CX World Cup Carnage

I feel so graceful after watching this.

Creeeeeeeeak

Another birthday and no better way to feel old than to ride 35 miles after a month of no biking. Rigor mortis has set in my legs and tomorrow morning I do the team's first big hill ride of the season. They assure me that I'll be fine, there's only one big 30 minute climb and the pace will be slow, but anytime you put together 20 competitive girls there is no thing as slow. Maybe I'll get some advantage for being wide awake 4:30 a.m.

Rub his tummies

India did not let me go easily. For my last night in the country, Zack and I went to our favorite restaurant, a hole-in-the-wall, word of mouth kind of place where the food is a symphony of spice and flavor that leaves you in silent, gluttonous satisfaction. After walking the busy, vibrant streets of Mumbai we went back to his apartment to wait for our 1:30 a.m. cab that would take us to the airport for the last time. We filled the last hours with reminiscing through pictures and laughter, finally succumbing to a short catnap. I woke up to watch him sleep peacefully next to me one last time. I wanted those last minutes to stretch out forever, but my wishes fell silent as the earth's inertia kept the night moving towards morning.

The cab ride was quiet as we drove through the brightly lit city with the windows down and its stench filling my head for the last time. We pulled up to the airport terminal to find a bustling airport with people everywhere - sitting on the curb with their luggage, standing in one line or the other with their luggage, or lined up at the windows peering inside. It was obvious that this was going to take a while so I was glad we got there 2 hours early. We followed one line that appeared to be the one into the terminal. Moving nowhere, I took a short walk up ahead to see what was in store. I saw a sign and a booth that said "Visitors 60 rupees" and took that as Zack needing a visitor ticket to get inside, except there was no one in the booth to buy a ticket. I scanned the line of people going into the building, the Indian military guard waving people away at the door, aborted hugs and kisses and tears, and the mass of people pressed against the windows looking inside for their loved ones. It was easy to surmise that only ticketed passengers were allowed inside the terminal and that Zack and I only had about 2 minutes until we got to the entrance. Ever the optimist, he said "Well let's see what happens," but when it was our turn the guard saw that my ticket was only for one person so he said Zack could not enter the terminal and we begrudgingly stepped aside.

In the early morning hour surrounded by the confusion of thousands of people also trying to leave Mumbai we had no choice but to quickly rip off the band aid and say our goodbyes. I didn't want to let go because it would mean I'd have to break loose, walk into the terminal, and start my life for the next 3 months without him and the closeness we shared. Love that had grown even stronger over the past month would have to wait until the next reunion in the States in May. I didn't want to let go of all we'd experienced and learned together this past month, in many ways more special than the months in Seattle. Love could live anywhere, I found. It was ignorant of surroundings or geography. One of his colleagues is from France and at TIFR with his wife and 2 year old son. Where they live is irrelevant because they have their love for each other and can foster it anywhere, even as the sun sets over the Arabian Sea. I discovered that I could walk through any doorway in the world with Zack and be just as in love by his side.

Holding onto him one last time, part of me was scared like a little girl, but the rest of me knew I was strong and smart enough to carry through another 3 months apart like I had before. So I let go of his green t-shirt and made my way into the terminal, where I watched him follow my slow progression through the windows with hundreds of others who shared a similar longing to be near their loved ones for just a few minutes more.

After 30 minutes in the baggage screening line and sending each other waves and funny faces, it was time to head to the ticketing line deeper in the terminal. I blew him a kiss and waved goodbye and I saw his green shirt and huge smile for the last time before he turned back into the spice and warmth of the Indian night.

PictuesPicturesPictures

A picture is certainly worth a thousand words and I couldn't begin to adequately describe all we've seen and done, so I'm working more on my Flickr site and trying to comment on all the photos we've taken, almost 500! Mike has also done a great job posting his photos. He's done an amazing job of capturing the candid side of the culture. I was often too self-conscious to whip out my tiny camera and photograph what I saw, but Mike managed to do just that.

Sandakphu trek - Himalayan mountains and prayer flags

Various India pics - TIFR, Kolkata

Darjeeling - Monkeys and prayer flags, tea, and Tibetan fry bread

Kerala - Coconut trees and small bikes

Mike's - All that and more

Indian bike fun

For our last bit of traveling we spent a few days down in the tropical town of Allepuzha in the southwestern most state of Kerala. "Alleppey" is known for its houseboat tours, which we had a wonderful time doing and enjoying a few hours of idyllic luxury. But until that began we needed to kill a lot of time. So we managed to borrow some bikes from our guesthouse and decided to ride out to the beach. We weren't expecting much given the uniform brand of simple, black utilitarian bikes ridden all over India. But these were 2 of the sorriest bikes ever to have 2 wheels. Zack grabbed the more mtb type bike while I got the "Ladybird" lady's model. Each pushed the limit of just how far a bike can function while being completely consumed by rust. The rims, spokes, chain, frame, and brakes looked like they'd been dunked in salt water for a few years. Even my bell (and if you're ever in India you know that a bell is a requirement if you want to pedal in traffic) was so completely rusted that it was stone cold silent.

With a lot of humour we pedaled out of the guesthouse gate and out into traffic. By Mumbai standards, Alleppey was a piece of cake and we breezed along with the masses of scooters, buses, rickshaws, cars, and humanity baking in the sun. My tires were really low on pressure and my seat need to be raised, so we stopped by a bike shop/stall down the road for some help. We managed to pump up the tires (and break his precariously held together bike pump) and raise the seat 3 inches, so we were off to the beach.

There is a definate hierarchy in the traffic flow in India. Buses and transport trucks rule the top tier. They're big and fast and they don't stop. Cars are next, followed loosely by rickshaws, scooters, bikes, and pedestrians. Each has to look out for and yield to the higher tier. Pedestrians take their lives into their own hands. No one will stop for you, you have to look out for and stay out of the way of everyone else. Zoning out is not an option. There are no real crosswalks or any safety feature for navigating the roads. If you played Frogger in your youth and did well, you could be ok walking around India.

Finally jumping a tier and being on a bike, I could tell an instant difference in how much easier it was to get around. You got a tiny bit more respect than if you were on foot. You were more embedded into the symphonic flow, like a red blood cell charting its course through the veins. Even though my seat was about 20cm too low and I risked injury from having a mute bike, it was a joy to get out and expand our exploration of the town. We made it out to the beach and rode down a path to the local fishing village. Kids were estatic to see 2 westerners on bikes and they laughed and yelled "Hello!" and ran to tell their friends about the crazy sight. By now my seat had finally begun to self destruct. There were no bolts holding the plastic seat cover to the metal seat frame and the seat itself started to tilt backwards to an angle dumping me onto the rear wheel. It was almost like riding a low rider, but I'm sure they're more comfortable. One of the kids saw us fiddling with the seat and ran to find the village bike mechanic. He turned out to be this wonderful man, James, who could be the fishing village version of Charles from Wright Brothers. His small garage had an assortment of bikes and tires and a bench of tools and parts. He took one look at my seat and gave a hearty laugh. He immediately found some bolts and began putting the seat back together. He also fixed the seat angle so it wouldn't slip again. While we were waiting, more schoolkids stopped outside his gate to see the funny westerners. I playfully stuck my tongue out at a group of young boys and this put them into hysterics. Any time we said, "Hello", they would act surprised, then delighted and say Hello right back with a huge smile.

James finished fixing my bike, we took some photos, and we were off to another area of the beach. This time, we got surrounded by some very energetic 13 year old girls who decided we would be their new best friends and play in the sea and sand. For a few hours we took lots of photos, played dress up, drew pictures and words in the sand and anything else a bunch of 13 year olds would preoccupy themselves with. We were getting parched in the hot afternoon sun, so we said goodby to Meenu, Preya, and Jessy and took off on our bikes. We stopped by the Indian Coffee House by the beach for some snacks, water, and coffee, then rode back to Alleppey happy from such a fun-filled day thanks to our rusty but trusty Indian bikes.

