Learning to Ride

Tagged

2012-01-23T07:32:00.000-06:00

warmth
breathe deeply
warmth
long breath
centrifuge of history, in sync
blue moon, hardwood beneath
shoes brushing dust aside, together
unison, memories tangle and unknot
warmth
breathe quickly
warmth
long breath
jazz player known, saxophone
melody old, all new

awaken cold
startle
first breath of newborn
like stab of bronchitis

calm now, backtrack
pressure to thumbtack
until it is flush with surface again
gentle leading back to dream
salty eye water taffy
down face
dance no more
sleep

Knick, Knack, Paddy Whack

2011-12-20T18:31:00.052-06:00

So my only interaction with a bike saddle of late has been on a stationary recumbent on campus or the quick jaunt to the grocery store this past weekend.

My passion for riding has somehow lost some PSI. This one activity that has educated me more than any one single vehicle ever could, has taken a back seat to schedules, life and well nothing at all.

Can a career be a life? Can ones life be their career? Can ones passion(s) fade while professional pursuits take the lead? I say hell no to all of that garbage. And yet...here I am.

Recently, I was asked by a colleague what my hobbies were.

Long silence.

When I was growing up, I had three immediate neighbors. Eunice Fay, Lucille Johnson and Ethel Stone. Right. Old ladies.

Eunice lived to the north of my house. The Fays lived in what was once the town's hotel. In the summers their granddaughter Cindy would come to stay and we would twirl baton, smoke stolen Salem Lights, make large batches of mud pies and flirt with boys. I flirted with girls sometimes too just because I could. Whatever, it worked.

I would imagine that Cindy and I were in the wild west, staying at a hotel with gun-slinging cowpokes and drinking shots of something really gross at the local saloon - it was on the corner of Main Street and called the Knotty Pine, if memory serves -within eye-shot of Ethel's house. I was like 8. Vivid imagination, even then. Gawd.

Immediately to the south of my house, was Lucille Johnson - full name: Emma Marie Lucille Harris Johnson. She was my great grandmother. My mother's father's mother. Catch that?

A widow, my great grandma had a long-time boyfriend after my great grandpa died in the late 70's. Her "steady-Eddy" called himself "Taffy", but his mother thought Myron was better. I'd stick with Taffy too. They co-parented a little dog named "Happy". I remember this dog as being the center of grandma's world - and Taffy's, for that matter.

Happy was what we termed a "wiener dog". He was friendly, yet protective. Barked a little, but not obnoxiously. Played with my sister and I every day. This poor sweet little dog developed diabetes and grandma and Taffy would take turns testing his urine with Ketone strips and adjusting his insulin injections. Crazy shit to do for a dog in terms of public opinion from the narrow scope of a small mid-western town's lens in the 1980's. Nonetheless, there it was.

I was grandma's right-hand girl. I did her cleaning, hand scrubbed her floors, vacuumed with her "Hokey" and ate Jiffy blueberry muffins and Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. Yep, that was about the size of my youth for many years - hangin at great grandma Johnson's. And lifting those Salem Lights from her tiny bedroom in the far west of her little mobile home. Hell, she bought cartons.

I eventually gave it up when my sister was old enough to steal them too! Besides, I found vodka, which made cigs so "yesterday". I was about 12, 13 by then.

Listen, parents who worked their asses off, who lived in a tiny town filled with other parents working their asses off - left a whole crop of children in the middle of nowhere who had endless hours for mischief. That's the way it was.

Next to grandma, more south, was the last house on the block across from the Mill & Elevator. Ethel Stone lived there with her husband. Our other neighbor, Eunice Fay had a husband too - Everett, but I cannot for the life of me remember Ethel's husband's name. Either way, from my view, all of the women on the block, save for our younger family in the middle, outlived their mates and kept a pretty static life from there on in. Even Taffy succumbed to some malady and left grandma alone for many years, until her own death in the mid 1990's.

These memories were triggered tonight by one small act - a reused cottage cheese container. Yep- that's right. I am Ethel Stone.

I work. That's my hobby.

I met my girlfriends this past Sunday and brought home a crock of leftover meatless chili from our gathering. I divided it between a salvaged 1% cottage cheese tub, a fat free sour cream container and one other former sour cream receptacle.

As a child I would go visit Ethel and make some odd notes in my child brain that cataloged the fact that she had countless cottage cheese containers, incubating seedlings in her kitchen window. She, along with all of my neighbors saved things that. I now save containers until I eventually have a cupboard full and have to purge or recycle - most of them are stamped with a #5 and thus not recycled in my "zone" - just sayin.

Honestly, if I could give any credit to my sustainable-leaning-coop-bulk-food-buying nature, it would be to those old ladies who knew a little something about how to not waste.

But anyway, the point of this piece is to hatchet off the bark on this damn tree of frustration that I have been growing into.

At 41, I feel every bit connected to these long-gone old ladies I once knew. How does one reinvent themselves over and over and over again? I have done it so many times that I was hoping/thinking at some point, I would just settle into something fat and comfortable.

But I cannot. I am not good in stagnant waters. Never have been.

So - what's my next chapter?

