The Kitty Washing Machine

This is for The Raz. And for all you other kitty aficionados out there. Please don't try this at home.

BRILLIANCE

Just when I thought humanity had nothing left to offer me, I find this:



The Ortlieb toilet paper dry bag. I so could have used this in India where I ported my own tp from the northern borders to the southern oceans and was always doting over my precious precious cargo. Sure I can use plastic or ziploc bags, but thanks to these geniuses it will forever have its very own PVC cocoon and it can hang from the nearest shrubbery.

The virtue of good pudding

I wrote to my coach, Kele, that I've returned from the other side of the world and that - not too surprisingly - I got my ass kicked on our team ride up Squak Mnt outside of Issaquah and around Lake Sammamish yesterday. Besides my ass not being on friendly terms with my Brooks, my legs had no muscle to push or pull the cranks around the hilly route. It took an enormous amount of fortitude to keep up with these chicks who have been training like mad the past 5 weeks. I finished with the team, but my body let me know how unhappy it was with me by relegating me to the couch for the rest of the day.

What Kele wrote back was music to my ears, "Yea, don't sweat the team ride...and don't push it too much....gradually build, my child, GRADUALLY!! I'm sounding the "Take it easy" alarm....REST and build..."

I was worried that I'd get a "Well what did you expect being gone for 5 weeks?" but she gave me the perfect mix of encouragement and humour. I know I'll get my legs back in a few weeks and will be able to rock that route with the other girls and then some.

But for now I took her words of rest to heart and celebrated with mass amounts of Belgian chocolate pudding that made the day even brighter. Hey it's only January....

Wiiiiiide awake

4:27 a.m., 4:43 a.m., 4:00 a.m. Those have been the bright green numbers I've woken up to the past 3 mornings since getting back from the other side of the world. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to wait 3 freakin' hours for the sun to come up or 2 hours for the newspaper to appear at my door. I remember waking up at a similar hour the first week or so in India, but there I had a better reason to go back to bed. Here, I make some coffee, read more of Shantaram, and wait for dawn to brighten the sky. I've been falling asleep around midnight so there's been an awful lot of darkness in my day, which I'm not particularly enjoying. I was hoping I'd be back to my normal routine by the end of the weekend, but that's looking doubtful. Rhi said it took her a week to get back to normal. Right now all I want is to wake up with the sun prying through my blinds and see my clock reading another hour other than 4 a.m.

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.