Urban Micro CX - oh yeah!

Here are some pix of the post event chit chat. Chais and I had a blast.

More to follow...

Ride What?

This blog started as a means to track my ascent into the throws of bicycling as a means of transportation, recreation and therapy. It has become my way of life now.

Since February of 2009 (when I bought my very first bike - true story), here are a few of the things I have done, seen & learned...

I have been in one race. The Almanzo 100. It was a personal triumph to ride and finish, though I have no deep aspiration to be a"racer". I compete against myself. I have commuted a 36/40 mile circuit daily for nearly 2 months during the long warm days of summer. I have traveled by foot and by pedal here, there and everywhere in between. I have worked a 9+ hour day, then rode 55 miles home, running out of daylight 6 miles from my front door. I have learned about bike building and restoration. I have sold a lot of bikes at Decorah Bicycles (Decorah, IA) and a fair amount at Bicycle Sports (Rochester, MN). Coincidentally, I commute to that Decorah job mostly on bike when time allows - it is a 52 mile round trip from my porch to the shop door and back to my porch again. I have met incredible people. I have met some not-so-incredible people. I have studied Marx, Durkheim, Weber, Ecosystems, Erosion, Landfill and myriad other topics in the return to college life.

The maybe overlooked facet of falling in love with "the ride" is that I have included as many people that will come with me in my adventures. I have ridden in the winter/summer/fall/spring, pedaled with groups, with my young son, with children, with adults, with strangers, with friends and all of the other subcultures I fail to remember.

What is happening now, is the annual re-acclimation into cold weather riding. The socks, the warm gear, the search for some affordable LAKE winter riding boots, the need for suitable rain gear, the prompting for the weatherization of the bike (chain, tires, etc.) and the mental pep fest that prepares the mind to play nice with the body as it adds a few pounds and slows down a little with the winter winds.


To date, I ride to and from school and as often as the 24 hour clock will allow. I am already getting cagey and need some serious sweat and a long day of listening to my gears click and ping. In the past 8 months, I have logged in somewhere near 2,500 miles of pedal power. This would be a small amount to some. To me - it's just right. If I didn't need the car, I would give it away - that is where I am in the bike nerd process.

Next up - Judy, Judy, Judy.

Hop on the GreenFete

Link updates, more to follow. In the process of reconnecting with my link contacts on greenfete and writing some progress reports to see what each one has been up two in the recent months.

Then pretty up the blog and away we go for a winter learning adventure.

Life Springs Eternal - PART II

A gentle breeze, from Hushabye Mountain...Chitty chitty Bang Bang

Dick Van Dyke sings Jeremy & Jemimah to sleep after they offer him their "riches" to help with the family's money struggles. Sweet & pure of heart.

I was en-route to an early morning walk through the wet woods. Amherst, Minnesota's own version of Hushabye Mountain. Mid-trek, I veered into my parents' quiet driveway. I parked the car as dad came out of the newly renovated chicken coop, the building that now plays host to all things wood-working and green-thumbing. When I was a teenager, that coop held piglets that my sister and I fell in love with.

I quickly blurted out that I was heading toward Simley Springs and wondered if he could tell me where to find the spring head. After about 5 minutes of his insane scribbles on a scrap manila envelope, I said..."you wanna come with?" He looked at me a little sideways.


He hesitated.

He was probably pondering when he was going to have time to shoe horn in all of the various projects that keeps him busy in his recently acquired retirement lifestyle. Maybe a trip into the valley was just not on his Saturday morning itinerary. So I just stared him down, waiting for him to say no, kind of backing up expecting to say goodbye and cruise back out the driveway. I was on a mission with or without him, and was not interested in dickering about directions. Turns out, neither was he.

After about a 15 second delay, he said…"let's take the truck".

So down the gravel we sailed, talking about the collection of data I had researched online about Lawrence Simley and I briefed him on the hike I had taken through the woods the day before.

As we approached the minimum maintenance road, he pointed out where my great grandmother's brother, Clint Vickerman had lived and where MN State Representative Moppy Anderson had a cabin for many years.

Dad pulled the truck into a cleared grassy path and shut down the motor. We got out and started to walk. Not long into the stroll, he stopped and said..."let's listen here...yep...hear that?...I think we're close...." Even after many years away, he led me right to the spring head. All this time and I never knew it was there.

I jumped from moss covered rock to log to rock to hillside until I had scaled the spring and could look down to see the mouth of the creek gobbling up the cold clear water. It was so gorgeous there. Dad thought I was nuts. Ahh...it's good for him. I am nuts. We noticed rock structures to the West that he had never noticed before. I made him agree to hike up to them the next time we got a chance.

We drove on through the valley, stopping at the Simley homestead and talked about myriad former inhabitants of the valley. Shit, he grew up all over these woods. And I am just desperately trying to get back there, while the city pulls me closer to meet the financial needs of the "civilized world".

Dad as he spotted the spring head - only AFTER he heard it.

Chais as he spotted the spring head - only AFTER I stopped him in the same place dad stopped me earlier that day.

This place is amazing. I can't do it justice with words tonight, but rather leave you with some images. Keep in mind my blog photos are all taken with a cell cam, as I need to be able to crawl around. A big hog camera just isn't my style anyway. That said, I feel I need to add the disclaimer that these random quality images pale in comparison to the up close and personal landscape.

This is largely state land unless otherwise marked. You, the reader can check this out for yourself. It's easy to navigate and a pleasure to behold.

At the end of our hike and tour, I was lost in thought as I always am when I go on an adventure. I left for work, sold some bikes and came back to the spring head that evening with my young son. I have a hard time not going once a day, just for clarity.

An Audio Preview

Life Springs Eternal - PART I

Lawrence G. Simley was born March 8, 1905 to Thore & Marit, presumably on the land that he died on in 1996. Simley Springs, Fillmore County, Big Woods Proper. He was 91 years old when he passed.

In 1905, my own paternal great grandmother Mabel (Vickerman) Brown was a 5 year old little girl - living probably not too far from baby Lawrence in that year. My paternal great grandfather J. Ray Brown was also a youngster dwelling within shouting distance of the picturesque valley known to locals as Simley Springs. Who knew that these two country neighbors would meet one day and start the family that would ultimately yield me?


When I was 9 in the late 1970's, Mr. Simley would've been about 74 years old already. It was during this time that I spent much of my free time with my maternal great grandparents that lived next door in Canton, MN. As is often the case in small country areas, both sides of one's family can live within a few hillsides of each other. I think about how many questions I never cared to ask these knowledge-filled grandparents. My concerns were if candy was available and when that was going to happen. I bet each of those 4 great grandparents could have shared volumes about Simley Springs and old man Simley and myriad other topics.

Today, I am asking the questions to whomever will reply. My incredible maternal grandparents and my awesome parents will have to feed me now, as I have wasted so much time.

This blog entry isn't so much about me or my grandparents or even the bachelor Lawrence G. Simley, whom I never even met, but rather the extraordinary journeys we all take to get to where we are going.

And just where is that? Yeah…I don't know either.

I do know that Lawrence G. Simley was likely born in the spring fed valley and now rests not even 5 miles down the road at Elstad Cemetery near Highland, MN. I have been to the cemetery, but not recently. I am planning a trip in the next week to have a look around. I also know that my own great grandparents rest not 50 feet from my own home in the family church cemetery. And here I am, living in their house. I have done and seen much, yet here I am. Back near where everything kind of started.


My curiosity is steeped in knowing only small fragments about the bachelor man and his valley. I have it on good authority that he was indeed never married and that he was a kind man. My dad filled in a few gray areas this past weekend as we hiked and drove through the woods. He said Lawrence was always known for waving to whomever passed through. No matter what he was doing, what he was carrying - he always waved. So my dad verified that "Simley" was a nice man.


A nice man. An old bachelor. Lived quietly. May have lived with his mother, his sister or some other woman. There was always a woman there, but she was always assumed to be family.


These revelations made me think of how I myself have daydreamed about living this very life. Quiet. Remote. Woods. Hard work. Simplicity. A mystery only to those who never ask about it. And would they say of me after I pass, that "she was a kind woman and always waved"?

Will they know that I had dear friends who took care of my inner person when I was struggling emotionally? Will they hear stories of how much I loved to go on random adventure hikes & bike rides just to experience a new angle of a scenery I hadn't before the adventure? Will they whisper about how the men in my life ran me through the mill but how I never let them break me...at least not for long. Will they blush when they think of how freely I could put a sailor to shame with my snake-like vulgarities when I needed a good laugh - and to share one with others? Will they nod knowingly when they chatter about how money meant nothing to me and how my parents had to lend a few dollars to me through the years when things got insane? But will they go on to say how fiercely independent I was and how that parental help was fought tooth and nail? And finally, will a sweetness build in their hearts when they say how I loved my friends, family and "kin-like-folk" with reckless abandon?

I hope so.

What will WE say about YOU?


Next up…"THE HIKE" into long ago.

Pancake Valley - No Syrup Needed

I could have written about the square plot of my back yard that I seeded in with wildflowers last season, but I thought that would be not that thrilling of a blog adventure. But I have been thinking of that wild bed a lot of late. With the help of my oldest son, a neighbor boy and my nephew to loosen the soil, last summer we created a “no-mow zone”. I had tried for several years to extend my garden into that area, but it was just so hard and tended to be drier than the rest of the yard. A huge Walnut tree in the neighbor's lawn likely is the culprit water guzzler.

My children and I live on the Minnesota/Iowa border, approximately an hour and a half from the Rochester city limits. We reside within a few miles of a lush area people refer to as the "Big Woods". Having grown up with places like the Big Woods, Chickentown, Big Rock, Weisel Valley and endless others in our back yard, we have become unwittingly responsible for preserving and nurturing that back yard. It kind of sneaks up on you. As a child you just knew you were playing in the woods. As an adult you find that you long to play in the woods when you are sitting at your office desk. My family’s own lifestyle is as green as we have the power to make it, and we try to live lighter and more responsibly by learning about better choices every day.


That said, we never took a day to simply collect trash. I was amazed that we hadn't. Embarrassed even. My young son has always been the litter spotter, commenting on how "naughty" people were to dump their trash. We would always pick up something that bothered us (him) and bring it to the right disposal site, but never just went garbage collecting as one of our myriad adventures.

We started out on a lovely Sunday morning, my son on bike and I on foot. The spot - Pancake Valley, Big Woods Proper. Much of the Big Woods is now state owned and free to roam. Locals seldom do, as we are each commuting to cities to work and have little free time anymore. Sad. There are residents sprinkled here and there amongst the trees and creeks. I actually have to give my dad credit again for introducing my sister and I to this sleepy area as kids. We would go driving on weekends and just look at things. My guess is mom was in need of some kid-free space, so dad got saddled with the slow and winding tours, complete with stories of long gone former relatives who used to dwell in these valleys.

On garbage collection day, we brought a bag, water to drink and the camera. My son took one side of the quiet gravel road and I took the other, stopping with each sighting of a potential trash pickup. Since we are nature lovers, it was hard for us to stay on the road. OK, impossible. Soon we ventured into the woods and followed a creek bed that was alive with fresh water as clear as the air itself. And it was cold. We noted leaf matter, bugs and itching weed in various shapes and sizes. We dug out vintage Pepsi and beer cans that had been there before the aluminum cans were widely used. We found an old glass cider jar handle, broken and protruding from the bank like many other little trinkets from days gone by.

Our bag slowly filled up with a few beer cans, a salted peanut bag and a few other items. The find of the day was an old Cracker Jacks box, as my son thought there may still be the accompanying toy nearby. No such luck! We ambled through the mix of beautiful moss covered logs, vine wrapped trees and various moist leaves lining the ground. The mosquitoes were present, but not unmanageable. The birds and squirrels were squawking and chattering in preparation for fall. They have a different sound this time of year - more intense. I have laid in woods like these and just listened to the sounds. Once, even falling asleep and awoke to my walking partner calling out for me, thinking I was lost. Hardly.


We had parked the bike near a culvert at the beginning of our outing as we abandoned the road for the trees. At some point in our trek, we decided it was time to loop back, walk through the culvert to find the bike and scout for garbage once again. On the way back toward the culvert we found a potted plant container, more beer cans, a beer bottle and some tissue.

In our neck of the woods, there is litter to be found, but a lot less than my 10 minute bike commute from work to school in Rochester each day. The contrast is stunning. My bike ride could yield several large bags of collected material, while our hour+ long hike/bike provided us with only a small grocery bag full. I have, however, seen more trash on country roads in years gone by. Part of the recent decline, one might attribute to tougher drinking and driving laws. Why? Most of the litter I have seen and continue to see is associated with alcohol. It used to be that you could find ample spent cans and bottles in woods and ditches, tossed out of car windows. The volume has decreased significantly as we see more and more people opting to not chance the huge fines and inevitable stigmas attached to a DUI offense. Who knew that our environment would benefit from tougher law enforcement with regard to road tours on country roads?


We headed toward home and discussed how we planned to make a garbage hike/bike part of our adventures in the future. An unexpected outcome from this day of service, was that I now have a sharper eye when spotting litter. It's kind of a curse now. A curse I can live with.

It was a great experience. Next up? Simley Springs, Greater Big Woods.

Random Sightings

Weisel Valley - An Off Road Homecoming

In a remote woodland that hides somewhere soft within SE MN, lies a lush area of state-owned land locals call Weisel Valley.

