Flatting Out: An Early Morning Ride

I realize that I haven't written much about my own riding this year. In part, this is because my rides have felt very uneventful. Primarily, I have ridden this year for transportation purposes and although I have moments when I think I should write about some sort of happening from these outings, that thought usually leaves quicker than it came. When that happens, I take that as meaning that there was nothing truly to say about the ride.

As summer is now about half way complete (well, almost), I have started to feel guilty for not riding more athletically or sport-wise over these warmer months. I've had my reasons, and for the most part, I think they are justifiable, but I still miss being out for a lengthier stretch and/or just seeing how hard I can push myself. It amuses me that I seem to fall one way or another though for entire seasons at a time and can't seem to find that space during which I can both ride for sport and ride for transportation. One side always seems to lose.

But, because I've wanted to get out and ride while sweating (Though I suppose I sweat even riding for transportation these days as it's been quite warm), I decided to try to push myself to get up a little earlier than usual and go ride before the day gets going. With so many things to get done in a day, time just slips away before I have the opportunity to get out, but I had decided that if I made a purposeful attempt to go early, perhaps I would actually get out and ride.

This plan seemed to be working quite well for a few days. It was nice to be out before the sweltering heat began and although I struggled to get things together as I was heading out the door, I was able to get this plan into motion. While I don't care for others telling me that I'm not a morning person, I have to admit it really is true. Even though I can get up, I just don't function well for a couple of hours into the day and everything just seems to go wrong when I force myself to be productive early.

A few days into this new experiment, I was heading out when I said to Sam, "You know, I need to get an extra tube to carry. I haven't had a flat in at least two years, but somehow not having a tube with me makes me nervous. I have a patch kit and a pump... and a CO2 cartridge, but sometimes it's just good to have that extra tube, you know?"

Sam, the make-it-happen fellow that he is, walked to one of the storage bins in the garage and pulled out a tube. "This one should work," he said. "I think you bought this and never used it."

"Hmm. Well, thanks!" I said. "Guess I don't need to buy one... Though, I've probably now jinxed myself by even talking about flats."

We both laughed a bit and I joked that I would call if I needed him. Sam was preparing to head off to work though, and I knew I wouldn't be gone for much more than an hour, so I started off on my planned route feeling pretty good.

A few miles down the road, I started to think that my front tire felt a bit spongy. I looked down and everything looked fine, so I kept going and figured it was my imagination after the conversation just a few minutes ago. You really are crazy, I told myself. You've psyched yourself out so bad that now you think you're going to get a flat.

I biked on, but continued to have that sensation that something wasn't quite right up at the front of the bike. I made a couple of turns and ended up on a local highway that leads up to the mountains. I wasn't sure if I was feeling brave enough to climb this particular morning, but I wanted to at least reach the base and then make a decision.

A few miles down the highway, I was pretty convinced something was definitely wrong with the tire. I pulled over to a spot where I'd have some room and sure enough, the tire was going flat. It was a very slow leak as I'd been able to travel as far as I had without much of an issue, but I had a decision to make. Should I keep going and hope that the leak was slow enough that I could complete my ride, or should I turn around and head home so that I wouldn't have to deal with the flat on the side of the road?

The problem in my mind was keeping myself from freaking out about the nearly flat tire. Although I have changed tubes and patched them several times, it has never been when I was alone on the side of the road when it was out of necessity. Somehow, I've always managed to either have a slow enough leak that I was able to get home without dealing with it, or Sam has been with me and either done or assisted with the change for me. It's nothing short of amazing that I've gone so many years and never had to deal with this on my own, I am aware, but somehow in this moment I had a feeling I wasn't getting home without a fix and I definitely would have trouble if I continued on.

So, in a split second I made the decision to turn around and head home. I could feel panic setting in so as I turned, I thought it might be best to put a bit more air in the tire with my hand pump. As I started to pump in air, nothing was happening at first and then, all of a sudden, the tire went completely flat.

