Bend!

We are unofficially living in Bend, Oregon. I still cannot believe the whirlwind that has taken place over the last several weeks. It feels as though life has completely changed (because it has), but I don't think my brain and body have quite caught up with everything. 

Our stuff... getting ready for storage until we find home again.

For a quick catch up, Sam accepted a job offer in Bend and we put our house in Colorado up for sale. The house was under contract in two days and closed in early June. The new owners were kind enough to allow us a little extra time to pack our stuff into shipping containers after closing and even after getting rid of what seemed like half of our belongings, we still didn't have enough storage so we ended up having to give up a lot of furniture the day we were leaving. It was upsetting in the moment, but I know that nothing was of any real value, so I have recovered and am looking forward to finding different stuff as we move forward. 

The real trouble has been that there is nothing to rent in the Bend area. Apparently (as we've been told), rentals in Oregon in general are an issue and there is an extreme shortage. We have been living in our 1960 camper (sans bathroom or sink, which is interesting, to say the least), searching for a home and in the interim trying to find anything to rent. Finding a place to put the camper is its own challenge as well because summer seems to be a time when every campsite within a 50-mile radius is full. Which means that we have to move every couple of weeks -- but we're figuring it out as we go. 

Because I cannot leave B-dog in the camper alone (both due to campsite rules and because it's been brutally hot and I wouldn't do that to her), I haven't been able to ride since arriving here a little over a week ago (and hadn't ridden much before we left either due to packing), but B-dog and I have been busy exploring different areas on foot. I pondered picking up a rather cool-looking dog trailer so that we could adventure together on the one bike I have with me, but after reading reviews, I became concerned that it wouldn't be suitable for her, and not having normal tools at our disposal, I think we'll have to continue on foot for the time being.

In 1989, my family came to this area to visit, thinking that we'd move here as my parents pondered future retirement; and in 1995, a friend and I drove to Bend to visit his grandparents who lived here and to allow us to get in some whitewater rafting, so I was somewhat aware of the area, but wasn't sure if my memory would match reality. After wandering for a bit, I'd say the answer is "somewhat." I remembered a lot of trees... and there are definitely a lot of trees, but I couldn't remember much else, other than the river. 

The Deschutes River from Drake Park

The things that surprised me? The clouds seem really close to earth. It was the first thing I noticed driving in to Oregon, actually. They seem as though I could get out a ladder and touch them -- that close. I had also forgotten how much desert-like landscape is around. As green as Bend itself is, desert foliage (if I can call it that) is also plentiful and the landscape seems to change very quickly from one spot to the next. Lava rock abounds (I keep thinking I should send some to a jeweler friend who looks for different sorts of materials to make items) and I've tripped no less than half a dozen times on it because I wasn't paying attention on trails. It seems like it has its own special mix of California and Colorado in the greenery, honestly, which probably makes sense given the weather fluctuations and elevation.

The people here also seem incredibly friendly. As I was passing by an intersection I was witness to an incident between a cyclist and a driver and it was entirely cordial (which kind of freaked me out, I will admit, as this is not my typical experience with drivers at all when I'm on a bike); but even beyond that interaction, people are generally friendly, wish a good day to passers-by, and on the whole, it has been pleasant thus far to not feel as though we've landed in a place with people who are rude or unfriendly. Those do exist here, but they seem to be more the minority.

Pilot Butte view from the top, looking west

Yesterday, B-dog and I decided to climb a "mound" that we kept seeing in town. It's called Pilot Butte and is actually a lava dome formed by an extinct volcano. I had seen people running and walking up and down it but when I went to find an entrance, it had a locked gate and said it was closed. Still, I kept seeing people so I knew there had to be a way up, which we eventually found. The views on the way up are quite spectacular, and honestly, none of the photos I took do any of it justice. The Cascades to the west and even the view to the east, north and south are a sight to behold. 

We've explored the Deschutes River thoroughly from various spots as well and have learned (particularly on these very hot days experienced recently) that everyone seems to spend the day in the water on a raft, tube, paddle board, or canoe, so my dreams of paddle boarding with the pup may come true. Yay! I keep reminding myself that we need somewhere to keep such things though, so for now, we just watch others and B-dog swims a bit to keep cool.

Food. There seems to be a lot of good food in this area. I am definitely no foodie by any stretch of the imagination, but I have had some of the best food of my life recently. Normally, we wouldn't eat out so much, but because of the housing situation, it's been more than I imagined. It's nice to know there are places to go though - whether for ourselves or when visitors stop in. 

We have walked more in the last 10 days than I have in a very long time. This morning, my hips were hurting so much that we had to dial it back a bit. I miss riding a bicycle, but I know that this is temporary and that hopefully, life can return to some sort of normal in the near future. Not having access to our stuff is a little frustrating, but I've learned how little we really need to survive. Which isn't to say that I don't miss some of the stuff (especially my art supplies and bicycles), but rather that I'm a bit more adaptable than I thought. I hope that home is coming and that we won't have to wait too long for it, but in the meantime, it gives time to check things out and get a sense of where things are in this new-to-us place. 

When life gives lemons

 *Just a couple of quick notes. To anyone who is currently subscribed via email, Feed Burner is discontinuing service for Blogger as of July 2021, which means that you will no longer receive email notification for posts after that time. Unfortunately, I have no control regarding this change, though I am looking into possible solutions (but cannot promise any resolution at this point, unfortunately). However, I thought it important to pass along the information for those who are subscribed and expect to receive emailed updates. Also, as you may have noted, I am back to writing here on Blogger. The Wordpress blog will also continue to be updated with posts for the time being, and at some point I will make a decision as to which platform is the best for my purposes, but until then, you can follow along here on Blogger or over at Wordpress here, if you prefer to get email updates regarding posts. Thank you for continuing to read and for sharing your thoughts.

We are in the midst of a bit of upheaval at the moment, and I tend to start questioning life in general when big changes or problems occur. I start to wonder the whys of things and what it is I am supposed to learn from the situation. Sometimes, there are answers, if I look hard enough, and other times it equates to more of a random sequence of events that is taking place that could happen to anyone. 

One of the unfortunate big happenings recently was discovering that our sewer line was collapsing. We had been having some drainage problems in the tub and sometimes with the toilet, but thought that the problems stemmed from a weeping pipe under the tub and some hair (mine/dogs) that likes to get stuck in the drain. After several attempts to resolve the issue, a plumber was called out at which point we were informed that the 60+ year old clay sewer line was cracked, shifting, collapsing, and likely wouldn't last longer than a few more weeks to perhaps a couple of months, if we were lucky. 

I was working in my studio when Sam came in to tell me the news. "Sixteen to twenty-two," he said would be the cost of replacing the line in the least expensive manner. 

"Well, it could be worse, I suppose," I responded with a slight facial twinge and shoulder shrug.  "That's a lot of money, but I guess we can figure it'll end up at about twenty-five hundred, just in case, and we'll eat lighter for awhile."

Sam looked at me a bit bewildered and then said, "No, THOUSAND, not hundred."