I spent long weekends and summer holidays in this wooded wonderland. Oh, I did not think about it that way then, but I do now. And - it wasn't always owned by the State of Minnesota. It wasn't always inhabited only by tall pine trees, squirrels and mosquitoes. It wasn't always a place that was easy.


My family has a long standing tale of how we came to be connected to this land. By this land. Fifty some years ago, my paternal grandmother and grandfather divorced, packed their bags and readied their 6 children for a stay in the country with family. My father's oldest sister I think must have been somewhere in or near her teens, as she recalled holding her baby sister on her hip overlooking Weisel Valley as the troops walked toward the home occupied by my great grandparents. This would become their own home, not just a vacation retreat.


My grandmother went to California. Grandpa went to Iowa. Both married and ultimately settled back around the SE MN/NE IA area years later. There is a really long and interesting story amongst the lines I have told you about. I am thinking what I DIDN'T tell you is more novel material that blog fodder. Besides, I always want MORE of the details to trickle in from my existing family members. It takes time to piece together the lives of the non-living.

Today, I took my young son and our bikes and journeyed back to the place of my youth, and the place where part of my family tree resides. It's a huge tree.


I daydreamed about how my dad was a young kid and acted tough while missing his mother and father. I wondered how mad he was. How happy. I wished that I could bring all of my fellow bicycle lovers from Decorah and Rochester here to let them feel the power here as I do. Even the sacred friends I adore who are not fond of bikes could love it here too.


Immediately however, my mind was on my son who was having a blast on the rugged terrain - an off roader's/mt biker's delight. We got sweaty and dirty and zoomed down the hills. Suffice it to say, he bitched and moaned the whole way UP those same once fun-filled hills whilst I lugged both bikes up the long incline. I hated it there as a child too. We camped there and it sucked at that age - I honestly remember it like that. AND NOW? I just laughed and enjoyed every second of the workout and time with my baby on a precious day off.


It was a good day.

PEACE.

Happy Birthday Chais, Thank You Jack

All because of one eml from a friend. Thank you for the idea Jack.
Thank you for busting open my mind and letting the possibilities spill out.

The pinata bashing was a success. We filled the blue dinosaur with fruit snacks, a baseball, Goldfish crackers, chocolate and even a few new pairs underwear for effect. Following one of my recent posts, spawned from a fellow M-C Ulum's email about a pinata factory, I sent my eldest son on a mission to find a pinata and stow it away in the trunk of my car until my youngest son's birthday.


The night before the event, we unpacked the pinata from its hiding place. It had a small hand-written sticker on one arm that said "Mexico 98". Really? Could it actually have been made in 1998 and sitting all that time - 11 years? That sticker made me think about the sociology class I am a student in. We have talked about myriad topics, but what I think about a lot lately is the bourgeois v. the proletariat. And how I, myself, might be viewed as rich by scores of people. The very people who make the pinatas. In truth, I am the lower middle-class who actually lives and works on the fringes of near-poverty every day by American standards.


Yet, my life can be viewed as lush by those who have even less and have a future that shows no upward spike in income.


With my bicycling, I have worked toward becoming less reliant on fossil fuels and improving my health in the process. It is a choice I defend and promote as often as I am asked about it. Yet it is a choice.

In the Environmental Biology course I am also thrilled to be a part of, I am reading a book called Bogtrotter. It is written by Richard A. Coffey. The story chronicles the first year he and wife moved from the city of Minneapolis, MN to the bog land in northern MN. No electricity, no plumbing or running water. Just a cabin and nature. In a recent passage Richard and his wife Jeanne were realizing that their dream of living in unison with nature was how the early settlers of this land lived their entire lives. Further, what they (Richard & Jeanne) were trying to achieve in simplicity, the settlers were trying get away from by jumping on technological advancements as soon as they became available.


That lone passage made my mind swirl with the knowledge that we have an entire world expanding and contracting with just these contrasts every minute. Trying to get to where they see greener grass or no grass at all.

Children. Pinatas. Bicycles. Bogs. Sociology. Biology. The constant current of life.

Did you know the pinata actually originated in China? Here is a site that gives you a little history.

PEACE.

No words, just one image

SEEKING USED SURLY

WANTED:
SURLY Cross Check frame (pref Bean Green)
53cm
Used

Anyone out there have the desire to part with one?

Cats In The Cradle

It bashed me across the head yesterday - I have forgotten how to go slow.

I looked back on the busy Lanesboro bike path, only to see that my son was but a spec in the distance. I thought I was going slow for him. I stopped. By the time he approached the spot where I was waiting, I noticed he was doing slow and deliberate figure 3's, weaving half loops left, right, left, right. Taking his time. Relaxing. What the hell?


I was annoyed. I was having douche bag mommy thoughts. I was that damn idiot parent who you roll your eyes at when you see them. When he caught up to me, I sharply told him that if we were going to bother to ride, I did not want to constantly stop/start/stop/start and that I would slow down but not stop anymore.


Then...I rolled my eyes at myself, slowed down and ditched my bad parent hat. I thought back to another post that I had pondered if elites could ever enjoy the ride anymore. I am far, far from an elite, but I was acting like one. I remembered a few weeks ago when Cory and I began a ride with my youngest son and his 2 daughters. All three kids ditched us and played at the park as we enjoyed a much needed grown up gravel road tour. We had a great ride and a great talk. Good pals catching up and just taking the hills slow. No racing. No competition.


Back at the Lanesboro trail, I congratulated my sweet little fella for making it about 5 miles even though he was tired. Truthfully, I was maybe more exhausted. What didn't shine clearly until later, was that this was my 1 day off in a 2 week work span. I was up at dawn cleaning and deciding how to pack 2 weeks of livin & lovin into an 12 hour day. Fuck if I knew. But I was going to try to.


It ended up that I was just a grouchy shit ball and snapped at my son, who was also a grouchy shit ball. Why? He missed me and I missed him and we both just wanted to hug and scream all at once because we needed another 2 days to get back into our mom/kid groove. Little boy blue and the man in the moon...I don't know when, but we'll get together then son, I know we'll have a good time then. Those lines bumped into me like the snap of elastic on my face. Shit. Shit.


We were at our turn around point. I told him to go back to the park in Whalan and I would pedal back to Lanesboro and fetch him with the car. Being no stranger to the little village and knowing many residents, he gladly retreated back toward town on the busy trail. I flew to the car and came back to find him not there. My heart broke and my face flushed. I drove around town and when I was ready to call 911, he came tooling down the trail from the opposite direction. He went visiting. I embraced him and decided it was time to reel in the bikes and go eat lunch.


After lunch we drifted toward Decorah and did the whole bike trail dance over again. This time, with my ass bag attitude left far behind.

No Bluffing, the Salsa Podio cuts through butter like a hot knife

...or Tyler dude, is it..cuts through a knife with hot butter?


Last night after work, my pal Travis and a
new pal Tyler zinged to Bluffton, Iowa. It was a lovely ride.

Bluffton Bridge

Bluffton Bridge

Big loud truck - Tyler is in love and wants to spoon with it.

Phatty's Phat Bike

Just a few shots of what I have been working on.

Pre Test Ride. Looking all nostalgic in my driveway.

Still Life: Cutlass with Daisies at Sunset

Cutlass Almanzo? Hmmmm

I need to replace the bearing...I think anyway.
Coaster breaks have too much play before taking action.

He had me at pinata

While I left my work place last night, I decided that my entire bike commute toward home would be dedicated to thinking about this blog. So many things are stuck within my own Charlotte's web, that a good solo ride could yank them them free I reasoned.

I had committed to biking from Rochester to Mabel last night, as I had wanted to get a round trip bike commute in at least once this summer. Keep in mind that my auto commute each day is approximately 3 hours total. To bike this, I have allowed 10 hours (5 each way), as it is over a century ride from beginning to end, with various hills and valleys. This week will not be the week, as my schedule is requiring automotive intervention for errands and other gas-guzzling affairs.

I did make it to Preston, however, and called in my son to pick me up and bring me home. I ran out of daylight and my front end lighting was too dim for the abyss-like darkness of the bike trail I would've been relegated to at that time of night. Plus, the thick deer population in the Preston-Harmony-Mabel-Canton area makes me wonder how many bikers survive a deer hit when one darts out of a dark wooded area.

My two sons and a neighbor boy show up at the Preston Root River Trail head, I treat them to ice cream at the trail shop and off we go toward home.

Home.

For as long as I can sift back through my memory, I have had a home. I have lived with friends. I have slept in my car. I have landed in precarious living arrangements. I have curled up in basement lodging. I have done the college dorm thing. I even woke up one morning in a country church parking lot with the sun lazily rising to wake me.

Yesterday I received an email from a fellow M-C High Alum. In the way that I replay Jack's voice in my head, I hear him deliver the details of his recent trip to Mexico. He provides thick imagery of his visit and elaborates about how the people who live there are remarkable to him. Jack tells me, in a heartfelt manner, they are truly a happy culture and yet, from our vantage point, seemingly have nothing by way of material wealth.


He was moved to confess that a one Ms. Gabe Sanchez would surely be his wife if he, Jack, could only speak Spanish. I linger on that line and have a huge thought bubble of my own, as I have long envisioned my own true love to be a darling, jet black haired Jewish (devout or not) individual that would be funny, intelligent and we would eat bagels while I would be tutored random Yiddish phrases. It wouldn't matter to them that I was not of the faith. I subscribe to a natural view on religious beliefs, in that I practice and "believe in" nothing yet I embrace and can wrap my head around pretty much any concept. This recurring vision of mine, I have not really spoken of until Jack mentioned Ms. Gabe Sanchez. Like Jack, being single has offered me a panorama of colorful adventures, a wide berth for growth and self-discovery and unlimited margin for error that can't be judged by a spouse. That said, I still want my Gabe Sanchez too.

Unlike Jack, however, I have my incredible children, who no doubt, have raised me v. me them.

Much of what he said tugged at me, as I often feel that (comparatively speaking) my own life is more meager than many. Many of my colleagues, I feel, would walk into my world and stiffen up to find no cable tv, an old refrigerator, no carpet, shingles that need replacing and a well pump that oft just stops working - usually when I have a really significant pile of laundry or wildly dirty hands.

In truth, I prefer living not heavily anchored down with a lot of swag. I have stuff, yes. I have house payments. Car payments. Expenses. I hang out my clothes rather than use the dryer when I can. And yes, I indulge in our local "Starbucks-like" turtle mocha as often as I can. I am a caffeine addict. Not proud. Just honest.

But in all this, I have made choices that enable me to do these various things in life.

Jack tells me in his email that he visited corrugated box plants and a pinata factory for fucksake. I wanted to be in that place right at that moment. How cool is that? Jack called it "cool, cool, cool". We're 38 and we still use phrases like "cool, cool, cool".


How my brain works is that it doesn't stay in park long. I shifted out of "cool, cool, cool" and roamed back to the Spring of 1989 when Jack and I (along with the other class of 1989'ers) journeyed to D.C. on our Senior Class trip. I distinctly remember seeing benches occupied by myriad people, some waiting for buses, some watching children play and several others were asleep. The sleeping bench dwellers were often covered with cardboard pieces and a sleeping bag if they were lucky.

I still place Jack in the era when we last spent any length of time together, our senior trip. His email topic trio of pinatas, poverty and corrugated boxes made me wonder if our country's homeless ever got to take a swing at a pinata covered in brightly colored tissue paper, resembling Dora or Sponge Bob. Have they read and re-read the inner printings and factory identifying codes stamped on the cardboard caves they seek refuge in? I also ponder whether or not these same people were cast into poverty by chance or if they opted to flee the strictures of society to simplify life's chaos. Mental illness, too, may have led them to the streets. Fear. Sadness. Loss. Who among us is immune to that same fate?

I ended my ride last night after 42 miles of being focused on the road, yet lost in thought, drifting in and out of imaginary cardboard boxes and swinging gleefully at pinatas of cerebral bliss.

Thank you Jack and thank you Ms. Gabe Sanchez and a nod to my not yet found Hebrew soul mate.

PEACE.

Wow, I have a readership...

Readership - refers to a vessel that floats in the DMZ I think.

Dirt trails in the warm shade of a Savage, MN mountain bike loop.

I have just received an email wondering why I haven't posted a blog for 8 days. Gasp, has it been a week plus? And that you all are beginning to notice when I post or not (insert humble Geisha bow) makes me want to offer you an explanation as to the lapse in my adventure cataloging. My "self and world" exploration hasn't stopped, just the keyboard taps for 8 days.

Unique bike trail system in Shakopee, MN.

Huber Park bike trail in Shakopee, MN


I ride far into the thicket on a random creek side trail and find this hidden dirt jump underground project in Shakopee, MN. It's vast. I smile widely thinking of my Rochester pals who do the same in remote wooded areas throughout the city. I take a few jumps, land them well and stop to listen to the closing acts of the Warp Tour 2009. If I would wade across the stream, I could join my daughter at Canterbury Park and people watch, but instead I turn around and follow the path back to civilazation. I didn't want to.

I have been neck high in the development of a new campaign at my place of employment. One of my career facets is that I regularly get the opportunity to educate and create training material for my colleagues. Train them what? Software, hardware, processes and pretty much whatever they need to know but don't know where to start. I have even given some bike advice - nothing huge, but solid facts I have gained slowly. I am developing videos for busy trainees to watch at their workstations to compliment our in-classroom sessions that will be scheduled in the coming weeks/months.

Unique bike trail system in Savage, MN.

