Finally, a ride in Oregon

 "I have lost all of my riding muscles," I said to Sam, as we sat in our hot box (aka the camper we are currently living in). I just don't know if I'm going to get to ride at all until we have some sort of home. Not being able to leave our pup anywhere, not currently having the dog trailer I keep thinking about purchasing, and with Sam gone at work all day, I just haven't been able to get in any two-wheeled time.

"We'll figure something out," was his response. 

I knew that this was going to be an issue when we came to Oregon (well, during the transition period anyway), but I had no idea how much I would truly miss riding a bike. I knew we'd have to adapt, and I thought that I'd be okay with not riding for awhile. I suppose I also believed that finding a place to live would be much easier than it has been, so after having been here for two weeks and having spent the two weeks prior packing up the house, it had been nearly a month since I'd really had a chance to ride outside.

We were preparing to move "home" to a new location (as we aren't able to stay in one spot for very long, thanks to summer bookings) and Sam said, "Why don't you go on a ride in the morning before we leave? I'll take the dog on a walk and it will give you a chance to ride."

I was excited. And then worried. Unlike most who seem to retain their cycling fitness, if I don't ride for any stretch of time, any ability I had seems to leave very quickly, even if I'm doing other activities. I figured even if I could only do a few miles it would be worthwhile to get out and pedal, so I planned to wake early before the sun had a chance to start the heat (we were expecting temps to reach 105F that day) and knowing that we had to leave before 11a from the site, I believed it would give me a little time to ride, get back and help with packing up and we'd be on our way.

Sleep was nearly impossible that evening because the day had been so incredibly hot and the extreme warmth was retaining well in the tiny aluminum box in which we currently live. I was also so excited to get to ride. I know it seems silly, but it felt like an event that hadn't happened in an eternity.

When I woke in the morning (not nearly as early as I'd hoped), I dressed and prepared to ride. I had no idea where I was going, nor how far I would ride, but I was going to go. I told Sam that I'd probably only make it a few miles and I was off.

As I started pedaling, I heard all of the noises - the noises I'd ignored over the last several years. You see, this bike I brought with me is the same bike that's been sitting on my home trainer, getting used primarily over winter months, and that has really been neglected when it comes to maintenance and cleaning. I'd complained about noises even as it sat on the trainer, but it's easy to ignore when my preference is to ride outside. 

The pinging metal sounds, the scraping and creaking, the weird derailleur noises, all of the sounds began and I hoped it wasn't going to take away from the ride. I saw Sam standing at the fence, watching me pedal down the road and as I pedaled the first couple of miles, I started weeping. I think it was a combination of emotions: getting to ride for the first time in awhile, not having my usual outlet to work through feelings (there's been a LOT going on over the last couple of months), and maybe even a little sense of relief that I was still able to pedal (even if I wasn't convinced it would be for long). 

There has always been a piece within that knows how important riding is to me, but I don't think I truly understood the magnitude of that importance until this ride. As the waves swept over, under and around, I just permitted myself the time to cry, and it felt good. 

Riding toward Sisters on the highway.

Still unsure of where I was going, I thought about a highway path we'd driven to see a house in Sisters, Oregon, so I headed in that direction, thinking that I would just turn around when I was tired or ready to do so because of the heat. I just kept pedaling. Not fast, mind you, but pedaling and smiling. The more upright position of this bike was a little frustrating to my posterior (which is also out of saddle shape because I haven't been riding), but it gave me great sight lines to take in my surroundings. 

The day was already growing hot. It hadn't hit 8:30a yet and the temperatures were quickly closing in on 90F. I wasn't really focused on that though. It was just nice to be on a bicycle, pedaling without a care in the world. 

One of the interesting things I've noticed here (versus where we were in Colorado) is that when one rides "up" to a destination, it doesn't mean quite the same sort of ride. Typically, when we ride up, it's up the entire way and then a fantastic downhill return, but here the terrain seems to be more rolling, even if the general direction is up. I hadn't really taken this into account as I rode because I was just enjoying, and as my body began to fatigue I couldn't quite remember if it had been 15 or 20 miles out to Sisters from the starting point. I'd convinced myself it was 15, but when I hit that marker, I still hadn't arrived, so I just kept pedaling. 

Dismounted in Sisters for a couple of minutes... this poor, neglected bike held its own. Also, I did have tools with me, they were just in my Camelbak because I'd forgotten that this bike had no saddlebag and no bottle cages for the time being.

At around mile 21, I arrived in Sisters. After dismounting, to give my backside a break for a couple of minutes, I realized that the heat was coming in faster than I'd truly grasped and decided to head back. As I rode, I began to understand my mistake in thinking that the ride would be all downhill on the return. I tried to stand and pedal a little more, but that seemed to make the bike noises even worse. Around 5 miles into the return trip, I received a text from Sam:

Hey, you doin' okay? It's gettin' hot fast.

I was a little annoyed, honestly. I just wanted to go on one lousy ride and enjoy it. He had my tracking info for the ride that is sent by Strava when I began the ride, so why was he bugging me?

The auto-generated reply options for the Garmin popped up and I hit the "Yes" response and kept on pedaling. I could feel everything setting in though - the lack of riding recently, the heat, my annoyance from the noises of the bike. My cadence was starting to slow. I had to remind my body that it knows how to do this, and that the distance really wasn't that far. 

Yes, my body said, we know how to do this, but it's been awhile, and we're not normally on this bike.

It's amazing how slowly miles pass when one is tired. When I want a ride to last, it feels as though it's over so quickly, but every mile felt like ten, easily, on this return trip - at least to my body. My mind was content to just stay out in the heat and ride as long as possible.