I gulped as my eyes widened. "You have to be kidding me? Why would it cost that much? It's a pipe.... in the ground... that's..." I trailed off for a few seconds. "It's... that's... a car... a down payment on a house... SO many bicycles ... it's..." I was still trying to understand how a single run of pipe could be so much money. "How do we even pay for something like that?" I questioned aloud. "How does anyone cover that sort of cost?"

We talked for awhile about the whys, the hows, and so on. We'd had the sewer scoped when we moved in over six years ago and it was "perfect," as the plumber had told and shown us, but things happen over time. Our temperatures fluctuate day to day a lot in Colorado and we have seasons of drought and then severe wet, which isn't ideal for a clay line, and certainly not one of this vintage. Whether we were prepared to deal with the issue was not a matter of debate. We just had to figure out how to resolve it and how we would financially handle such a huge amount at one time.

Generally, we are do-it-yourself kind of people, and if we are able to do so, we prefer to go that route, but this was not an instance for which we would be able to handle matters on our own, and the costs associated with not being able to perform the repair ourselves was not helping the mental struggle.

I was watching a brief segment on a home fix-it show recently and the individual said in the most blissful tone, "I feel like my life is just the best dream ever!" and it struck me because it's rare to hear someone claim that s/he believes their life is so fantastic that it feels like a dream. I started to think about moments that have felt like a dream in my life, and sadly, most of them seem to lean more toward nightmares than good dreams. Inevitably, this makes me wonder if I did something wrong and that the unfortunate moments are a result of my bad behavior -- that karmicly I have somehow brought about the misfortune. I have no delusions of being a saint, and I've perpetrated many wrongs over my multiple decades of life, but is there really a cause and effect, or is it simply a perception, a means of coping for humans that prompts us to look for a relationship in all things? 

When I look at matters from another angle though, I think about the fact that we are fortunate to be able to do many things for ourselves. So often it feels like life is throwing fire darts and we are weaving and dodging to steer clear; but in reality, if the same obstacles were presented to another person, they could be completely catastrophic. Even though I've dealt with some pretty horrendous moments in life, some of which I thought I'd never survive, I have managed to come through the other side relatively unscathed - or at least better off than some others might have.

It has been a rough few weeks at our house. The sewer line was replaced, but it came with a hefty price tag. The damage created in the yard was more significant than we anticipated, so of course, that had to be dealt with as well. 

Last week, we were also scheduled to say goodbye to our nearly-fifteen year old Labrador, who has endured so much longer than we ever thought she could, but I just couldn't go through with it. The struggle of determining when she is ready to go, and how much she is suffering can be so difficult because our pups hide so much of what they're really going through. It is the part of pet guardianship that I dread. 

Unfortunately, early this week we had to actually say goodbye to our girl. I remembered from past experience that there is such sadness, but I had forgotten how empty I would feel. I look for her everywhere in the house, reach for her, thinking that she's going to brush by me, looking for a pat on the head or a scratch, and then remember she isn't there. We removed all of her dog beds because I didn't think I could handle seeing them empty without her, but even removing the reminder has been difficult. There is a giant hole in my heart and I can't seem to stop sobbing. I know that time will heal the pain, at least to some extent, but no matter how many fur-kids we lose, I never get used to the agony of their passing. For me, it is like losing a close member of the family.

I am grateful to still have our Golden-girl, and she is doing her very best to comfort us as she feels the loss of her housemate as well. It's during these rough times that I find myself wondering and thinking about the whys of life, my purpose, and the reasons for most everything in day-to-day life. Often, I am unable to come up with any explanations, but I still attempt to make some sort of sense and order of it. I get up each day and try to get through the little moments, knowing that there is ultimately better, good times in the future. Some moments are tougher than others, but if I can fumble my way through, hopefully, I'll come out the other side a better version of myself, with a few more experiences, and better able to understand it all.

Lessons from the Labrador

In 2006, Sam and I decided that we wanted to get another dog. We already had two (a Rat Terrier and a Golden Retriever), and we didn’t need a third, but we had adopted our Golden from the local humane society about a year prior and loved him so much that we really wanted to get one that was younger so that he could help train the younger dog. Our Golden was likely somewhere between 5-8 years old when we adopted him (we never really knew because he was found on the streets) and we hoped he would live a long, happy life with us.

I’ve always loved Goldens. They just have a sweet, want-to-please temperament and it works well with my not-horribly-authoritative personality. I like that they have interest in going when we want to go, but are just as content to take a nap (at least when they get a little older). There are a few breeds that hold a special place in my heart (though, truth be told, I just love dogs), but the Golden Retriever ranks high for me.

We had been searching local rescues and humane societies for another Golden without any luck. A coworker had mentioned one day that she had just seen some Golden Retriever puppies at a place in north Denver and that we should go and check them out. My preference is always to adopt and I don’t ever want to buy from pet shops because I know that their animals come from puppy mills, but my coworker had assured me that she had done research on this place and that they were good and specifically got their animals from reputable breeders (I’ll be clear here and state that a couple of years later, I found out that what I feared to be the case was in fact true — and I learned to ALWAYS do my own research). I was hesitant because I’ve never heard of any pet shop using reputable breeders (despite what they may say), but I was willing to go and take a look at the puppies. I am a sucker for puppies (who isn’t?), so I probably should’ve never set foot in the shop at all.

When we arrived, they had no Golden Retrievers, but they did have Labrador Retrievers. I remember thinking, “How different could a Lab be from a Golden?” Turns out, very different (though we wouldn’t learn that until much later). A beautiful, nearly white ball of fur came home with us not long after that first visit. Surprisingly, we didn’t take our new addition home the first time we stopped in, but rather went home to think about it to make sure we weren’t making a mistake. Not making an impulse decision didn’t, unfortunately, save us from ourselves.

Chablis, as she would be named because of her light-colored coat, was a challenge from the start. She cried the entire way home and soon took to destroying whatever came into sight. Drywall, clothing, pillows and anything left out wasn’t off limits in her mind. This beautiful little critter was intent to chew anything in her path for the first couple of years of her life. We couldn’t have dog toys in the house for her (or the other dogs) because she would take them all and destroy them. I thought it was punishment from the universe for not adopting, but in reality, I know that she just has a lot of energy.

She was a very smart puppy! I was impressed at how quickly she learned commands. Sit, speak, give-five, sit pretty (sitting on her hind legs with her front paws in the air), and she only had one accident inside the house her entire life, learning to use the dog door almost instantly. With most things, I only had to tell her once and she knew not to do it again (like eating something off the counter in the kitchen). One time when she squeezed past me out the front door and ran across the street to the neighbors who were in their garage, I called her to come back. No sooner had I called her when a car came racing down the street. I screamed, “STOP!” to her and she instantly dropped to the ground, likely saving her life as the driver had absolutely no awareness of the life he’d nearly taken.