Anyway, between me playing teacher and me going back to college, between me playing mom and me preparing for my own kiddos to get back to class, it has been a huge Rorschach ink blot merry-go-round for the past few months. If you get the sense that I thrive from constant activity and must have a passionate challenge to grow, you have unraveled pedalgrl.

Neat trail in Prior Lake, MN. This path is actually built into a housing community and is still under construction. I think it may even be private, but no one tells me to leave. I remember the distinct crunch from scores of fallen tree seed pods beneath my tires as I rolled along this man made nature retreat. Good effort. Great ride.

Let me digress to my recent trip bike touring the lower Twin Cities suburbs for 10 hours - solo. That week I took at 5 day vacation from work, shoehorning in a Saturday at the bike shop, and spent the days biking, hiking, walking, talking, exploring and bonding with my babies. We spent time in Decorah hiking the Mt. Bike trail system, so as to get a visual of a place I have not often ventured. As a roadie, Mt. Biking is a dreamy idea, but without the proper bike, it is not yet a reality. One must have a hammer if one needs to hammer - that's all I am saying. I am working toward that hammer.

My lovely daughter "sort of" poses whilst exploring the mountain biking, horse riding & hiking trail system in Decorah, IA. Below, my darling little lad negotiates a rocky hill with mom and sis following right behind.

Trail system in Decorah, IA.

When I ride solo (which is most of the time) I feel so connected with forces and notions that are not solid entities, but rather gusts of emotions that blow though me and make the goose bumps appear on my arms and legs. I notice cracks in sidewalks and think about how hard the grass rubbed its way up through the grainy cement slabs. That is determination. Shit.

Unique bike trail system in Savage, MN - one of so many.

I notice butterflies that mingle with bumble bees and turtles that squeegee their way across surfaces to get to a place they know they must get to, but are not enlightened as to why. I see clouds that form into ships and Santa faces and slippery slides. I wonder where Brian Becker ever ended up.

Brian Becker was a boy that grew up in the same little town as me. I spent my formative years in a village between nowhere and nowhere else. Population 300-something. We all knew everyone else and knew ABOUT everyone else. Brian was a stocky built boy. Brown hair. Happy eyes. Smiled a lot. Brian was a few years older than me, yet he did not go to my school. He attended classes in a neighboring town, with other students that were gifted and special. Of course back then, we did not see Brian as gifted. Through a child's lens, Brian was mentally retarded. Through a child's lens, Brian was different. Through my lens, he was my friend.

The long Minnesota winters were the perfect opportunity to make endless icy, snowy tunnels in the ample piles white fluff packed here and there after the snow plows made their way through the lazy streets. Brian and I forged miles of igloos and frigid forts in the years of our youth.

Irony and fate seem to follow me around like a faithful puppy, ears floppy and cute, tail wagging with joy and simple happiness. Last week, I was driving home from work and I decided to take an alternate route through my old home town. In a wild chance of events, the National Public Radio program that night was covering the life and death of Eunice Kennedy Shriver.

As I drove through my old familiar haunt of Canton, I heard the voice of Eunice through the speakers in my car. She was talking about people with intellectual disabilities. I drove by Brian's old house, now inhabited by the Warners. Ironically, Karla Warner was a Fay before she married Charlie Warner. Her mother - Eunice Fay. I grew up in the house next to the Fays, admiring the cool older Karla with her blonde hair and slender build. She seemed very movie star-esque to a bored and not slender preteen girl.

Eunice.
Brian.
Intellectual.
Disabilities.
I am lost in thought.

McColl Pond Environmental Learning Center in Savage, MN.

If you know of someone who has an intellectual disability, Eunice Kennedy Shriver has championed their plight. She was incredible. Makes me want to do something. I don't know what. Something.

Here is the piece that mesmerized me so.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LlaLK4Qjkk

And to Cory my lifetime friend and true blue blog follower, WHERE you buy your bicycles is NOT important. That you and your beautiful daughters RIDE bicycles IS.

Peace and love to all.

Progress

2 new items to report. First, sightings of newly installed bike racks in downtown Rochester. Second, bike lanes soon to be the norm for Rochester city streets. Read more at postbulletin.com

Savage to Prior Lake To near Burnsville and back and again

A recap of my adventure and more pix coming soon.
For now I will leave you with my new t-shirt.
Thanks Bob - I dig it.

The irony is, I am flat-chested like a blown tube.
I love irony.

Savage Solitude - Audio Blog #1

Savage Solitude - Audio Blog #2

Savage Solitude - Audio Blog #3

What is there to do when you're from a small town?

Ride your bike, of course!

Yesterday the first ever ride of the Newburg-Mabel Bike Club was enjoyed by its founding members.


One really cool part about living in a border town, is that there is always a new country road, hidden byway or sand hill to discover just over the state line.


There are some up and coming cyclists in the group that I see developing into hardcore riders in the not so distant future. The creation of this bike club is a way to foster rural riders, both young and old, to get on their bikes again.

Our mission statement is simple...
Ride Your Bike | Safety First | Ride Your Bike

The club is free to join, free to ride and free to share. Our hope is to have group rides around the countryside as often as possible. One rule, other than respect and safety, is that you are required to wear a helmet. No helmet. No ride.

PEACE.

Thoughts?

I dunno, I just see where promoting fitness and less reliance on automobiles trumps the need for this any day. Conversely, I understand that a bike or any other object randomly strewn about is a hazard. I am torn.

My walking partner and I engaged in a lively discussion with two fellow sidewalkers. One of the men was in favor of bike-free sidewalks, citing the ill-placed bikes can obstruct public access to mail boxes. One man strongly refuted the idea of ticketing bikes, explaining that there are surely more pressing needs in the community that city ordinances could tackle. I must mention that these were notes v. fee-laden tickets. In time, I am certain there will be fees associated with these notes.


Sidebar: The two bikes with these notes were encountered on a walk and do not belong to me or anyone that I know.

Tell me what your thoughts are on this? As for me, I shook hands with the businessman and wished both of the sidewalkers a great day, utterly at odds with the whole concept of ticketing bikes - no matter where.

PEACE.

The Year I was Born, So Was The Raleigh Super Course Line

This morning as I drove into work, I made a mental note of a vintage bicycle in the lawn where a garage sale sign flapped in the morning breeze.

By evening, I had forgotten the bike was there and was just tired enough to keep driving past it as I saw it again in the yard, unmoved.

I slammed on the breaks, found the nearest field drive, turned the car around and landed myself smack dab in front of the bike. I loved it. Green and beat to hell - a road bike. Vintage. Rusty looking saddle. Cobwebs. Perfect. Price - $1.00. Yes. One dollar.


I talked with the owner of the home and said I could write him a check, as I totally has no cash. A dollar on the bike and a few coins for two t-shirts also snagged while there. Rather, we shook on a buck-fiddy to be paid on my commute by the house the next morning.

I didn't even see what the size was, nor any particulars, other than the Raleigh name. I had to have it.

Upon getting home, here is my prelim research fruits:

Raleigh Super Course
Circa 1970
Green/Silver
Weinmann 610/Vainqueur 999 Carlton Front Brake System
Weinmann 750/Vainqueur 999 Carlton Rear Brake System
Simplex Shifters, Derailleurs
StrongLight Cranks
Size: Approx 56 cm
Brooks Saddle (old, old, old)

I see only one series of numbers that I think represent the serial number. It is a 7 digit numeric stamped into the left rear dropout. I might be wrong, but I cannot find other numbers anywhere else. I will keep looking.

A Bianchi, A Commute and a Cell Phone

These are a few of my favorite things. I love to ponder/linger here.

While pedaling down a rural highway toward work, I entered in this real-time audio blog. Have a listen at the end of this post.

When I arrived at work, I took a moment to park my bike in the warehouse. And what a pretty warehouse it is. Rims, bikes in for repair, bikes in for trade, tubes for river floating expeditions, skis, forks, frames - you name it. It is often where I daydream about going to hide when the days get tough in my non-bike shop journeys. It is rare that I get a chance to just linger there in the quiet expanse and reflect on life. But when I do, every hair on my arms stands on end with a child-like sense of wonder and awe.

Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream? - Poe

I will leave you with this audio post for now. However, I feel another blog topic fighting its way out of my brain. I'll keep you posted.

PEACE.

Over The River and Through the Woods

A True Story

Having a repair manual is a great resource for gaining terminology and theory when trying to grasp bicycle maintenance techniques.



The problem for many of us, is that the hands-on approach is far more mentally nutritious and will stay in the body a lot longer than the written word. I have found videos to be a wonderful supplement in the journey toward self-reliance where my bicycling passion is concerned.

20 Years Later, Tour De France, Wisconsin/Minnesota Adventures and Cyber Bullying

20 Years Later

20 years ago I graduated from high school with zero or less of an idea as to who I was, coupled with a meager grasp on what changes I might experience as I grew older. Admittedly, I had waves of vague despair that would overtake my thoughts as the years sputtered on when I pondered what great journeys my fellow alumni surely were graced with in contrast to my own struggles.


Yesterday, I was blown away by my own skewed perception of reality that I had been harboring for all these years. Turns out, that the people I talked with at my reunion also were disenchanted by the high school years. From my vantage point, I was the only one trying in vain to find a niche among my peers. The truth was, they all felt the same.


Time - the great leveler. In short, I reconnected with some quality humans that I had only ever known as teenagers. My children played with their children as we munched on picnic fare. Surreal. The long version of my 20 year class reunion? Well, I might dedicate another blog to individual shout outs or better yet a v-blog. To be continued…


Tour De France

1 Word...WhatTheHell? Listen, I have been hearing nuggets hurled here and there about the status of the Tour. Invariably I am either asked my opinion or asked if I am following it. I saw some footage this weekend for the very first time and I have to be real here - not my thing. Oh, sure I could watch for hours, honing in on bike frames, helmet manufactures and graceful hill climbs. I took great pride in being able to pinpoint Giro, Specialized and Trek helmet styles as they shimmered in the lofty peloton bobblehead factory. I was enamored by the sheer volume of handlebars rubbing into the others without accident or incident. Damn cool.

I also spiked the monster in me when I saw idiot fans running alongside or after the bicyclists being just stupid. I wanted to see a support car with baseball bat slinging bouncer types, just smashing in douche bag spectators gone rabid with groupie love for their favorite team.

Still, I come back to this - as cool as that was to watch, it was also kind of a bummer in that I truly wonder if the magic of riding a bike in its simplest form even exists anymore for the robot, chiseled riding machines. I dunno, it just seems like I hear my cyber pal Ian recite over and over and over in my head..."Not every ride is a race." Like duh! But really, it can become like that even for non-elites like me. After so many miles, after so many benchmarks, one can't help but want more, excel more, do more. But the problem is, when you are not training, if you forget how therapeutic an easy roll down a quiet route can be, every ride IS a race.

Just sayin, every time I start to slip into my "push harder" mode, I hit replay with Ian chanting..."Not every ride is a race." "Not every ride is a race." "Not every ride is a race." "Not every ride is a race." "Not every ride is a race." "Not every ride is a race." I wonder if Lance could take a child on a bike path with slow stretches, stops/starts and simply be lulled by the moment.

Wisconsin/Minnesota Adventures

Today I was thrilled to get out for a ride with my trusty trail guide Matt. We ventured the Great River State Trail in LaCrosse, WI. This extensive trail runs from Trempealeau and links up with 3 other trails to boast 101 miles of riding pleasure. More information may be viewed at Bike 4 Trails. The Great River trail consists of tightly packed crushed rock with segments of dirt, grass and wood bridges. It's a must do.


Later, I jumped over the border into Minnesota on a solo mission from Houston to Rushford. It was just too beautiful. My first stop was to see my dear friend Liz at her coffee shop in Houston. From there I jumped on the trail head that begins at the Nature Center in town. I enjoyed straightaways, hills and wildlife galore.



Cyber Bullying

This last topic is really me thinking out loud a little. As is typical with me, I often see correlations where simultaneous events in my life share a crossroad. I received word from a colleague of mine that her young niece had attempted suicide this weekend and was successful, only to be revived. Her prognosis is unknown. To me, I thought this sad and tragic event spoke to my own class reunion epiphany. Not only had I myself thought my teenage existence was useless at the time, but I now have a full circle vision of how the sharpness and harshness of youth dulls and eases over time.

In my youth, we did not have the Internet, no email, no instant messaging, no texting. Our jabs and barbs were delivered via notes and third party gossip. Now look at us. Now look at us. Now look at us. Our children playing together as we share old stories and laugh.

My stomach hurts to think of this laughter that I may not have heard, had I walked the same path as so many sad hearts before me.

PEACE little girl. I don't know you, but I so want you to hear laughter in 20 years. I am channeling that wish in your direction.

PEACE to all.

Money's Too Tight To Mention

In 1985 Simply Red released an album entitled Picture Book. On it was the song "Money's Too Tight To Mention". As a 15 year old then, I not only owned the CD, but had a Donkey Kong sized crush on this orange haired crooner. (Marcou- that DK reference was all you!)

At the time, my crush was fueled largely by the corn syrup sweet melodies and the great muted trumpet calls that I appreciated as a young musician myself. And if you recall age 15, well...hormones and the self-induced summer boredom were superb catalysts for pouring ones self into the escape of an album.

I remember thinking that Julian Lennon and Simply Red surely were singing directly to me in some cosmically maneuvered twist. England, I wagered, was overcast and melancholy, with streets overflowing with brilliant blue singers that were somehow looking for me but just did not know where to start their search.