Like aliens in Fall City

We came down from Darjeeling expecting to spend our 3 remaining Bengalee days unwinding in another hill station, on a rhino safari, and visiting Bhutan for an afternoon. But travel in India being what it is, things didn't go our way. The so-called "gem of a hill station," Mirik, turned out to be an armpit, a mix between cold war landscaping and the crowded hills of Darjeeling so after 5 minutes we decided to have some tea and toast and catch the first taxi out of town. In Siliguri we thought luck was going our way as we just caught the last bus out to the town nearest the Jadalarpa wildlife reserve. The bus' puppet master was Zack's new best friend and insisted we take the front seats next to the driver with a full view of every catastrophic near miss over the next 3 hours while dodging other buses, goods carriers, cars, bikes, rickshaws, cows, and people. Finally after nightfall we arrived into town and even found the tourist lodge (!), got a room (!), and they signed us up for an elephant safari ride in the morning (!). Team Red, as we christened ourselves after our red puffy jackets, sat in the bar to kick back with some Kingfishers and gloat at our success. For a few hours at least.

We set out on the safari at 7 a.m. and were elephant bound by 7:30. Zack and I got the elephant all to ourselves and his rider felt that we were adventurist types and would enjoy a lot of bushwhacking on the back of an elephant. Yeah that's fun the first few times, but after a while you realize this elephant is going to barge through any tree regardless of what's on his back so we spent considerable time ducking and unwrangling ourselves from tree limbs and vines. However, we did come upon a one-horned rhino in the bush and photographed it, but not well enough
for it to come out clearly. Think of it as a rhino in the jungle done by Monet. Around the park a little more....monkeys, deer, peacocks...and it was back to the start only an hour after we'd begun. Fortunately there were 2 cute baby elephants huddling by their mamas so I could play with them and satisfy my craving for wildlife a little more. We felt shortchanged that there was no visitor's center or educational center or other place to learn more about the sanctuary's
wildlife or anything at all. For all thathubub and worry about getting into the sanctuary, we were left with not much at all.

Back at the tourist lodge at 9 a.m. we figured we could spend the rest the day visiting the Bhutanese border town that was reported to allow visitors into Bhutan for a day without a visa. The lodge's manager politely (with the ubiquitous Indian head bobble) squashed our idea when he said that was only for Indian visitors and that foreigners need a real visa to visit, even for the day. We poured over our Lonely Planet guides and found the small print in another area of the book - foreigners need a visa at least 15 days in advance. Crap! We were stuck in the urban equivalent of Fall City with nothing to do for 2 days until our train left for Kolkata. Like Zack said, it was like aliens coming to town after hearing about the Falls and thinking that would take up a day's time, then wondering what the heck else there is to do after only an hour. We tried wandering around, but this 2 street town didn't offer much but lots of stares and inquiries about where we were from. We retreated to the lodge which grew more and more repulsive as the minutes ticked by and resigned ourselves to reading for the next 2 days. At least it was free from mad taxi drivers, noise, and heavy pollution. Instead, filthy cows, goats, and dogs roamed below our balcony and ruffled through garbage and grass.

The next day afforded our escape and we made it safely back by mad bus to Siliguri where we waited for 5 hours for the overnight train to Kolkata. We were relieved to be ending this part of the trip and on our way back home. The mountains had been fortuitous, but outside of that cherished realm India was not our friend. The train was a quick night's sleep to Kolkata (highly recommend 2nd class) where we tried to cheat India one more time in the early morning. Our plane flight to Mumbai was scheduled to leave around 5pm, but having already done a long layover in Kolkata on the way up we had no desire to waste more time in this depressing city. So we gunned it by taxi to the airport to see if we could make an earlier flight. We made it in plenty of time, but the agent said the flight was full without batting an eye. Bullshit! No one in India is capable of knowing anything. I asked about a waiting list and he said there wasn't one. I asked other airlines, but theirs had already left for the morning. We were about to find a place to sit and read for the next 8 hours when the agent waved us over and said it would be an extra $90 for 2 seats on the early flight. Without hesitation I exercised my god-given American right to buy my way out of any situation and gave the guy 4500 rupees. Team Red was on the move and getting the hell out of Bengal. Zack and I toasted our resourcefulness and luck with some machine produced
cappuccinos and made our way back to the heat of Mumbai.

Welcome to Shangri La

But bring your own toilet paper. Zack and I just returned from an amazing trek into the foothills of the Himalayas, along a ridge bordering Nepal and India where we had views from Everest to the east, all the way west to Chomolhari, the highest peak in Bhutan. Smack in the middle was Kanchenjunga, India's highest peak and the 3rd highest in the world. We watched the sun set over Nepal, Tibet, India, and Bhutan and it was still and utterly beautiful. At the top of every hill, however remote, we were greeted by an array of prayer flags fluttering in the wind. There is nothing like being met by colorful prayer flags when your body has had enough of this "going up" stuff to really lift your spirits and remember why you're up here. The guest houses we stayed at and tea houses in between abound with baby farm animals. Baby cows, goats, kittens, puppies, chickens made the visits much more enjoyable. The mama cows and goats provided us ample fresh milk for our tea and porrage. Zack, handsome in his new red puffy vest that he bargained on the streets of Darjeeling, professed his love for me by lugging a glass (!) jar of Nutella throughout the trek for me. Alas, we also discovered that the vegetable oil content of Nutella has a rather high freezing point so my jar of nectar could only be enjoyed after relentless scraping from my mini-Leatherman's pliers.

Never to do things the easy way, we set out on this trek in the middle of winter so the higher we climbed, the more the temps plunged. Our high point at Sandakphu was at 12k, at night dropping well into the teens and wind chill much lower. I've never in my life had to wear everything I owned to bed while wrapped in a double down sleeping bag with another human and still be cold. But it was pretty chilly up there and the locals aren't exactly privileged enough to heat or insulate their huts. So we huddled with hot mugs of tea and stared at the mountains straight from an Art Wolfe photo gallery and daydreamed how we could be up there forever.

Alas, we had to descend, back to the world of beeping taxis and garbage and population overload. Somehow having experienced the mountains like we did and the wonderful people up there, makes being down here in the modern world a tiny bit more tolerable because we know of a Shangri La that exists and that we will return some day.

The Lorax Strikes Back

We had ourselves a little storm up here this weekend. If you consider "little" more like a hurricane-strength storm that brought western WA to a standstill as trees lay strewn across roads and powerlines and cars and houses. One million people were without power, and most still are. It began on Thursday afternoon while I was in Anacortes for work. A hundred of us were glued to the NOAA radar and weather reports, while the organizers of the drill we were participating in paid no heed to our anxiety and "graciously" offered to let us go by 3 p.m. Oh great, right as the rainstorm is sweeping up I-5 and everyone including Jesus is trying to get home! Thanks! For 2 hours I white-knuckled south on I-5 as my 2 coworkers fell fast asleep, entrusting me with their lives. The rain was so hard it was like having a fire hose on the windshield. Oh I get it! Who needs to see? We'll all just crawl down the interstate at 25mph and pray that we don't collide with everyone else who's driving blind. Oh and all that "lightning" I thought I saw brightening the sky....Oh no.... today I find out it was the glow from transformers expoding up and down Snohomish and King Counties. Somehow I managed to deliver my coworkers safely to our office parking lot and I left for home on the backroads of Edmonds, dodging huge rubber garbage cans and limbs pelting the road.

That night I split time between watching the news and keeping an eye on the alders outside my window that swayed like kelp in the fast currents of Deception Pass. I estimated how far they were from me and how fast I could run if I started to see them go. The news reporters were outside holding anometers that registered over 60mph, traffic was snarled, and BMWs floated helplessly in the flooded urban landscape. Sleep finally lured me to bed and I wondered what the world would be like the next morning.

My eyes opened at first light and I peered at my clock. It was on. It wasn't blinking. I have power! I got up and inventoried my surroundings. No gaping holes. No blasts of wind. No squirrels making themselves at home on my kitchen counter or abandoned crow nests on my couch. I turned on the tv and for the next 2 hours sat stunned at what had happened in such a short period of time. One million without power. Thousands of downed trees everywhere. State of emergency. The trees had attacked and apparently they had won.