It took us quite awhile to figure out just how much energy she actually had in those early years. We would take her to the dog park to fetch and she would spend two hours continuously fetching. I’m pretty sure if left to her own devices she would have run herself right into the ground. She also loved swimming and we enjoyed taking her various places to fetch in the water. Her energy was truly boundless. I recall asking the vet how long it would be until she calmed down and the answer became later each time I asked. When she was a puppy, they told us to wait until she was three, at three, when she was still a crazed dog, they told us five would be the magic number. When five came along, it was eight and so on it would go.

There are several stories that could be shared from Chablis’ youth, but through it all, we loved this dog. After coming home one day to our brand new couch with holes all over and stuffing spread around the living room, I was convinced Sam was going to strangle her to death; and although he wasn’t thrilled, he took it in stride. When we came home from work another day and she’d bitten through a red spray paint can, spreading bright red all over the lower half of our house, I thought I might kill her. A couple of days later, she did the same with a yellow can of spray paint, after which I could only laugh. We obviously hadn’t learned our lesson after the first incident and I really couldn’t be mad at her. Plus, I didn’t want her to get sick from potentially swallowing paint, so I was more concerned with cleaning her up and making sure she was okay. When we left her at my mom and step-dad’s one summer for a few days, she managed to somehow maneuver her way under their house and got stuck. No matter how much they called, all she could do was cry until my step-dad found a way under the narrow space to dig her out.

It’s said that every dog comes into our lives to teach us lessons. I was often uncertain what lesson(s) I was supposed to be learning from this creature who seemed to disrupt our lives so much. Despite her often bad behavior, I loved her, and that was really all that mattered.

A couple of years ago, Chablis started losing her hair and becoming quite lethargic. I thought she was reaching that point in life when she was finally calming down. It was a little sad to watch though, as we were so used to seeing her run around and be into everything. Thankfully, I had enough sense to take her to the vet who informed me that she had a thyroid issue and that was the cause of both issues she was experiencing. Once she was balanced out with the right level of medication, she began to regrow hair and got her energy back. Still, it made me realize that she was getting older and that she wouldn’t live forever.

Around the same time that we discovered Chablis’ thyroid problem, we also found out she was losing her sight. She’d been having some non-usual behavioral issues for awhile that no one seemed to be able to diagnose or explain until we realized that she’d been slowly getting cataracts that were taking her vision. Several months ago, we were informed that she is now completely blind.

One might think that being blind would slow her down, but it really doesn’t. She still excitedly waits to go for walks each day, attempting to lead the way. She navigates the house pretty well, too, at full speed, despite our warnings that she should slow down a bit so she doesn’t run into anything and hurt herself. She still fetches, though it’s a little different now. She listens when the ball is thrown and then runs in the direction while she sniffs around until she finds it. It’s truly the most adorable thing I’ve ever witnessed. She loves fetching so much that she wants to do it until she can’t, and even losing her sight isn’t taking that thrill from her.

At the age of 13.5, we know that she’s closing in on the end of her days. She’s experiencing problems that can’t be solved with medication, including some signs of dementia/abnormally manic behavior in the middle of the night, uncontrollable shaking at times, and her body is starting to show signs of giving out. She has good days and bad, but we are reminded that we all have an expiration date as we watch her face the challenges of growing older.

I also find myself reviewing moments in our life with Chablis and some of the lessons I have learned having her with us. She’s shown me what it’s like to be fearless and has reminded me to try to face things head-on. She’s taught me to enjoy the little things in life because they really are what matters. Being excited about something isn’t a bad thing and it’s okay to go after what you want. She’s shown me that love can exist even in the midst of anger or frustration and illustrated that no matter what the obstacle presented, we really can do anything we set our minds to do. When life gives lemons, we should make lemonade and drink it up without hesitation. I’ve learned never to give up the things I love — modifications may have to be made in some instances, but those things we love so very much are important to keep as a part of life for as long as possible.

Maybe it seems a little morbid to write this post knowing that we are approaching (or perhaps are already in) the window for the end of her life; however, I have needed a space to work through some emotions. It’s easy to get sad when I think about losing Chablis, but I know that when her time comes, she’s left us with memories and lessons that won’t soon be forgotten. I think about that little fuzz ball that greeted us with unwanted destruction or the endless energy and panting, and I can’t help but smile. I hope the happy memories and the little moments alone with her will be the things I remember when she’s gone. She’s been a challenging dog in many ways — many of which weren’t mentioned here — but those challenges are the thing that make her unique and special. I am so very grateful to have her in my life and it more than dampens my spirits to know that her life has been seemingly so short to this point. I hope, too, that we’ve given her a good life and that on some level she knows how much she is loved.

Perhaps she has more in her than I think and we’ll have her for a bit longer. It wouldn’t surprise me at all as she’s been one of the most stubborn dogs I’ve ever been a guardian of/for. She’s lived life on her terms, the way she’s wanted and I can only guess that she’ll go out the same way. For now, I hold her whenever I get the chance and watch as she enjoys the little things. I guess that’s really what I’d want at the end of my life – to be comfortable, enjoying time around the people I love, and taking amusement from whatever bits of the day I am still able to enjoy.

Bicycles and Dogs

Images of dogs running trails/roads with people on bicycles is not an uncommon find on many social media feeds, outdoor websites and the like. In the summer months, this is a very common happening for individuals across the US and the world. I find myself with a bit of envy as I watch others ride trails with their off-leash dogs and consistently also find myself wondering where they are riding that allows this activity.

*Image from Redstone Cyclery's feed

Locally, there are designated off-leash trails that can be hiked with dogs (assuming that the proper paperwork/classes have been filed/taken), but most riding trails I've discovered do not allow this activity. I suppose it's entirely plausible that people ignore the signs and let their dog off leash anyway to follow and romp while they ride their bike. But, when I see these images online, it causes me a bit of pause as I find that I feel guilty leaving my own pups at home to go and ride. While the dogs most definitely get more than their share of exercise, I often think it would be such a fun activity to share with them - at least in the right circumstances. Granted, one of them is nearly completely blind now and can't run very far at this point in life, but the other would completely enjoy this activity, I'm certain.

With short and rare exceptions, I have had a dog the entirety of my life. I consider them part of the family and treat them as such (perhaps they are treated too much like family in some people's eyes). I consider them my "children," though I'm entirely aware that they are canines and when I communicate with or scold them, it is really more for my benefit than theirs. Still, I like to include them in as many activities as possible throughout the day. Dogs are people/pack-creatures and don't like being left alone for long stretches of time (or at least, I've never had a dog in my life that enjoyed being alone for several hours).

*Image from Ten Meters from the Hut feed

Over the last several years, I've tried to come to terms with having dogs and enjoying riding bikes. It may seem a strange thing to struggle with, but these are probably the two biggest joys I have in life, and often I find that they can be at odds with each other. My dogs are nearly always with me, a habit that has developed over the years of primarily working from home. They know there are certain times of the day that they will be alone and they are fine having that time, but if I'm gone for several hours during the day on a regular basis, they start to find ways to show their dissatisfaction.