The years have wicked away the lazy sizzle of the mid-80's. And the hope that Julian and Red might knock at my door has also gracefully faded into the Midwestern skyline as so many things do.

A recent blog posting by a fellow bike lover, has sent me into the 1980's again. For no other reason than to ponder the one song that has been playing over and over in my mind of late - Money's Too Tight To Mention.

The gist of the blog was speaking to the frustrations many of us experience when we are employed by small businesses or corporations that either don't care about the specific needs of their employees or are just too oblivious because we appear to be ants marching. Yes, I couldn't resist the Dave Matthews (Ant's Marching) reference, as I STILL expect him to come and find me. Julian and Red totally missed their window of opportunity.

So here is a snapshot into how I live. Simply put it is the "paycheck to paycheck" method. More specifically it is a delicate balance, a gambit of skillful quasi money shifting. With each bill I receive, I write a check immediately, seal it in the envelope and place it in the "payment morgue". I have a stack of ready-to-go payments and I watch them sit there. As the weeks go by, I shuffle their placement in the stack, re-evaluate the severity of non-payment and pluck one out and shove it in the mail...really fast so I can't change my mind. Then...I watch to see how long it takes to get the overdraft from the bank. Sometimes, a miraculous event occurs and I am spared an overdraft in a particular pay period. I am ecstatic. Additionally, I also read which of my creditors are threatening to shut off which utility or take me to court, etc.

Pick a bill - any bill.

My parents just shake their heads and inquire as to how much I have in my "savings" account to prepare for 911's. What the fuck is savings? Family of 4. Single income. No child support. STOP. Before you, the reader, hears that tire screeching sound effect in your head, let me say that I share this because among my peers we all talk about this, and we all wonder if WE are an isolated group. But I think we are just a few granules in a huge sand pile.

So this dovetails to the blog I read in that, we as a culture have struggles and with the economic woes upon us, we are feeling pinched maybe as tight as any of us have ever felt. And as a result, we are more frazzled, more stressed and more inclined to seek something better, something more positive. I myself have 3 jobs, so it's not like we are lazy fucks who are clueless where fiscal needs are concerned. I think once you have children, the stakes get raised- often so high that you just have to laugh at the absurdity of how much they cost. And yet, the ROI - well...my kids are my universe.

I have enrolled for a few classes toward a degree in Environmental Science. My hope is not to become wealthy, but to perhaps implement change in our world. What cripples us the most (in my humble opinion) is the inability to live lighter on the planet. It takes so much to just run a household, as one example. It takes a lot more to make it thrive. Perhaps if we had more of a 1985 approach on finance and consumption, there would be a little less angst to go around.

So Hondo Almanzo - this is my rebuttal to your recent blog post - and a formal congrats on making a move after 10 years of your ant march. Peace & good days ahead brutha!

And to Phat Annie, wife of Hondo Almanzo, the one person who has shown me it's okay to point out camel toes and laugh. After all, a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.

Fixing Annie

Just a few random shots.

A bone yard, a lily, a tricycle and a sweet little boy
polishing Annie's bike in for repair.

Just a few random thoughts.

A Camelbak full of water nearly depleted, due to sucking on it for 1.5 hours while driving the car will make you want shit your pants, not pee ironically.

Take just 5 minutes and look at the sprockets & cassette on your own bike. What do you see? I may have stumbled onto my gear ratio by doing just that - I dunno. I am researching more and I will tell you what I find out. What? You think I know everything about my bike? Not exactly.

Stuck…Between a Bike and a Chain Link

Since my acquisition of "Kate, the Stealthy Single Speed", I have come to enjoy her smooth ride. So smooth that often I forget that I am riding a bike. And by the time I remember, I am typically nearing a “skinny, slick road bike tire shouldn’t go there” zone. Like the edge of bike path that doesn’t taper into the grass, but rather notches off like a mini cliff. Or a water drainage grate. You know, those sort of places.

Today, it was the path edge that did me in. In Rochester, my rides mostly are on the road. Yesterday, upon talking to Kim West and Chris Skogen about the bicyclist killed in Rochester, I was thinking of alternate pedal routes. This man was struck and killed as he negotiated an exit ramp that connects to a busy US Hwy 52.

Due to this recent chat, my gut told me that I needed to revisit the city bike trails once again for a safe, easy roll. Sans the hustle and bustle of midday traffic, the ride was shaping up to be a therapeutic break in my day. I rounded into the Soldier’s Field area and was approaching a slab that narrowed to a single lane on the bike trail. I was flanked by tennis courts and the swimming pool on my right and the golf course on my left.

I sized up two joggers who opted to stay 2 wide, so I merged right into the lush, freshly watered boulevard grass. Funny thing about wet grass, slick tires and dry rigid cement – they are not the trio one might hope for when attempting to retake the bike trail. Within seconds, I had landed on my left side, slammed my helmet against slab and opened my eyes, noting the perfect sandwich my bike and the golf course chain link fence made of me. I heard voices. Oh yeah, the joggers. They asked me if I could move everything. I wondered if they were referring to letters and numbers in my brain or to anatomical movement. I laid there on my back waving, wiggling my feet and sharing with them that the grass was wet and that I had crashed before. Like they gave a shit. I didn’t even give a shit. I was just rambling and “shock-talking”.

They jogged away. I got up turned my head both left and right, gauged the pain in my neck, elbow and leg. Everything checked out. The left side of my neck is sore – it’s bound to be. But some Aleve, a shot a vodka and my trusty bag of frozen peas might do the trick yet again.

So today, I have re-learned how to ride the trails, committed once again to always WEAR MY HELMET, hoped that those joggers may opt to scoot single file next time they see a bicyclist, reinforced my preference to road riding v. paths and ultimately enjoyed the remainder of my ride – post crash. And that is never a bad thing.

June - 561 Commuter Miles

I have much I could elaborate on about the month of June, but I will just leave it at...

...I want to commute via bike every day.

Crippled economy, wheel left behind and elite bikers

There have been some things on my mind this past week and they don't exactly deserve an entire blog posting, but have all had equal billing in the recesses of my brain.

In order of the piece title, I would like to give blog readers a glimpse into the pedalgrl reality both on and away from the biking.

Crippled economy
I am one of the dwindling newspaper industry employees that you have been hearing about a lot these days. One of hundreds that wonders which day will be the last at my place of employment. We have slopped through 1 layoff in November and now seem to teeter through each work day with unmatched angst and morbid curiosity who will be posted on the board next. We shuffle in, we force a smile when HR people pass us by in the uncomfortable spaces. But mostly, we all just are anxious and emotionally exhausted.

There is the often unspoken mutual knowledge among colleagues that we all have been polishing our resumes and have likely been spamming any and all potential employers with our long list of accomplishments, abilities and eagerness to be their new employee of the month. The problem is, these would-be employers are collecting a deluge of like-talented people from other ailing companies looking for that same locker in the break room of their company. And the irony here is, that these very companies are probably in the same shape as ours.

So each time you hear about another newspaper going "online only" or "cutting staff" - think of me and know that I am likely to see these headlines referring to OUR paper before I find that other locker elsewhere.

In the meantime, I have tried to make my shrinking bank account go farther by the 2 auxiliary bike shop jobs. I love them both, but they certainly wouldn't sustain my family of 4 should I want/need them to. And I am far from alone.

Wheel left behind
Oddly, each of these topics tie into one another - well I see them as related anyway. Tonight, with myriad thoughts swirling in my head, and visions of checking account malnutrition, I took off the wheel of my bike, mounted said bike on rack, got in the car, listened for the squeal of the now thin break pads and drove away. I was about 3 miles away before I realized…GASP…I had for the first time, left my wheel leaning against the car and drove off with out loading IT into the back seat.

HORROR, panic, anger. I whipped the car around, and sped as fast as nature, rpm and law allowed. I envisioned that I had run over the wheel or that someone had lifted it already. When I got back to the spot, it was there, still in true, unharmed. Well, sort of in true - that was on my to-do list this week. But, suffice it to say - I hadn't done irreparable damage. If I had, the malnourished checking account was not going to be enough to help me. And without the Volpe, I couldn't go gravel, I couldn't commute on rain days with ease and I couldn't experience the Almanzo route again in September for the Gentleman's Ride. I was forlorn and elated all within 10 minutes time. Now? I am shot and drinking 1 - yes just 1 raspberry vodka & soda. I want 12.

Elite bikers
Now, how in the hell am I going to shoe horn a rant about elite bikers into this trifecta? Well, it's easy really. The moment I jump on one of my bikes, I am transfixed. My mood is different. My breathing is different. My outlook on life is different. My ability to think and reason with logic and grace becomes exponentially more fluid. Barring the time with my uber-awesome children, my rides are my salvation, my therapy, my medication and my equalizer for all things. Rarely is there anything but a grinny look of euphoria on my face when I am bicycling.

Sure, there is the "getting up this hill" determined grimace. Or the "clenching a Cliff Shot Block between my cheek and teeth" look. But generally speaking, I am damn happy.

I have done enough road miles now to feel qualified to say I can spot an "elite" biker a mile or 3 away. They look the part, their legs are often shaved smoother than mine and what typically caps it, is the ice cold shut out I get when I say hello and try to let them know that I hope they have a great ride. I have been snubbed by almost every elite I have passed by. Would it kill the grumpy fucks to smile? Just sayin.

PEACE.

I Love My Bicycle: The Story of FBM Bikes Trailer

I Love My Bicycle: The Story of FBM Bikes Trailer from BAD BREAKS on Vimeo.

"...comin' down the mountain..." - Jane's Addiction

So what happens when you take a roadie/crossie girl and introduce her to a wooded hillside on a sick-sweet full suspension mountain bike?

You make her want more.

I embarked on a new chapter of biking this weekend. The chapter might be titled - hold on and keep your eyes focused 2 feet ahead of you at all times - every few pedal strokes, jerk your head up and see what lies ahead...friend or foe?

We were here: http://www.humanpoweredtrails.com/

Granted, my tour guide Matt Marcou led me down the bunny trail for mtb, but it was certainly the taste I needed to know I wanted more.

I rode a Santa Cruz Superlight, gorgeous pimped out ride. Matt slid through on his '08 Specialized Enduro Expert, customized to the nines, completely upgraded to all XTR components.


The rain was present a various intervals, but eased and brought in a humid sunny afternoon for a crushed rock trail and a paved one as well. We had a blast.

I was immediately taken off my game with this new bike, with the dual-side pedal, standard on one side and clip on the other. I often guide customers at the shop toward these pedals when they inquire about multiple users on a particular bike. With one revolution, my selling tactic changed on the spot, and will now include a loud disclaimer, that if these pedals go on a mtb, you may want to think again. Here's why.

As a lover of the spd (clipless pedal), I found that my instinct was to get clipped in upon mounting the bike. I reminded myself that if I needed to bounce (jump off the bike), I would certainly have less time to do so being locked in. So I reasoned that as a newbie to this bike, to this environment, I needed to be ultra-conservative. Plus, I have now been thrown enough times and have scars and calcified injury bumps to prove it, so my radar is on high alert for crashes.


I found that I was nervous and unsteady on this course. First, I had a goddamn goldmine between my legs. Second, I had never done this kind of riding before. And third, I was constantly trying to keep my feet positioned on the pedals. And that is precisely why I now will caution against a default suggestion for dual-side pedals. You just don't want to worry about falling off the pedals or getting unexpectedly locked in, as you have enough to pay attention to. I was wearing my cleted mtb shoes, which was probably the first mistake, as I could not get a solid plant on the pedals on the platform side, as the nubs on the shoe prevented a good seal.

This was my first exposure to mtb trails and I have been constantly visualizing the trail ever since. I am hopeful that my guide will invite me back for more. One problem...now I want my own mtb more than I had before.

Ah, I did get a test ride on a Tarmac. It was like butta. The shop does not have a web site that I have found, but here is the contact info:

Bike's Limited, 1001 LaCrosse St., LaCrosse, WI,
54601-3459, Phone: (608) 785-2326. Ben is the owner.
They have a presence on f-book as "Bikes Limited".

I have to say that I want to hit the dirt jumps more at HPT - that was a blast. I felt like an old lady at the Gravity Games.

And more important - I will gaze into hillsides now as I drive or pedal and wonder, in full appreciation, what crazy obstacle courses are hidden within. Finally, I want to dish out props to all of you who shred these mtb trails routinely with guts exposed. You rule.

Milk, toilet paper, bread and tampons

For the bulk of my "adult" mom life, I have grown accustomed to the recurring purchases that are a part of my budgetary framework. Depending on the season, we may go through 2 gallons of milk per week, 1-3 loaves of bread, and varying toiletry items.

What one may not consider when taking biking seriously (some may say obsessively so), is that after the initial expenditure of your dream bike, the helmet, lights and maybe a computer, you'd think you're pretty much set. Barring a flat tube, you can just ride that damn bike. Right?

Well.

Let's say you pound the shit out of this new baby, you clean it, you monitor it and you get to know it better than your own internal schematics. What happens next may surprise you. It did me.

The more you learn, the more you learn, the more you learn. AND, the more you push harder on that two-wheeled wonder.

Pretty soon you need padded everything, nutritional & hydration supplements, high tech eye protection, clipless pedals and shoes and the list goes on and on.

And what's worse? Or better? Can't decide. These products get worn and depleted.