Over the rolling hills I pedaled, slowly inching my way back to the campground. One last push on a hill before the upcoming signal that would have me back to base in a couple of miles. As I arrived back at the site (later than either Sam or I had anticipated), he'd already packed everything, attached the camper and was ready to roll. 

"You okay?" he said, with a smile that was both concerned and happy for me that I was able to ride.

"Yeah. Realized about half way through that I never buckled my chin strap for my helmet. Saw it flapping in the wind as I was headed back," I responded.

"Where'dya go?" he asked.

I was confused. Hadn't he been watching where I'd gone?

"Your phone did that thing again and never sent the email, so I didn't know where you were," Sam said, obviously guessing that I was not understanding. 

It all became clear in that moment that he'd simply been concerned because I'd said I was only going to ride a few miles and he had no way to know where I'd actually traveled because the message never sent. 

After a brief conversation about the ride, I changed quickly and we got on our way to our next temporary site. I was entirely grateful to have had the opportunity to finally ride, tough as it may have seemed in some of the moments. The good moments far outweighed anything that seemed less-than-ideal. Hopefully, we've worked out a system so that I can ride at least once each week until we have a more permanent setting for home... and who knows? Maybe we'll end up with that dog trailer and I can get in even a bit more riding with our pup in tow.

Potato Diaries Wrap-Up

It's taken me a few days to settle back into life and its routine back home, but I wanted to post a bit of a wrap up, or some thoughts about exploring and riding in and around the Boise area. Perhaps it's unnecessary, but I had some things that kept repeating in mind throughout the trip and some that occurred to me after returning home, and so, here we are with a bit of a final post in reference to the trip to Idaho.

•  Like many cities (both large and small), the available trail systems in Nampa and Boise had both highs and lows. There were some things I preferred about riding the Idaho systems and others that I think Colorado has done a better job creating and making user-friendly. Of course, from city to city in any state, this can vary so wildly.

•  We (just generally as humans) need to chill out a bit. During my 10 days in Idaho, I heard only two car horns directed at another person - and both were toward the end of the trip. In comparison, I hear horns blaring daily here at home. Maybe some deep breathing exercises are in order for some (most?) of us.

•  The Boise River Greenbelt/MUP is pretty incredible, especially given the relatively small size of the city. I think I could've spent days exploring and riding areas just off the greenway and still not have seen everything.

•  Not only is the river trail system really great, but there are so many other areas to explore by bicycle in the hills that back the city, as well as other paths around the area. There seems to be an opportunity for both city riders and off-road riders in this area.

•  I (and apparently some others) have lazy speech habits. Most of the people I encountered or heard say the city name pronounce it BOY-see, whereas I find myself saying BOY-zee (with a soft "z" sound). Some made a particular point to emphasize the "sss" sound, so I picked up on this very quickly and will try to be better with pronunciation in the future (though I've read since being home again that this is often the way locals tell the difference between "outsiders" and those who have lived there for some time).

•  For anyone who thinks the cost of education isn't increasing, when I was ready to enroll at Boise State University several years ago, the cost for a semester of undergrad would've been $982. It was one of the reasons I was looking at going to school in Boise. For the current school year, one semester of BSU tuition is $4,107. It's been about 23-24 years since I was looking to enroll there after finishing up my general ed requirements elsewhere, but that seems like a significant jump in cost (though admittedly, still quite lower than many other universities).

•  Since I'm experiencing 90's-versus-today thoughts, the city looks nothing like I remember it from my visit years ago. I remember the locals being very excited about the mall that had just been built during my visit then and having them insist upon us visiting it. The city felt quite small to me then, but it has definitely grown and expanded. Of course, the population has increased too. Though I think it remains a very easy-to-navigate city with a relatively low population.

•  There is good and not-so-good just about everywhere. It can become easy to romanticize a particular city, but I think many places are trying to balance out positives and negatives; and, what is a positive to one person may be the exact opposite to another.

•  When I visit other cities, I find myself wondering what it would be like to live there, so I tend to seek out the areas where I'd want to be if I did live in that particular city. I could see myself living in Boise, I think, but I suppose that is true of many other cities too. I personally liked the size of Boise - neither too large nor too small. It doesn't hurt that I'd have relatives living nearby either.

•  When I returned home to Colorado, the first thing I thought was, "Man, everything is so green here! Did that happen in the brief time I was gone?" There was a lot more dry/dead scenery during my Idaho visit than I expected, and I think it warped my senses just a bit to the point that anything green really stood out. Anything close to the river was green, but outside of the city, unless the area was being purposefully watered, there wasn't much green to see.

•  I am incredibly spoiled to have pretty decent roads to ride in Colorado, especially many with, at minimum, wider shoulders, if not bike lanes to utilize. I definitely take them for granted, and while there is still much room for improvement here, I am reminding myself now to be more grateful for my surroundings and the paths and roads I have to ride.

•  If you get a chance to ride in Boise, I'd recommend riding on Harrison Blvd (it's a tree-lined street with turn-of-the-century houses that stretches about 1/2 a mile long), Bogus Basin Rd (Harrison Blvd turns in to Bogus Basin on the north side of town. There is a bike lane for the first couple of miles, but then it gets a little tricky riding with the cars, but the views looking back down into Boise -- even if you only ride up a mile or so - are spectacular), and definitely take the time to check out the River Greenbelt.

Overall, I had a fantastic trip that afforded me an opportunity to explore the area with few interruptions, and both on foot and two-wheels. I'm sure I will be heading back at some point, and I look forward to discovering new treasures then. Until that time, I'm thankful for what is available to me locally and look forward to riding through some lovely (albeit warm) days here in Colorado.