This reality is one of the biggest factors that has kept me from moving in a direction of bike touring. I simply cannot imagine leaving these furry, four-legged loves alone for several days or in a dog-motel. At one point, I had pondered taking them with me - towing them in a carrying container; however, pulling 115-120 pounds of dog, not including the gear we'd need just strikes me as unreasonable - at least for me, though I'm sure there are those who have done it.

These fur-loves of mine are also a big reason I don't pursue longer distances on a bike. I watch others who participate in brevets of varying sort and I find myself wanting to push some of my personal limits to see what I am capable of doing. While I know it's possible to do these events and still have dogs in my life, the amount of saddle time training required of me and knowing that I'd be leaving them for very long days unattended breaks my heart. An occasional century or all-day ride is doable, but multi-day events become a much bigger challenge.

*Image from Randi Jo Fabrications feed

There are many people who have dogs and still ride bikes. These two don't necessarily have to conflict. Obviously, I do ride a bike and have dogs, but I cannot help but find myself wanting to combine the two facets of life and enjoy them simultaneously.

Admittedly, I seem to have made my choice, whether it's a conscious one or not. I have definitely chosen to limit time on a bicycle to have the ability to devote an equitable share to these critters I love so much. I suppose in some ways it is the best balance I've been able to achieve to date without feeling as though one area is lacking. Maybe one day I'll find these mysteriously hidden trails where dogs run freely, but until then these two areas of life remain separate. Thankfully, I don't have to choose one over the other, but I do have to make periodic concessions in order to keep the balance.

Potato Diaries, Day Two: No Bike for Me!

As you know after reading yesterday's post, I am dog sitting for my parents in Idaho. What I didn't mention then is how very (very, very, very, very - and did I mention, very) attached my parent's dogs are to them, and specifically my mother. One of the two dogs simply gets mopey and doesn't want to move from his perch where he can look longingly out the window, waiting for her return. The other, while also sad that she is gone, is easier to get moving. However, he has a horrible habit of waking in the middle of the night and alarm-barking at nothing in particular. Of course, being fast asleep myself, this extreme and sudden noise scares the bejesus out of me and then I can't get back to sleep.

So, after being woke a few times this way overnight, I finally got up in the wee hours of the morning, feeling as though I'd been drugged and beaten. I decided that it probably wasn't a great choice to be out on a bicycle since my balance felt off and I feel the need to be very focused on what I'm doing riding the roads here.

Instead, the dogs and I explored the area on foot. Mom's dogs are pretty out of shape. They get regular walks, but very short ones, so taking them any sort of distance becomes an exercise in patience as they need to stop every quarter to half a mile for a breather (thankfully, they're both pretty young, so they recover fast). It makes things challenging to actually get anywhere though. Still, I want to see what is around, so off we went to explore an area around Lake Lowell which borders Caldwell and Nampa, Idaho.

While looking at maps for possible bike routes, I saw that there is a lake in the area and thought it might be an interesting place to visit on a warmer day, so we were off and walking at a spot called Deer Flat National Wildlife Refuge. What I didn't expect was that everything would be so dry. The weather has been moderately wet over the last several weeks, so I assumed that there would be more greenery. Instead, we were greeted by what felt like endless desert tan. I know this area is considered a high desert, but then again, so is Colorado, so I was bit shocked to see so much dryness so early in the season.

There is a certain interest to me though, even in more desert-like scenery. I was taken a bit off guard by how much it reminded me of camping in the California deserts as a kid. But, then again, I'm always a little surprised by how similar different states appear in regard to the terrain and plant life. I suppose it's all more similar than different, but the little differences are what make it interesting, I think.

After the fact, I learned that the greener areas are on the other side of the lake (leave it to me to find the barren land), so I suppose it could explain why more lush plant life seemed to be missing from much of our hiking time.

Early on, we spotted a fenced off area that appears to be a track of some sort. Whether it's used to race dirt bikes, dune buggies or perhaps neither of these was uncertain, but I couldn't help but think the entire hiking trail would be a good place to test out a mountain bike. Unfortunately, that is not the bike I brought along for this trip.

It seems this area is a bird habitat/observatory, as there were several signs that warned users of the path to stay on the trail and to leave the birds alone.  We didn't see many birds (at least up close) while we walked, but they could be seen flying in the distance. Not being a student of fowl, I have absolutely no idea what type of birds were around, but if we get out that way again, I'll try to take better notes and/or photos for those who have interest in such matters.

We took the path up to this overlook because I could see the binoculars for viewing while approaching; however, when I tried to take a look through them, they didn't seem to be operational. This could be entirely user error as I tend to have problems with even the most basic equipment and having three dogs pulling in multiple directions wasn't helping matters.

Much of the trail is dusty - or at least the portion we walked. Again, I'm told that other portions of the lake are greener, so if we get out that way again, we'll have to investigate. I'd also like to figure out a good path to ride here, if possible.

Having stopped into one of the bike shops today to inquire about rides that shouldn't be missed in the area, they didn't have any helpful information to give, but rather provided me the city bike map. The problem is that while the map's helpful to find the paths around town that allow riders and walkers to avoid city surface streets, I was hoping to find some longer rides to experience.

My hope is to also get in to Boise proper at some point. Perhaps early in the week when the weekend traffic has dispersed back to 9-5's I can find a way into the city to see if there are better rides there.

Of interest to me personally is the difference in how the day's temperatures progress here. Being approximately 800 miles away from home (which isn't so great a distance to make me think things would be terribly different), I find that the days start and stay cool much longer than at home. For example, this morning was in the low 50F degree range and it stayed fairly cool until about 2p or so before it really heated up. At home, as soon as the sun is visible, things start to warm quickly, and even if the actual temperature isn't too high, it feels hot much sooner in the day during spring and summer.

My guess is that it has to do with the altitude difference. I've kind of taken the elevation in Colorado pretty lightly over the years, as it doesn't affect me on a day to day basis, but I hear people joke about being closer to the sun, so perhaps there's validity in these statements and explains why it takes a bit longer to warm up here in Idaho.

I'm looking forward to getting back on a bike tomorrow and hopefully finding some roads better suited to traveling by bicycle. While traversing the city today I actually exclaimed aloud, "Hey! A bike lane!" Nearly as soon as the words were spoken, the lane disappeared, but it was nice to see that they actually do exist. Maybe that bike map will come in handy after all.


**Day 3 can be found here.

Adventures in Urban Hiking

In a recent post, I mentioned that I've been exploring outdoor activities other than biking this spring and summer. While I enjoy riding a bicycle and I don't think anything can quite replace it when combining reliable, self-propelled transportation and speed, there are times when it's nice to try other activities.

Additionally, I'm still attempting to figure out the boundaries for my body and its injuries. While some things are obviously off the list in my mind, others seem to be more of a gray area, and these are the activities that I can undertake -- as long as I don't attempt too much at once (which isn't always as easy as it sounds).

One of these activities I have begun to call "urban hiking." Now, I know what some people are going to say... isn't that just walking? My response is both yes and no. In the sense that we can call hiking "just walking" as well. If one lives here in Colorado though, hiking is generally reserved for those who attempt the many 14ers (the term for mountain peaks that reach over 14,000 feet in elevation), but I grew up in California and we used to hike regularly and it wasn't nearly as strenuous as the elevation gain here.