Alright, I said to myself, it's time to deal with this. I pulled out the patch kit at first and then thought better of it. I knew I could patch the tube later at home with ease, so I would just use the new tube and then use the currently flat tube as a spare after it was repaired.

Flipping the bike over, I used the tire lever to take one side of the tire off to remove the tube when I found myself scratching my head, trying to figure out how to get the tube out from behind the fork. As I said, I don't function well in early morning hours, so it took me a second to realize that I hadn't removed the wheel from the bike.

Duh, I muttered under my breath, and then followed up with the thought that it really had been a long time since I'd had to deal with changing a flat. I was also riding a bike with fenders, so that took an extra step and a moment for my brain to catch up and to realize that I'd need to remove one side of those as well.

At this point, I looked ridiculous, I have no doubt, and I felt like a complete idiot on the side of the road. I had small bits from the fender attachment in between my lips to keep from losing them, and I was turning back and forth, as I (for the most part) silently tried to coach myself through something that I fully know is not that difficult to do and that I can and have done in the past. I still didn't have the wheel removed, but I wanted to test out the pump as it hadn't put any air in when I'd tried to just pump up the tire without removing the tube.

After attempting to use the pump and realizing it still wasn't putting any air into the tube and therefore wouldn't put any air in the new tube either, I reached my breaking point. My morning fog-brain was not wearing off and I was ready to have a cry on the side of the road. I got out my phone and called Sam.

"Hey," I said as casually as I could when he picked up. "I think I really did jinx myself this morning. Can you come and get me?"

"Where are you?" he asked.

I provided approximate coordinates to which he responded that it would take him a bit, but he would get there as quickly as he could. With that, we hung up and I felt like such a helpless fool standing with various tools in each hand, watching cars and other bicycles whizzing by.

As I stood there, relieved that Sam was on his way, the panicked feeling dissipated. If I was going to be here for awhile anyway, I might as well attempt to finish changing the flat, I figured.

Since I hadn't actually removed the wheel yet, I started to pull that out and then realized I needed to release the brakes. After completely removing everything that was necessary, I got out the new tube and started to put it around the rim of the wheel and then remembered it would need a small amount of air to keep from getting a pinch flat, so I figured I'd try my hand at the pump again to see if I could get it to work. I had the CO2 cartridge and inflator with me, but I've honestly never used it and was a little terrified something might explode or I'd end up hurting myself (Sam would later laugh at me about this and then tell me that we were going to have a training session so that I wouldn't be afraid to use this tool in the future).

The pump wasn't putting out much air, but it was providing a little bit every several pumps, so I kept pumping until there was a small amount of air in the tube. Then, I began putting the tire back around the rim, making sure not to get the tube stuck in between.

Before I knew it, everything was put back together and the tire even had a bit of air in it. I had actually done it. For the first time on my own without the help of anyone (or at least the watchful eye of someone), I fixed a flat!

Believe me, I know it's ridiculous. As someone who has changed flats in the past, this shouldn't have felt like such an enormous accomplishment, but it really did. I realized that all I needed was to calm myself down and know that I have the ability to do the task --and then, not to sound to much like a Nike ad, just do it.

As I stood there beaming with pride, I pulled out my phone again. I saw a text from Sam that he'd sent about 10 minutes prior stating that he was on the edge of town and he'd get to me as quickly as he could. I didn't have the heart to have his trip be for nothing and since he was almost to me anyway, I responded that I was able to get a little air in my tire and that I was going to be riding east and I'd meet up with him.

I rode the highway back in the direction indicated thinking that it was kind of sad that at least a dozen cyclists had passed me and not one of them had offered to help as I'd stood on the side of the road, but on the other hand, I was grateful for the opportunity to prove to myself that I could in fact change a flat without the assistance of another person.

The tire was holding up okay, but it was severely lacking in air so I was taking it slow and wondering why I hadn't run into Sam yet. I was heading up a slight incline when a car pulled over in front of me... Sam to the rescue!

As he got out of the car he was shaking his head and smiling. "I've been back and forth twice trying to find you," he stated. "I should know better with you."