Potato Diaries, Day Three: On a Mission to Rivendell

As I wrap up day three of wandering in Idaho (if you have interest, day 1's entry is here and day 2's post is here), I'm starting to feel a little more relaxed. Things that were unnerving initially (such as the lack of space to ride next to cars), are less so now. Which isn't to say that the roadways aren't severely lacking, but I think - as with most things in life - we adapt to our surroundings and figure out ways to make it work.

We've done a great deal of walking since arriving (we being myself and the three dogs), and it's taken a toll on my hips, so I knew that today would need to be more activity on wheels than on foot. The dogs were grateful for a break too, though we did take a short walk this morning, just so they didn't feel completely neglected.

As mentioned yesterday, I picked up a map of the Nampa trail/path system and decided that today would be a good day to try to piece together what I could to get to a destination on the other side of the city. The pathway, that I mentioned in an earlier post, runs through my folks neighborhood and has a forking off point about a mile up the path. As it turns out, this direction is well suited to actually connecting to places people want to go.

The bike map leaves something to be desired though. Perhaps my expectations are a little off, but I find that when using a bike map, I want it to be easy to read quickly so that I don't have to spend much time staring at it while riding (or stopped on the side of a road/path somewhere). There seems to be a lot of future MUP information on the map, which at quick glances can be confusing. Though the legend does indicate the differences between currently available paths and planned paths, it's something that takes some time to decipher.

Personally, I think future plans should be left off of maps like these as it can be confusing to users. Perhaps a website notation for people to be able to see where the paths will go in the future would be better, but placing them on the map just causes users to think the path is already there -- especially when, like me, one doesn't bother to look at the legend for differences in path lines.

Anyway, I had a specific destination in mind when leaving on bike this morning. I had noticed a road that was called "Rivendell Court" on an online map and the wheels in my tiny brain started to turn. I couldn't help but find it interesting that I happen to be riding my Rivendell bicycle on this trip, so wouldn't it be fun to get a picture of the Rivendell bicycle on Rivendell Ct? It's the little things that both motivate and amuse me, I suppose.

Since the road is on the opposite side of the city, it seemed a good opportunity to attempt to piece together information from the bike map with roads that would get me to Rivendell.

There is green to be found, despite what I'd initially thought. There are still a lot of dry, tan colors to be seen too, but it seems the green and brown seem to stick to their individual areas.

The pathway is actually quite pleasant, on the whole. It winds around both farm areas and more planned (both newer and older) housing. It's interesting that this city can feel both rural and urban in a span of just a couple of miles, sometimes with the two literally abutting each other. For example, my parents purchased their home in a newer subdivision (less than 10 years old), but as I sit typing, I can see a huge farm and hear donkeys braying and cows mooing right across the street.

There were a ton of cats crawling all around this barn. I'm not sure if they call it home or if they were looking for food in the form of rodents and other critters.

The MUP, at least in sections, is in great shape but is also in need of some massive repairs in others. Like the roadways, it seems to be kind of hit or miss in regard to whether the path section is well maintained or not.

I had kind of an "aha!" moment today when a section of the trail dumped me out about a block from the nearest grocery store. It's great to explore a city by bicycle because I think things like this come together quicker in my mind and connecting roadways seems to become more obvious when riding. I have a pretty decent natural sense of direction, but not knowing a city's particulars, it can still be confusing in the early stages of getting to know it.

It got up to 92F degrees today, so the trees were especially welcomed!

There were breaks in the path that were a little confusing, but nothing that couldn't be figured out fairly easily - at least to the extent that I rode the path today.  When I arrived at a familiar road, I decided it was time to take city streets from that point and try to maneuver my way to Rivendell.

This is the widest shoulder I've come across thus far. The fact that there's any kind of shoulder is a novelty, but to have so much room was exquisite (plus, there was hardly any traffic)! I elected to ride on the cement portion though to give my hands a break from the chipseal for a short amount of time.

As mentioned prior, there are a ton of chipsealed roads here. This surface definitely doesn't do my already troubled hands any favors, and much of the time it feels like riding on miniature cobblestones. I can still feel my teeth chattering now hours after the ride. I was pleasantly surprised though to actually find a road that (although still chipseal) had a wide shoulder to ride in for some distance.

A couple of miles up this road, I happened upon a loose Golden Doodle. He was a massive dog that was galloping across the street. Back and forth he ran, as if he was chasing an invisible friend. As I got closer, there didn't seem to be anyone around who was responsible for this curly haired woofer, but there were several cars speeding up and down the street. Having concern for his safety, I turned around and tried to settle him on one side of the road.

Just as I was stopping, a vehicle pulled up beside and asked if the dog was okay. The people in the car said they would call the number on his tag as I had just spotted a very small, perhaps no more than 6-8 pound, dog on the opposite side of the street. The Doodle's "invisible" friend, I was guessing at this point.

"I assume they belong to the same person," I stated, half as a question, and went to corral the little dog.

When the owner arrived, he didn't seem at all concerned that his two dogs were out roaming the streets alone. I'm never quite sure what to make of these situations. If it was my dog out roaming, I'd hope that someone would call so that I could pick them up, but I think I'd have a bit more concern than this owner did. Oh well. At least they were back where they belong.

I continued on my mission, pedaling up some somewhat steep hills (though nothing in comparison to home in Colorado) and eventually arrived to Rivendell.

"It's real!" I exclaimed aloud, half surprised that Google maps wasn't trying to send me off on a wild goose chase.

It really does exist!!!