Of course, one doesn't have to summit a 14er in order to call him or herself a hiker. That would be ridiculous as there are innumerable lower elevation trails, fire roads, and so on and I would still term these walking activities as hiking.

I would call this walking the dog if it was a short distance, only through residential neighborhoods, and I wasn't carrying a load on my back.

The criteria in my mind that has differentiated urban hiking from the act of simply taking a walk are the following:
* I (and sometimes the dog too) carry a backpack that contains hydration, snacks for the dog and sometimes the human too, poop bags, a towel, phone, extra leashes (if you've ever had a leash break while out, you'll understand this one), and any other necessities that we may require for our travels
* The distance must be greater than a usual just-walking-the-dog walk, which for me is currently falling between 5-7+ miles
* The hike transitions through at least three different types of areas (residential, commercial/retail, industrial, greenspace/trails, etc) and has me (or us) walking on at least two different kinds of surfaces (pavement, cement, dirt, rocks, gravel, grass, etc)
* There is at least one strenuous portion of the hike (such as a steep hill)

After hiking (For real hiking - you know, with forest-y stuff, mountains, critters and such) just recently with a friend and our dogs, I realize that the muscles used are a little different (Okay, very different, as my calves will attest) when it comes to regular hiking and urban hiking, but I also think there are some similarities - enough so that I have decided that urban hiking is an actual "thing."

On this particular day, the two of us set out for the post office. I had an item to drop in the mail (returning a pair of bib shorts for riding actually, that just didn't work out) and I figured we could make an urban hike out of it, even though the post office is only about 2 miles from home.

On our way to drop off the package, we continued through a slightly more industrial part of town. I'm always fascinated both by how close these areas are to residential portions of the city and by how much the feel changes as we move from one area to the next.

Before we were able to get too far along though, our Golden was getting pretty thirsty. Granted, she's a retriever, so she's almost always thirsty, but it was pretty hot and when her tongue starts hanging out the side of her mouth, I know it's time to find her a water source. Unfortunately, I forgot my own water (While I could use her water, she likes to lick the lids of the water bottles as I pour it out, so it didn't seem appealing at the time), and later regretted it as the sun continued to blaze. For anyone who may be curious, I usually carry about 3 liters of water (2+ for the dog, and 1/2-1 liter for me). I'm sure we lose at least half of hers on the ground as she's an entirely sloppy drinker!

Once the water was close by, the pup started pulling as she desperately wanted to swim in it.

After we dropped off the package, we found an even better water source... the river. Although it doesn't look like much in this photo, there were lots of spots to stop and let her dip her paws or outright swim in the water.

We even came across some fowl friends as we walked. The geese usually hang out near the lake and river areas of the city throughout a good portion of the year.

This gaggle didn't seem to be overly thrilled with our presence though, so they began making their escape into the water. As much as I'd have enjoyed watching our Golden swim after them, I wouldn't want to know what would happen if she caught one (I'm not sure if I'd be more concerned for her or the geese... some of the geese get pretty frantic when we get too close and start to hiss, and I definitely don't want her to kill any of them), so she begrudgingly stayed within reach.

One of the really intriguing things to me about an urban hike is getting to see so much of our city. We can go from turn-of-the-century houses to shops to trails and industrial settings all on foot over the course of relatively few miles. We can be in the shade, exposed to the sun, or switch back and forth depending on the area of the city.

What I also appreciate about urban hiking is that there is nearly always someone nearby if something should happen in regard to injury (unlike hiking in the mountains where it could be more difficult to get a rescue, if needed). I also enjoy that we can easily stop for food or water without too much disruption in our route (assuming that I've remembered my wallet, of course). We also come across others we know or don't and get to have random and interesting conversations since the pace is slower than riding a bike.

While I don't think urban hiking will be replacing regular hiking anytime soon, it's been fun to explore the city by foot instead of on two wheels and although riding a bike provides a different perspective from driving, using two feet can take things down yet another notch, providing time to really absorb my surroundings. It may not always be the most efficient means of getting around, but traveling via this manner has permitted me to appreciate both walking and biking a lot more.

Are you exploring any new-to-you outdoor activities this year or re-acquainting yourself with a past enjoyable activity? I'd love to hear all about it!

Happy New Year!

A very happy New Year to all! I hope you're looking forward to the start of 2015. I know that it has been a bit of a crazy, chaotic mess for the E.V.L. household at the end of 2014. As stated prior, I knew we were in for a busy several weeks and months, but it's been no joke! The last several weeks have been challenging, sad, and somewhat fulfilling, making it a confusing end to the year, for sure.

*Image found here

The start of renovating the home we purchased has been nearly all-consuming. We wanted to do our best to get as much completed before moving in. We've managed to do much more than I anticipated thus far, but along with the projects came some frustration and realization that not everything is going as smoothly as we'd hoped.

In addition, just before Christmas, we lost one of our dogs. My heart still stings when I think about it. Our small dog, Gandolf, had been dealing with a lump on his head near his eye and I'd taken him to a variety of veterinarians in an attempt to have it removed. It was quite apparent that it was causing him much pain, but no one was taking the steps to move forward with removal.

Finally, one vet agreed to remove the lump. I was nervous, but knew it needed to be done because he was now avoiding eating due to the pain. Before surgery began, I was informed that the (as I'd been told prior) benign cyst was actually a cancerous tumor and it was very aggressively eating the bone in his skull. There was nothing they could do to help him and we suddenly found ourselves switching from how-much-is-this-surgery-going-to-cost to holy-cow-we're-going-to-lose-our-family-member.

Always digging for trouble... you'll be missed my little man.

It was crushing to say the least. I still cry and miss him because our dogs are very much our children and such a huge part of our lives. This little guy was a ray of sunshine, always protective of me, the best lap dog ever, and always looked at me as though I could do no wrong. He had a rough start in this world and sadly I couldn't protect him from the cancer that stole him too early. His just over 12 years with us were full of times I know we won't forget. It's difficult not to have him around every day, but I've tried to keep the good memories close to prevent the heartache which takes over more often than I'd prefer.

In the midst of all of dealing with the loss of our little guy, we had drama with the house closing and weren't sure it was going to take place. It did close, though not without delays and road blocks. Eventually, we were able to get into the house and put hammer to walls and scrapers to flooring and work got under way.

Through all of this, I have learned that I am not nearly as resilient or hearty as I believed prior. We've completed many home renovation projects through the years, but attempting to finish an entire house in a matter of a few weeks by ourselves is exhausting, daunting and overwhelming. Each project seems to take 2-3 times longer than anticipated, and often the costs fall in line with those same figures.

By no means are we at the end of our renovations, but soon it will be time to begin moving the household over which will no doubt bring another layer of difficulty to the process; but paying for two homes simultaneously isn't exactly prudent (or an option) either. The super messy projects will hopefully be completed before the move and the rest will be items to work on as we go forward.