He was referring to a past incident during which we'd been riding together and I'd been so upset and convinced that I couldn't go on that he went home to get the car to rescue me. I had ended up riding home on my own though, despite the fact that I believed I didn't have it in me.

"How did you get all the way over here?" he asked. "I thought you couldn't get any air out of the pump."

I smiled, "Well, I was able to get enough that I figured I'd try riding a bit."

On the way home, we chatted about what had happened and as I exited the vehicle and we removed the bike from the car I said, "You know, if this ever happens again in the future... if I call you in a panic and tell you I need to be picked up, just talk me through it. I know you're perfectly willing to come and get me, but I feel bad that I made you turn around from work to come all this way to get me when I ended up fixing the flat. I know I didn't have a ton of air in the tire, but I can do it and I would've made it home okay. I think I just needed to be reassured that I have the ability to do it on my own."

As much as I could have lived without this situation, I am grateful for the opportunity to prove to myself that I am capable of dealing with minor issues that come up when riding. After years of riding, I still seem to have a deep fear that I am not self-reliant. While I know I am perfectly able, sometimes I need to know-know - as in, out of necessity - that I am capable, and this moment helped me better understand that often I just need to not panic and the rest will fall into place.

Have you had any moments of panic when dealing with a break down on your bicycle and then pulled it together? Have you had fixes that just couldn't be repaired while on the side of the road? How did you deal with your bicycle break-down?

Doomed From the Start

Nearly every person I know has had one (or sometimes more) of those days when everything seems to go wrong. It doesn't matter what is done to try to correct the off start, it's as though the cosmos is on a mission of its own. These are the days when I find myself wanting to literally go back to bed to see if I can right the wrongs of the day and try again.

One such day recently presented itself, and I was not in a particular mood to contend with what the universe was dishing out. No matter what I did, it seemed to set off in a path to either keep me from doing what I needed to do or to sour what I was already doing. I really do try my best not to let the little things get to me, but there was something to the start of this day that was steering it in a bad direction.

Every little thing was getting under my skin.  Our dogs, who are always a bit on the clingy side anyway, seemed to be determined to kill me by planting themselves just behind wherever I was standing so that when I took a step to turn around, I'd falter as I tried to keep myself upright. The morning's oatmeal was overcooked and hard as a rock. I had received a couple of messages first thing that had kind of set me into a tailspin. I couldn't find my favorite water bottle and I wanted to go for a ride as well... and so, the morning continued on in this fashion.

Determined to get to my ride though, I grabbed another water bottle and headed out to grab the bike. As I went to put on my helmet, it felt wrong. It just wasn't fitting my head properly for some reason and I felt as though the sides of my head were being squeezed in. Had my head grown overnight? I couldn't help but wonder. The gloves I went to put on were disgustingly dirty. Reminding myself to clean them up later, I grabbed an alternate pair that don't fit quite as well, but that would do the job for a quick ride.

Checking the tires, I opened the door and headed out. About 15 feet down the path out, I realized that the handlebars felt as though they'd slipped. They were tipped too far forward, so I pulled over to try to remedy the situation. Admittedly, I was muttering to myself at this point, wondering why nothing seemed to be easy. After fiddling with the tool in an attempt to find the proper size wrench, I couldn't seem to loosen the stem so that I could adjust the handlebars. Hmm, I thought. Perhaps it was in my imagination that they had moved? So, I got back on the bike and continued to ride a few more feet until the handlebars moved under the weight of my arms.

Ugh.

Off the bike again, I was determined to fix the problem. Without loosening the bolt, I pushed the handlebars with all my might until they were in the position I wanted and then attempted to tighten the bolt.

No luck with that either. My hands simply couldn't grip the tool tight enough to get a more secure spot to keep everything in place.

I wasn't thrilled about this because having a sliding handlebar while riding is definitely unnerving, but I wanted to move on. As long as I didn't put much weight on the handlebars, they seemed to stay in place, so I figured I'd continue on the ride anyway.

At least I had pretty views!

