we'd already been around 10 times. My legs started feeling all too heavy, all too tight. I knew I still hadn't recovered from my week with Rosemary. For the 2nd sprint I got in front and told Izzy to take my wheel. I pulled her around so she could take the points. Shit that hurt, but hell I had nothing to lose. The final 3 laps I tried to hold a lead, but my legs didn't have it. I got behind some others but in the final stretch I let them have it. Legs toast. Legs hurt. Legs in pain. Legs taking 2 weeks off.

It was a perfect end to the season. I never imagined doing so well. Izzy took first for the night and I took third. Not too shabby racing against women who have raced Cat 4 all spring and summer. I'm ordering my custom steel frame soon and with Grand Wizard Charles' help I will have sweet bling wheels to adorn it. I can't wait for the next 7 months to pass. They'll be filled with mass amounts of friends and bikes and training trips and bike love and cold darks nights of building new toys. I'd like to have the future tomorrow, but I have some days to fill up with memories and experiences first.

Travels with Rosemary

My friend and I just got back from an 8 day bike tour of the San Juan Islands and lower Vancouver Island. We ate, we drank, we rode, we stunk, we lounged on hot rocks at the beach, we ate some more, and rode some more. I originally planned on taking my converted fixed/ss Fat Chance on the trip since I knew its 36x16 gearing (60.8 inhces) would do well with heavy loads, plus it has been outfitted with a rack and panniers before. But, two nights before our departure, Rosemary (my beloved fixed Bridgestone) told me that she wanted to go on vacation too. I thought about it quite a bit and was split on taking her. She isn't outfitted for pannier racks, I'd have to alter her gearing, my friend would be severely annoyed if problems arose with Rosemary, but god dang it would be a blast to take her.

I sat down with Sheldon Brown to see what the optimum gearing would be for Rosemary. She's a 44x16 now, but if I took her to 44x18 that would give me 63.6 inches, which is near what the Fat Chance is. Hmmm...with this combo I should be able to take the heavy load and still ride around the roads sans panniers w/o spinning my brains out. Seemed like a good compromise. So the day before departure I ran around town looking for a seatpost rack, 18 tooth cassette (who wants to pedal downhill with all that weight?), and all the other last minute trip preparations. Of course, no one had an 18 tooth cassette so I had to settle for an 18 tooth fixed cog. Bah...who needs coasting anyway?

Another rationale for taking Rosemary was that my panniers wouldn't weigh that much. I had lots of ultralight gear from my climbing days that I was sure would keep things to a minumum: titanium cookset, Pocket Rocket stove, purple annodized titanium mug, Integral Designs tarp (no stinkin' heavy tent), down bag, new lightweight thermarest. No prob. Although given my lightweight setup I also rationed that I could bring a few luxury items like a dozen eggs, 2 blocks of cheese, and 4 days worth of food, heavy on the chocolate.

My friend was still skeptical of my setup, but my bags weighed in at under 30 pounds, the seatpost seemed like it wouldn't crack under the load, and I ensured her that Rosemary and I would do well.

And we did. Mass amounts of sun and riding and challenging terrain. The San Juan Islands are known as challenging bike terrain with major hills, and not a good deal of flatness anywhere. Lopez is considered the most "flat", but that's only because its hills are intercepted by level terrain on occassion. I never imagined Rosemary and I would do so well. We didn't walk once and got some good comments from riders who recognized her special setup ("Hey what the....look at you!!", "You are hard...core. That is so hard core.", "Can you ride around here with only one gear?", "Hey don't give the bike all the credit for doing so well. You're the engine. Look right there at those legs. You're doing it yourself." Yadda yadda.)

Thanks for such a splended trip, Rosemary. Youz da best bike a girl could have.