In all of this, I've been pondering my inability at times to look at things in small segments or to allow things to simply be what they are rather than trying to force an outcome. I think I have done just this with the blog and allowed myself (at least during more stressful times) to feel as though I'm letting someone down by not posting. Velouria made an excellent point in her comment on my last post when she stated that perhaps I've put pressure on myself to put up posts and I should allow the freedom for posts to be more of a when-I-feel-like-posting sort of thing. Others made similar comments at various points and I've appreciated every idea and have let it all sink in.

With this, I intend to move forward with the blog, but I know it will be entirely sporadic for at least several weeks and/or there may still be a long lag time before anything remotely thoughtful is written. I believe 2014 was one of the roughest years I've experienced in some time and I'm looking forward to a better coming year. Sometimes I seem to let the life stuff get to me and it can be challenging to find equity in all parts of existence, but I have hope that with some work I can find that balance in the coming year.

Wishing you and yours a very peaceful, prosperous, and happy cycling New Year! I look forward to continuing our chats about bicycles in 2015.

The Barn Burner Concludes (Part 3)

If you've missed part 1 and/or part 2, you can get back to them easily by clicking on the appropriate link, or you can simply read the end of the adventure here. As a reminder, anything written in plain text are Sam's thoughts, and anything in italics are G.E.'s.

LAP 3

Lap three began pretty much the way lap two had ended. I dove deeper and deeper into the cave of pain, trying to eat my way through it. I didn't bonk, which was great, but I was drained.

Back at the barn, I had picked up some Gu Roctane to refill my own version I'd had in my bottle. I downed about 30% of it before the second descent, and it actually brought me back a bit. I was averaging faster speeds and found myself tailing people for awhile. The cave returned shortly after that momentary reprieve, and no amount of Roctane or anything else was going to save me.

I was also starting to build some anger - anger over the people doing single laps around the course as part of the relay groups. Out of the 900 or so riders, only about 165 were actually doing the full solo/cowboy event. Every time I saw someone with a clean bike and tons of energy with a scarf tied to their seatpost (the scarf was the identifier for these riders), I was pissed - and not in a way that motivated me. It seemed wrong that I was in so much pain while they were happily completing their 26 miles.

After Sam left the barn to start his third lap, I wasn't sure how much time to give him for the third lap. He'd slowed down dramatically from his first lap (which was completely understandable given the circumstances), but I didn't know if perhaps he'd get a second wind and speed up, or if he'd meet his doom on this third time around. I decided to return to the barn area after about 2 hours just to be prepared if he sped up.

When I got back to the barn, I watched other riders come through. I was astonished that some racers were already through the ride. Amazing! Before too long, the ambulance that had been parked at the barn all day took off, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I hoped that everyone was okay and that nothing too serious had taken place. 

Suddenly it dawned on me that it might be Sam. In his weakened state, he may have done something that could've sent him off on a rock, off course, or any number of things. I started to panic. I was getting sicker by the moment, and before too long, I overheard some of the event staff talking about someone injured on the course pretty badly, and possibly a second individual as well. I asked them if they had a name, but they couldn't confirm anything at that point. All I could do was wait helplessly, hoping that it wasn't Sam.

Every rider that came in caused the pit in my stomach to grow. Where was Sam? Why hadn't he come through yet? I was convinced he was the injured rider out on the course.

Suddenly, disaster presented itself (but not for me). At about mile 23 on my third lap, a man wiped out hard just before a cattle guard. It probably happened about 5 minutes before I reached the spot, but he was in the hands of the EMT's and was unconscious. I gawked for about 30 seconds, but figured there was nothing I could do and it was better if I moved on to finish the lap and get out of their way.

Sam walks through the barn at the conclusion of his third lap

Rolling up to my lap three finish, G.E. was there and handed me a Luna bar, filled with estrogen goodness (G.E.'s note: I'll point this out again for anyone who may have missed it in the past, this is a joke in our house because of a comment made by someone to Sam about Luna bars having estrogen, which is of course completely untrue). She asked how I was doing (as she had every lap) and my answer was always, "Bad!" and deep down I was contemplating quitting right then. Seventy-eight miles is a really long ride on a mountain bike, in the mountains. Really, the thought had been rolling through my mind the entire lap and the format of this ride made the possibility to give up really easy.

My own reality took over at some point during these thoughts and I remembered that I don't quit. I just don't. No matter how painful, slow, or terrible I feel, I don't quit. I told myself I would take a break for 1 minute at miles 90 and 100, as a reward. I was also thinking I could ride 26 miles in my sleep, even if I was now fully engrossed in the pain cave.

Finally! I saw Sam rounding a corner not too far away. Thank goodness he hadn't been hurt. I knew that with each lap he was slowing down, and I was trying to figure out a good way to motivate him. I pulled out a protein bar and prepared to hand it off to him if he needed it. I also knew exactly what to say to light a fire under him (I hoped!). 

After handing off the bar to me, G.E. hollered, "Two hours and fifteen minutes will get you a 'big buckle' for the ride!" The announcer seemed to back this up, stating that the time cut off for the larger belt buckle finish had been extended by 35 minutes due to the accident. Apparently, not many riders after me were able to get through and they'd stopped everyone due to rescue services, including a helicopter evac. I had snuck through, though it did me no good time-wise.

G.E. was hopeful that I would finish in time to get the big belt buckle, but I knew there was almost no chance I would make it by 9:35... but, I was going to try.

LAP 4

I had just left Sam for his final lap. I was in a lot of pain, but I hoped it wasn't showing to him. Between not sleeping and my injury from the dog, I wasn't doing well. My feet and ankles were swollen and the burning wouldn't quit. I really just wanted to go to sleep and not be standing anymore. I hoped my shout to Sam about the big buckle cut off would see him to the finish, but there wasn't anything I could do to help him until he crossed the finish line. I retreated to our tent, packed everything up, and did my best to entertain the dogs for the next couple of hours.

I actually picked up the pace a bit on this final lap, knowing it was almost over. Everything was dry... except, there had been another downpour on the backside of the mountain that I'd just missed. The mud was back. Yay! Really, this didn't slow me down any more than my internal stuff was, but it sucked to be wet-muddy all over again, and all of those clean, happy, single-lap riders were still out there - mocking me silently with their freshness.

As promised, I stopped at mile 90 for one minute of rest. My time was looking pretty good, and I wasn't falling any deeper into the pain cave. Mile 100 rolled around and I stopped for my second one minute break. Time was tight, but there were four miles left, and I had about 12 minutes to make the 9:35 cutoff for the large belt buckle. In any other flat or downhill situation I think I could have made it, but the last 3-4 miles of this course are climbing - and not just regular stuff, but 4 mph climbing. I knew I would not make the cutoff - no way.

I didn't slow down, but I didn't break myself, knowing that no good would come of it. My only goal now was to do sub-10 hours, grab the smaller belt buckle and wait to see if I'd be randomly picked in the lottery for one of the LT100 slots.