Later that Friday afternoon I ventured out of my little hole with my bike to see what I could find. I figured the Burke would be impassable so I wound down to Lake Washington Blvd and it didn't take long to see cars smashed beneath huge evergreens or houses slashed like butter from falling trees. DOT crews had obviously been hard at work all morning because most of the roads I traveled had evidence of fallen trees being chainsawed to clear the way for traffic. The road through the Arboretum was closed, however. Ooohh that must have been a good one. I met Jane and we ventured up to the I-90 portal. Signs indicated the road up there was closed, but having bikes we paid no attention. But DAMN. We came upon a scene like no other. A huge old oak (?) had fallen across the road and slammed into 2 houses across the street, breaking through one house's roof, and literally smashing the other like a bug. I stood there with my jaw dropped. I couldn't believe the destruction. Crews worked machinery to extract the limbs from the smashed house. What had once been a family's sanctuary was now like a crippled doll house dropped from high above. Their belongings inside lay exposed and covered in debris, so immaterial to the swift maw of destruction around it. I talked to a neighbor and he said the tree fell around 5 a.m. and the mom was awake in the living room when she heard the cracking, and went into the next room to grab her twins. They all escaped ok.

There are other stories of people running out of gas and offering $25/gallon, of people buying generators only to run them inside and become exposed to carbon monoxide poisoning. Transformers up and down the state are destroyed and will take days, if not weeks, to replace. And there's a cold snap that the storm brought with it. So all those without power also have to find a way to stay warm. Everyone seems to be managing fairly well. The biggest complaint I've heard from my friends is their quest for morning coffee.

I'm infinitely lucky. The most I lost was my Internet connection for a few days. But I had power and I had heat. Complete luxuries. Janna and Duncan came over this afternoon like eastside refugees, enjoying the warmth and a hot shower. Mr. India called last night to make sure I wasn't huddling over my Pocketrocket stove to keep warm. It was so sweet to hear his voice and tell him everyone was ok and to relay the craziness of the experience. Zack moves to the adventures of India and in only 3 months he manages to miss 2 natural disasters back home. Hopefully I don't bring any with me when I get there in 12 days.

A little mountain prayer

I was doing a tempo workout on my trainer tonight while watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. From the initial scene where they zoom in to the tall sharp peak where the Grinch calls home, I thought of the 3 climbers that have been lost on Mt. Hood since this weekend. They've been up there for at least 4 days in some of the worst winter conditions we've had all season. As of Friday, one man was injured and in a snow cave that his 2 friends made for him at around 10k before they set out for help. He was able to call his family and briefly tell them what happened, but that was the last communication. SAR has been out ever since looking for the men, but 70mph winds, heavy snow accumulation, and avalanche danger have held them back or to the lower elevations. A Blackhawk was able to launch today during a break in the weather, but no word on the climbers.

So on this day when we're safe and warm at home enjoying the peacefulness of the pre-holiday season, please say a little prayer for the 3 men lost on a mountain full of winter's fury. Tell them that the whole nation is thinking about them and the men and women of the mountains send all their strength and love.

Starbuxom

Santa came early and delivered the rest of our team kit this weekend. The one piece I coveted was my new skinsuit. I was so stoked to try it on. I love skinsuits. They just scream FAST. You can be slow as molasses, but put that bugger on and in your mind you're 10 mph faster. No pockets, no excess fabric, nothing to get between you and the clock. You're sleek, you're hot, you're FAST.

Back in October I tried on two sample skinsuits that the manufacturer sent us and I decided to get the smaller size because the larger one was too long in the legs and arms, and too loose in the shoulders. The smaller one screamed "YES! I'll take seconds off your kilo!" So with that I went.

Then Santa delivered the goods. I pulled the lightweight, silky mass of fabric out of its plastic covering, excited at the thought of how fast I'd be just wearing it around the house in my slippers. I looked at the garment and thought, "Gosh, you're kinda small." The garment looked back at me and said, "Am I in the right house?" But everyone knows lycra stretches so I pulled it on.

Now the first time I pulled one of these things on it was in the porta-potty at the track and when I came out I thought I was pretty hot stuff. I couldn't see myself, but just prancing around I knew I was bad. Then I got home and took one look in the mirror and screamed. Those headlights!! There was no hiding what was staring right back at me. I quickly emailed Jane and Molly admonishing them for letting me go around all night like that. "You looked so GOOD!" they both said. Complements aside, it took me a while to get used to the free show, which I eventually did, headlights and all.

But now, staring back at me in my new kit, weren't some cute little headlights lean from a summer of racing, but a towering set of humps gloriously over-accentuated by the team's bold lettered logo stretched wide across my chest in a slightly too small skinsuit. Howard Schultz's moniker popped out in 3-dimensional, Lara Croft CGI.

I cursed this stupid Zone 1/Zone 2, easy winter workout crap for not getting my metabolism high enough to burn these puppies off. Intervals!! I need intervals, dammit!!! Riding around in circles until you want to throw up does wonders for weight loss. If eating healthy doesn't do it, scare the anaerobic threshold out of it I say. "Six months, six months," I thought. Over the next 6 months I'll start bridging up with intervals until finally my body screams unkle and my wintery cream puffs melt away like a snowman with the seasons. Six long months to bring these buxom gifts back to a more manageable state before I have to don this skinsuit in public. Howard gets enough free advertising with our kits. I'm not doling out any more promotions.

And it's all going to start with a month in India. A few weeks of rice and dahl and some intestinal bugs and I'll be well on my way.

Starbuxom - coined by Jane the Track Rabbit, Dec '07 :)

I <3 my team

What could be better than being led by your captain to bar hop in Ballard after voting in mass amounts of estrogen into the MVA board and enjoying the company of BeeBop Records and black labs with toys and local made bike t-shirts and racing and wine and power meters and heart rate zones and LSDs and local politics and dreams about the upcoming year....? Well a few things (including those on the other side of the world), but this was the glass-toasting, conversations never ending, endless smiles kind of night at the end of a very rough, hard working, long hours, small moments of personal satisfaction yet ungrateful week that reminded me of the good things to be thankful for and to feel blessed for being at this particular juncture. Thanks so much for the wine and garlic fries and laughter and endless conversation and concern about traversing the Ballard Bridge.

Something like this

That's about how I felt and looked during last night's commute home through Seattle's "Winter Storm 2006." Only difference is that Andy doesn't have SUVs careening into him and he's staying upright enough to win the 1988 Giro D'Italia. I averaged about 3 mph riding home on an icy, slushy Burke-Gilman on a bike that I insisted did not need its CX tires put on that morning because, imho, the weather forecasters always overreact. But look who got spanked once the snow started to fall at 5 p.m. and my skinny bald tires tried to track in a straight line. My front wheel was more like an overzealous puppy dragging its owner in 10 different directions. Sure it was gorgeous and quiet and brightly lit with snowy reflection, but that glory soon ended once I started freezing because I couldn't go fast enough to keep warm. And this wasn't your ordinary, dry, below freezing cold. It was the trademarked PNW heavy-wet-snow-below-freezing-cold that makes you feel like you just dunked all your extremities into Puget Sound. My fenders and rear brakes filled with slush and slowed me down, which was quite welcome seeing how speed was not an asset, but what is normally a 50 minute ride home took 90. It would have taken longer, but I jumped off the B-G and onto Leary Way in Fremont, which was clear of ice and just supremely wet and full of drivers ready to get the hell home. I really wonder how many of them saw me through their wipers and big flakes of snow.

Ordinarily I love riding in the snow and hearing the crunch below and bulldozing through anything in my path. I kept thinking of the last CX race last year that had a good 4" of fresh ice and snow. That was my favorite race of the season! Have knobbies, will plow.