...well, getting my jumbled thoughts back into the written word and out of my over-crowded brain is a start.

I'll keep you posted.

Tons of Nuns

2011-04-06T05:37:00.015-05:00

Sister Mary Clarence: "If you wake up in the morning, and you can't think anything but singing, then you should be a singer, girl."

So where has pedalgrl been? I've been away, 'tis true, and it took the "gas station" blog written by a former colleague of mine to thrust me back into my text editor.

After fifteen years with one company, the shit finally hit the fan and I was able to muster up enough energy (and references) to enter the job market in earnest.

On the third day of January 2011, I began a new journey that to this day makes me shake my head in disbelief, with my trademark chuckle along for the ride.

In the spirit of keeping this blog leaner than before, I will encapsulate. After all, I now have less time to write and I know my reader doesn't always give a rats ass about every granular aspect of my life...or do you? Ewww....

I work for this guy now...

St. John Baptist de La Salle. Ever heard of him? He's dead, but he still in essence authorizes my direct deposit. At this time last year, I would've likely pissed myself from hard laughter, had someone suggested I would be working with the Lasallian Brotherhood.

What I have come to learn about these guys is actually pretty cool. I think my readers have a fairly good grasp on where I stand regarding organized religion, therefore I will not be launching any soapbox rants, but I will say this - if I met de La Salle in his day, I think we may have had wine and a long talk about just all sorts of stuff. We may have even ogled a few hot sisters together - who knows.

Alright, enough for now. This was a long time in coming.

I'll keep you posted...

I'm Turning Japanese

2010-10-01T18:45:00.017-05:00

I really think so.

It is with this song playing in my mind that I begin this post. And not for the obvious reason, that being if I we're actually swapping nationalities, but rather because of who recorded this piece.

Oh, come on, you know you want to play this while you read.

The Vapors.

So Wiki says that "vapor" is defined as a dense gas that can be condensed into a liquid or solid. I guess I kind of think of myself that way on occasion- a dense mass that can be condensed into a numb human or unresponsive being- dead really. The thing is, once the vapor is a solid, it might be damn hard to get back to vapor. Can you get back to vapor?

Yes. If I were ice I suppose.

Mary Tyler Moore

I have worked for the same employer for just shy of 15 years. Those early days of my career found me freshly divorced, a young mother with a new lease on life and a woman with a completely unshaped mind. The newness of this place back then, the energy, made it seem like all of the movies had it right - the workplace is a venue of glamor, prestige, deadlines and just really cool stuff. And sometimes it was.

The intro to the Mary Tyler Moore sitcom offers us young Mary driving down the Interstate, heading for a new life - Mpls., as it were. Once she arrives to the "promised land", she encounters endless unexpected oddities that she deals with using her unique comedic style. Of late, it is Mary who I hear in my head telling me..."just throw your baret into the air...let it fall where it will". Sometimes I tell her to fuck off. Sometimes I tell her thank you, I love you too.

I have gone through union pushes. I have endured numerous administration changes. I have been completely drunk at company holiday parties. Off-site of course...honk. I cannot promise you that I wasn't the one in the plaid mini skirt dirty dancing with one of my girlfriends. All this while partially disrobing on the dance floor in front of "somebody quasi important" in upper-management. If you can imagine me in a) plaid b) mini skirt c) pink plaid mini skirt - good luck getting that out of your head. Oh, those were the days.

But with each of these shenanigans and upheavals has come growth. After sobering up from xmas parties and crawling into various early morning Saturday shifts - eyes crusted over with who knows what - having an unmatched desire to not fall asleep on or puke into the bowl of Halloween candy at my desk, came moments of intense concentration and magical creative development.

The Resumé

In this undisclosed place of employment, I have grown into the completely blissful and mal-adjusted "grownup" you see before you. I have been a Project Manager, Software Trainer, Psychologist, A/V and Wiring Lead, Slut, Hard-Nosed Correspondent, Asshole, Writer, Electronic Materials Specialist, Server Administrator and Builder, Amateur Athlete (boxer, biker, runner, swimmer, pudding wrestler...all true), and always the Go-To-Jill-of-All-Trades. As recently as last week, it was said about me by my Mgr., "I can always count on you...". Would anyone ever actually want to be the poor schmuck that could NEVER be counted on? Ah, not me.

I threw Slut in because it made me laugh to see it the list. I like to laugh. Sluts are funny, ergo... Truth is, I have had a few "less than wholesome" romances at this place, but the fact remains that I never once had sex on the premises.

Maybe there is still time.

Quite frankly, there is less time than there was before. Many of you reading this, have likely also been touched by lay-offs, reductions and other budgetary cuts. I am not alone, but lately...I feel alone.

This manic environment of wondering who will get the call and when, has made me ugly. I can be all Zen-like while I am out living my life, but the moment I walk through the doors of this place, I feel a suction and then a transformation. I want a t-shirt that says "CRASS IS SEXY, PESSIMISM IS UGLY". After 2 years in this egg shell dance hall, I have witnessed and engaged in too much of both. Blech.

The Restoration

This post is, quite frankly, just my way of declaring to myself in writing, that I need to get back to vapor before I become a solid.