Rosemary holding up the fort

Potato Chip Hill

Back in 1997 my dad and I credit card camped and rode our bikes around Lopez and San Juan Island for a few days. I had my souped up steel Serrotta and my dad rode his titanium Serrotta machine. I had been riding a lot around Seattle, but I wasn't the kind who actively sought out big hills on my own. That whole "comfort zone" thing. My dad, however, being a testosterone-driven cyclist from the Appalachian hills of western Pennsylvania absolutely loved climbing on his bike. The more the merrier, the harder the better. His climbing prowess was even more nauseating because he had recently shed almost 40 lbs by strictly relegating his food consumption to the point of lowering his body fat to about 10%. He didn't look particularly healthy to my mom and me, but he could ride and climb like a beast.

My memories of our trip are of: gray skies, a few raindrops, lots and lots of big hills, my dad riding out front the whole way, me complaining about the hills the whole trip, me dropping out one day because I was so tired of hills, and most of all - Potato Chip Hill.

One of the toughest climbs was a hill through the middle of San Juan Island. The map said this was one of the flattest roads, but was punctuated by this one huge hill. My dad said we could do it and he'd wait for me at the top. I remember going really slow upwards. Thinking how much I hated hills. The revolutions of my pedal stroke getting slower and slower. Seeing a cow pasture on my right in the valley below. A guardrail the whole way up the serpentine road. One turn after the other. One more grade after the other. Mentally taking this weakness out on my dad.

He did meet me at the top and was happy to see me. But, he had a little speech for me. He gloated about how great it is climbing when you've lost weight. That all you have to do is get rid of the junk food and the weight just peels off. He's never felt better. Like it's so fucking easy to lose weight and the skies open and the angels fucking sing to you. Whatever, I thought. Just get me the fuck off this stupid island. I suck. I’m a loser. I can’t climb like you. I get the message. I've never, ever forgot that day.

Fast forward to 2005 and this past week riding Rosemary around the islands with fat panniers on her back. I had been doing a stupendous job climbing the hills with and without the panniers, stunning myself on the steep sections without walking one step. One of the greatest moments was climbing the hill that rises straight out of Lime Kiln State Park. Straight the fuck up. As we looked up from the bottom I said to my friend, "I might have to walk this one." But I didn't. Rosemary didn't let me stop. We kept pedaling, kept crawling, kept straining to get our load up this steep ass climb. When I thought Rosemary would topple over, she gave a boost and we moved forward. We did the first section, it petered out for a bit, then went straight up again. This is when I really dug in. I screamed, I strained, I grunted, I swore. I was Jan Ulrich not giving up. I wouldn't give up. I was going to get the fuck up this hill and I didn't care if I had to stop a thousand cars to wait for me. As the hill finally crested, I smiled and nodded to myself. I was pretty fucking awesome. Good job, girl.

But the real test was Potato Chip Hill. My nemesis from 8 years ago. As my friend and I traveled back to Friday Harbor on that road with our full loads, I knew what lay in front of me. A very small part of me thought, "Well, it's ok if you walk, just do your best for as long as you can. Not only are you riding on one gear, but you're toting 30 extra pounds on the back." But there was a bigger part of me that wanted to chew up this hill and spit it all over the ground. As we approached the hill’s bottom, its memory loomed in front of me. The guard rail. The cow pasture. The serpentine of black asphalt curving high and disappearing around a bend.

Rosemary and I began going up. I kept pedaling. I kept moving. Yes, moving. Once again when I thought we couldn't go any faster Rosemary dug in and I felt acceleration under my feet. It was slow and my cadence was grinding. Certainly not the swift, smooth stroke of Lance going through the Alps, but I was doing it. I was climbing up this goddamned hill! I was so strong and I was annihilating that cursed day from years ago. The road curved around and more climbing lay in front of me, but I ate it up. Give me more you fucking road! I'll take it all! You can't stop me from climbing this hill! Finally I saw the pull off area to the side at the crest of the hill. I rode a little farther just because I could. I stopped. I smiled. I started to cry the exhaustive cry of triumph and defeating something that has taunted you and beat you for years. I climbed this fucking hill and I was so awesome. Not only did I do it so strongly, but I did it on a 44x18 gear with full panniers. Standing at this spot 8 years ago listening to my dad's speech, would I have ever thought this would be me standing here now? Nothing, but nothing could take it away from me because I did it my self and earned every inch of it.