I just wish Les Schwab would start carrying studded 26 and 700 tire sizes. Wouldn't that be rad? It would send a message to all those drivers that there is an alternative to driving in the snow. Just because it's not July doesn't mean you have to resign your bike to the garage. People who are so dependent on driving need to have alternatives shoved in their face or they'll never alter their way of thinking. Maybe if they saw all these bikes getting around last night and today with studded tires while they were lined up in traffic or turned sideways going uphill they'd begin to think outside their metal box. Did it take anyone on their bike 5 hours to get home last night? Didn't think so. I've read of numerous people who rode from Seattle to Issaquah or Mercer Island and they (slowly) flew home while I-90 was shut down and drivers were stranded miles and miles from home.

It takes a lot to keep bikes from rolling. They're like cockroaches. They'll be the last ones standing and always taking us where we need to go.

Snow and Prayer Flags

It snowed tonight in the Emerald City. By morning it may be gone.

Portland USGP of CX, part 2

Ok one last shot of Sacha's butt at last week's USGP of CX in Portland, this time courtesy of The New York Times article covering the sadistic sport its cult scene.

“It’s a total cult following here,” said Matt Slavin, a local semipro rider who had taken the day off from racing and was wearing a pink wig.

He added: “Every race, you want to vomit, you want to quit, your bike’s not working, and then you come up a run-up and everyone’s cheering and you get pepped up. As soon as you’re done, you can’t wait for the next race. It’s kind of like a cruel drug — addictive.”

You always want to vomit and quit too?!?!?!! I thought I was the only one! Wow I feel better now being in such good company.

Superhero alter-ego

Supergirl, yo!! "Lean, muscular and feminine. Honest and a defender of the innocent." Her boyfriend is that web-head hottie, Spiderman: "You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility." The do-gooder nerd in me has always had a crush on Spidey and now I have him all to myself - so back off Mary Jane before I throttle you with my thong and pushup bra!

B-G to Marymoor team ride

It's taken me 3 weeks to figure out that our team rides this time of year are not particularly lengthy. Tis the season to "take it easy." In this time I've also fallen victim to "I don't know how long we're riding so I'll drive to the start because I don't want to do 80 miles since I don't know where we're going and I'd have to ride home." But after last week's 20 mile route it sunk in that I don't have to worry about 80 mile rides and that I'm more worried about driving to our rides than doing some extra distance. One should not drive a car to go ride a bike. I'm always the person to sneer at the SUVs pulling into Sound Mind & Body, glaring at the lazy bastards driving to the gym when they should have pulled their bike out of the garage and saved themselves a fancy gym membership. Down at Leshi I'm always dismayed by the number of riders whose cars fill the parking lots and line Lake Washington Blvd when they could have simply ridden. I do not want to be that person.

Today's ride was starting a the Log Boom park on the Burke and going over to Marymoor so I got a huge bee in my bonnet to ride the whole way from home. Granted, this route isn't something new, it's just that I haven't put in these kinds of miles since before I got sick and I'm leery of pushing myself too hard too soon. But I felt absolutely dandy after the Ride for the Pies, and the bee in my bonnet was buzzing all night long.

So off I went this morning in the wee hours when all smart people were still bundled in flannel sheets and the coffee pot had yet to perk. I packed my jacket pockets with almonds, ginger, Lara bars sans Nutella (so sad), and an extra water bottle of juice. In about 70 minutes I met the other girls at the Log Boom parking lot. I stuffed some almonds and ginger in my mouth, and finished off my first water bottle. If there's one thing these girls will harp you about, it's drinking water - one bottle or more an hour. After meets and greets we set off for the other side of the lake.

It was a speedy trip over there and rather tricky navigating the serpentine trail through Bothell while in a paceline with wet leaves and walkers and joggers all about. So much for zoning out. The Sammamish Trail was easier to negotiate and we worked on butting in front of each other to squeeze into the paceline. Once over at Marymoor we waved hello to the track. It was remarkably clear of goose poop and mud thanks to a month of pressure washing from the storms. The sun popped out and felt amazingly good after a week of wet dreary conditions. On the way back we had a nice tail wind to the north which made for an even speedier trip back. These girls are feeling fast and I can imagine how exhilarating it's going to be racing with them in a few months.

Once back at the parking lot, some girls left for other afternoon appointments, but some chose to ride south on the trail to get in some extra miles. Stuffing the last of my ginger and almonds in my belly and sucking down the 3rd water bottle, I was happy to have an escort back home because these last 10-15 miles solo on the Burke always suck major ass. I figured I could draft as much as possible too, but as it turned out I led most of the way. We stopped about 8 miles from home so they could turn around and head back to their cars. I rode back still feeling good and high on how many long days plus regular commuting days I've managed to put in this week. Big thanks to my body for doing such a good job. Rest and leftover pie is coming your way.

2nd Annual Ride for the Pies

Last Thanksgiving, 5 of us decided to ride from Seattle to Zack's mom's house in Fall City. We ventured up the Burke buzzing with excitement and under mildly ominous skies, but by the time we hit the big hill outside of Woodinville, the sky opened up and began pouring on us for the next 3 hours. The temperature dropped, the winds picked up from the south, and as we slowly made our way up the Snoqualmie Valley our blood sugar plummeted and the bonking set in because of course none of us brought any food (It was Thanksgiving! There'd be plenty of food at the end!). The struggle to keep pedaling was amplified when we asked Zack how much farther and for the next hour he replied, "We're almost there....just a few more miles....just around the corner.....another 15 minutes....". Forty-five miles from where we began, we stumbled into Janna's house and immediately inhaled huge slices of pumpkin pie drizzled with hot blackberry sauce much to the dismay of the shocked pie maker.

Thus began the annual Ride for the Pies Thanksgiving ride.

This Thanksgiving Mike, Rhi, Josiah, Davis, and myself set off from Rhi's house in Wallingford up the Burke and onto another memorable ride. This time we knew the weather would be crap - rain, highs in low 40s and 24mph gusts from the south - but we bundled up well with head to toe rain gear. Rhi even donned her bright yellow rubber rain boots. We brought plenty of food and 4 thermoses of hot tea this time, most carried in a 20# backpack by the animal known as Davis.

As we sat in Rhi's warm apartment knowing what crappy weather lay ahead for the next 4 hours, I tried placing seeds of dissent by suggesting we could just ride back to my place where I have a sauna (!), booze (!), food (!), and it will be warm (!) and we could drive out later. I was joking for the most part [cough], just trying to exercise those last whimpy notions.

Rhi finished putting the load of food into Davis' pack and asked if anything else should go in. I suggested throwing in her jar of Nutella and a spoon. It wouldn't be the 5 kg tub of Nutella Mike had seen in Europe, but it would do for today's trip.

Off into the cold cold cold rain and wind! Heading north our spirits and energy were still high as we were pushed along with a gracious tail wind. Our first stop was the Log Boom park for an unregulated pee break since the bathrooms are under construction. Davis whipped out the tea, we ate a ton of snacks, got chilled, and wondered how we were going to last another 3 hours if we're this cold and hungry already. Onward we pedaled up through Kenmore and Bothell, past some kayakers in their colorful boats in the slough, and zipping past the infamous Bothell Wild Chickens who were startled by my loud bell. At the Woodinville rest stop, where we'd get off the trail and onto the road, we made a more formal pee break. When Rhi and I got out of the women's room, Mike invited us over to the men's room for tea and snacks. The 5 of us huddled in the men's room, Davis layed out the buffet, and we used the hand dryers to get warm and dry clothing. A 10 year old boy came into the bathroom, looked around at us eating and drinking, surmised that Rhi and I were girls, made his way toward the urinal, but thought better and made a quick turnaround and exit. Next, a racer with a baby blue Vanilla cap came in and was delighted at our setup. A bit older and more confident than the 10 year old, he made his way to the urinal, did his job, politely declined offers of chocolate or tea, and told us to have a good day.

We pryed ourselves out of the warm, dry men's room and began the next leg of our ride - east on 170th (past Molbak's!) and up the dreaded neverending Woodinville-Duvall road hill. Where 170th ends and we turn right up the hill I remember this being the spot last year where the rain began, hunger started to surface, and Davis and Josiah shared an Odwalla bar. So in my head this year as I tried to ignore the upward arc of the hill, I renamed this intersection "Odwalla Bar Corner."