I waited for Sam at the finish. I watched as the 9:35 cutoff time came and went. My heart sunk a little when I realized he wasn't going to make it, and I was bummed for him because I really thought he had a chance. Under normal circumstances, with proper sleep, I think he could've made it, but I also knew that just finishing today would be a victory. I really pondered what an incredible thing it was for him to even attempt this ride in the state of mind and condition his body was in. I am always amazed that he finds a way to power through, no matter what is going on.

Rounding the last corner to the finish!

About 20 minutes later, Sam was in sight. I couldn't believe that he was actually going to complete this ride. I smiled as I watched him round the corner and head for the barn.

Sam makes his final dismount at the barn/finish line

Well, well... I managed to reach the end with a sub-10 hour and a finish time of 9:58. Somehow, I didn't faint. I didn't waste any time getting out of the finish area, wrapping up the bike and changing into other cleaner clothes. The pain cave hadn't beat me.

THE AFTERMATH

Sam was excited to see that I'd actually managed to get everything packed up on my own (well, sort of - I couldn't get the tent back in its packaging, so I'd kind of just chucked it into the back of the car). I was incredibly proud of him for just finishing something that most probably wouldn't even attempt in his state of being. 

We had a bit of time until the start of the awards ceremony, but we decided to head over anyway.

Waiting is the hardest part. It was just after 5p and the awards ceremony was slated to begin between 6:15 and 6:30p, thirty minutes after the official cutoff time for solo racers. We got our folding chairs and plopped down in the "beer garden" thinking this could all be over by 7p, and we'd be on our way out before the sun went down.

Wrong. My biggest complaint about this particular event (beyond the mud camping, disorganization and lack of enthusiasm compared to other events held in Leadville, CO) is time management. The announcer didn't start the awards until 7p, and then proceeded to drag through with some confusion, bad paperwork and more stalling. Somewhere around 8p, they finished with the winners of each category (of course, I was not one of them).

Then, it was finally time for the lottery roll down. I knew this was my best chance to get into the 2015 LT100. Well, at least this early before the new year. I knew there were 55 coins left over to give to remaining riders randomly.

As the lottery names started to be called, I kept thinking to myself, "Say Sam's name, please! Don't let all of his torture be for nothing." I knew it wasn't really "for nothing," but I knew how badly he wanted to get into Leadville next year, and while he'd have other opportunities next summer, it would be great to know that he was in now.

It didn't take long at all after the lottery names were called for us to suddenly hear, "Sam..." and then a ridiculously long pause before my highly difficult [eye roll], basic, Italian last name was spoken.

I friggin' made it! We will go to the 2015 LT100!!

Hotel? Trailer? Tent? Who knows? I know I need to train like crazy over the winter though, and even harder in the spring. I am going to do the next round on a single speed (that isn't presently in my possession quite yet).

There are so many things I know I'm forgetting... so many details. I really, once again, could not have finished this without my best supporter and partner in life, G.E. I may convince her yet to participate in one of these races. : )

On to LEADVILLE!

The Barn Burner Begins (Part 2)

If you missed the first part of this report, and would like to read it, you can click here to find it; otherwise, feel free to read on.

As is often the case when I attempt to combine two different viewpoints into a single post, it can become a bit awkward, so hopefully it will make sense to point out that anything not in italics is written by Sam while anything italicized is G.E.'s thought on the race. Because Sam didn't have the opportunity to share his side of Friday, I've included that below. And with that...

Summer is drawing to an end and the thought of qualifying for the 2015 LT100 was on my mind. These ideas rolled through my mind as I thought about the Barn Burner in Flagstaff. How great would it be to qualify right out of the gate? Plus, I could do a fun, 104-mile race while in relatively decent training shape from finishing up the LT100 in August.

It seemed like an easy enough plan:  Drive out Friday, camp in the designated grounds for $10 and a canned food donation, race Saturday morning, and head home on Sunday. And, there was the possibility of qualifying for the LT100 and getting another belt buckle for my 2014 collection.

FRIDAY

I know G.E. already gave her version of the drive out, and mine follows along very closely since we were together. We roll - very early. Initially, I drove due to G.E.'s aversion to pre-7am functions. I got us to Raton, NM where she took over. The dogs were good, everyone was feeling fine. We were making good time and on top of it all, we actually gained an hour going into Arizona. We rolled into Flagstaff, a really cool city that seemed a bit out of place. Apparently, it had rained all day at higher elevations and mud was everywhere. This was the messiest, most disorganized situation I've seen since my time in the US Army. I picked up my racers packet and was given no information whatsoever.

Despite the mud, bad attitudes from those volunteering/working, etc, we were able to find a place to set up. We both ate a little something cooked on the camping burner and all five of us slept poorly in our wet tent. All told, I probably slept about 3 hours, and I'm sure G.E. slept even less. I think the dogs may have had more sleep than either of us. It was a bit ominous before a century/endurance/sufferfest kind of bike race!

SATURDAY - Race Day!

You know that nauseous feeling you get when you haven't slept enough? You stand up and feel dizzy or lightheaded and you have kind of a pit in your stomach. That was exactly the way I felt Saturday morning as Sam got up and dressed for the Barn Burner. I asked how he was feeling and if he was excited about the ride, but it was plain to see he was really in no shape to do anything except go back to sleep.

One of the amazing things about Sam is his ability to push through tough situations. I knew he was tired and not feeling great, but I had to give him props for putting his cycling gear on and acting like he was actually going to do this race.

Layered up in the cold of the morning.

"We can just pack up and go home, if you want," I said. "There's no law that says you have to do the race. If you aren't up to it, it's okay to let this one go." Even saying it I felt ridiculous. I knew there was no way he wan't going to ride. I felt like a bad partner for even thinking such a thing and swore to myself that it would be the last time I'd say anything like that to Sam on this trip.

The sky was starting to lighten, but the sun hadn't actually made its way over the horizon quite yet. We were both shivering and cold from sleeping in wet clothing and bedding overnight. The temperatures had dipped into the 30s F and apparently our tent had not been waterproofed (something we'd failed to realize until the evening mist began seeping in to our sleeping space). Personally, I was wrecked. I had no idea how I was going to function through another entire day without proper sleep, and worse yet, I couldn't imagine doing a 104 mile mountain bike race in this condition. I figured if Sam could get through that sort of punishment, I could manage to get up and deal with the dogs and make sure he had what he would need for the ride.

Normally, the Barn Burner begins with all of the bikes racked up. Participants race on foot to their bikes, jump on and begin the ride. However, with the massive amount of rain and the condition of the ground, the organizers felt it was better to just have everyone on their bikes at the starting line. I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed to not see the spectacle, but I also understood the mess and potential danger it could cause with mud getting stuck in cleats, shoes, and pedals.

As racers began to line up, instructions were repeated and some minor changes to the route were announced (again, due to rain). The skies actually didn't look too bad and everyone was hoping for a rain-free day.