I pulled out the phone and snapped a photo of the Rivendell Sam Hillborne on Rivendell Court. The day's work was complete. The ride home was pleasant, though I will say the wind is nearly as bad here as it is at home, so the push against it was a bit of a struggle. Still the time in the saddle was enjoyable and I was happy to have made the short journey to find Rivendell. I had initially planned a longer route, but due to the hip situation and my forgetting to pack some food, the ride was cut shorter than planned.

When I arrived back at the house, I noticed something in the distance of the Rivendell photo that I hadn't seen while standing at the actual location. When viewing the left side of the photo, about half way up, just above the power lines, it looked to me as though there was a giant potato flying through the air.

I don't have my usual software to use here in Idaho, but I'm convinced this is a P-UFO or Potato UFO.

Okay, I know, I've got potatoes on the mind at the moment (speaking of, I haven't eaten a single potato since I've been here... I'll have to get to that soon!), but when I tried to crop it a bit and look at it closer, it does almost look like a potato UFO - but then again, my imagination tends to run away with me more often than not.

Tomorrow, the plan is to head into Boise to check some things out, assuming that my hips are doing better than they are today. I think it'll be fun to see the city again too. I spent a few days in Boise about 23 years ago -- the city is nothing like I remember it from that time. Sam and I also visited very briefly on our family trip here in April, but we didn't have bikes and didn't get to spend more than a few hours looking around, so I'm excited to have a little more time to investigate areas we didn't get to see.


**Day 4 can be found here.

Slow Ride Rejuvenation

Admittedly, this year I'm off to a rough start with cycling. I have had a few injuries slowing me down and, quite honestly, I just haven't felt the excitement that I have in previous years to be out on a bike. I wish that I could pinpoint something and say, "Ah, yes, that is the reason I don't feel as great this year," but I don't think there is one moment, happening, or injury that can take full responsibility. Instead, it seems that there are many pieces to the puzzle and the conglomeration has made the whole much worse than I'd prefer. Generally, by June I am well in the swing of things. Shorter rides have turned into much longer ones and I am plotting out some challenge for mid-summer. This year, that does not seem to be the case. I ride, but they are painful rides. I try to push myself, but it becomes punishment and proves to be demotivating, rather than the typical outcome of feeling accomplished and wanting to try again for something greater.

One small piece of this mindset seems to be that I find it more challenging to allow myself to ride for pleasure in the heart (& heat) of summer. I'll ride to the market or to workout at the gym or kickboxing, but they are short rides with a purpose. Allowing myself to simply take a pleasure stroll (or roll, I should say) has become non-existent. The last couple of weeks have had me thinking about this quite a bit. I don't completely understand when or why the mental shift occurred, but it was never my intention to give up the piece of riding a bike that was always most important to me, and I decided I needed to take a ride and just enjoy it at slower speeds.Thoughts are always running through my head, but I find the slower rides to be more conducive to getting lost in an idea. With the Hillborne loaded up with camera/lenses and just about anything I could possibly need, I set out on what I planned to be about an hour of figuring out why I don't allow myself to just enjoy a ride once in awhile.

There were many cyclists out on the road, and I immediately felt uncomfortable. It was something about seeing every person on a bike passing in spandex/lycra and riding their lightweight bikes that put me ill-at-ease. While most didn't seem to give me a second (or first) thought, I couldn't help but feel out of place. I had to ask myself when it was that I suddenly became averse to riding a more comfortable bike at slower speeds? My immediate reaction was to want to speed up to race with others, but I knew that was not the purpose for this particular outing and reminded myself to just slow down and enjoy it (and beyond that, my bike is far too heavy to actually race it). It didn't take long for me to start wondering if the lycra-clad folks allowed themselves this luxury once in awhile?

As I wandered out to the back roads, I took the time to just observe. There was plenty to see as most of my rides have been wholly focused on gaining strength and endurance. One thing that immediately stood out to me was the extreme number of dead animals on the roads. I always notice them, but there seemed to be a large quantity on this particular day. Rabbits, squirrels, skunks, prairie dogs, frogs, mice, birds and more all strewn in my path at various points along the way and in varying states of decomposition. As I've noted prior, I have a hard time at the sight of dead animals, so I wasn't particularly thrilled about this "find." However, I actually stopped to take photos of many of them. It was gut-wrenching, but my curiosity took over and for whatever reason I thought it was important to stop and document them in some manner (**Warning for the sensitive/squeamish to skip the next photo).

If nothing else, it was a good reminder that life is fleeting for all of us. We can be here one moment and gone the next, so it was an excellent means of pointing out that I must enjoy the moments I do have.

Not everything was quite so bleak, however.There was plenty of life to be seen, including lots of live animals busy about the days' work,

green grass, and pretty summertime flowers in bloom.

It was a hazy day and certainly not the clearest of skies, but just being able to take in all that is around me was pleasant.

Pretty soon, I no longer found myself concerned about my slow speeds and I was actually just enjoying the ride and documenting the things and people around me.

I was able to chat with others (albeit briefly as most were traveling at much higher speeds) and remember why a bicycle can be such a pleasure to ride. By the end of my time out, I had spent several hours on the roads (and the sun had done an excellent job of lobster-fying me), but I had thoroughly enjoyed it. I also had the reminder I very much needed that riding a bike doesn't have to be painful. It's great to use a bike as a training tool or for more intense exercise, but it's also a wonderful means of just observing and getting around.

Whether you need to stop and remember a love for slow-rides like me, or you want to challenge yourself with a race or pushing up a seemingly unattainable hill, I hope you'll take this holiday weekend to enjoy being out on your two-wheeled friend. Whatever you choose to do, I wish you a very happy Independence Day for those here in the U.S., and a beautiful weekend to all others. Happy riding!