No matter if I stay or if I go, I need to remember the wisdom I have gained from this place. This University of Holy Fuck I Need A Vacation has given me a place to park my bike, a place to work when I did not want to stay home and fret about money, a philosopher's gold mine, a warm building when the frigid cold of winter beat me into submission. This EOE has shown me not only impurities in business models and "leaders", but more importantly impurities in me. I have had ample time to work on changing both of these truths within these crazy walls. Have I improved anything? Maybe.

There may be a change coming for me that triggers an unwanted condensation process, or I might escape the vacuum one more time.

Either way, I am sticking with the dense gasses. Those guys know how how to party!

PEACE.

Introducing Project EyotaRoch

2010-08-19T09:11:00.005-05:00

EyotaRoch is perfect for commuters who want to ditch their cars and pedal into work from various locations. Start anywhere along the route you like, come from out-of-town or meet up at specified meeting spots.

We have a flyer we're posting at various locations with the hope that we get some feedback - and some riders! Let me know if you'd like a copy of the flyer.

One of the first goals of the group will be to open up riders to new options with regard to commuting on bicycle v. driving their cars. An equally strong push will be to get all of the area children outfitted with biking safety gear - starting with helmets.

Upon moving into a new city recently, I have been hearing from my young son that he has been ridiculed for wearing a helmet. It's time to educate these kids that helmets and protective gear is cool as well as important.

A colleague of mine in a nearby city shared a story about how his daughter was "pulled over" by the city police and awarded a free ice cream voucher for simply wearing a helmet while riding her bike. I would very much love to spearhead this same effort in my new city. To that end, I am encouraging area businesses to adopt similar reward systems.

In contacting area bike shops and other commerce leaders, I aim to create relationships between riders and businesses that foster good exchanges and community outreach.

Any thoughts and suggestions you may have to help with these new initiatives, I am all ears. If you know of an organization or individual that is currently seeing success with commuter groups, I'd like to meet them.

PEACE.

It just made sense...

2010-08-08T10:12:00.005-05:00

A new house. A new chapter. A new start.
Learning to Ride...with people.

For my readers who have been wondering where I have gone, electronically speaking, I will tell you that I have been quite busy behind the scenes of the Learning to Ride set. For as long as I have fallen prey to the bike bug, I have vowed to change my way life in order to, basically, support my habit.

The long-time goal has been to physically move my residence to an area where it would be manageable to commute via bike to virtually everywhere I needed to be on a daily basis. That end point proved to be more difficult than I had envisioned. And I hadn't really thought it would be easy.

In a nutshell, having dogs, kids and a wild aversion to dorm-style living left me with only one option - a mortgage. But here's the rub - where I wanted to live was in the city. And a city is where people are. And where people are, dorm-style living is. A townhouse maybe, I thought. A little known fact about dogs - either you cannot have them in rental property or you pay a lot for them.

Quite by accident, I stumbled onto a property in an area not quite in in the city, but in a location I have commuted from many times before.

Wait- before it begins to look like I am just that selfish to pack up and move only to serve my green fetishes, there are the children in my life to consider. One child in particular has some significant needs that require specialized academic attention. This new school district is known for its achievement in the areas this child needs. This child was enrolled in the school long before I had secured housing.

So here I am. Kids, Dogs and bikes in their new home. Happy.

PEACE.

Welcome Bianchi Timber Wolf

2010-08-02T21:31:00.003-05:00

Another blue bike in the fleet.
Only this time a legit MTB.
Tad vintage, but so am I.

Next up?
Rockhopper Comp.
Gotta start somewhere.
And look- dirty already.

Starting From Scratch

2010-08-02T10:03:00.019-05:00

I give up. I quit.

Quit what?

...worrying about some silly little things
that don't add up ta nuthin'. - Tom Petty

Grand Rounds National Scenic Byway made me do it.

This single sign is my call to all communities, all municipalities, all lonely highways. We have much to learn from Minneapolis and their impressive efforts with infrastructure development and implementation for the metro's bike community.

Stopped for a SURLY beer at Minnehaha Park.

From right here you can watch airplanes take off all day from the Mpsl Int'l Airport.

Kinda cool.

Minnehaha Falls

Mill Ruins

Yesterday, I parked my car in the James I. Rice Memorial Parkway trail head lot at around noon. Continuing south down the West River Parkway, I passed by the very busy Minnehaha Park and on though the Godfrey Parkway. At the end of the falls area, MRT access calls out. Mississippi River Trail (MRT) is amazing and I just found out a whopping 3K miles in its entirety.

Shit.

This new world held me in its spell for somewhere near 6 hours on what seemed to be the most gorgeous weather in recent history.

And that's when I decided to let go.

Of what?

Everything. And it was amazing.

PEACE.

Chasing Thoreau

2010-05-27T09:55:00.000-05:00

I just deleted my Facebook account today. Not just a deactivation mind you, but a full-on delete. I feel all liberated.

Felt good.

No. Felt great.

I had been among the first to create an account. We IT geeks try everything new really fast and use it with reckless abandon. We obsess about posting that perfect status, tweak our layouts and invite people to view our stunning bar room shots or myriad cock-eyed baseball cap gangsta poses.