My friend came up behind me a few minutes later and we had some water. She said, "Good job," and I said “Thanks,” but said nothing more. I was content where I was and needed nothing else. My demon had been slain.

White Starling

The wind whipped across Haro Strait into our faces and white caps feathered the water. My friend and I waited patiently to hear the boarding call so the Sidney ferry could take us back to Anacortes and our car. It was 1115 and the ship should have sailed at 1100. I bided my time playing with Rosemary and staring off into the water and gazing at the green jeweled Gulf Islands. An old woman with a light blue cotton outfit walked up to my friend and her bike and started a conversation. I couldn't hear all she was saying over the wind, so after a minute I walked over to join them.

My friend immediately brought me up to speed with what the old woman was saying. She was inquiring about our trip and telling us how much she loves riding her bike as well. She was 86 years old and rides her bike almost every day, and mentioned how much she loved riding around Orcas Island. She lamented that she can’t do something as strenuous as Orcas anymore, and I joked that she’d have to settle for a ride around “flatter” Lopez Island instead. We smiled and laughed as the woman with the white hair and deeply wrinkled face told us a story of how she celebrated her retirement with other people her age. They went to Australia for 2 months and rode around, then took a boat to New Zealand for another 2 month tour. They camped the whole way. She was 60 at the time! She had that lively, British story-telling vive to her, reminiscent of all the old adventurous explorers long gone.

She continued about how even when she feels down, she insists on getting on her bike and going for a ride. Any time she can ride she feels so much better, so alive. She lost her husband a few years ago, which left her with the deep heartache of loneliness. But this old woman drove home the point that when she gets on her bike she doesn't feel so lonely any more. It keeps her alive.

I was staring at this beautiful, vibrant woman of 86 years, with healthy white hair and wrinkled porcelain skin thinking, "I want to be riding a bike when I'm 86 years old. I want to live to be like her, to tell such passionate stories of my years. To be strong enough to break through the loneliness and sadness with the help of my bike and to become a wise, aged woman like her." And I cried a little, like I always do, but hidden behind my sunglasses staring into the morning sun.

She told us to have a lovely trip, and as soon as we met her, she was gone. I didn't get her name. She left before I could grab my camera out of my bag and capture her picture, her essence of how I want to grow old. I cried a little more, thinking of her long life with her beloved husband into their wrinkly old age and how he must have beamed at her beauty and love of living, how they must have created such wonderful stories together. But now she was alone, and looks to her bike as her salvation, her best friend to carry her through the lonely times.

I can’t help but think I met her for a reason. Thank you, white starling, for visiting me and whispering your message. I was listening.

Killing time waiting for the ferry.

Quote of the week:

"Don't climb up there. It's too dangerous for little girls."

- Said by overprotective (really?) mom to her 3 year old princess as her 6 year old brother continued to climb the 5 feet to the top of a dead, downed tree. My friend and I heard this echo into our ears at the same time as we sat at the camp we had carried ourselves on our bikes. I belted out in stunned laughter, while my friend sat there with mouth agape and eyes wide open in dumbfounded shock. Gloria Steinem would have kicked that mother's ass.

Jackasses still breed

We were on our way to yet another lazy, rocky beach afternoon in the sun on Lopez Island when my friend and I stopped at the local bike "shack" to get her a new water bottle. The shack was set back off the road with a wide lawn in front of it. There were about two dozen hybrid and beach bikes for rent on the lawn, neatly stacked into rows in their bike racks. Two lazy looking fellows whom I immediately dubbed Daryl and Daryl were laughing at each other as one Daryl rode a beach bike in circles around the other Daryl. A straw sun hat adorned his head, he only needed a set of overalls and chew in his cheek to complete the outfit. "Oh boy," I thought. "Let the merriment begin." Just walking across the lawn with Rosemary, I knew I'd be in for some sort of needless attention. In the city, fixies aren't given much of a second glance, but here in the hilly boonies, she'd be looked upon as a pink freak, and I as the mother of such mutant spawn.