Living in the Present (in thanks of a bicycle)

Most of my life, I have struggled with being in the moment - with living in the now. Whether this was a learned behavior or something I was born with, I'm not entirely sure, but some of my earliest recollections are in regard to thoughts about the future. As a child, I frequently found myself daydreaming about what my life would be like at 16 (I would finally be able to drive - wahoo!), 18 (I would be an "adult" and could "do whatever I wanted"), 25 (I would be through school and have a fabulous career that I loved), 30s (I would be old, "like my parents" and probably have a spouse and kids), and even my 80s (when I would be sitting in a rocking chair, knitting for my grandchildren). I should note that almost none of those thoughts were a reality when the time came (Well, I can't speak for my 80's just yet, but I suspect very little is as we dream it as children).

I have a theory that part of my reasons for wanting the future to hurry up and happen was that the present wasn't as great as I would have liked it to be. Perhaps daydreaming about an idealistic future is what kept me somewhat sane as a child and teenager? I have no doubt I could be analyzed for years by professionals who would have various thoughts on the matter, but what I have learned about myself is that as an individual who grew up living in the future, shifting to a life in the present moment is a mightier task than it might seem on the surface. It's not that I have a terrible or torturous present life, nor that I don't enjoy the people, places and things that surround me, but to this day I find myself living for some future, pick-of-the-day moment.

It never ceases to amaze me, however, that riding a bicycle can somehow turn an individual who almost exclusively lives in the future into one who can actually focus on the very moment I'm in. Something about the effort, time, distance, or sometimes strain keeps my mind from wandering into the future, and actually holds me in the present. There are times when I wonder why I want to continue to pursue longer distances on my bike, and I find myself questioning if it has something to do with being able to just enjoy (or loathe, struggle through, etc) the moments while riding. When I set out on a ride, I have no plans to take me in a particular direction. I don't know what challenges await me until they are just there in front of me and I have to tackle and deal with them head on, in that moment. I have choices to make. I can climb the hill or not. I can take a different path or not. I can stop completely and rest on the side of the road or not.  It's a lot more difficult to plan what I intend to do when I have no idea what is in store for a particular ride.

Through the distances on my bike, I learn that I am able to live in the immediate moment and am capable of making perfectly sound, reasonable, normal decisions. I don't start thinking about a ride next Tuesday when I'm riding now, and I certainly don't ponder an upcoming hill that's 10 miles away because I don't know what is coming until it's within sight. I also don't arrive at a climb and say, "Gee, I should turn around so I don't have to ascend this hill at all." Sure, I may think it sometimes when I'm having a rough day, but I power through it nonetheless. After all, how else would I complete the ride?

Although I hadn't really considered it until recently, I am certain that transformation takes place in those brief instances. Those moments of pain, fear, self-doubt and eventual victory that take place as I struggle (at times) to make it; the last few pedal strokes as I reach the top of something I never thought I could or would attempt; the instant I decide that I am strong and able to do anything I chose to do; those nanoseconds when I, without contemplation, commit fully to moving forward, onward, upward... these are the moments that are changing me, perhaps even helping me shift (pun intended) into the person I always wanted to be.

I am so grateful for these experiences on a bike - and even more so for the extra challenging and grueling ones - because they are showing me exactly what I am made of and that I am able to live, breathe, and thrive with life in the present moment... even when those moments seem insurmountable.

Why riding in snow may not have been my brightest cycling moment

As some may recall, I recently wrote (proudly, I might add) about my experience of riding while it was snowing. It was a first for me to ride with snow actually falling and although I had read many, many times about those with much worse snow than we get that it's best to avoid bikes with a derailleur during such weather (and should opt instead for an internally geared bike or a single speed), I was determined to carry on. Pshaw!  I follow no rules. I have plenty of bikes, and yes, they all have a derailleur; but logic (and others' experience) be damned, I was going to attempt a ride in the glistening, albeit extremely freezing and wet snow.

This was the photo used in the prior post - as I was so excited to "show off" all the snow 

If you happened to take a glance at my snow-ridden derailleur photo (which was taken only a brief time into the ride), and you happen to be someone who has attempted this sort of thing on your own (or, you - unlike myself - are smart enough to learn from others' mistakes), you may wisely be shaking your head at my foolishness right about now.

It's just frozen water, right? How bad can it be. Very soon after this ride, I was leaving town for several days. I casually mentioned to Sam that it might be nice to take a look at the Hillborne to see if it needed to be wiped off - though I stated it was nothing urgent, and I could always take a look when I returned home. When I did return, we were involved with other craziness and I forgot all about looking in on my bike, so a couple of weeks after the ride, I finally got around to pulling it out to see if I should clean him off a bit (Mental note: this is what happens when one has more than one bike).

Did I mention that my bike is steel? As in, that stuff that rusts quite easily when exposed to water. As in, those bikes from our youth - you know, that same material they were all made of - and that we see, often rusted through, because they were left out in the elements. Yeah, that steel.

Um, well, I probably should've taken photos. They would speak far better than mere words can do, but I will say that many of the metal pieces (the chain ring, pedals, crank, etc) weren't looking so great. It appeared to be rusting (orange-y kind of color on these parts) and there was an extreme amount of gray-ish/black gook covering the rims and tires. I got out the hose and a sponge, as well as some soap and went to work, attempting to remedy my "great idea."

The good news is, I was able to get most of the bike cleaned up without too much trouble. The tires are somewhat cleaner (though being a light color, I doubt they will ever completely be rid of the gray-like substance from the de-icer on the roads), and the rims look decent again, but I am definitely concerned about the future of the chain ring and some of the other pieces on the bike. It's not as though it sat in grime for months or years, but I think there is a lesson to be learned in there somewhere.