Surprisingly, the hill wasn't nearly as bad as last year. We were up and over it in no time, then on to the continuous rolling hills (and downhills!) that would bring us into the Valley. By this point the rain had mostly ceased or become a mild spit, but the water from the road did a good job of keeping us wet. A few times we stopped to gather everyone together and I couldn't help but smile at the picture of 5 friends on bikes traveling in the crappiest weather to a holiday meal while people zoomed around in their cars thinking us insane. Insane, well maybe, but smiling the whole way and with far better stories to tell than anything that can come from the inside of a heated metal box on wheels.

The W-D road dropped us down into the Valley and we turned south onto West Snoqualmie Valley Road. The formerly flooded valley sprawled in front of us and I spent a lot of the next 2 hours surveying the muddy, mushy landscape and imagining how horrific it must have been just 2 weeks ago. We rode past numerous farms with cows and horses and I wondered where these poor creatures must have been and how they got to higher ground. To wish them a happy Thanksgiving I continuously rang my bicycle bell and pretended I was cheering them up and making their day.

Our last stop was at the intersection of 80th and Carnation Farm Road. I downed some more juice, Davis whipped out more tea, and Rhi said that she was getting tired. "Eat something," said Josiah. He was right, she needed sugar or she wouldn't last much longer. Nothing seemed very appetizing to her until I said, "Eat some Nutella." With that her eyes got huge and she started digging around for the jar and spoon in Davis' pack. The spoon was nowhere to be found, but she did find his 15mm wrench, which she happily declared as clean and dove into the sweet, thick nectar, licking it off the obviously very versatile tool. I opened one of my Lara bars, which I've always said would taste better with a thick layer of Nutella on top. Now was my opportunity to find out. I broke it in half and reached in for a huge helping of chocolatey goo and inhaled the deliciousness. Yes those bland Lara bars are much tastier with Nutella.

Filled with new sugary energy, we took off for the homestretch. As we left I noticed a huge hawk sitting in a barren tree above us. I rang my bell and he cocked his head in interest and I wished his a happy thanksgiving too. To the northwest a bright blue sucker hole opened in the sky filling us with hope for continued dry weather. One of the gods obviously heard that wish and granted us a nice hard, cold shower for a few more miles. We rounded a corner overlooking another farm and in front of us was a huge rainbow seemingly ending at the farmhouse. This made us break out into a chorus of "Under the Rainbow" with improv lyrics about mass amounts of Pie at the end of the rainbow.

Mile after mile, turn after turn, we sped along knowing we were almost at the finish. More sucker holes filled the sky, which fed us with more exuberance. The wicked wind that blew from the southwest never managed to find us or slow our progress. A few parts of the valley road had some water over it, but nothing to stop our momentum. Pumpkin carcasses, victims of the flooding, lined the path and were strewn all over the farm fields and even in the trees. Davis lamented at the thought of all those pumpkin pies that would not come to life.

Finally, 4 hours after leaving Wallingford, we reached the final short hill to Janna's house. As we crested the hill to turn into her driveway we were greeting by a bright yellow sign that said, "Pies". We made it the whole way, no flats, no mechanicals, and no bonking. Inside Janna put together a huge spread with a table covered in 6 pies and 1 raspberry cobbler, hot chai, eggnog, and a variety of warming liquor. It was a night of pie indulgence with a little turkey and mashed potatoes to balance out the sugar.

The sag wagon had brought my backpack of dry clothes and computer microphone so we could all talk to Zack. It took some hotwiring by Josiah to work, but everyone was delighted to hear his voice after not hearing it in over 2 months. "It's good to hear his voice," someone said to themself outloud. Over the next hour and a half brothers, moms, and friends got to talk to our boy in India. We could hear the laughter from both continents way out in the living room. As the tryptophan and sugar crashes began to take hold, we dropped off like flies and said goodnight to Zack. Maybe next year he'll be able to lead us up the Burke for the 3rd annual Ride for the Pies.

(Route)

More pics

CX-ploitation

Maybe it's the sumptuous, glutinous holiday approaching, maybe it's not having seen my boyfriend in 2 months. Whatever the reason I spent noticeably more time perusing the photos from yesterday's USGP mudfest race in Portland. Those Gentle Lovers guys down there really know how to make a girl's mouse linger.

Sacha White and his boys frolicking in the slop

Sacha and his unicorn CX prototype

The hot tub at the top of the runup, complete with
champagne, beer, and a tub full of Gentle Lovers.

Complete photo gallery at BCE's site.

(And only 38 days til I get my own gentle lover back. :)

Rewards of going outside

I've gotten in the habit on Sundays to sleep in as much as possible, drink as much coffee as possible, stay on the couch reading the paper as long as possible, and generally be as lazy as humanly possible. My one goal is to kick myself out of the house and go to the gym for a long workout unrestricted by a busy workday schedule.

This morning I gloated a bit as I watched the rain pour buckets outside and I thought of the other girls going on a bike ride at 9 a.m. Ha! I'm inside, being lazy, eating a stack of hot pancakes, and cozy warm in my pjs. A few hours later it was time for my trip to the gym. I pulled on my fancy Patagucci water-resistant climbing pants, my big yellow rain jacket, and got my backpack ready for the urban hike. I made it out the front door of my building and the top of the stairs and stopped. It was pouring buckets. It was cold, or at least much colder than my cozy home. For 5 long seconds I stood there and listened to my jeep call my name. "Drive me.....you'll be warm and dry....turn around, go to the carport and drive me to the gym....you don't want to go out there....it's wet and cold.....drive drive drive...."

I shook my head to clear it of the evil talk and looked at the thousands of raindrops plopping on the surface of our swimming pool. "Fuck that," I told myself. "I'm going for a walk. There's always something new to see when you go for a walk outside, something special that people in a car never get to experience. It's the reward for going outside."

With that I continued down the steps and out the front gate. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something on the side of the building. I looked up and saw a kid's colorful mylar balloon somehow stuck on the exterior, gently bobbing back and forth in the rain. Haha! My first reward for going outside, an interesting sight otherwise missed. A mylar balloon that a great blue heron will probably ingest and painfully starve over a week or more, but an interesting reward nonetheless.

Up over the big hill and into the suburbia of Magnolia. The wind was strong from the south, but I was warm and dry in my urban outer wear. I made note of all the leaves still holding fast to their branches. It seems so late in the season for the leaves to still be around, but I'm all for it because that means less grayness until the cherry blossoms bloom in 3 months. Suddenly a hard gust blows in my face and a mass of yellow and orange Japanese maples leaves blows in my face. Their tree is shaking in the wind and releasing all those leaves I marveled at just seconds ago. With the hoard of leaves and raindrops blowing into my face and zipping by I pretend I'm in the Millennium Falcon with Han accelerating us to light speed.

Further down the hill I notice all the crows playing in the wind. One of them darts quickly around in the air and he catches a leaf like its prey, but quickly lets go when he finds it unappetizing. Other crows sit in gangs of 2 or 3 on powerlines with their heads into the wind. I imagine them gossiping or talking about the Seahawks game. Passing by Albersons there is a larger gang of 8 crows cawing at some mashed pieces of pumpkin in the street. One of the crows jumps on a fire hydrant and caws out the loudest. King of the Fire Hydrant. I bet he still has to share the pumpkin.

I go to the gym and do my thing and when I'm done the rain has stopped outside. I head back home and take in more sweet rewards. Another big Japanese maple full of colorful leaves. The Olympics looking like a ghostly apparition through the clouds. A fat gray squirrel sharing another smashed pumpkin with some different crows, he sits on the curb nibbling on the seeds. I warn him to stay out of the street and away from cars. I get back home and couldn't be happier about going outside.