I leaned Rosemary up again one of the bike racks and followed my friend into the shack. She picked up a clear water bottle and paid for it. The owner asked us, "Do you know what the picture is on the bottle?" We tried to analyze the black spotted graphic, but came up empty. "Um, the earth?" we asked. Not like we really cared. "Nah! It's the San Juan Islands!" he shot back, amusing himself that he stumped yet another set of stupid tourists come to patronize his island. Whatever, we thought, as we walked down the shack's ramp out to our bikes.

As I pulled Rosemary away from the rack, thinking I was getting away from idiotic conversation about my bike, one of the Daryls asked, "Hey is that is singlespeed bike? You riding that thing around here?"

"Yes, I am."

"Ooooooh, well that'd be something if it was one of those fixed bikes, ya know," the one Daryl said to the other laughingly.

"She is.....fixed," I sharply noted as I lifted Rosemary's back end and kicked her left pedal to set the crankset in smooth fixed motion.

"No way!! You're crazy! You riding that thing around here in these hills. What kind of gearing you have? You done Mt. Constitution? hahahaha yeah you done Mt. Constitution on that thing? You got extra cogs in that there bag? hahahaha yeah you better have a whole bunch of extra cogs to change so you can do these hills."

"No, I just have one. That's all I need and I've been doing just fine with it, thankyouverymuch."

I was tired of their existence after their first words, of their personal inabilities projected onto me. Their mocking of Rosemary and me taking her on this trip raised my heart rate more than a few points, but I knew they weren't worth the conversation and I just answered that Mt. Constitution is one of my goals and I'd like to do it on her, but we didn't have time for it on this trip.

At that point, the owner came back out from his shop when he heard the conversation going somewhere other than where to eat or how do I work this beach bike. He came over to us and dropped down on one knee and examined Rosemary like a horse, picking up her rear end to check out her dropouts and hub, asking questions while feeling over the steel and rolling the wheel. "What kind of gearing do you have? Do you race? Really? At Marymoor, huh. Well good for you. You must be a really strong rider to be taking this bike around the islands."

At that point I was tiring of the freak show and started to turn Rosemary toward the road, when my friend commented on his last remark:

"Yes, she is strong. She's a very strong rider."

And with that we left Lopez Island's Daryl, Daryl, and Daryl and went on our way to the beach. And I rocked up a few hills extra hard just because they can't.

Rosemary is suspicious....

Community is....

- Bill Davidson seeing you so much that he doesn't ask for your ID when you slap down the plastic
- Charles from Wright Bros calling you at work totally excited about a lead on a new steel track frame
- Tommy from Recycled Cycles shooting the shit with you and looking foward to your mojitos at the track races tonight
- People referring to Rosemary by name
- Beaming at your friend who did so well in a race and telling her what a good job she did, and knowing that she is one of the most deserving individuals you've ever met
- Smiling and slapping hands with your friends in the cool-down circle after an all-out job in a race
- Having your coach ask your thoughts about your race and giving his input on what you can do next time
- Your coach designing killer drills and feeling how strong they make you
- Another girl insisting that you use her spare rear wheel so you can try out a smaller cog
- Meeting a woman at the Ballard Market who's riding an old Italian, red fixed gear bike and talking to her for 20 minutes about all the bike/fixed gear nerd things in a language that no one esle would understand
- Saying the word "Eno" out loud at training and having someone turn around and start an instant, intensive conversation with you about how the Eno hub is one of the greatest inventions ever
- Making plans and goals for the next year with your friends and helping each other reach them
- Wanting to offer your time and skills to further community because of all it has done for you