And the worst part? We shamelessly accept "friends" into our fold that we would not even talk to in the hallway at the office.

Admittedly, I did experience what a great tool it could be to reconnect with old friends and also to keep up on events and happenings.

The thing is, I think logging into fb made me feel lost in mindless browsing, and ironically social networking has made more of a social introvert out of me than normal. I felt like a Peeping Tom with a keyboard down my pants.

So today, I stick to emails and other vehicles for communicating with peeps. Maybe I will even try my hand at writing a letter with an actual pen. I feel for those of you getting one, as I have lost most of my manual dexterity required for legible penmanship. I have this vision that humans will evolve with styluses rather than fingers eventually and have a spell check function embedded at the tips of these futuristic phalanges.

And I just heard that Willie Nelson cut off his braids. Shit, I could have joined a fb group entitled something like "Save Willie Nelson's Braids". Well, I guess I will manage.

PEACE.

Pedalgrl - The Mission

2010-05-22T06:01:00.014-05:00

The perceived monetary success of a nation is generally gauged by the Gross Domestic Product (GDP). Basically it translates to how much shit we can manufacture, grow or conceive of - then flip it via export to another country that also has a GDP reliant on shipping their shit to us.

The other night I dreamed that I was the keynote speaker at a human rights convention. At this gathering were the brightest minds and grandest thinkers with vast experiences and journeys behind them. It's worth noting that these same attendees had an even larger expanse of life ahead of them and were willing to dedicate it to change.

The shared objective at this event was to brainstorm. Brainstorm what? Employing collaborative problem solving techniques to shift away from GDP in a way that could forge a new path for how we (at least in this country) viewed commerce, trade relations and economics.

So I am giving a speech in this dream and Eartha Kitt, rest in peace, spotted me from across the audience and in a brief pause tilted her head toward me, rasped me one of her trademark sexy growls and winked - I can't remember with which eye. Then the crowd roared with hoots and applause.

When I woke up, I tried to piece together what the hell I must have been saying that prompted the "Kitt growl". And did we as a group come to some consensus? Did we solidify and propel our glacial aspirations for change into action?

Maybe.

I have been shaking the cobwebs around in my head ever since this dream. Here is what I came up with...

The Exclamation Mark

Right now as you read, grab a writing implement. Pen, pencil, marker, quill, paint brush - whatever - and begin to draw an exclamation mark. Yeah - really. But more than that, before you begin the down stroke of the top portion of the mark, think about WHY you use that piece of punctuation at all.

MAD. HAPPY. IRATE. ENERGIZED. TIRED. IMPRESSED. STOKED. INSPIRED.

With this in mind, draw this exclamation mark top piece. Then stop BEFORE the dot.

That's where I am.

If you were to now finish that exclamation mark, think of how you typically stamp that dot. For me, it's with finality and determination. Usually it's with some force even.

Look, I am nearing the 40th year of life in this crazy world and the despair I see creeping up around me is...well...horrific to be frank. Now wait- I am far from a staunch fatalist. I am not even a glass half empty kind of person, but it seems to me that all the goodness and cotton candy fluff we can muster is getting covered with an oil glaze - literally and figuratively.

I need a national news vacation I think. Am I the only one who feels the world is in a blender? Sure- it's on PULSE right now, but how long til LIQUIFY?

I searched my DVD collection last night to find the movie WALL-E. My Eartha Kitt dream somewhere inserted a WALL-E and AVATAR reference into my memory banks. For those of you who have not viewed either - three words: Gross Domestic Product. These two films are impact films that encapsulate an abstract snapshot of our world today. Our world tomorrow.

My young son and I sat down to watch WALL-E and he asked me if that really happened? I told him, in my opinion, it is happening right now, but real life doesn't provide the same visual effects as Disney's offering. I wonder what the Gulf of Mexico fiasco would look like in an animated film. Hmm...

If you've patiently read through this angst-filled post, you may have felt some of these same things and just gnashed your teeth looking for solutions. I am damn sick of gnashing my teeth and being part of the problem without dotting that exclamation mark.

How can you or I make a difference? I have some thoughts.

Now- how about you? Do you listen to or read the news and want to hide or do you see opportunity?

What's your vision?

What I want

A life-long biking partner. Children who can learn and grow and help without hurting. A career that doesn't require a car, but rather requires a bike. Cherished friends and family who can teach me what I do not know. Sweat. Laughter. And maybe a bit of cotton candy now and then.

PEACE.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?

2010-05-17T10:55:00.006-05:00

As for my ankle, it was a champ. I never even fretted about my ankle for a second.

And both of my boys were in the race/ride for 1.5 hrs. I was so proud of them for tackling it. They both had a lot of fun. Tanner said he would like to make it to the check off next year. That is huge!

The rest of me wasn’t as resilient as the ankle however. I made it to the 64.2 mile “½ way” check point a happy 10 minutes before the closing mark.

I had struggled that last 20 miles with severe mental lag.

Then, I took a wrong turn that landed me approximately 4 miles off course and that pretty much clenched it closed emotionally for me.

I met a few people late in the last few miles that made me feel like if we stuck together I would try the remaining 40. They ultimately blew me away and again I was deflated. That’s how it works out there – spirits up/down/up/down.