For starters, I understand why people opt for their "lesser" bike in this sort of weather. Who wants to worry that their favorite bicycle may become rusty from riding in the snow? The internal hub makes complete sense in this sort of situation as well. The derailleur ices up so quickly and it becomes incredibly difficult to change gears. If, like me, you live in an area with some hills, you may not want to be mashing up the hills when it's icy on the ground. Additionally, if the snow had been falling at any faster rate, I'm not sure the brakes would have even worked properly (I had one close call, but fortunately, I wasn't riding very fast). A single speed (or internally geared hub) with a roller brake might very well be the easiest thing to use in snowy weather. Perhaps - just a small perhaps - I should be more willing to learn from others, rather than venturing out and thinking that their opinions or experiences aren't applicable to me.

Don't get me wrong, the derailleur system worked just fine, and I would ride this away again (though I would clean the bike up much, much sooner), but I think there are better, more appropriate ways of riding while it's snowing. The derailleur system does fine when the roads are pretty clear and the snow is just on the ground, but when the snow is actually falling, there may be more effective ways to ride a bike.

If Loving You is Wrong, I Don't Want to be Right

{In my continuing theme of putting songs into everyone's heads}

I have recently found myself struggling with my love of the Hillborne - well, not my love of the bike itself, but the fact that I will choose him almost always over others. I have started to wonder 1) if I should have multiple bikes if I'm going to opt for him on most rides, and 2) if I have created this situation because I choose him most often when going for a ride (long or short).

About two weeks ago, I took the Surly out from the moth balls forming around him after storing him through the winter. Our first ride out together was only a few miles, but I just couldn't find comfort. I struggled through the initial ride, but couldn't grasp why I was so ill-at-ease while riding the Pacer when I had enjoyed him so much just a few months ago. What's changed? The conclusion I could come up with (as mentioned above) was that I have simply grown used to the set up on the Hillborne. I wish it were that simple for me to justify to myself, but it bothers me to some extent that I am so particular about bikes, and that I've had such a level of comfort change in a relatively short amount of time.

A few months ago, we removed the fenders, rear rack and large saddle bag from the Hillborne which lightened the load more than 10 lbs. I am aware that the majority of that weight came in the form of all of the random things I put in the larger-than-necessary saddle bag on the rear of the bike, but I was amazed at how much lighter it felt. After these changes, the weight difference between the Hillborne and the Pacer was negligible, and I found myself able to keep the same speeds on either bike. Sam and I began discussing the possibility of selling off the Pacer because I really don't want to have bikes that I'm not using.

The middle ground that we have reached is that Sam has decided to pick and choose parts to exchange on his Bianchi that were more worn out, and we are talking with a friend who is looking to build up a road bike... and so, it appears as though the Pacer may be on his way out of the house, at least in part. When I end up selling off a bike I haven't had for very long, I cannot help but feel a little sad, and a bit guilty - but of course, I don't feel great about housing bikes that aren't used either, so it always poses a dilemma for me. Do I keep it and hope that I'll find a renewed interest/comfort/etc, or do I simply set it free? I will say that having the Pacer helped me realize what I needed/wanted in a bicycle. It has helped me hone in on what makes riding enjoyable for me, and also helped me see that an increase in choices doesn't necessarily make riding better, more exciting, or speedier (necessarily). Will the Hillborne be the only bike? Unlikely. But, it is great to know that the right fit can be found, even for a persnickety individual like myself.

Have you found yourself confused about changing opinions about a particular bike you've owned (either for the good or bad)? Did/do you typically try to make changes to a bike you own, or look for a better fit on a different bike when things don't seem to be working out?

Sometimes You Feel Like a Flower, Sometimes Like a Weed

I woke up this morning with a sore throat and feeling as though someone drugged me before I dozed off last night. "Great," I thought, "I'm getting sick." I got up and surveyed the room. Despite it's completely disheveled state, the bed was definitely calling me back to it.

Man, I'm a messy sleeper... 

But, there was a day awaiting and much to be done. As I came to the front of the house, the dogs were anxiously awaiting the start of the days' routine. They expect to go to the park first thing in the morning to get a bit of a run in, but I just wasn't feeling it this morning at all.

While it's difficult for me to tell them we aren't going, I have a lot of work to be doing, and despite the fact that class was called off for the day due to the instructors need to leave town, I have things due tomorrow, such as this handwritten mess below for a "Medieval Manuscripts" class I'm taking. There's nothing particularly medieval about the assignment (other than perhaps torturing me needlessly), as I'm just supposed to copy by hand anything of my choosing.

The handwritten manuscript is started, but I have a long way to go to finish it.

The hand writing part of the assignment is fine, but it's time consuming because we have to utilize the same "prick and rule" process they did back in the day. I can't help but think that if we are supposed to be getting a complete feel for the process, shouldn't we have to use a quill and ink? And while we're at it, maybe we should raise some cattle, feed them, skin them, and dry their hides to make the paper? Okay, perhaps I'm just a bit grouchy about having to do such a tedious assignment, but I saw this sitting to the side and told the dogs they may not get their run this morning. Then, I saw my bike sitting in the dinning room (don't ask why it's in the dining room), and thought maybe my grouchy self needed a ride this morning.

I told myself that I have too much to get done today, but then I thought that maybe I'd accomplish more if I just cleared my head, so, off I went. The first thing I noticed is that I was feeling quite emotional this morning. The weather reminded me of the first day of school growing up on the central coast of California. It was always a bit chilly and humid, and the sky was almost always covered with clouds.