Afternoon (Track) Delight

My track-girl posse and I spent 5 hours in the baking northwest heat today helping the final Marymoor newbie track class of the season. Twenty six newbies showed up to learn the basics of track skills and to, hopefully, find the same addiction to racing around a small oval that we have. John, our fearless leader, showed how to successfully manage such a large group by delegating all the duties to us, his 5 eager assistants. Rental bikes were doled out, sizes exchanged, pedals wrenched on, seats adjusted, readjusted, and eventually everyone was on their way. I don't think the rental bike trailer has ever been so empty - you could see the back of it! If anyone else had shown up, their choices would have been one or two 59 cm, or the custom Davidson kiddie track bikes in a variety of crayola colors.

The group did a fine job getting themselves used to going around on their own for a few laps, and then John reined them in for the first of several skill sessions. Round and round we went watching and assisting the newbies in drills like pacelines, touching eachother's backs, butting elbows, following the leader (a student favorite), standing up for sprints, and then the double paceline. Only one accident to report of unknown cause, but resulting in sprained shoulder, scraped elbow and bent handlebars. All during the day, smiles were ramp-ed and even the revelation of, "Why didn't we do this sooner??!?!" Everyone was encouraged to show up for the Monday night newbie races and Thursday night training sessions for the few remaining weeks of the season. If all goes well, they will not forget the thrills they had today and will continue along the path next May....not so long down the road.

The track-girl posse met afterwards at a local establishment for mass amounts of rehydration and glycogen restoration and 3 hours of girl yapping time. I decided that I'm going to forego my Wednesday night bike apprentiship class (hell I have all winter) in favor of moving up to the Wednesday night races like everyone has been egging me to do, so part of our evening was spent strategizing our plan. Working with a team, and with a team of friends at that, makes the racing experience night and day. Instead of working for yourself and worrying about 12 other girls and exhausting yourself needlessly mentally and physically, you have partners in crime to work with you to capitalize on your strengths and to keep an eye on the other girls. Much less work, much more reward. Wednesday night should be an eye opener. It's fast, a game of chess at 28 mph. With my track-girl posse at my side, we will make for an excellent show.

Pay me in Mojitos

Spent the perfect summer afternoon drinking extra rum-lime-sugar-mint Mojitos and working on my friend's bike as we prepare for our trip next week. Bikes and an icy beverage (or three) on a hot summer's day. Is there anything better??? (Rhetorical question.) We had to skip down to the bike shop once, in giggly girlish Mojito delight. More supplies. Back home to complete the project and drink some more. God, our trip is going to be an effing blast. Two girls, two bikes, and a lotta food and booze. And not a care in the world. Remember this moment.

Kill your computer

Turn it off. Walk away. Go read a book. Pick up a newspaper. Call a friend. Take your bike for a ride in the fresh air (yes even if it's dark or raining - quit complaining. At least your body is alive and can experience such elements.) Stop looking for your life on this screen. It's not here. It's not reality. The Arial text you are so assimilated with does not care who you are and cannot make you complete no matter how much you talk to it. Turn away and look at the sky and the streets in front of you. At the people smiling at you and welcoming you home. That is reality. It's a beautiful place full of voices and thoughtful gestures and love and humanity. Of laughter and hugs. Not here. Let go of its grip. Please go find yourself. Now. Before another year has passed and you still don't know who you are or what you are looking for. Because it's not in this box. Trust me.

Where did my boobs go?