I was thrilled to have made it to the check point and conquered some of the post injury doubts.

The thing is- I truly hadn’t intended to actually TRY to complete the 100 mile course up until Friday when Tanner said he would ride along with Chais so I wouldn’t have to stop. That opened up the opportunity for me to give it a shot. AND of course I hadn’t had the training miles in...so...yep...64+ miles rocked!

Today with people asking about it, I am reminded that I always kick myself later for not pushing harder. I am bad like that. I always have to push until I break, it’s just that my breaking point came a little earlier this year!

Last year I finished #64. So that was my race bib number this year. And I ended at 64 miles. My dad turned 64 this year - he also graduated in 1964.

And today? May 17th? My very own amazing mother turns 60. I love you mom. You rock.

So what’s so bad about 60-something? Not a thing.

Blush Blush

2010-05-11T16:09:00.012-05:00

Click on the image that is shown above to download. The Almanzo piece is on pages 63-64.

It's almost here again. The event that last year thrust me into the bicycle community with gusto. This year I ride alongside my son.

Together with some 400 other cyclists, we aim to do some serious crushed rock adventuring. I'll keep you abreast of my thoughts and emotions as I fly through this week and begin the pedal party this Saturday in Spring Valley.

PEACE.

Mabel 5K Run/Walk

2010-04-26T05:50:00.003-05:00

1st Annual
Town & Country Fun Run
5K Run • Walk
Mabel, Minnesota

For More information:
schomibrowntrout@yahoo.com

On Moths in Ears

2010-03-29T21:53:00.008-05:00

In my 39 years of life, I have never experienced a moth dive-bombing into my ear canal...until tonight.

My ear started crackling. You know like when you get out of the pool and you have to drain that water-logged ear. Only this was an insidious crackle and movement that seemed to ebb ever closer to my brain.

I dropped to floor and tried to get this thing out of my head. I grabbed the tweezers and groped for anything. Finally, I pulled part of it out. The rest of this WHATEVER kept violently squirming around in my ear.

Ok, is this ridiculous for you to read? Hard for you to read? Hell yes - imagine MY experience! I am still just no-shit weirded out by the whole event.

I screamed while my teens hollered downstairs, telling me to basically chill out and my youngest cried, horrified.

Finally, I grabbed the peroxide, then tweezers again and pulled out a moth. Alive. Did I mention I am still emo over this? GAWD.

There is not much soothing by way of Zen meditation and breathing when a creature has taken up residency in your ear, let me just say that much.

ANYWAY...

It's been awhile since I last posted and some of my readers (a.k.a friends and family) have asked what tales I have in the pipeline. As if the above account wasn't thrilling enough.

No doubt, there will be some bike riding to come, some dog chases and even a crash or two. But that will unfold as it will.

For today, I am a mom with a sick child.

Not cancer that I know of.

Not the flu or bronchial pneumonia.

It's another malady that ravages his brain, spins his impulses into shards of glassy data and unravels him into a child I sometimes do not know. A child he doesn't know.

He is 8 now and has exhibited signs of his struggle since infancy. And at 18 he will reach adulthood with a journey behind him that many do not travel. What's more, he will likely see a path ahead of him that offers many forks, bends and potholes.

Doesn't sound unlike yourself, does it?

To look at him, he resembles many other 8 year old boys, ready to get dirty and turn anything into a makeshift gun. Loved his penis so much for a few years that I thought of taping his hands to his shoulders. So pretty typical in many ways.

It is what most do NOT see that makes him unique from the others of his kind. Those who also like fart noises and monster trucks do not all share his tormented inner person.

And for that reason, Learning To Ride may house less biking adventure for awhile, as my child and I attend to clearing the moths from our ears and remain vigilant in an attempt to keep more of them from getting in.

PEACE.

So what's next?

2010-02-17T05:19:00.003-06:00

Yes, it's true, I am cast-free. Walking boot-free. Though not entirely carefree. There is an obscene sense of "safety" in an injury and the aftermath. People go out of their way to help you - even when you really don't want the help. You need it - you don't WANT it. Having to carefully plan out every move when on crutches and not treading anywhere that might land you back in ER is oddly a comfort. It's like forced downtime. And I have a hard time sitting down as it is.

The exhausting rewiring of rituals to work within an adaptive environment. The slow and methodical journeys to the bathroom, the kitchen. The engineering of new processes to get the dirty clothes off the floor, into a basket and into the washing machine. My son devised kind of a pulley system that allowed me to let the pup in/out of the house. I adapted a procedure for getting in/out of the bathtub. I will spare you with the intricacies of managing my career and relying on others to transport me everywhere. I will say that working in IT has its benefits and notable drawbacks when you can't move fast.

This blog entry is a brief update and a thank you to each of you that helped me heal. It's been an interesting ride. I have logged in some time on the bike trainer now. Just yesterday I put my cleats on for the first time since December. Status report = ankle tender, but improving.

PEACE.

ACT IV - This Boot is Made for Walkin'

2010-01-31T07:02:00.006-06:00

So that's just what I'll do.