I tend to be more of a future-oriented person than one who lives in the past, but every once in awhile thoughts sneak in, particularly around holidays or annual celebrations. As I headed west on the Hillborne I started to tear up. I'm not sure I could say exactly why, but I suppose there was a kind of flood of memories and emotions that overtook me simultaneously. I didn't mind though - there was no one around, and I didn't have to be in a hurry to get anywhere. I kind of lost myself in thought and just let whatever emotions were going to come out rise to the surface. I pedaled harder, and then I'd slow down. The pace was all over the place, but I felt as though I was working through something. When I felt as though I needed to turn around and head back (after all, I do have things to accomplish today), I did just that. No sooner had I turned around when I felt a smile come across my face. Again, I have no idea why, but I felt happy just to be in the moment.

I couldn't help but look at this scene above and feel a connection. I thought to myself, "sometimes you're the flower; sometimes, the weed." I think it's true for almost all of us that we have days when we feel like the weeds - a tangled mess, sucking the life out of the vegetation trying to co-exist along side.

Then there are the times that perhaps we feel more like the flower - standing out from the crowd, looking and feeling strong. Neither is necessarily good or bad, and really both are helping to sustain life, but it's amazing how things can get so muddled at times.

This spider decided to make its web inside the flower, which, in itself is just a part of life. The flower doesn't seem to mind, and the spider has a place to catch a meal.

So, as I rode back home I decided that I am perfectly okay feeling like the flower or the weed, because it's all just part of the journey. If I have a day that seems like a tangled mess of things, I know that the next I may be feeling strong and able to help out someone else. Whether I'm feeling like the weed, the flower, or even the spider setting up shop, I am going to enjoy the moments and know that it's all just a part of the process.

Now where are those dogs of mine? Time to let them play.

Last Day of Freedom

It sounds so ominous and final, but my "last day of freedom" simply means that school resumes again for me tomorrow. My days will be long (10-14 hours of class time), and I am aware that it will no doubt have an affect on how much I will be able to spend writing, taking photos, and the like here. On the up side of things, it may be my next to last semester of classes, which is quite exciting. I am also well aware that I already have a case of "senior-itis" forming. I don't want summer to come to an end, I have no desire to buckle down and focus on things that need my attention - particularly when we're still having 85-95 F degree days, and I have found myself already starting a mental countdown calendar to the end.

*Image source can be found here

Today, I have a list of chores to complete. Everything from getting cash at the bank to pay for parking this week (I can't ride, unfortunately, because it would take me 3.5 hours each way to bike there, plus I'd have no way to carry my quite large canvas supports, paints, etc), to getting all the laundry done, to making sure there are healthy, non-refrigerated foods I can take with me, since I'll have only 15 minute breaks in between classes and no place to store perishable foods.

I also have on my list to "take one last long bike ride." It seems silly, but I know that I won't be able to spend 2-3 hours just going on a long ride likely for several months. So, as I feel summer closing up on me, it seems appropriate to make a ride part of the to-do list. I will, of course, still go on rides, but the freedom to up and go at any point in the day has very nearly come to an end. Bike rides will be shorter and more purpose-filled, certainly. Though returning to a schedule has its down side(s), I am looking forward to resuming a more structured art routine (as I've definitely let that slip over these past few months), and getting back to creating something, or at least working on a project daily will no doubt be beneficial. I'm also intrigued to see where this last 8 months of classes will take me. I suppose that this is truly the beauty of the future - we just can't know today where the path is taking us. Wishing you a path always filled with goodness, and of course, fun bike rides.

One Reason I Ride

Life never ceases to amaze me. As a child and teenager, I used to daydream about my future life and career - what it would entail, what I'd be doing, and so on. When I was 8 years old, I vividly remember trying to imagine what it would be like to be 23 years old. My assumption at that young age was that I would be done with college, teaching somewhere, be married, and have a child by that point in life. Twenty-three seemed ancient to me. I couldn't really tell anyone why 23 was such a magical age in my head at that point, but looking at it now from well beyond that point, I wish I could go back and tell that 8 year old self to just go play and not worry about what the future holds.

Having passed that magical age many years ago now, I still haven't learned my lesson about trying to live in the future. I find myself {more often than I care to admit} thinking about what is coming over the horizon, or activities that are weeks, months, or even years away. I try to plan them out, or long for them just to "get here already." It's not that I'm so much a planner, but I like to weigh out all the possibilities if I were to take a different fork in the road. I enjoy being able to change my mind, so there's almost a sense of anxiety when I have to make a decision because the event is so close at hand.

One of the benefits I've found with riding a bicycle is that it's one of the few times I'm able to simply live in the moment. As I'm huffing up a hill or staring out at the country side, I can appreciate what is around me in that space and time. I don't think about work that needs to be done, chores that should have been completed long ago, or any other future activities or events that are coming up. In short, I feel happy and at one with my surroundings. Just one of the many reasons I love to ride.

How about you? What do you love about riding your bicycle?

To Ride or Not to Ride? That is the Question

'Tis almost time again to participate in the annual Venus de Miles ride which starts out locally in Prospect and continues on either a 33, 51, 67 or 100 mile ride through the hills or mountain area (depending on the ride one chooses). For anyone unfamiliar, it is an all-women ride that raises money for Greenhouse Scholars, and while I do think it's a worthy cause, I keep putting off registration for one reason or another.  Lack of money, faltering in regard to whether or not I actually want to do the ride again, knowing that classes will have just started up when the ride takes place and wondering whether or not I want to have another reason to be stressed out are just a few of the excuses I keep using to put registration off.