After only a few months in clipless pedals, I want firmer shoes and a better drive train. I want a lighter helmet and I need to constantly restock my Gu's & Blocks & Nuun's.

I have decided to collect every receipt for a year to track my cash out where biking is concerned. I will then compare it to household & auto expenses. I have a hunch it won't matter, but I would say that I still spend less on my biking than I do driving my car. I'll keep you posted.


Even including bicycle maintenance!

PEACE.

To Sell A Bike

When the sprocket bug finally bit me hard enough, I could no longer hide my enthusiasm for all things bike-related. I still feel a little Jehovah Witness-ee sometimes when I start rambling about the salvation of bicycling. We on the inside call that talk "BIKE PORN". The rest of the world just hears Charlie Brown's teacher mumbling some muffled banter in a never-seen corner of the room.

The odd thing about falling in love (with people, with food, with bikes) is that you want everyone else to feel that same high, that same euphoria.

So working in a bike shop (or 2) was the logical transition. Now, in my short tenure as a bike shop girl, I have come to realize there are primarily two aspects of retail sales - the pitch...and the sale. The rest is mumbo jumbo. And honestly, I don't attempt to sell a vacuum cleaner to a person who only has linoleum floors, but maybe a Swiffer.

With every pitch there is a fine line where the vacuum cleaner salesperson teeters. On the one hand, there are customers who have cash but not knowledge. They are dreamy, as you can lead them down any avenue you desire. On the other hand, there are the customers who tell you that they have X amount of money yet want the kind of product that costs x-squared. For me, there is an obligation to both types of consumers. They both have a need. And most of the time, the only way to truly assess their need is to...well...just watch them and listen to them. I am far from an expert, but I do know that people all want to be listened to and understood, especially where their money is concerned.

This is where the heavy lifting comes in. If you don't take the time to learn about the bikes you're selling - you're helping no one. I genuinely have a need to give the customer an educated, honest snapshot of what I may or may not like about a certain bike in regard to their need and I have a quiet moral obligation to myself that I shall not pull the wool over someone's eyes just because they know maybe a paragraph less about the bike than I do.

In short, my motivation is the commission that comes from smiles and excited new bike owners. To be frank, I make no commission at either of my two bike shop jobs. And the wage is not what one might assume coming in to purchase a quality bike. Anyone in the bike industry will tell you - it's about the passion, not the paycheck. True story.


So the next time you go into a bike shop, look for the salesperson on the floor who doesn't devour you when you walk in, but rather approaches you to ask YOU what YOU want. If you look closely, you'll find them. And if you're really lucky, they might tell you all about the time they raced 100 miles on gravel roads.

Peace.

Bicycle Commuter Days

R2W MILES JUNE 2009

Friday 5: 36

Tuesday 9: 52

Wednesday 10: 36

Thursday 11: 36

Friday 12: 36

Sunday 14: 52

Monday 15: 36

Tuesday 16: 36

Friday 19: 44

Monday 22: 36

Tuesday 23: 18

Wednesday 24: 31

Thursday 25: 40

Friday 26: 36

Tuesday 30: 36

RUNNING TALLY = 561 miles

Solid Gold

Comments Welcome!

I just now realized that I had barred certain comments from being posted. I have made a few changes and now look forward to hearing from you.

Peace,
pedalgrl

Week 3 | Days 1 & 2

A mixture of Kate & Sergio, a blend of alternating south and north winds and a potpourri of energy levels.

Monday and Tuesday were both tired-leg rides. I suspect it was the sunny & hot 52 miles I put in on Sunday on my commute back and forth from Decorah Bicycles. I got sunburned and parched on the way home. I was intrigued (although not til later) by how taking that last suck of water from the Camelbak makes you instantly crave more. I found that my energy and stamina dropped significantly upon that last gulp. Amazing.

I went to bed Sunday night with a migraine and woke up still dopey and my legs tired. I chalk it up as mental dehydration and lack of stretching. My commute Monday morning was bonky as hell. During my lunch break I had a chance to ride and I turned it down and opted for a mini nap on a bike path bench. Rare - very rare - that I turn down a midday ride. But I was beat, and my legs were fried.

The ride back Monday night was a combo head winds and head games. I was spent. I took Kate, as I knew she would be light and spare my gummy worm legs. Not light enough, as the wind applied just enough force to keep me able to plug along without even getting to my 18/19 mph preferred touring speed.

Monday night my little guy was up intermittently throughout the entire night with ear issues. With the stops and starts and then dogs barking at 430 am, I was on night 2 of poor quality sleep.

This morning was a hard restart. Ironically, I had the wind at my back and made it to work in record time. 1 hour and 6 minutes. Just the morale boost I needed.

I will have a windy/rainy ride out tonight, but I am ready for it.

Vegan Shoes Anyone?

I have this pair of shoes that I ordered with much anticipation (like 2 years ago already), as they were VEGAN for goddess sake. Lo, they are not a good fit for me. They have what is called a "Negative Heel" and are really cool looking.

I have tried different socks. Nope, still not comfy.

So they sit here at work, individually wrapped in hemp bags of all damn things and enclosed in a dusty shoe box. I will give them to the highest bidder. It doesn't matter what I paid for them, as I have not worn them other than around the office and not even for full days, as they just feel odd to me.

I just want maybe 25 bucks and they are yours. That will cover shipping I would think. I will check. So if you want to have these gems (BLACK size 8.5), they are yours. Contact me and we'll get the specs hammered out.

Here is the link to research the shoe if you'd like:

http://www.planetshoes.com/itemmatrix.asp?groupcode=1904

Greenfete | Phase One

http://greenfete.blogspot.com/

A Commuter Day, A Thousand Miles & Kim West, Oh My!

A nice Sunday morning roll to my PT love affair selling bikes at Decorah Bicycles. Wind hardly existent, temps in the 70's and my legs felt great. Commuter effort for the day 52 miles. 1 hour 38 minutes for the first 26 miles. I did not keep track for the journey home, as I stopped to take a shot of my odometer as it tripped the 1,000 mile marker. I bought the Volpe in February. Not too bad for 4 months of riding for this newbie.

And then I got to participate in the Kim West Radio Cycling Hour. I was pumped to be able to chat with these well-seasoned riders. It was great!

From the show description: "tonight we speak with connie caldwell, a mother of three [including two teenagers] who last year decided it would be easier to just quit driving and start riding rather than try to figure out how to transport her two teens everywhere they needed to be and still maintain her OWN life and profession. on episode #60, we begin to learn the whys and how and wherefores of pedalgrl's trip." You can click HERE and listen to the show. I come in on the 2nd half.

Get On Your Bike And Ride!

It's Off to Work I Go...

Yesterday, I was contacted by a journalist friend of mine, Paula Skaggs, for an email interview. The topic of the piece was road construction and how motorists were handling the delays in their daily commute. I couldn't help myself, I added a shameless plug for all of the commuters out there on bicycles. The piece was posted on the publication's web site today.

Surviving the Highway 52 Construction

Week 2 - Day 4 | The Commute

First Entry Morning/Second Entry Afternoon Departure From Work

Bike: KATE (Specialized Langster SS)/Sergio (Bianchi Volpe)
Time departed: 6:35 am/5:19 pm
Dogs encounters: 0/0 (no chasers)
Winds: moderate n/w
Temp: 55º/66º
Average speed: 19mph/16mph
Nutrition: 1 Gu, 1 orange loaded Camelbak/2 Gu, 2 ShotBlocks, Camelbak
Road conditions: nice (paved)/wet, wet, wet
Stops: 1 crosswalk/1 crosswalk, 1 food
Distance: 18 miles/18 miles
Arrival: 7:52 am/6:33 pm
Time: 1 hour 17 minutes/1 hour 14 minutes
Overall ride: super/soggy & bonky
Other bicyclists encountered: 0/0

Total Commuter effort for the Day: 36 miles

Punk Rock Cycling & The Kim West Radio Cycling Show

I am looking forward to chatting with Kim West on Sunday nights.

-------------------------------------

I am equally excited to meet the Punk Rock Cycling team.



Thank you to Kim & PRC for finding me.

Week 2 - Day 3 | The Commute

First Entry Morning/Second Entry Afternoon Departure From Work

Bike: KATE (Specialized Langster SS)
Time departed: 6:35 am/5:17 pm
Dogs encounters: 0/0 (no chasers)
Winds: moderate n/ne
Temp: 55º/66º
Average speed: 16mph/18mph
Nutrition: 1 Gu, 1 orange loaded Camelbak/late lunch, Camelbak
Road conditions: nice (paved)/nice
Stops: 1 crosswalk/1 crosswalk
Distance: 18 miles/18 miles
Arrival: 7:52 am/6:25 pm
Time: 1 hour 17 minutes/1 hour 8 minutes
Overall ride: super/super
Other bicyclists encountered: 0/2

Total Commuter effort for the Day: 36 miles

Week 2 - Day 2 | The Commute

First Entry Morning/Second Entry Afternoon Departure From Work

Time departed: 6:35 am/5:15 pm
Dogs encounters: 0/0 (no chasers)
Winds: moderate n/n
Temp: 55º/66º
Average speed: 17mph/17mph
Nutrition: 1 Gu, 1 orange loaded Camelbak/2 Shot Blocks, Camelbak
Road conditions: nice (paved)/nice
Stops: 1 crosswalk/1 crosswalk
Distance: 18 miles/18 miles
Arrival: 7:52 am/6:31 pm
Time: 1 hour 17 minutes/1 hour 16 minutes
Overall ride: super/super
Other bicyclists encountered: 0/4 (All of us chicks - RAD, RAD, RAD!)

Total Commuter effort for the Day: 36 miles

Week 2 - Day 1 | The Commute

First Entry Morning/Second Entry Afternoon Departure From Work
Time departed: 6:39 am/5:17 pm
Dogs encounters: 2 (no chasers)/2 (no chasers)
Winds: moderate s/se...e
Temp: 55º/60-something
Average speed: 17mph/14mph
Nutrition: 1 Gu, 1 Shot Block, 1/4th of energy bar, loaded Camelbak/late lunch rice & vegis & shredded wheat, Camelbak
Road conditions: nice (5 miles gravel, 18 miles paved)/nice
Stops: 1 crosswalk/1 stoplight
Distance: 23 miles/18 miles
Arrival: 8:19 am/6:44 pm
Time: 1 hour 40 minutes/2 hour 25 minutes
Overall ride: dragging, hungry, psi low, tough climbs (tired and BONKY both rides)

**Took the Langster ss out on service call during work hours (10 miles)

Total Commuter effort for the Day: 51 miles

Just because it was there

I walked into Bilotti's Itallian Village in Rochester, MN for lunch. Upon squaring up at the cash register, I spied this fabulous heap of fresh dough.

I asked if I could snap a shot and was informed that they go through 2 of those monsters every day.

I just loved the look and had to shoot it. The staff acted like it wasn't the first time. Sweet.

PEACE.

Day 1 - The Commute

First Entry Morning/Second Entry Afternoon Departure From Work
Time dropped: 6:44 am/5:11 pm
Dogs encounters: 0/1
Winds: moderate w/nw...n/nw
Temp: 55º/70-something
Average speed: 16mph/18mph
Nutrition: 1 Gu, loaded Camelbak/Blueberry donut (don't judge), Camelbak
Road conditions: nice/nice
Stops: 3 (Twice to deal with bottle cage issue **will fix**, 1 stop light)/1
Distance: 18 miles/22 miles
Arrival: 8 am/6:29 pm
Time: 1 hour 15 minutes/1 hour 15 minutes
Overall ride: lovely/super lovely

Punk Rock Cycling - if you're listening...

PRC,

How might one either become a Punk Rock Cyclist or get involved with your group? I was unable to get an email off to you, as your inbox was full, so says "MAILER-DAEMON@smtp" anyway. I attribute this to excessive fan mail, naturally.

"All girl rolling role modeling" is rad. I am a 38 year old mom with three neat kids. I am a newbie (really new, like a year) to riding and racing, but I have to admit, my life has been changed and improved because of my involvement in the sport. No, not sport, lifestyle.

In the past year, I have added two part time positions at two different bike shops. I have learned myriad nuggets and have gained skills I never before cared about. By trade, I am in IT, but I have this wild seed in my gut that is just ready to grow into an all-cycling-related career path. It has really become a sickness. I love being sick!

My focus is heavily based in green living and sustainable life practices. Cycling is a natural extension of that mentality. Last year, I worked on a solo project called greenfete dot org. On this mission, I contacted people in my back yard, all around the states and as far away as Kenya. I personally asked their permission to place a link about their business or organization on my web site with an additional article about their work after I visited and/or researched their site or efforts. It was one of the most liberating and educational - say nothing of fulfilling - endeavors I have ever embarked upon. I spent my wee hours researching, conversing with and learning about people all around the globe who were basically just doing good, cool and noble acts under the radar. Just because they could. My goal was to illuminate their goodness and hopefully enrich their pursuits.

This year, I opted to migrate the greenfete dot org "Walkin the Walk" project to a blog format. I would really love to include the PRC site link on greenfete. If you have a moment to reply, I would love to hear back about the potential to become aligned with your efforts and to have your permission to share your work on my two blogs. Bear in mind, the greenfete project has yet to be launched in blog format, so what you see there is a splash screen. The "Learning to Ride" project is always a work in progress and it has been a joy to work on.

http://greenfete.blogspot.com/

http://pedalgrl.blogspot.com/

Peace & Keep Rollin'
pedalgrl

Project Commuter pedalgrl

For nearly a year I have been exploring the many facets of biking, from road to cyclocross, from vintage to brand new. I won't mention the mountain bike road riding, nor the BMX catastrophe, but I will say that I will pedal any bike at least once if given the chance. True Story.