For what ever cosmic reasoning, I've lost almost 10# this summer. Track, intervals, track, jumps, track, pacelines, track, I want to throw up, track, gasping for breath, track, 800s, track, 400s, track, 200s, track, do some more 800s. Yeah must be something about the track. The appetite just hasn't been there. Maybe my thryoid forgot who it's housed in. 4 years of mountain climbing and I don't change an ounce. Two months of track racing and it's like I've got a tapeworm. I noticed that my shirts were fitting an awful lot looser all of a sudden, falling like drapes instead of billowing pillows. And then my bras had a bunch of gaps in them. Think Tyra without her angel wings. My knickers that I live in need suspenders. And now my tight kick'n jeans are falling off my ass. And Rosemary said that she wants higher gearing to go faster around town. You bet, my sweet. Anything to race humanity along the streets. Fuck an a man, it's about fucking time. Get outta my way I got a bike I gotta rock.

Bella! Bella!

That's what awaited us as we wrapped up our second women's race of the night on Monday. Phil, the regional USCF director has been checking out the Monday night races and taking the time to critique our racing and dole out advice. For the second race, Jane, Izzy, and I planned to work as a team and take control of the field so that I could take the lead in the final lap and win. It worked like a charm, like a game of chess played out at almost 30 mph.

Izzy and Jane took the lead to control the pack as I sat behind them, and we realed in one break away without a problem. Then with one lap to go and a hell of a lot of vim and vigor to exercise, I launched like a bat outta hell and surged past the throng and stayed way out front for over 300 meters through to the finish line. Izzy came up beside me on the track and we beamed together knowing how exciting a race we put on. The three of us came to the infield and rode around the inner circle to catch our breath and we gave each other high-fives and huge smiles. As we rode below Phil on his little viewer's stand, he stood up on his crutches, clapped and cheered "Bella! Bella!" He was highly impressed by our tactics and how it made such an exciting race. Dang, we impressed the pants off the regional USCF director. Dude, come see me next year. I'll knock your socks off.

ghostcycle.org

Forty white bikes were chained to lamp posts and street signs around Seattle in the wee morning hours this week to represent locations where cyclists have been struck by cars. ghostcycle.org is collecting and mapping the bike/car incident data to raise awareness of cyclists on city streets. The 40 bikes are by no means the entire collection of data, but the locations with the highest incidents. I was quite surprised not to see a pile of white bikes at some of the intersections I negotiate where I have often said "a car has my name on it." The City of Seattle, being their old passive self, has said they will not remove the bikes unless they pose a hazard to navigation or people complain about them. I give them a week.

Just like honey

Listen to the girl
As she takes on half the world
Moving up and so alive
In her honey dripping beehive
Beehive
It's good, so good, it's so good
So good

Walking back to you
Is the hardest thing that
I can do
That I can do for you
For you

I'll be your plastic toy
I'll be your plastic toy
For you

Eating up the scum
Is the hardest thing for
Me to do

Just like honey

I loved you so much. We believed it was such a gift that we found each other and we were going to build our lives together. Such bliss. But then the first obstacle. I was willing to wait and give you what you needed. I believed what you said. I trusted what you said. You were a present walking towards me every time I saw you. But now someone I don't know has taken it away from me when I didn't have a chance to reach out and keep it safe. I remember on one of our rides we saw an old couple helping each other along a path. You looked at me and said, "I want that to be us some day." It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

I would have kept you safe. And loved you forever.

Dearest Peter Pan:

You are a cad. You lied to me. I don't know who the hell you are or ever were. You sure as hell put up a good show for everyone around you. They call you Captain, but you're not, you're a fucking cad. Did the excitement just "fall away"? Once responsibility took form you fucking fled. And not just with me, you've done it with everyone of substance in your life. But it sure is nice to fall back into those tantalizing trysts with new, exotic people, isn't it? Back into NeverResponsibleLand. A place full of cute presents and notes and alluring admiration. Where you can play Don Quixote and write your muse. Yeah they sure make a person feel special. I hope you enjoy your stay there. Maybe that's where you can forget you're 36 and pretend you're ten years younger. Because one of these days you're going to have another big fucking wakeup call and realize the gates are shut to NeverResponsibleLand and you will finally have to live in the world that you've created for yourself and for your children. Don't say I didn't warn you.