**Image from GreenhouseScholars.org

In addition to the more self-induced (or manufactured), not really legitimate reasons indicated above, I'm struggling with my ability to ride the Hillborne. After more than a year of having and utilizing him, I seem to still struggle with any length of ride on him. I used to just think it was just longer distance, but I've had several instances of aching hand/wrist/lower arm muscles even on short rides. When Sam and I returned from a round trip, 3-mile ride to the market the other day, my hands were completely numb, and later in the day started aching even more. On such a very short ride, there shouldn't be this sort of pain. As an added "bonus", after I ride I seem to struggle with walking due to hip pain (This is a new one for me - and I'm certainly not old enough to be falling apart yet, am I? Wait. Don't answer that.).

I get myself quite worked up about the whole deal because while I know I can physically complete the distance, I don't want to struggle with deep muscle pain the entire length of the ride, and then for hours afterward either. I know that my hand and wrist issues are something unrelated to the bicycle and that I'll have to deal with those regardless, but I never have pain when I ride my upright/city bicycles, so we're looking for a solution to make this ride just as comfortable. While I did ride the Hillborne during last years' Venus de Miles, I don't want to experience the same issues that took place during that ride and that continue today as well.

The start of the Venus de Miles ride 2010

In the mean time, I have a decision to make about the Venus ride. Do I sign up and just not ride if a solution isn't reached in the next 5 weeks or so? I have a friend who is supposed to also ride, but I don't want to disappoint her and not show up at the last minute. Do I attempt to ride the Public Bike on the longer ride (Boy, I got looks riding a steel frame, touring bike last year, can you imagine the commentary I'd receive going on a loop frame, upright, steel bike - Though I must admit, part of me would enjoy proving that I could do the ride even on that bike)?  Do I just decide that the ride isn't going to be a possibility this year, and wait until the Hillborne issues are resolved to try again in 2012?

While I could wait to register for the ride until the last minute, the fees go up incrementally the longer one waits. In addition, I'd like to have time to participate in the fundraiser if I'm going to ride (since the whole point is to get money for Greenhouse Scholars). I don't have a definite answer yet, but I'm certainly open to input from anyone with reasonable suggestions.  Basically, what would you do?

Summer Rides Sometimes Have Pitfalls

This morning after taking the dogs to swim at the reservoir, they were exhausted and ready to sleep in the house, so I decided it was a perfect opportunity to take Tony Stark out for a little ride. It's been a few weeks since I've been on him due to vacation and other happenings. Since we're very close to triple degree temps here today, I tried to plan out a route that would allow me some shade from trees. The best route I could think of was to take the St. Vrain Greenway, which winds through the city and has the river running along side it. Plus, once you get riding, it never feels quite as warm as it actually is in reality.

My plan was to ride at least 20 miles just to get some time in that wasn't a quick jaunt within a few miles of home. To get to the greenway is just about a mile or so from the house, so being in direct sun was just a short portion of the ride.  When I got to the trail's edge, I jumped on and started riding. It felt great to just be out, despite the hot sun beating on me.  Who wouldn't appreciate it when you have views like this?

Tony and I were pedaling right along, when we came upon this:

A road block (or rather, a trail block, I suppose). I was totally bummed. Here I was, ready to set out on my adventure and just a few miles in, we were at a dead end. For those without super vision, here's what the sign says:

Since our temperatures have reached some serious highs, all the snow in the mountains has begun mass melting and is filling up the rivers. While this is certainly a good thing to have water flowing, it makes early summer trail rides a bit of a challenge when it over takes the sidewalk. I considered just going around the side of the gate (since one can quite easily get around it on foot), but I thought better of it. Plus, Tony looked so sad when I left him sitting on the other side.

In reality, the water is a bit deeper than it appears. While we could have waded through it, the line is probably about 8-12 inches at its deepest point.

Tony and I turned around and headed back in the direction we'd come from, and used the east bound portion of the trail instead. Unfortunately, this portion of the trail doesn't have much shade and we didn't last too long, which caused the intended 20 mile ride to turn into an approximate 12 mile ride.

Regardless, it was nice to be outside, as always, and a shorter-than-intended ride is always better than no ride at all!

Saturday, Fun Day

Today, Sam and I decided to take the bikes into town to do errands and to have breakfast. It was a beautiful day full of mid-70s sunshine and a light breeze. Our first stop was the post office to drop off a package for mom and the mortgage payment (that for some reason we can't seem to pay online) and a few other bills. We'd gotten off to a late start for the morning, but we decided to ride over to the Egg and I for some brunch.

As the sign on the door states, it's a locally owned/operated breakfast and lunch establishment, which is quite tasty. Even though it was closing in on 11 am, I was still in the mood for breakfast, so while Sam played with his phone and looked quickly over the menu,

I went ahead and ordered one of my favorites here: the Texas skillet (minus eggs/meat). It came out looking a little overly cheesy (if there is such a thing), but it was tasty, and we were both so hungry, they probably could've put anything in front of us at that point in the morning.

It's basically mushroom, green pepper, onion, and of course cheese and potatoes with an english muffin. Probably enough fat for the entire week on this plate, but I definitely enjoyed it. I also enjoyed the festive little decorations on the table... much fun for Halloween and autumn time.

After pretty well cleaning our plates, we went to get the bicycles, which were waiting patiently at the bike rack outside the restaurant.

We rode over to Hobby Lobby because I was considering getting a second large easel for my paintings, as I always seem to be working on multiple projects at the same time, and it's nice when they're wet to have a place to put them. We also wanted to look for some fabric for the kitchen table chairs, as they are in need of a makeover. After leaving and deciding to think things over, we opted for the St. Vrain Greenway route home, instead of riding the highway... much more pleasant. While it wasn't quite as pretty as the trees in town, it was much nicer than having to hear the roar of engines racing down the highway.

Overall, it was a beautiful autumn day, full of fun bicycle riding, being together, and accomplishing some research for items that need to be taken care of at home.