Cedar River Trail team ride

Our team ride today started in the fine town of Renton. We did the Cedar River Trail, which is a lovely flat, paved, mixed use trail that follows the - you got it - Cedar River. Kele joined us and as we rode in a double paceline she coached us through a variety of drills to get us riding more smoothly and more confidently in a pack. First it was just bunching together and getting used to being a few inches from our buddy and the person in front of us. I'm finding that I really need to work on the paceline thing because I'm so independent I've lagged on riding smoothly behind someone's wheel. I can stick on a wheel comfortably, but when the speed slows I tap my brakes and the person behind me chirps "breaking" and it messes up the paceline. I'm supposed to keep spinning, albeit slowly, that doesn't seem to screw up the people behind me. Did better today than last week.

Kele then had us do some one-legged spinning drills. I've always heard of these, but being perfect [cough], I've never seen a reason to do them. I know I spin well. I've been tested and my legs show an even, powerful energy transfer. Who needs silly drills? Everyone! With my right foot unclipped, my left leg showed almost immediate weakness in its spin. After only a dozen pedal strokes it left a "hop" in the rotation, which indicates uneven pedaling. Crap. My right leg, however, was much smoother and only developed a "hop" after 30 or so strokes. Kele pointed out that once we felt that "hop" to stop pedaling with that leg because your core starts to overcompensate and makes you even more out of whack.

Then we did no-handed riding which wasn't particularly challenging. When I was sick this summer and too stubborn not to ride, I'd make myself ride Rosemary all the way home from Sandpoint with no hands. It would force me to go slow and not exert myself, but entertain me enough with improving my balance and skills. I never got good enough to stop at an intersection with a no-handed track stand, but I could navigate bumps and varied terrain really well.

The most fun drill Kele had us do was to practice moving through the pack. One at a time we'd start at the back and pry our way through the middle of the double paceline. It was a game of waiting for the right opportunity to sneak between two girls and quick reflexes and timing to charge through. Everyone had a blast doing it and agreed this was the most valuable and something to do again and again. Evidently this is the way Mason Lake is for the entire race. Good think my frame is steel.

The ride out and back was only about 20 miles so 5 of us went back out for another hour to get some more miles in. The morning was a beautiful and dry, a perfect fall day with peeks of Rainier coated in fresh snow. The Cedar River was high and fast, although well within its banks. There were a number of cute small houses along its shore and it seemed that weren't damaged by last week's flooding. Their yards were full of typical rural belongings like lawn tractors and lawn ornaments. Maybe the river didn't get that high? Seems improbable given the destruction everywhere else. At one bridge crossing we saw a team of Search and Rescue and firemen working along the riverbank below. I initially thought they were out doing Saturday morning drills too, but someone else thought given the number of vehicles they were out for search and recovery. Somber.

And if anyone is still reading this boring training entry, you've made it to the part where I sing the joys of being bonded-less in the winter. Yes, Denny, the girls are free and it's the highlight of my day. No extra Houdini-style layer of lycra, just the natural feel of skin on a tight, warm base layer. Heaven. It's like the release of ripping off your work clothes and putting on your jammies to get ready for bed, but better, because you're going on a bike ride!

Some girls are going on another ride in the morning, but Sunday is my designated sleep in day. Mass amounts of sleep has been the #1 remedy for my low energy (ok, #2....but I'm out of Vitamin Z!) so I embrace it whenever I can. I'll go to the gym later and meet with Kele tomorrow night to go over my training. Over the next few days I gotta save my energy for the 2nd Annual Ride for the Pies on Thanksgiving. 45 miles followed by mass amounts of pie and other Tday goodies and obligatory naps. I wish my Z could be here for it this year, but I know we'll have much more together later.

Dry pavement

I almost choked when I looked out my window this morning and saw the sky. Not just "the sky," but the entire blue, cloudless, rain free sky. Riding to work felt like being in the eye of a hurricane. Too calm. Too perfect. A moment of peace between the swirling storms. Looking upwards, I was reminded of the movie 2010 when Jupiter became the newest sun in the sky. It felt great, but...not quite normal.

Ironically, the papers today reported that this is the wettest November on record and we're only half-way through.

A night with the green blob

At REI tonight I met Mary, Janna, and Rhi to see a talk called "Adventure Divas." We were pulled in because one of the topics was going to be traveling in India. I've never been a fan of the moniker "diva" because it brings to mind the high maintenance, self absorbed lives of Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, and J. Lo. Would adventure divas live up to such company? Turns out they don't, which is quite a relief. The woman who organized this group used to be an editor for the adventure woman-friendly publisher Seal Press. Tired of sitting behind a desk and not reaching out to as many women she knew were out there, she and some others put together a t.v. pilot documentary about the unsung women heroines in Cuba. Once that was picked up by PBS, they continued around the world finding other women who met their strong definition of "diva" by bucking traditional male roles and leading by their own example for the better of humankind.

One of the women they profiled tonight was Kiran Bedi, who is the highest ranking police officer in India. She managed to transform the way prisoners are treated as well as how officers are trained in their forces. Her secret? Bringing yoga, mediation, and a heavy dose of humanity to their lives. She is loved by all who work with her and who meet her. She's won several Indian and humanitarian awards. Her presence is magnetic. A diva? Not in my book. A remarkable woman and role model? Absolutely.

As for the big green blob that waited for me on my ride to REI, it turned out to be a friendly beast, oft misunderstood and lonely for companionship. We spit back at the drizzly rain and laughed at the gusts of wind straight out of the south that slowed us to a crawl up Eastlake. Most importantly I was warm and dry in my polypro, wool, and rain pants and jacket and goretex socks. The secret to wet winter enjoyment is staying warm and dry in your foul weather suit of choice. It rained and gusted the whole way, but being dry and cozy made passing all the drivers that much more enjoyable. While they listened to the traffic and weather reports full of dread, I pedaled smoothly past them and contemplated a hundred thoughts that were free in my mind.

The big green blob

I've been watching this great big green blob move over the area for the past hour and it looks like I won't escape it on the way up to REI tonight after work. At least the small yellow blob stayed south. I'm ready for this weather to end, although it will still be better spinning easily on a bike than stuck in a car in traffic.

A great cedar has fallen

Northwest icon Harvey Manning passed away this weekend at 81 years. Without Harvey, those of us who set out in wool socks, nylon backpacks, and freeze-dried food would not have trees to walk under or icy glacial lakes to dip in. The bears and the fox and the fat bushes of blueberries would have disintegrated under the greedy eyes of loggers and developers years ago. It takes a crotchety old soul like Harvey to move mountains, but he only moved them as far as our backdoor. Thank you for all your did for the woods, Harvey. Rest in peace.

A very productive day

Today was an above-average day for a gov't contractor. I spent most of my day surfing the Center for Disease Control and King County Health Dept websites learning about what shots I'll need for my trip to India. That led to calling around to find out exactly how much being immunized for 5 weeks is going to cost me. I had visions of standing in front of the KC Health Dept downtown on 4th Ave with a bunch of Seattle's finest looking for their free condoms and clean needles. I remembered that a worker was stabbed there a few months ago by a patient so I continued to scroll down the page in search of other options. Bothell! Haha! It takes effort to get to Bothell so I surmised I might have a more pleasant, safer experience there and could even fit in a bike ride! I talked to a helpful travel clinic nurse on the phone who listed the prices for the shots the CDC suggests I get:

Hep A - $34/shot, series of 2

Hep B - $37/shot, series of 3

Typhoid - $40
Malaria pills - probably around $25
Clinic visit - $50

The prices were about what I expected, but being the stingy, stubborn person I am at the time I called around to some other clinics to price shop. The UW has a well known travel clinic so I talked to a nurse there. I stumbled over her prices to ask her to repeat them a second time:

HepA - $62.50/shot, series of 2

HepB - $80.25/shot, series of 3

Typhoid - $118
Clinic visit - $46

Ummmmm yeah. Pay more for the same shots at a closer location or brave the bike trail up to Bothell for the discount version. I'll take my chances on the trail. Lt. Sean has offered to splash my face with some cheap beer should he find me passed out on the trail on his way home from work.