What happens when you live 1.5 hours from your full time job, you have 2.5 drivers in the household, myriad schedules, summer vacation, the .5 driver begins her driver's ed classes and the precise time you need to almost be at work, and the classes are (once again) 1.5 hours from your own work destination?

The life of a long-distance commuter is nothing to balk at. Trust me, you get wildly inventive in your routes and routines, time allowances and forgiveness and extremely oblivious to the finer details like clothing. More times that I can remember, I have pulled my car into a church or vacant-something parking lot on the outer edges of the city I work in, and full-on stripped down out of my jammies, changed into "professional attire" - gag - and sped the remainder of the way into work, narrowly dodging the huge ticking imaginary wrist watches that HR-wannabees have embedded in their tiny rat-like brains.

ANYWAY...tomorrow, my family tribe and I have will begin the new "Mom rides her bike 20 miles in to work and 20 miles back" routine in order to allow eldest child to taxi .5 driver to driver's ed classes across the globe and other various vehicular tasks throughout the day.

Don't get me wrong - I am more than willing to take one for the team. The interesting, if not hairy, part of coordinating this daily trek, is that we have to leave our house at 5:30 am and drive an hour just to get to the drop site where I will pedal the remaining 20 miles into work. Paved ride, some dogs no doubt and rain will be in the mix at intervals.

It's my dream really, to just crunch the car in a big junk yard smasher and commute via foot or bike. This is sort of doing that at some level.

So I will keep all of my 3 faithful readers abreast of my adventures as a daily commuter.

PEACE

A Good Fit

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/20/health/nutrition/20fitness.html?_r=1&em

Another First

To many people, changing a bike tube is a simple task. Yet to others it may seem impossible. For me it is none of the above. Only because I have only just now completed my 3rd official tube. The first tire/tube was a tutorial by Sarge & Trav at Decorah Bicycles. I asked if they would teach me and in minutes they had a road bike up on the repair stand and watched me as I took off the rear tire - very clumsily, I might add. The derailleur, cassette and chain oh my. But I did it over and over and then swapped out the tube.

I felt liberated to just learn a new skill. I had never done it before after all.

Next came Levitz's Bianchi San Jose, front tube. It was a breeze and it was a great feeling to be asked to do and just do it without a flinch.

But it's different, almost, when it is your own bike. Your baby. Your money. Psychology is funny like that. Yesterday on a nice easy roll with Phat Annie, I heard a persistent hiss. I knew right away I'd be walking Kate home!

Read tube, shot. I grabbed 2 tubes today from Bicycle Sports and headed for the server room to get my tools out. This was a crescent/allen wrench combo job. I set out just diving right into it. Then...I paused. This bike is new to me. This bike hasn't been nearly 800 miles with me like the Volpe. I don't want to wreck it. I don't want to scratch the awesome flat black finish. After a minute or so of pondering the correct way to tackle this repair, I just relaxed and got to it.

My break releases are in need of adjustment and/or repair, so I had to slip off one of the break pads in order to get the wheel off after I had already taken off the bolts. In minutes, I had the wheel off and the spent tube lying on the floor, server fans buzzing in the background.

I grabbed new tube #1 out of the box, gave it enough air for shape and popped it round the rim. I levered the tire back into place and had just the slightest feeling of accomplishment and concern simultaneously. I had a gnawing that I had been a little sloppy on the tube insertion. But, it was in and ready to inflate.

By sheer luck and magic, I opted to air it up before I mounted the wheel back to the frame. 80, 100, 115, 120psi...BAM! Shit. Popped the tube and my ears rang in concert with the high pitch of the various machinery humming and whirring in the room. I laughed to myself with the realization that my gut was right on - I crimped that tube when I put it on.

After I regained me hearing, I grabbed tube #2 an took a little extra care to watch creases and and folds as a rounded the rim and then placed the tire back on. 80, 100, 115psi...stop. Let it sit. Wait. Wait. 117psi. Good 125 max can wait til I ride tomorrow.

I took Kate out into the paved warehouse and rolled around for awhile until I was satisfied I heard no hiss or no BAM.

As I tucked Kate in for her slumber, I was happy as hell that I had learned another skill.

Now onto break releases and more in depth training on the intricacies of derailleur maintenance on the Volpe.

It's all a process.

So - where am I now?

In the Learning to Ride blog, I have endeavored to learn and grow and develop my biking skills. By sheer practice and miles logged in, I have accomplished a great deal in regard to those goals.

Ironically, the other facets of my life seem to have taken on different shapes as well. My children continue to educate, humble and perplex me. I had a secret hope that they all might rally around my new zest for riding bicycles and soon we would be a vibrant bicycling family, heading to various locations and just riding around together for days on end. **insert sound byte of needle scratching across a vinyl record here**

Three children. 17 year old with license, finds academia to be an utter waste of his time, and biking? Mom, can I take the car? 15 year old beginning driver's ed in less than 2 weeks, who has signed up for and participated in, every possible activity the school district has to offer. Biking? Rolls her eyes and will hear nothing of it. 7 year old - thank goodness for 7 year old boys, as they still want to ride bike with their old moms. So, I have been infusing him with mass quantities of knowledge. As soon as I learn something, I share it with him. He looks like he's listening. Oh, look there's a bird...


Love. Hmmm. What would that be again? I mean with a grown up. I have all the mom love in the world, and couldn't be happier for it. But it's a fickle thing, adult companionship. By the time you reach a certain age, and I have no idea what that age is, you start to wonder about all sorts of things that you never even pondered at, say, oh age 21. Like, when my health and body fail me, will there still be that internal desire to find my soul mate? Or does the act of living and getting through the day supersede all? I suppose to a degree.

I look at my parents and other couples who have weathered the storm of marriage and long-term relationships and I am just dumbfounded by the success of them. Or rather by the endurance of the race. I mean, my parents have been together somewhere around 39 years. I was married 4. And I was divorced nearly 15 years ago.

Since that time, I have stumbled onto this relationship event or that and always I come back to me. I have come back to running. I have come back to biking. I have come back to swimming. I have come back to all the solo activities that one does to strive for improvement and self-betterment.

I have come to accept that Learning to Ride means so much more than jumping on a bike and pedaling, but Learning to Ride encompasses the peripherals that are intertwined with the human desire (or at least this human's) to learn and grow and improve, even when the odds are that you will keep falling off that damn bike and you will BONK.


So… you get back on that saddle (sore ass and all) and try something new and see what you can learn from it. With the hope of one day telling a story to your grandchildren about how you Learned to Ride and how you never expected to figure it all out.

But you did.

Peace.

Too much trippin' and my soul's worn thin

No one, during my training efforts and pre-race prep, mentioned the "coming down". I have been in foot races. I have pushed myself on academic and professional levels. I have experienced peaks and valleys in those endeavors, but nothing like this.

LSD users often report a deep sadness upon returning from the extended euphoria and surreal experiences of the high.

I am back at work. I am mom. I am maid. I am bored. I am human.

BONK.

Yeah, the saga is longer than I can blog about…

View from atop Magnum Road hill, rural Chatfield, MN.

To sum up the Almanzo 100 gravel road race would be impossible. I mean, nearly 12 hours on a bike, how would I write about that? Well, of course I can write about that, but to envelope the days' highs and lows, to pigeon hole the emotional roller coaster that went into the training, race prep and enduring the hurricane-like gusts that threatened to eliminate me at each north and west turn toward the finish line…I just can't take you back there. It has quite possibly changed me forever.

On the first leg, I was chased into a ditch by farm dogs, only to narrowly escape getting into a significant accident trying to out run them. After clearing a ditch and farm driveway, I made it back on course. And to clarify, I was clipped in the whole time. I felt a little like the bitch neighbor lady (wicked witch) with Toto in my basket out riding the approaching tornado in the Wizard of Oz. I may or may not have shouted expletives at the dog owner standing in the yard just watching the whole thing.

But also on this first leg, I met some of the people I would end up sharing my day with and grow to appreciate their varied experience levels. I met many, many people from the Mpls area. I met a few other women and one in particular Janna, who was also pedaling her first 100 mile race.

The second leg introduced us to our first hit of that west wind that would later prove to beat and interrogate even the strongest among us. It was this first turn west out of St. Charles that made me laugh with the joy of a good stiff windy challenge. Keep in mind I had only went 26 or so miles at that point. So laughter was a fitting response.

What I was most delighted with throughout the second leg, was the recurring mini reunions at various turns and twists. For me, biking the bulk of the miles/hours alone was what I was accustomed to in my pre-race training efforts. But what became obvious to me on the stretch between St. Charles, Chatfield and Spring Valley, was the importance of a hello and chit chat to make the wind and hills and fatigue seem not so insurmountable.

And to a stranger named Bob, wherever you ended up, I just want to say that the kindness you showed me by helping me with my failing map assembly was appreciated. And the fact that you turned around to offer me a few extra zip strips only to fall hard on your left side, clipped in, was testament to how many really stellar people were riding that day. Really Bob, thank you.

With only 4 miles to go before the 63.something checkpoint in Spring Valley, I tempted fate and looked at the clock for the first time since 8 am. I had 10 minutes to make it 4 miles with the wind punching me.

I made it 8 minutes late, only to find out that the checkpoint time had been extended and that meant I was still in the race. Odd thing about accepting defeat. When you think you've been eliminated, you start that mourning phase. When I was told I was still in the race, I jumped on the bike and 7 miles later had my first emotional break down of the day.

Mile 70, the phone call to Marty. Mile 80, the text message to Marty & Phat Annie. Text said "BONK" "WALK". Mile 83, stopped to pee in the ditch, avoiding the new spring wild parsnip.

It was my walk up the ditch hill that bumped me into 2 familiar faces. The boys from Alexandria. A doc and a lawyer. The three of us had been reuniting off and on since the check point in Spring Valley. We each were wind beaten and relying on each other to get to the end. The last 20 miles was a back and forth effort and an exercise in human endurance and will.

Mile 80, Marty texts and tells me that he is grabbing his bike and a cue sheet and riding the last miles with me to the finish line.

That was the shot I needed. I pushed the next 10 miles and met up with him for the last 10 miles. Still fighting the wind and begging for a reprieve, we hit the last stretch and turned east for the first time since Spring Valley and the wind was behind us. AND - it was pavement.

That was short lived, as we then hit another west turn and a gravel north. Finally, the last long stretch was pavement, wind pushing us and 33.5 mph flying down Country Club Rd with untold joy and anticipation.

I rounded the corner to the finish line, Marty right behind me, to the sound of shouts for me and cow bells. MORE COW BELLS! Loved it. My whole tired self was instantly elevated to unknown new found energy.

My pals were all there congratulating me and laughing with me. I will never forget that day.

Next year, less stress of the unknown and hopefully a faster time.

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria - heading home

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria IV

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria III

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria II

Almanzo 100 Blog

For all the good stuff, stop in here:

http://www.almanzo100.blogspot.com/

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria I

The bulk of the photos were taken via cell cam and thus are not the stellar quality I would have liked. Phat Annie took some great shots, however, at the finish line. Thank you Phatty!

Thank you Joe for the Center Street intersection video

We were able to get a video capture of the first leg of the race. And the people who cut through the bank parking lot, not impressed. Just sayin.

Race Day, Almanzo 100 2009 - The Chase

Chris Skogen at race start with a few words before go time.

FIRST LEG: ROCHESTER to ST. CHARLES

Biking on gravel, as you may well know, is an adventure in many ways. One, the road conditions are constantly changing. Two, there is little time for changing your mind when you're going 15-20 mph and two husky farm dogs come flying out of the yard, directly toward your front tire. Three, the chances of escaping injury is 50/50. Four, well, there are many bullet points that could follow. Three is good for now.

In November, I was bitten by a dog while on the very stretch - the first leg. So on race day, I was uber-aware of this house, the dogs and my plan of escape. I was approaching the dog bite zone when I spotted three cyclists on the side on the road opposite the house in question. They were adjusting packs, etc. I flew by as fast I could muster, and let them know the dogs at the house liked blood and to be mindful of that.

As I rolled by, the dogs looked to be tied, barking and pissed. I smiled and rolled on. Relieved for the moment. The next intersection forced me to stop to wait for a car to scurry through. This particular intersection has a house and buildings on the North side of the road, with a barn on the South side. Oh yeah, and 2 cow-sized dogs. I looked ahead and a group that had just cleared the farm and the dogs had retreated their chase. I looked behind me and the next group was too far back to wait for. I ramped up as much speed as I could in 20 feet and charged ahead.

Cow Dog Farm - taken post race.

Enter cow-like dogs. From the North, they barrel out and position themselves, 1 in front on my bike and one at my leg. Nice. Really nice I thought. I hollered. I pedaled. I just fuck it, and flew into the ditch, changed gears (all in like 6 seconds time), rode the grassy bank and bunny hopped the barn-side driveway to get back up onto the race course. I am so glad the bunny hop panned out this time. ***For my blog readers know that bunny hops are not so fruitful for me on BMX bikes*** Anyway, I gave a quick look to my left and saw the owner standing there, just now calling the cowdogs in. I shouted a few options to her and charged.

Cow Dogs - taken post race.

It was at that moment, I began to wonder if my own dogs were tied, hoping the kids had tied them before their daily adventures.