With less that a week to go, I feel what many expectant mothers feel toward the end of a nearly year-long gestational period - LET'S DO THIS! But also, if memory serves, there is that scratch at the back of your throat that reminds you that this was the "restful" time and that what lies ahead is work. When you feel that first stab of a labor pain, the instinct is to proclaim...no, no, no make it stop - I am not ready!

I have had several dreams now that suggest I will be left with a rubber chicken ankle. The storyline is that I will be engaged in walking, standing or biking and my foot/ankle will spontaneously give way to a spiral motion, leaving my lower right leg dangling like a breeze-whipped wind chime.

Right. So I am reminded of the dreams I had about these newborns while pregnant. Similar. I would forget the infant in various places. I would let the infant drain down the bath tub. I would deliver the child all alone by a field fence and use my shoe lace to cut the cord. Because, of course, I walked so many remote fence lines during my pregnancy. Bizarre.

Yesterday, I went to Holmen, Wisconsin and discovered yet another bike shop. River Trail Cycles, owned by Emily Vance. She has a great shop. It offers a lot of merchandise to ponder. The website shows virtually nothing about the inner sanctum, but here is a link if you want to visit. River Trail Cycles

Long story short, my pal Mattie spotted a LeMond Reno (Circa 06-07) in the used nook. Cute lil road bike with a carbon fork and platform pedals - made just for a Jedi Storm Trooper walking boot. Emily threw the Reno on a trainer. I hoisted my utterly uncoordinated self + aforementioned Jedi Storm Trooper walking boot upon this black and red steed and then it happened...

The cycling high. It came over me in a flash before I even made a single revolution.

I began to pedal. I worked out the rear derailleur a little, sat back, looked at Mattie and felt that old familiar need to bust outa somewhere in a quick hurry. Shit.

OK, so I what I learned was that even though my ankle broke, my drive did not.

Was there ever any doubt?

You'd be surprised what an injury does to the mind of a person like me. Suffice it to say, I almost cried at that Wisconsin bike shop.

So maybe that means my blog fans will have more to read...stay tuned.

ACT III

2010-01-05T06:00:00.003-06:00

Upper body workouts, Calc with VitD and channeling the universe.

OK, got it.

Things to focus on. I will keep you abreast or maybe afoot of how things progress. The crutching around proves to be a strenuous workout if I go more than a few hobbles away. So there's one plus, if you want to call it that.

My armpits, neck, shoulders and, oddly enough, palms of my hands have gone from irritated by the new pressure points to numb and now elevated to sore and not yet tough as cowhide - though I expect to have really buff armpits by race day in May. Almanzo - don't think I am out of this just yet.

Yesterday cast #3 was set. Bright orange and optimistic. Upon removal of the blue beast, I had my son snap a shot of my foot. I wanted to see what I'd been missing for the past few weeks. Hell no - it is not pretty.

Upshot? Doc says I am healing and the awesome casting tech and I get along great. This is a plus I figure.

PEACE.

It's no lie - just a lil fib

2010-01-04T05:57:00.003-06:00

My biker strength is rapidly converting to fat at a quicker pace than most winters. Honestly, I am less than good spirited these days. My blogs filled with adventurous banter now threaten to become more like a ranting monologue delivered by SNL's very own PAT. Whining about lack of mobility and belly roll issues and huge junk-filled trunk complaints.

During the cold months, I shred up every option I can to stay somewhat fit. Running stairs, biking, hiking, swimming anywhere I can, slower winter jogs, cross country skiing and of course sledding.

About 2 weeks ago, an orange toboggan and I careened into an icy sled/snow board jump. My right foot lodged in the jump, while the rest of my body did a less than elegant corkscrew-like move. Blades of Glory-esque. "You smell like urine..." "A lot?"

My mom told me to write about it. I confessed I wasn't feelin it.

But she was right.

I am trying to make some sense of how one can still stay fit and not go insane. Doing bicycle exercises while lying flat in bed are making me even more pissed off. I cannot drive. I cannot bear weight on the ankle in question and most frustrating of all...I have to ask for help. I never ask for help. I hate asking for help. I like to help.

Do you - my readers - have anything for me? I am listening. I have maybe 5 more weeks of trying to keep moving while not really moving at all.

Yeah- that was me asking for help.

PEACE.

All I Want For XMAS

2009-12-16T08:52:00.003-06:00

With the hubbub as it is this time of year, I am not alone in experiencing the pressure to produce a list of coveted merchandise, so that my parents and sister can spend their hard-earned money on gifts for me.

I have multi-faceted problems with the holidays. From the commercialization of an ancient tradition to the obscene extension of that tradition that is manifest in the need to lavish people with department store gifts. Do I give gifts? Yes. Do I love to see the smile on someone's face when they receive some item that will bring them prolonged joy? Hell yes.

Does this HAVE to happen in December? Only in December? Hell no.

My family is well-versed in the secular view I hold of the holiday season and therefore understands that the likelihood that their gifts will be hand-made, utilitarian, educational or pushing my unapologetically environmentally-friendly agenda is somewhere near 100%.

So I have compiled a list of what I would like by way of gifts. If you'd like to give me any of these things, I'd be grateful and humbled beyond words.