As for the other productive parts of my day, that was filled with my coworker scanning the Turns-All-Year website checking out all the turns people have been catching the past few months in anticipation of this week's major dumpage. As happens in the exponentially tangential world of the internet, she came across some simply awesome photos of the damage down at Mt. Rainier from last week's Pineapple Express storm. Rainier recorded 18" of rain in 36 hours. When you pour that kind of volume down some very narrow glacial channels it turns into some mighty forceful torrents that take out everything in its path and carve out some news ones like reckless 12 year olds with firehoses.

This one was the Sunshine Point Campground, which I always coveted as the most precious outhouse I've ever seen, at least since leaving Seattle 2 hours ago and chugging 2 liters of water. Now Sunshine Point is more like An Outhouse Used To Stand Here Point because it's completely gone:

We had our monthly Team Caffeine meeting tonight. I'm loving this team so much. Every meeting and team ride brings us closer together as a group of sisters powering around on bikes. The energy we're building will be an awesome sight come race time. We also have the privilege of a local pro racer being our team "resident pro" to help us with coaching and skills clinics. She's super humble and already has a wonderful rapport with the team from last year. She's going to focus on track this year, so I'm hoping to get with her for some basic coaching strategy to keep me out of trouble.

In more somber, humble news, word was passed around today that our former manager Ellen passed away this morning, succumbing to the brain tumor that she's bravely battled for 4 1/2 years. Ellen was only a few years older than me and leaves behind a two very strong teenage girls and a husband who "is a better man having loved such a remarkable woman." Ellen was incredibly bright intellectually and socially. She always had a cheerful smile on her face as she made her rounds around the office to see how everyone's day was going. She loved computers and problem solving, which she brought into her fight with this cancer. She read all the journals and analyzed all the possibilities and statistics and continually had a smile of hope on her face. When going through chemo and radiation she'd model a new hat almost every week. A few months ago she was selected for experimental treatment on the east coast where she would be given medication that cost $25k/month, but with the trial it would be for free. After only a few trips, the doctors pulled her from the trial because it wasn't working. This was a sign that there wasn't much else anyone could do. She quickly weakened after this point. One of the last gifts collected for her was a trip to a day spa so that she and her girls could get their toes painted.

Ellen was the one who hired me for my job, who called me for a phone interview in my GIS lab as my stupid labmates made faces and noises behind my back. She was easy going and open and always made helping others a joy in her life. Thanks for being such a special person in this world Ellen, and bless your husband and girls in their days ahead. You'll always be here with us.

The art of Eric Carle

Remember when a day was all about sitting in your mom's lap looking at a big, bright, colorful book about animals? The very hungry catepillar and his friends are having an exhibit down at the Tacoma Art Museum!
P-I article on the show

Cool slideshow on his work

Official Eric Carle website

Grey Paint Sucks!

A kindred spirit put this up on the naked grey wall of the Ballard Bridge last week. At first I thought it was lovingly painted on in relief form, but upon closer inspection it's some kind of large plastic decal with some wrinkles in it. Still, it's glorious and bright and beautiful and a shock of sunshine against the sad grey wall in my neighborhood.

Camel kisses

I can't wait to go on a camel trek in India with my desert prince in January!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We plan to spend over a week checking out the state of Rajasthan in northeastern India. This area is known as the Great Indian (Thar) Desert and a popular place for tourons to visit:



The ancient, fortressed city of Jaisalmer was once on the great trade route to the Orient, and is now the center of modern desert adventures (photo by Dey):



My camel will be my new best friend. Forget bikes, camels give kisses!

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr....

Turning the clocks back is a more significant sign of winter's arrival than anything nature could invent. It's darker. It's colder. You want to stay in your jammies all day and not pierce the insulated skin of your new double-paned windows. In fact, that's just about how my day went, except for venturing out to get a few more volumes of Lost's first season (What happened to Clare??? Don't tell me!!). Another sign was dashing out my back door to bring my precious jade plants in for the winter. They had a very productive summer outside and have grown significantly. Now it's time to lay low and watch the days tick by until that spring equinox breaches the horizon again.

I have to give big props to Suzanne who drove up to Snohomish for another installation of the Seattle Cyclocross Series. While I was enjoying the extra hour of sleep in my flannel pjs she was out there warming up in the rain and MUD and exhibiting extreme fortitude. I hoist my hot cocoa to thee, Suzanne!

Last night Rhi, Ashley, Davis and I did the Messmanless Messquarade race. Our team was Heff and the Bunnies, complete with smoking jacket, pipe, bunny tails, bunny ears, and a big blue tandem dinosaur. Rhi and Ashley put on the Bunny charm and snagged us a huge pumpkin from Mama's Mexican Kitchen in Belltown. That was worth extra points and brought us up to 3rd place overall. Bunny Power!

On Thursday I was thinking about getting out and overnighting somewhere in the hills, but saw that a cold front was moving through Sat night and thought better of it. Good call. Today so much snow fell @ Snoqualmie Pass that the DOT had to shut down the Pass eastbound and westbound for a few hours. Sometimes listening to myself pays off.

Now it's on to November, my least favorite month of the year, although it was made quite tolerable last year thanks to my favorite bearded fellow. Only 2 months til I land in India. Save some stars for me!

Anniversary Limerick

It was this time last year
I met someone quite dear
On my first ride, it was Seatac
Not knowing it was magic
That love grows from bikes and beer.

Last Halloween I was a nun
Racing around town was great fun
A masked man on our team
Cleverly planning his scheme
To learn if this girl was the one

We had both done a bike tour
Which led to talking much more
On this second night that we met
He said "Let's go to Tibet"
Of him in my life I could not be more sure

Now a post-doc he's far away
But we're in touch every day
This year will be a blip
With the help of a long trip
If he finds me a pink sari I might stay!

All hike, no bike

I've been feeling extremely burned out with bikes this month. Sometimes a person just needs a break from something so consuming in one's life. So the past few weeks I've put on my trail shoes and headed out to the woods. The first hike was just up Tiger Mountain, about 5 miles round trip and 2500ft gain. Back when I was really nuts, I used to hike Tiger twice, back to back, up the really steep trails, with about 40# in my pack. That, I felt, was an adequate workout. Now that I've come to my senses a bit more I merely head out to hike when it's pouring buckets of rain instead. Soaked all the way through so my feet sloshed as I plod along, I still had a smile on my face. The ferns were there. And lots of trees. One banana slug. And quiet. Lots of quiet. There was the physical quiet: No cars, no traffic, no city buzz. And then there was the mental quiet: No defensive riding, no heightened senses ready to make you spring, no wondering if I could push a bigger gear, no self-admonishing for not racing all the CX races this year. It was good to be in a different environment where I could take a break from.....myself.

This weekend's weather promised to be the one fall weekend to remember all year. The leaves were at their most brilliant, the skies were clear, and the sun warmed the earth up just enough for us to think winter might not come this year. So Mary, Izzy, and I met at the Alpental parking lot for an easy hike up to Source Lake through the Denny Creek drainage. It's by far one of the most popular day hikes around, which is probably why I managed to avoid it all these years, but this day the trail called to me. I'd been up the drainage a few times in the winter and today I wanted to see what it looked like in its fall glory. The parking lot was packed and people strolled around in the bright sun, either coming back or leaving for the trail. I actually enjoyed seeing and chatting with all the people. Something about being around all these people who shared the same energy for a beautiful day. There were old people, young people, buff people, and every kind of ordinary people. Even 2 wiener dogs with the fastest little legs you've ever seen.

The trail was far more lovely than I'd imagined. For such a high use area, the trail managed to appear new and well kept, unlike other high use trails like Tiger or Si where the path seems as worn and ugly as pavement. We didn't have to go far to find the reddest of maples beneath the bluest of skies.



The ferns at the foot of the maples were turning a noble shade of brown, getting ready for their own long, cold sleep. We passed through a few small streams and Izzy dunked her head down to take some long sips. Mary and I looked up at the peaks and recalled traverses up Pineapple Pass to the Tooth and other backcountry marathon tales. They weren't even that long ago! Why does it seem that all that energy has escaped us? It's like we've aged 30 years in 3.