My first problem after setting the bike at the start line was my Garmin. It was stuck on the start screen and wouldn't budge. It must've gotten damp sitting outside for the 20 minutes I left it to go and find G.E. I kept rebooting it (5 times, in fact), until finally it came up with the familiar "locating satellites" message.... thank GOD! It would've been really horrible doing a 26-mile lap with no information. It may have been tolerable, but still, I really am addicted to seeing the data as I ride.

There are several options for participating in the Barn Burner race. The course is a single loop of 26 miles, so an individual can ride solo for one lap, complete two laps, or the full 104-mile, four lap course. There is also an option for 2- or 4-person teams, in which the riders switch out every lap. In order to use this course as a qualifier for Leadville, however, the only option is to complete four laps as a solo rider.

The good news for me with a lap course is that I could stay in one spot and wait for Sam to loop back around. Having to deal with our pooches, keep them entertained and knowing Sam could deal with the 26 miles before he'd need anything would hopefully make things a bit smoother.

Sam waits to begin the Barn Burner

At 7am(ish), we roll. We begin the 104-mile scamper with the first 26-mile loop.

LAP 1

Mud and soreness were the only things on my mind. It's so muddy and my legs are ridiculously sore. I'm tired, but at about 10 miles in, I start feeling better. The course wasn't very technical, but it went something like climb-descend, climb-rock garden-descend, climg-descend/climb, finish at the barn.

The first climbs were long and slow, but not particularly steep. The descents were mild, but fun when there wasn't a ton of rocks... and here I thought I'd left the rocks of the Rocky Mountains behind.

I was pushing a bit on lap one and feeling pretty darn good about myself, even with the mud and my dizziness from lack of sleep and an 800 mile drive. I managed to come into the barn/dismount area in about 2 hours, which was right in line with what G.E. and I'd discussed prior to the race. I was having fantasies about finishing every lap in two hours - or better - and coming in at 8 hours or less.

As soon as Sam left the starting line, I was back to check on the dogs. I'd left them in the car with the windows rolled down a bit (it was still early and cold, so I didn't want them to freeze or roast). They were anxiously awaiting my return, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to wear them out when everything was a sloppy, muddy mess. I thought about just letting them run free (how bad could that be?), but I thought better of it. Instead, I pulled them out, one at a time and took them for another morning constitutional.

When I returned with each of them, I tried to figure out what I was going to do. I was not functioning at all, and I was feeling really bad for Sam who was out trying to race feeling the same way. Part of me thought there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to finish a 104-mile ride in this condition. Mentally, I prepared to deal with whatever would come. 

The bike rack on the back of the car became an anchor point for me to secure the dogs. We'd stopped in Albuquerque to pick up a couple of 30-foot nylon rope/leashes so that the dogs could run more than a couple of feet. I tied each to the bike rack and let the dogs loose. They seemed content with the idea that they could move, but they had limits to their freedom.

Bikes (and riders) coming in were absolutely filthy. This one wasn't as bad as many that rolled through.

At an hour and a half after the start, riders were already coming back around for their second lap (or to exchange with their relay members). Not knowing if Sam would find the energy to speed up, I decided to go and wait at the barn. Better safe than sorry, I thought. Dogs were loaded back in the car with windows down and off I went to wait.

One "rule" of this race requires that riders dismount their bike and walk it through the barn to the other side before continuing on after each lap. Despite the event staff and giant sign (and instructions they'd been given at the start of the race), riders really seemed to be struggling with this idea. Even as laps continued, I noted several who attempted to just stay on his/her bike as staff yelled after them to dismount.

Sam coming in to the barn, just finishing lap 1

Before I knew it, I spotted Sam coming in to the barn area. I was excited to see how quickly he'd been able to complete the lap. About two hours, for someone who was absolutely exhausted, was pretty impressive as far as I was concerned. He saw me and seemed to be okay, as he didn't really slow down, but headed right into the barn. I was glad to see him functioning so well thus far.

LAP 2

The good news was that the mud had actually dried up considerably. At this point, there were only a few puddles and the surrounding areas were dry. Unfortunately, this reality didn't remove the existing mud from my body or the bike, but at least it made things better.

The bad news was that five miles into lap 2, I was completely drained. The entire week had caught up with me - my lack of tapering, my insistence on continuing other workouts, combined with the lack of sleep - and I felt like I was climbing up Columbine in Leadville all over again. Except, this was 26 miles of it.

The lap itself was very uneventful, slow, and the same as most of the others, besides the pain cave I was sinking deeply into. The second lap ended up taking about 2:30 to complete. I realized I'd been 30 minutes slower. I was also making huge realizations about both my climbing and descending skills: they both suck. My energy was waning with every pedal stroke. I got through the lap, but I was not doing great.

When I'd left Sam at the end of his first lap, he seemed to be doing okay. I noted the time, and figured I'd come back to check for him in about an hour and forty-five minutes. I know when I ride, I tend to speed up after I've warmed up a bit, so I figured it was better to be waiting for him than to miss him entirely.

I went back to the dogs and decided that perhaps throwing a ball around for them would keep them amused for a bit. They were being surprisingly good for dogs that normally jump at the opportunity to misbehave. They had a few brief moments of barking at passing dogs, but beyond that, they were actually doing well. I was impressed. Still, it was a long time to try to keep them amused. Normally, they'd get their exercise in the morning and then they like to nap most of the day until evening, but their schedule had been completely thrown off. 

Balls were being tossed for them to fetch, and they happily did what retrievers do best. The terrier had little interest, but he seemed content to just rest in the shade. As I went to throw a ball for our Labrador, I expected her to run straight out to get the ball. You'll recall that they were tied to nylon ropes? Well, instead of running straight ahead, she decided to run behind me, stretching the rope to its limit and giving me the gnarliest of burns on my ankles.

One side of the burns from our fetching incident

Oh my god! I was in so much pain. The burning would not stop and I was convinced she'd taken out the tendon on the back of my left heel. I sat for a moment, hoping it would pass, but in reality, the burning would continue for two more days and I'd add ridiculously swollen ankles and feet to the list as well. I decided we needed a time out from fetching for a bit. They played with tennis balls on their own and then I realized we were getting close to the time I thought Sam might be coming back around from his second lap.

I put the pups back in the car with windows down and limped over to wait for Sam. I watched as riders who'd been just in front of him on the first lap came and went. I kept thinking he had to be on his way any moment. About two and a half hours after his first return, Sam lapped for the second time. It was plain to see he was exhausted. 

Sam rounding the corner to finish up lap2

"How are you doing?" I asked, as he came by. "Awful," he responded. One of the event staff chimed in stating, "Well, get through the barn and keep going!" It was easy for him to say, but I appreciated that he was attempting to keep Sam motivated. I wasn't sure what to say to him, honestly, and in my own sleep-deprived state, I couldn't form many intelligible sentences. I was starting to doubt that Sam would even be able to finish this race. I couldn't even handle what I was doing, so how would someone having to put forth actual effort be able to make it through?


That's going to wrap up things for this round, but the final post will be ready soon. I look forward to sharing the end of things at the Barn Burner.

The final of this series can be found by clicking here.