Connie's Holiday Wish List:

I want to no longer have medical bills go into collections (yours, or mine)
I want my male neighbor to have a healthy heart
I want my female neighbor to stop smoking and be able to land that dream job
I want Obama to read this list and tell me where I need to apply for a "green" job - my resume is ready - I am ready
I want a winter bike with meaty tires that will eliminate the need for ideal road conditions to connect me to my many daily obligations
I want to have a national holiday for people who are just tired
I want to be swept off my feet by a real person that doesn't know a gay joke
No more cell phones in cars - mine included
I want to bake cookies for every shut in and deliver them by bike
I want to stop - just stop
I want to be swept off my feet by a real person that doesn't know a racially tinged joke
I want my sister's happiness to keep growing
I want my grandfather to be free of pain and nosebleeds
I want my grandmother to dance with her husband again
I want my parents to see that I love them and know that I would give them a truckload of money if I only knew where to find one
I want my friends to know that I am the person who wants a cleaner world for them, so if that means having the tree hugger stereotype, I can deal with that
I want WAR to be a card game, not a legacy
I want my kids to see that I am working hard so that they have what they need - and some of what they want
I want the people who tailgate other vehicles on icy roads to see that the 'tailgatees' tires are bald and they have a zero balance in their bank account and they are doing the best they can
I want the people that I love and care for to succeed and grow and breathe and smile
To Angie & Margo & Brophy & Phatty - I'd go into business with each of you any day

I could on, but you get the picture.

PEACE.

Learning To Rest

2009-12-16T05:57:00.006-06:00

My fellow bicycle pal, Chris Skogen (Chris, I think I can call you pal, right?) has posted on his blog that he is tired and is taking a little break from his blogging and enjoy a deep breath. A break for us, typically means a day or two. I've asked that he please ask me along from time to time when he needs to get out and go for a ride. Not that I always can- but I will make it happen if possible.

This blog of mine has been in many ways the salve that heals all wounds that come my way. In other facets, it feels like if I don't post something magnanimous on a regular schedule, my readers will think I am ill or without internet access.

The truth is Chris Skogen - I'm tired too fella.

People ask me almost daily anymore about my riding adventures. It's like that is what is expected of me now. "Oh, she rides - that is WHO she is" almost thought so loud that I can hear it right behind their lips.

The enchanting part about that is - it constantly re-ignites my daydreams about the miles I've rolled through and the miles I'd like to. The less obvious thing about having "an identity" is that, even though it IS a huge and important part of who I've become, it is not WHO I am.

So my dear readers, colleagues and friends - please keep asking about my biking. Please keep inquiring as to where I've rolled each day, but I hope you also understand that the winter months alter my routes, my routines, my body and my mind. There will be a day or 12 that I do not ride.

There's a great Stevie Nicks line (in the song Dreams) that I have always loved..."the players only love you when they're playing"...that could mean a lot of things, but it reminds me that I can't be all things all the time. And I'm okay with that.

I know...I know...true story.

One quick note: I have a posting in the works about a recent visit with a local man who has his shit together - and yours as well. Check back to read about Jon Nordsving and his crappy career at the Canton Waste Water Treatment Facility.

PEACE.

Red is the new Blue

2009-11-18T10:01:00.003-06:00

Flavor of the day

So what the hell is an Urban Micro "CX"?

2009-11-13T05:32:00.014-06:00

It occurred to me that you, my appreciated readers, may have viewed my last post and thought - "oh, wow...bikes on grass...lame..." and quickly jumped back to your favorite social networking hub to chat with your galley of friends.

So if you're back for a small tale, thank you and enjoy!

Having a dear friend that just so happens to be married to a bike event organizer, growing strong ties with a group of bike enthusiasts from far and wide and finally enjoying an open Sunday (sans work and other obligations) leads one to seek out just a little something...well...different.

A few weeks ago - maybe more by now - I received an event bill that proclaimed "URBAN MICRO CX". This quasi invite stated a location, date and time, pulled together by a noisy image of a bike leaning against a tree. What the mini poster did NOT detail was WHAT it was.

And me being who I am. I immediately agreed to attend this mystery event. I had loosely known that a CX (or cross) race was just that - a multi-terrain race/event. But the whole idea behind any race is not divulging the specifics until race day.

I asked my young son if he'd like to enter with me. He immediately agreed and we were both stoked for the adventure to come.

We arrived at Cooke Park in Rochester a bit before race time. We took a spin a round the course a few times with Chris Skogen & Bob Gritman, waiting for the other participants to show.

We started on a grassy flat that immediately linked to a small slab of bike trail that took us under a railroad overpass. With a quick right turn, we climbed a grassy incline to reach a cement slab that jutted out in various areas from years of weather wear. Onto some inchworm-like dirt jumps, then some gravel/glass sprinkled cement that led us to a gnarly hobo hop. That's what I would call it anyway. Here, you dismount your bike, carry or bounce it down an embankment of rocks/cement/wire/trees/litter/mud/medical waste - who knows...and quick as hell too.