After a few miles we finally we reached the rocky hillside overlooking Source Lake. What a wonderful view! A long drainage full of evergreens and spotted with red and yellow trees and a small lake complementing the scene like a fine jewel.



We pulled out our lunches and enjoyed the bright afternoon sun. Mary managed to spot 4 climbers coming down from Guye Peak so we watched them pick their way down "the obvious descent gully" which was a long rocky gully and onto an equally rocky boulder field. No my knees don't miss that a bit.

The sun started its descent over the western peaks and left us in a cold shadow, so we took that as a sign to get back in the sun and down the trail. Izzy led the way and insisted on combing through the blueberry bushes to find anything the bears may have left.



At one point I turned around to see the valley we had just left and saw this:



It appeared like a magical green kingdom whose tree limbed doors we were about to close. I imagined coming back to the mountains on a weekend like this and climbing up higher and deeper into the backcountry and staying for days. Just me and my man and the treasures around us. For now I'll close my eyes and imagine it, and wait until we can be there together.

Rosemary update

Got Rosemary back from the doctor this week. His diagnosis: 4 degrees off in geometry. Drats to his perfection! He had to go and get the old Bridgestone catalogs and measure every angle to see where she sits. I stared at him with big, concerned, motherly eyes and a lump in my throat and asked "Is she still ridable??" He nodded confidently, but with the caveat that she'd be built more as a chopper. "So I can still ride her?" Optimism quickly grew in my voice. He shook his head 'yes' again and said I'd need to get new forks with a higher rake to offset her new geometry. He assured me that this wasn't a catastrophic failure event, so I grabbed my little girl and took her home before the doctor could change his mind.

A new fork. That's do-able! I can get a new fork. I can ride her again. Not for 100 miles, but that's ok....just around town and to work and a few lazy days in the sun. My little girl has a chance at living again.

But not yet. Mama's got a few other financial issues to deal with. So for now she's kanoodling in the corner with Freki. They look quite happy there together and I wouldn't want to disturb them just yet. It'll be time to wake her up again soon enough.

Take me now

Something super special came in the mail this week:



My tickets to see my Sweetness in India this winter! I'll have 5 weeks to sleep in, nuzzle, ramble around, feed cookies to a dog named Stumpy, savor new smells and sounds, absorb a new culture, see old constellation friends, ride a few camels, and climb out of my shell that I've been nesting in far too long.

The great big towel

Admitting weakness. This is the hardest part. You're supposed to be invincible, mind over matter. You try and it doesn't work. You try again and it really doesn't work. Your body tries to whisper and you turn up the music. No. Never. Knock it off. When is it in your best interest to throw in the towel? Before disaster strikes again? Before it's too late and you're deep in the hole for 3 more months? Or do you wake up with clear mind and have another go, refusing to admit what your body yearns for you to hear?

I'm so torn. So stubbornly torn. On one hand I'm not a quitter and stronger than oak, but on the other hand I've been so humbled and shown the muddy puddle to lie in, that I don't want to go back there.

But...but...but...

I wish I could wake up and be invincible again. The strategist in me might have to admit it's not this year and let the others have their turn. Save the power for another chance in the sun. The gluttonous part of me wants it all again right now. Mine.

Or not.

I think I need a little Sinead louder than bombs to clear my head.



Ah yes. MUCH better. But the towel is still gripped in my hands.

Science!!

This amazing computer animation of cellular activity makes me feel like I went to school 200 years ago, back when they used Tinker Toys to explain DNA. What are kids studying these days? So rad.

It also makes me wonder what kind of happy dance my cells do after I eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

Cellular Visions: The Inner Life of a Cell

My little girl

pink bike full of life
craves full attention from mom
jealously weaves spell

autumn sun so warm
driving home lulled into space
CRACK: heartbreak above

forks bent like noodles
pink paint wrinkled on steel lugs
greetings, disaster

r&e first hope
snooty and a king's ransom
more tears in my beer

a real hero found
subject: sad bridgestone needs help
reply: let's fix her

fairy godfather
help my little girl be well
signed, a mom's sad tale

Being force fed broccoli

Anyone who knows me well knows that broccoli has the effect of kryponite on me (as in Superman, not the bike lock). Never in my life have I been able to be in the same room as the vile vegetable, or any of its cruciferous family members. It reeks, it makes me gag, and when it's being steamed god help me find HEPA filter stat.

I raced at South Seatac this past weekend and after seeing pictures of me suffering for 3 long laps, Zack said my facial expressions looked like I was "being force fed broccoli." It was probably the hardest race I've ever done. I had to run. A lot. The sand seemed to have crept further into the park. A lot. They threw in an extra run-up that made me want to throw up. A lot. It was fast, it was relentless. I got lapped by Denny's duct taped punk ass (rock!). If it weren't for Jane making a special guest appearance in one brief corner of the singletrack, I would have crawled under a tree and wept at how pathetic I was feeling that day. I have no idea why. I didn't have an ounce of competitiveness, not a wisp of fire, no nails to chew on. But Jane inspired me on and helped me visualize passing a few more girls. By the last lap a bit of my old self was back and I chased down a few girls one by one. They seemed to drop like flies, esp the ones who had started so strong. It certainly wasn't my old form from last year where I'd start from the back and pick them off one-by-one until I was in the top 5. No, this year I have yet to crack the top 10. Maybe the girls are just that much stronger this year. Two of them were upgraded to Cat 3 after Sunday, so maybe that will give me some space to move up next time and to find my fire again.

Susanne's Memorial Ride

Susanne's Memorial

I mentioned something the other day about life's preciousness. It got even more precious this week with the tragic passing of a young woman who was struck by a van during her morning commute to Outdoor Research. I attended her memorial ride on Friday and it was a testiment to the love that flows between family, friends, and strangers. Bikes were decorated with flowers. Her family made tshirts with her image and ones that said, "We'll miss you Sus...Ride on." People tied black lace ribbons to their arms or bikes. We rode around the city for the regular CM ride, then most continued on to the intersection in West Seattle where the accident occured. It was a beautiful gathering of hundreds of people, mostly on bikes, carrying candles and placing flowers and tokens on the ground. Afterwards part of the group moved on to Alki Point where her family held a more intimate memorial with her dad, cousin, and friends telling stories about Susanne's life. They are a tightly knit, spiritual family. I had the honor of giving her husband a bottle of red wine at Alki Point. He told me that red wine was Susanne's favorite and that pink was her favorite color. If she'd seen my bike she would have talked about it for days. I didn't know Susanne or her husband or her friends. I wanted to show up to give them the love and caring that I've seen so abundant in the bike community. What else could a stranger do? We're a small group and we look out for each other.

Live every day with mass amounts of love. Ride on and be safe out there.

Celeste

No, not as in "celeste green." As in "celestial." I was at work ridiculously late tonight and had the 10 mile ride home ahead of me. I left the building mentally spent, but knowing that at least it would be dry and I could enjoy the Indian Summer evening not worrying about the cold or misery of driving rain. I hopped onto Rosemary and we made our way down the road out of the campus. I rounded one of the buildings and looked up at an amazingly clear sky full of bright stars. The new moon was a few days ago and I was somewhat protected from the city lights, so the stars jumped out to greet me. Biggest of all was the Big Dipper hogging up the northern sky above. I smiled and thanked the stars for their show, for giving me a present to remind me of life's preciousness. I immediately wondered what the sky looked like in other parts of the world and what the stars looked like above Mumbai this time of year. As Rosemary and I rolled down the trail we had repeated glances of the Big Dipper. I felt like a sailor making her way across dark seas and relying only upon the stars and my sextant. With the Big Dipper I knew my way home. I could close out the trees and asphalt and city around me and know where I was headed by the steadiness of old Ursa.

We made it to my parking lot and again I looked up past the trees and the Big Dipper loomed above. I memorized its angle compared to where I left work. I wish I could navigate by the stars only and not rely on human-made infrastructure. It's like a 6th sense is activated and yearning to stretch. Maybe this winter when we lie among northern plateaus and the stars as magnificent as those above a new earth.