I rode on, making it to St. Charles at 10 am. Not a strong time, yet I had a strong ride. I was happy. Remember, I was shooting for noon at the checkpoint.

Next up…heading North a bit

Race Day, Almanzo 100 2009 - The Starting Line

The trusty helmet on loan from Levitz

Saturday, 5:15 am - up and on bikes heading to race organizer Chris Skogen's house for homemade wheat pancakes. I ate 4 CD sized cakes with butter and syrup, slammed a cup of hot Peace Coffee and back on bikes to go get ready for the 8am start.

Sounds pretty cool right? One problem. I did not sleep the night before. Laid in bed kicking and flinching and thinking and wondering and myriad things, but not sleeping. I may have woven in 3 hours of sleep, but not in a row. Needless to say 5:15 am came with a thud.

I had it all planned out, Yoga pre-race, perfect nutrition, ideal sleep - the whole thing. There's simply no accounting for nerves, and what they can do to a typically disciplined routine. Yoga and breathing fallen behind, I went to plan B. More java. And more water.

By 7:30 I walked Sergio over to Bicycle Sports with all of my gear for the first leg. My dear pal (and coincidentally wife of race organizer) Phat Annie, was pre-packed the night before the race with my nutrition and hydration replenishment for the 2nd leg. Based on training and course knowledge, I reasoned that if she were at the designated checkpoint by noon, it would be good timing and I could get my supplies and pedal onward.

Ok, back the beginning. I wheeled Sergio into the shop, made last minute adjustments, consumed more water and went pee. True story. I paced between rows of full suspension mountain bikes and stopped to stretch. I paced over to the bottle cage display and threw on a 2nd pair of socks. Did I mention it was cold outside? Cloudy. Windy. Cold.

As we all grouped together and headed down the city streets of Rochester, I remember the unique sound of over 200 wheels whirring with orchestral precision. I shared my name and a hello with several as we rolled silently into the morning air. And the coolest unexpected sound of all? OK, this is going to require you the reader to imagine with me. Ready?

If you had, say, over 100 metal dominoes (they must be metal). You lined them in the usual domino way to created the chain reaction we all know. Let's say that you had this long string of metal dominoes set up at a stop light. When the light turns green, you flick the first domino and wait for the inevitable to happen. Now. Close your eyes. What is that noise you would expect to hear from the clicking of each metal domino into the next?

Exactly.

I was incredible. We, as a group of over 100 race entrants, would stop at a light and all clip back into our pedals when the the light turned green. That clicking sound and the whirring of spokes, wheels and tires. For me, it was like the first time a country kid sees a big city skyscraper. Utter awe. And I mean it was just like that, you could hear when it was your turn to clip in based on the cadence of those before you. Damn. I guess I am still that country kid.

Chris Skogen led us through the streets and rode a few miles of the route to give us all a proper shove off. As he doubled back, he wished us each a fun ride. Nice touch.

Quarry Hill Trail Access Point

And we were off, butterflies now turned to concentration. Anxiety now turned to yoga breaths that I was craving since 5:15 am. As I settled in on this familiar stretch of the race, I had no idea what was in store for me, but I was proud as hell to be a part of it all.

Next up…the chase. Stay tuned.

Race Day, Almanzo 100 2009

My thoughts today are jumbled, a mish-mash collection of fragmented audio recollections, visual archives and wind-beaten flashbacks.

Nearly 24 hours after crossing the finish line of my first-ever 103.something mile bike race, I feel a lot like that great anesthetized sensation one gets just the moment before falling into a deep sleep.

I have much to tell, much to recount, but after being away from home since Friday, much to do before the long work week ahead.

I promise, a race summary is soon to follow, as soon as the numbness of bliss fades enough to let me form paragraphs again.

PEACE

Trying out utterli

Civic Center Intersection Web Cam

Watch here at 8am on Saturday, May 16th and wait to see the 100+ bicyclists turn East on Civic Center Drive as we head out on the 1st leg of our 100 mile journey.

http://www.rochestermn.com/webcam/webcamCivic.php

Gu Fighters

I am in the final stages of preparing for the race that I have been training for all winter. Not that I am poised to take any ribbons, trophies or plaques, but I am psyched and ready to give it a roll.

I have now purchased padded shorts that I had resisted for so long. I think I had the same mindset with the pads as I did with the Gu's and nutritional supplements - I don't need them. In truth, I don't need them to achieve my goals. But they help. So I do want these helpers in my arsenal of bike-enthusiast tools. Much like my Mizuno running shoes, many of the technologically-advanced accessories that one buys at a bike shop are not necessarily required to ride, but often they are required to excel in the performance realm.

Again, performance is NOT the end result for me. But ultimately, the lack of performance and "BONKING" is.

I have my trusty partner in crime cheering me on from the command center (Bicycle Sports), as well as my true blue super sweet pal Phat Annie serving as my midway checkpoint chick. She will refuel my spirits as well as my belly and on-bike supplies for the final leg.

There was even word that one of my winter rider mates might be willing to roll with me from time to time along the 100 miles. Greg Bond - if you're reading this - I'd be honored to roll with the likes of an elite biker like yourself. You pull ahead and I'll eat your dust if need be, but if you need some recovery time, I'll be your slow-rollin comrade.

Today and tomorrow, as I assemble, pack and strive for the lightest /strongest ride possible, I am eager to hear from all of my friends and family and supportive strangers who have given me encouragement throughout this adventure. I am not sure who the oldest rider is, but I can lay down some cash that I am far from the youngest. It's a good feeling to at least be in the same water, fighting the waves with some of the strongest, fastest and most experienced riders I will ever meet face to face.

Yeah, I am excited.

Oh Oh It's Magic

Never believe it's no so…

School Lunch Skogen Style

Thank you for the rad biker lunch. The egg gave me really great watermelon farts.

Ride Your Bike to Work Week

My FT employer did not sponsor me, nor was there as much as a mention that trying to ride in might be a good idea.

I don't get it. Wouldn't a company (small or large) want to promote physical activity and sustainability by supporting efforts such as the Ride Your Bike to Work Week? If I (as a would-be employer) offered a week of increased flexible scheduling, heightened physical movement and maybe even an incentive package for involvement, would my company be run into the ground and flail about with inefficiency? Would the doors close?

I think not.

Just saying that I Googled "Ride Your Bike to Work Week, Rochester, MN". ZERO. I found a link to the Twin Cities events and logged in, signed up and entered my employer as having at least one employee involved in the event.

We talk so often in the media about how the green revolution is the next wave that will sweep over our nation and do great things. The problem is, it takes a long time for a revolution - and me…well…I am impatient.

I'm just gonna start now.

http://www.bikeleague.org/programs/bikemonth/

5 Days Til Almanzo

I am as ready as I can ever hope to be for a newbie rider. What I learn from this race is the real training tip. Here I come.

Hydration, Yoga & Charlie Horses

Being on the mend from shoulder injury also illuminates other intricacies of my training. Like when I do a euphoric cat stretch in the middle of the night and it thunders into a rock hard calf and blossoms into a painfully wrenching Charlie Horse. After a minute or two of Lamaze breathing and intense massage, I am left with soreness and the inability to walk down my steps without wincing.

I have always been told Potassium and fluids. Stretching properly also helps. But, I am looking for any advice from bicyclists or workout nuts to help me avoid these vile episodes.

I just want to stretch out in bed again without cramping up.

Anyone? Send me a comment and let me know what you. I'm all ears.

In the mean time, I am Googling like mad and eating bananas.

The psychology of a scale reading

I do not believe in scales, nor the numbers they display. YET…yet, I decided to jump head first into a Biggest Loser competition at my workplace. I reasoned that I could stand to have some accountability where my caloric intake is concerned. I eat when I am hungry. I don't eat when I am not hungry. I have fits and bursts of madman-esque workouts and long distance bike rides. So why then, should I give a rat's ass about those damming numbers on the scale.

Since I do have ovaries, I am unfortunately saddled with many of the psychological underpinnings that go with the female self-appraisal gene. I am not thrilled with the fact that I am a member of the gender group that is infamous for asking "do I look fat in these pants?" But here I am.

After having not stepped on a scale willlingly (barring annual exams, etc.) for many years, I hooped atop the Biggest Loser scale yesterday and was instantly catapulted back to a time I had long left behind. Crippling self loathing. That lone 3 digit number dug its heels into my psyche and held on throughout most of the day.

I am training for a 100 miler for goddess sake - what the hell? I should be thinking about miles logged, not my weight per se.

Today, I am continuing my efforts and will remain on the Biggest Loser team, but next weigh-in…my cohorts will look at the numbers and write them in the golden fat book - not me. I refuse to waste another minute on feeling like I weigh too much or need to do more to achieve the unrealistic goals we all set upon ourselves.

Yesterday (pre weigh-in) and of my own accord, I mapped out a new bike route that will allow me to park my car 20 miles out of Rochester, ride into work and back again after my day of IT shenanigans. So 40 miles as many days per week as possible.

Moral of this tale - if I end up gaining 10 more pounds doing what I love and feeling better than I have in my entire life…fuck the scale. Just sayin!

Cheap lunch…great inspiration

"Nishiki Chais"

Among all of my foibles and strengths, there are the moments that make me just smile. Yesterday was one of those days.

My little fella is the proud new owner of a Nishiki Hill Razer. It is his first "bike shop bike". I have now dubbed my son "Nishiki Chais" - sounds like Tokyo Mater and he loves CARS.

I loaded it in the car, drove home and waved to my little guy as I pull into the driveway. I rolled down the window and we exchange hello's and I love you's. I told him I had a surprise for him. As he approached the car, he wasn't sure if I had score him a new farm toy or maybe a McDonald's Happy Meal. These are typical crowd pleasers. He was just happy to have something from mommy.

When he got up to my window, he glanced at the back seat. He looked at me and for a split-second he resumed the curious look wondering about would-be Happy Meal. He jerked his head again to the back seat. Mommy!!!! He went berserk. It was sublime.


I opened the door and he hugged me strongly on my newly injured shoulder. I just breathed through it. It was worth every wince. Plus, I have a large bag of frozen peas that takes all pain away.

http://www.nishiki.com/

BMX = BRING ME to XRAY

Silly me - thinks a quick little bunny hop over a cement parking slab in the Daube's parking lot (Rochester, MN) would be fun. It was - for about 15 seconds. BMX bike possibly as heavy as Canada itself stops at slab. Pedalgrl flies over bars, lands on right shoulder, face, jaw.

Upshot - grass, not parking lot.

Downside. Pain.

I think it might have been a really funny video, except no one caught it.

I will be fine, but my whole body aches and my ribs are sore from, what apparently was a combo of the bar launch and impact under an evergreen tree.

One of the puzzling facets of bad cell cam shots is that they never capture the true essence of the moment. Like how I can't get my clothes on and off without a circular rain-dance-like routine trying to coax centrifugal force to assist me in the removal of my sports bra.

Or how I have to have my sista-friends Valentine & Phatty put my rasta hair in a binder so as I can't get caught in the car door during heavy rummage sale activity.

Or how my movements are very geriatric in nature.

Pedalgrl is a BMX-DORK!

Next time - no bunny hops.

And then the big rains came

What is the best thing to do after over-eating Mexican food?

Ride of course.

After nearly ending up in Kansas Friday night via cyclone, tonight's soggy gravel and punk rock downpour was a lot less of a 911 event. But I still got a killer workout. If you've ever tried to negotiate a gravel road after it's being rained on for 2.5 days…

It's like when my 7 year old takes the hose to make irrigation canals in his sandbox. Then, dump the neighbor's kitty litter box in the fray. Yeah.

What is the most sore? My elbows. Swinging Sergio from side to side, striving for a workable rhythm to climb the various pieces of cake, while sinking down in the very tracks I was trying to escape.

Quicksand.

Was a great ride. Just as I hit the home stretch on pavement, the torrential deluge was upon me. Loved it!

Looking back from where I came. I have driven this road more times in my life than I could ever remember. Tonight, I pedaled it for the first time ever. Cool stuff.

I love a rainy night

With rain in the forecast - a cold rain - I figured I better get my rides in when I could. Last night (Friday night), with kids all content and distracted, Sergio and I hit the gravel.

Along the way, I snapped various shots and enjoyed the calm of the pre-storm evening.

It's always magical to see how quickly calm can shift to chaos. About 3 miles from home, the winds came. And hammered. And beat. And pushed. And gave me one of the most challenging short-mile rides to date.

Upon returning home last night, I felt like I had rolled 50. Though,
I was only gone an hour. Incredible. I wanted to go back out, but the skies were tornado green and the dogs and children needed mom in the house.

Here are some shots from the squall.

End of rainbow looking South.

Beginning of rainbow looking North.

Note the blurb just a bit down and right of the saddle. A Wasp.

A little valley we call Chickentown.

A perfect frame. Too bad I didn't have my good cam - the colors were awesome.

Check out my new blog

http://greenfete.blogspot.com/

Along the way, all I see are people

In this journey to Almanzo, I have seen the gamut in reactions when I explain to various groups the adventure I am embarking on.

My teenage children think I am insane. Teenage son, mildly supportive. Teenage daughter, not supportive. Rolls eyes often.

My 7 year old son is excited when I tell him about my rides. Thank you Chais, Mommy loves you so much and so big.