Then the moment you get into the baby ravine, you push that bike up a dirt path until you are looking sideways at a few sets of railroad tracks and big multi-colored rocks. Here, depending on your bike, you might ride/jump/push or carry said bike across the tracks until you get to a tiny strip of gravel that leads you to a tiny strip of grass that leads you to a partial bike trail elbow. A right turn on this elbow pointed us east and into a head wind, then another right onto a grassy/slightly bumpy flat.

Here is where you punched it hard, only to hit the tree line, a fast and hard down hill and left turn into the woodland. More wire, rock, zig zags, grass and dirt and branches that turned to loose dirt and shredded wood. There were two places that logs/fallen trees made the rider dismount and carry the bike over and quickly hop back on to get up to battering ram speed again. And you were back at the starting point, ready for another lap.

And that was it - 1 hour. As many laps as you could muster.

Chais and I enjoyed our day immensely and plan to do it again on the 28th of Nov. I still have bruises and they make me smile every time I see them, as it was something different for me and I made it the entire hour. There were 20 racers, and if memory serves I finished somewhere in the top third. Chais rallied with 4 laps and cheered me on from the side. At one point a rogue wire wrapped around my rear wheel - spokes and chain and rings - oh my! I unraveled it, tossed it off to the side and kept going.

As a postscript - I may have finished in the top third, but keep in mind the victor outpaced me by somewhere near 10 laps - so I am not ready to go pro just yet.

No matter what, it was a blast!

Urban Micro CX - oh yeah!

2009-11-08T17:30:00.003-06:00

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

More to follow...

Ride What?

2009-10-29T05:42:00.007-05:00

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

2009-10-05T21:21:00.003-05:00

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

2009-09-30T19:52:00.011-05:00

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

2009-09-27T07:04:00.000-05:00

Life Springs Eternal - PART I

2009-09-26T20:13:00.006-05:00

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

2009-09-25T14:27:00.006-05:00

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

2009-09-16T06:09:00.001-05:00

Weisel Valley - An Off Road Homecoming

2009-09-07T15:18:00.009-05:00

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

2009-09-05T06:40:00.004-05:00

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

2009-09-04T12:40:00.000-05:00

SEEKING USED SURLY

2009-09-01T05:47:00.002-05:00

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

Anyone out there have the desire to part with one?

Cats In The Cradle

2009-08-31T05:44:00.004-05:00

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

2009-08-23T08:55:00.004-05:00

...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

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

Phatty's Phat Bike

2009-08-22T07:19:00.004-05:00

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

2009-08-18T05:56:00.014-05:00

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...

2009-08-15T06:15:00.015-05:00

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

2009-08-06T09:24:00.003-05:00

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

2009-08-03T09:59:00.005-05:00

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

2009-08-03T08:22:00.000-05:00

Savage Solitude - Audio Blog #2

2009-08-03T08:20:00.001-05:00

Savage Solitude - Audio Blog #3

2009-08-03T08:19:00.001-05:00

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

2009-07-31T07:46:00.007-05:00

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?

2009-07-28T10:48:00.005-05:00

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

2009-07-27T22:08:00.008-05:00

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

2009-07-26T21:26:00.008-05:00

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

2009-07-22T08:32:00.005-05:00

A True Story

2009-07-22T05:33:00.006-05:00

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

2009-07-19T18:24:00.010-05:00

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

2009-07-09T17:03:00.012-05:00

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

2009-07-08T19:47:00.004-05:00

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

2009-07-05T19:46:00.010-05:00

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

2009-07-02T21:12:00.002-05:00

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

2009-06-30T19:21:00.006-05:00

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

2009-06-29T16:59:00.002-05:00

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

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

2009-06-28T17:03:00.018-05:00

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

2009-06-25T22:32:00.008-05:00

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

2009-06-20T19:47:00.008-05:00

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

2009-06-18T18:12:00.007-05:00

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

2009-06-17T08:31:00.004-05:00

Comments Welcome!

2009-06-16T14:43:00.002-05:00

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

2009-06-16T13:59:00.004-05:00

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?

2009-06-16T10:46:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-15T16:54:00.001-05:00

http://greenfete.blogspot.com/

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

2009-06-14T19:53:00.000-05:00

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!

2009-06-12T16:42:00.000-05:00

It's Off to Work I Go...

2009-06-12T15:46:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-12T05:21:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-10T21:12:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-10T21:11:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-10T09:06:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-10T05:15:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-05T13:38:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-05T10:11:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-06-04T13:46:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-04T13:03:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-03T05:44:00.000-05:00

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

Another First

2009-06-02T20:07:00.000-05:00

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?

2009-05-23T07:54:00.000-05:00

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

2009-05-20T06:00:00.000-05:00

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…

2009-05-19T09:54:00.000-05:00

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

2009-05-18T12:21:00.000-05:00

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria IV

2009-05-18T12:20:00.001-05:00

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria III

2009-05-18T12:18:00.001-05:00

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria II

2009-05-18T12:14:00.000-05:00

Almanzo 100 Blog

2009-05-18T11:07:00.000-05:00

For all the good stuff, stop in here:

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

Anticipation, Victory, Euphoria I

2009-05-18T10:45:00.000-05:00

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

2009-05-18T10:24:00.000-05:00

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.