My parents look at me with vague mistrust of my intentions. I think that is carry over from my teen years when I was a stanky punk kid with an really bad attitude. These days I am uber-appreciative that they did not send me away or just off me. I deserved it, no doubt. Still, they are not clear on why I would PREFER to ride my bike every possible place, as opposed to a casual ride down the sidewalk and back. They sort of get it, as they know I am too driven to be dissuaded.

My sister tells me that she loves me and is proud of me, but with a little bit of that straight jacket caution. She told me recently that when she went into Bicycle Sports to get me a gift certificate…the place smelled like me. Oh come on, do I smell like rubber, carbon forks and chain lube? After all, I do wear deodorant. Geeze.

And Sally Corcoran Swenson who thinks I am nuts and crazy. That's fuel to my ears, little does she know.

Cory, who has been one of my partners in living on the wild side since we were young. Party on Garth!

My grandparents tell me I am going to waste away to nothing. I wanted to ask if they had paid close attention at all to the size of my ass, thighs and calves. Ahh…the chronic wasting hasn't really taken effect yet. Plus, I am all about food, so…ok.

And Levitz who rides with me and pushes me to try to stay in front of him. And asks about my yoga and educates me about bicycles and little factoids. That helps.

Annie who rolls her eyes any time the word "bike" is uttered. I heart you Annie - you are my hero. Or should I say, you are my yoga Warrior.

Margo, for being my long distance soul sista from da hood. The Canton Hood.

Jeffrey for telling me that I can do it, and actually believing his own words.

Brett for taking me away from the madness today and I am so proud of him for running again.

Kathy for being such an important inspiration in my life.

Brophy for keeping my brains tucked where they need to be when my heart is gushing in my crazy Scorpio way.

Grimm - well, you know you have planted the seed for change. I just tended to it.

I can't forget Tony, who never failed to mentioned going clipless in our quick fb chats. He and Grimm were driving forces in that huge step. And I get it now. I totally get it!

PeeWee, who is the unwavering neighbor pal who has offered so much in return for so little. You're a good sport Charlie Brown.

And all of my diverse facebook & workplace posse - thanks for reading this shit That includes you Valentine!

So, to all who doubt, question and praise - thank you for being you. You feed me.

Peace comrades…

PostScript (not to be confused with Encapsulated PostScript) - I would be remiss if I didn't throw proppa's out to Queen Latifah, Sister Viatrix and Edgar Allen Poe. It is these 3 figures that have givin me some cosmic mind blast energy. RIP Viatrix & Poe. RAP Queenie!

Progress comes in many disguises

Saturday morning I departed my residence at 6:45am. My porch thermometer read 25º.

Gear - Under Armour + several clothing layers, balaclava, tote bag full of clothes and shoes for work, 2 pairs of gloves, double socks.

Hydration - full CamelBak & one Orange Ginger Nuun filled water bottle.

Nutrition - various Gu packs, Performance Bars and a hearty breakfast of coffee and shredded wheat dipped in peanut butter.

Mental faculties - determined to get to work before opening at 9am.

Added weight of carry on - a little over 11 pounds. I found this out later, as Travis was weighing my packs and giggling at the heft!

26 miles later, I arrive at work in Decorah with more energy than I had at outset. I am finding it amazing that I need about 13 miles to get a cadence, to acclimate to my surroundings, to get my breathing and posture in check. And yes, I made a mental note at the moment of my epiphany so I could mark 13 miles next time and see if my hypothesis can hold water.

But remembering back to my longer rides of last summer, it seems that 13 is about my number. From there, I could go and go. I have a lot of mental & physical hammering, it seems, every time I begin a ride. Is that odd? Is that right? Well, it seems so for me.

Once I got to work, it was a blur. For the most part it was a 9-5 shift and busy as hell - which I love. I took a few minutes to jump on a Rockhopper and pedal down the street to grab a sub. The day was beautiful. The ride was smooth. OK, I took the long way to the sub shop, and I am glad I did. I still want a SURLY Karate Monkey, but now I think I would also take a RockHopper.

After finishing out another rad day in bike love, I suited up to head back home.

As I predicted, my departure was creaky and weak to begin. That, plus the exit from Decorah is a punk ass, bitch ass ascent for 2 miles. Then a brief straight away and G-Force descent, then a punk hill again for a quarter mile or so.

Hills, to me, are CAKE. I see a hill and shout out, to whomever I am with, "PIECE OF CAKE" - or chant it to myself if I'm alone. I decided on one such ascent, that I should figure out an acronym for my mantra, so CAKE became "Conquering A Killer Embankment". Hey - it works, let's not quibble about what an embankment really is!

By the time I was half way home (note 13 miles is half of 26, ahha), I was feeling good. The sun was setting and I was in rural bike porn bliss. I purposely had not plugged in my ipod so I could listen to the nature show. Was gorgeous. Additionally, I had also made every attempt to stay on the gravel shoulders the entire ride, as I need gravel. I like gravel. It feels good. On the way home, I also committed to buying padded shorts. Mt. Borah, here I come.

At 7 miles from home, is the town of Mabel. This is the place where I went to high school, where most of my teenage shenanigans were borne and where I was an intensely physically-lazy kid. I was not into sweat then.

As I rolled into Mabel, I thought about how many miles I have traveled in life and how far away from those school days I had drifted. Amazing. I have put in several hundred miles on bike since last year. 400 on my new bike alone. Now, for the elite, 400 is laughable. For for me, this is a wild departure from days of old. And I love it. Hell yes, 400 is just right. I bought the bike in February, by the way.

During this dream sequence, I thought of Cory. My long time pal who lives in Mabel. I angled Sergio toward his house. I knocked on his door and I think he was both surprised, but not shocked to see me pop in. We're like that - random visits. We are both avid adventurists and survivalists to a degree. In fact, the last time I did any serious biking, it was with Cory - night rides when we were in our 20's. Our other housemates thought we were nuts with our sporadic thrusts into the night either on foot or on bike. We have had much fun through the years.

Cory jumped on Serg and took him around the block. I was eager to let him feel a good bike under him. Once you get hooked…well, you know my story!

I put another layer of clothes on for my final CAKE on the way home and left Cory with a happy "just visited an good friend" contentment.

I left Mabel and sized up the long winding ascent ahead of me. I reached the final turn and saw another friend in her yard. When I hollered "HELLO", her chocolate lab came out to greet me - and since I have a history with dog bites, I was cautious and my heart was banging! She assured me he was just saying hello. I rolled with him back to the yard. Sally is one of my country neighbors. She is also the older sister of a kid I dated when I was a senior in high school/freshman in college. I got to know their family quite well and had just learned that her father has recently passed away. In this chance doggie encounter, I was able to give her my genuine condolences and apologized for not sending a card sooner. It made me so happy to talk with her.

And in Sally fashion…she said I was "fuckin nuts" and "crazy" for riding all that way. She kills me. I love her for her mince-nothing mentality. Refreshing.

We said our goodbyes and I reached my familiar front porch about 13 hours after I left it. Good day. All three kids were farmed out in various locations and it was just the dogs and me for the remainder of the night. Stretching and vegging in the lazy boy. I did laundry, made a salad for the next days' lunch event at my sister's house.

I pondered if I would give my teens the car and meet them at my sister's house on bike for Easter lunch. That is approx 50 miles 1 way. That would be a bitchen weekend. 152+ miles. Hell yea.

As fortune dictated, I woke up on Sunday and just wanted to eat and sleep. Hehe, no more stamina left. I drove the kids and I to Lewiston rather than biked. I did get a few walks in after lunch however.

This was another chapter in the "Journey to Alamanzo" chronicles. And as the title implies, I am inching closer to the miles I need to gain strength, experience and confidence in my training goals. The part that I cannot ignore, is the enjoyment of the process and the people I encounter within.

Stay tuned, I have lots more to learn…

C.A.K.E.

Some favorites…more later. Full plate today.

C.A.K.E






Decorah Bicycles








Bicycle Sports

Bike Ride, Foot Race & Child Rearing Marathon - PART II

My son's teacher emailed me today and verified that all needed "essential" items were diligently brought to school today.

Goodbye chaos. Hello Sunday daydreams.

So there is this Almanzo 100 race thing that I am signed on to do. It has only been the object of my obsession for the better part of a year. I registered via post card, but I committed my soul to the adventure itself. This is not going to be a stroll down a bike path for me. This is some tricky shit. Physical pounding. Cardiac conundrums. Nutritional nitpicks. Emotional escapades.

I can see the roads. I can feel my fatigued muscles. I can taste my parched lips and running nose. I can also see the finish line.

I can do this.

Sunday, April 5th was slated to be the day I would harness up with my long haul gear and head for the faux race course. This was going to be my chance to finally feel what a 100 miles would do to me as an unseasoned bicyclist and as a person.

Riding does something to me, for me, that I still am at a loss to fully describe. The scenery, the rhythm of the spinning wheels, the sounds that come and go, the attention paid to the performance of the bike from day to day, the distance one can travel by one's own power and the liberation that comes with conquering fears and unknown obstacles.

Was I born to be a biker and just wasn't supposed to know until now? I am thinking so more and more.

Saturday came and I was feeling ready. Feeling physiologically in the zone. I worked at Bicycle Sports in the afternoon, ate a wonderful evening meal and hit the pillow with thoughts spinning out of control. Dog-tired, but I slept like shit. Too much to think about.

I awoke at 6:30am, went to where I store my bike and my gear and proceeded to make the final preparations to embark on this new journey. 100 miles. 100 miles. 100 miles. As I pedaled my first rotations of the morning, I practiced my breathing all the way to the starting point. I hydrated. I quasi-meditated to counter the butterfly anxiety pie sloshing around in my stomach.

Arrive at start location. Ring door bell. Wee little Olivia lets me in and plops back on couch with mom and brother. Enter ring leader yawning and stretching. Ride canceled. Sleet. Cold wind. Sludgy gravel.

Canceled.

Canceled.

As I turned to leave, I decided that I needed to do something. Could I do the hundo alone today? Was I THAT prepared to do this solo?

I stopped to put on an extra pair of socks. It was about 8:30am. I rode until I logged in 20 miles around Rochester, heading for bike storage and sent my sis a text requesting that she sign me up for the Fools Five Road Race in Lewiston. I have been to that race for several years. Sunday would've been the first time I missed it in the past 4 years.

She did it. My sister walked up to the school and registered my for the 8K before the noon deadline. Before long, my daughter and I were zooming toward Lewiston, hoping to make it before race time at 1pm. I needed to stretch.

12:30pm. We made it. My sister, nephew and I stretched, threw on the race tee's/bib's and off we went to the starting gate. My daughter opted out, deciding food and cable were more entertaining!

The starting pistol went off and down the road we all went. Hoards of people all racing to make money for war against cancer. Humbling. The first 1/2 mile almost always does me in. Not from exhaustion, but from the tears that well up right behind my eyes. Seeing all shapes, sizes and causes fighting the good fight…it is nothing short of inspirational.

Families with custom made tee's supporting lost loved ones, or those who are battling cancer as we ran. Small children and adults racing in wheelchairs. 70 year olds kicking my ass down the course. People walking, talking and holding hands.

As the fierce north wind pelted me on the final leg, I knew that the discomfort I was experiencing at that moment was ZERO in comparison to the pain cancer patients battle daily. I was thrilled to help. I rounded the final corner and saw the finish line. 2 women helped me to surge and push harder to finish strong. At the very end, a woman and I sprinted like teenagers and crossed the line together laughing and smiling.

These are the kinds of memories that make me keep pushing and striving for more. And what's more, I improved my time by nearly 2 minutes over last year. That after 20 miles of pedal time a few hours before the race. Maybe I should've done the 100 - I could've won the Fools Five! Ah…not so much.

Bike Ride, Foot Race & Child Rearing Marathon - PART I

My son's teacher emailed me today, letting me know he has failed to pack his tennis shoes for gym for several days, if not weeks. Further, he has not brought back a packet of books. He's 7 yo. (Annie - that one's for you)

In my guilt-ridden mother mind I had to process, ponder argumentatively and over-analyze just what the hell I cared about with regard to the education of my 3 children. After all, in life, their ability to interact with people in social settings, their development pertaining to achieving their goals and their poise when in triage of rejection/failure, are all essential educational pursuits in the grand scheme of things. Absent tennis shoes - nonessential. Late book packet - nonessential.

Like so many things thrown at me, I would like to think that internal panic-attack toxins exude out of me in the form of a soothing smile and steady breathing. Very zen-like. But there is always that critical moment with me where the long, winding archives in my brain start to slide open file cabinets and play old movies and rev up car engines and crank the volume on long forgotten tunes and scrape tin foil against my teeth. Then…clarity. As a really cool Buddhist nun (Pema Chodron) once shared via audio book…stay with the breath, ride it in and out. So I do and it works.

Less than joyful encounters do 2 things. First, it riles me and and spawns the aforementioned internal chaos. Fire breathing dragon shit. Second, and maybe just as important, it makes me take a deeper look at what my beliefs are. Sometimes I just need to bend over and take it. And, oh I have taken it many times. I don't know everything. True Story.

When my little guy got back home from school tonight, we talked about the need to pack gym shoes every day and the importance of us getting the packet of books back to the teacher.

Then, I got him his supper and I read a book to him while he ate. A book that I had found him on Saturday while browsing a garage sale before my first day working at Bicycle Sports in Rochester.

Which brings me to the other passions in my life - endurance and leading by example. With the hope that my children can suck every ounce out of life because they saw me try it first.

Back to the Sunday Ride & Race. Stay tuned…