As I approached the T-intersection in front of me there was a line of traffic that wouldn't stop. Unfortunately for my purposes, the cross traffic doesn't stop and it was a matter of playing the waiting game until things cleared well enough to dart across to the opposite side. Eventually a spot cleared and I was finally making my way down the road.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief - which was perhaps my mistake.

The morning was still cool and even though the day was supposed to be quite warm, it was fantastic to feel the breeze on my face. Then, just as I was beginning to feel at ease, a cyclist coming from another T-intersection that joined the side I was riding suddenly darted out directly in front of me, shaking me from my fantasy land state of mind. I wanted to yell something at him, but I refrained. Perhaps I should have... it may have lightened my mood or at least made this day feel somewhat better... but instead, I grumbled to myself about the rudeness of others as he rode two feet in front of me, apparently oblivious to the fact that he'd just about caused a crash for us both.

Instantly, I remembered that I'd forgot to put on sunscreen. M*!%$*F#&@$#!  I had been so good thus far about putting on sunscreen. The problem is I burn to a crisp quite easily after only a few minutes in the sun, especially when it's still somewhat early in the warm season and I haven't had a lot of sun exposure. I do keep a bottle of sunscreen in a bike bag, but it was unfortunately not in the one I was using at the moment. Wondering if I should keep riding, I decided it was worth the risk of a burn just to be able to get something out of this progressively irritating morning.

As I reached the first signal on the path to get me to some back roads, I was fussing with my jersey. For some reason, this one just didn't want to stay down and it kept creeping up to my waist. On any other day, this probably wouldn't have been as big of a deal as it seemed in the moment, but on this day, it felt like a final straw sort of moment. "You WILL stay down," I commanded the jersey aloud, as though it was somehow capable of independent thought and action.

I bent my neck down to firmly pull the hem into place and noticed something on my shorts. What is that? I wondered to myself, believing that it was a stray piece of fuzzy lint or something floating through the air. Running my fingers over it to pull whatever it was off of me, I realized suddenly that it was a hole in my shorts.

I have no idea where these holes came from, or if I had acquired them on this short ride or prior to it.

"Are you kidding me?" I actually said out loud, and let out a huge sigh. I had worn these shorts only three times prior and now... now, there were multiple holes it appeared? For crying out loud. "That's it," again, said out loud to no one. "You win, universe. I guess this was doomed from the start."

With that, I turned and headed back home, about a half mile from where I'd begun a few minutes prior.

As I rode home, disappointed that I couldn't seem to overcome the start of this day, I understood that nothing really so horrible had happened and I knew I was being overly dramatic about things that were, for the most part, inconsequential, but I still couldn't let go of that feeling of being wronged by the universe somehow and I couldn't bring myself to continue the ride.

The stench of the morning clung to me and it was though I had to wallow in all of it in order to get through and on to better moments. When I got home, I took a few minutes to let myself have a pity party over what felt like, in the moment, a horrendous morning, and then ended up going for a walk instead. Slowly, I worked myself out of the funk and the cloud that had seemed to follow me all morning disappeared, but it was a morning that I would prefer not to repeat in the future.

It was not so much what had actually taken place. I've truly had far worse mornings and even entire days, but I realized that I didn't like myself and the way I was behaving - even if it was mostly an internal sort of temper-tantrum, nor did I care for my inability to pull myself out of it quicker. I guess there really is something to getting up on the wrong side of the bed though, and I suppose I just have to remember which side it is and keep from rising on that side in the future.

How do you pull yourself out of a bad day? Anything that works to lighten your mood? Usually a bike ride does this for me, but it seemed to be more of an irritant than of help on this particular day, but I find that activity of any sort generally helps with balancing things out.

Roadway Treasure

As someone who prefers an enjoyable chatting pace on a bicycle (whether anyone is with me or not), I find it interesting that there are times when I feel the need to push myself speed-wise for whatever reason.

There are moments when I do this to myself purposefully, intending from the start to go a particular distance in "x" amount of time. I think it's good, at least from time to time, to see what I am capable of accomplishing, otherwise I tend to always think that I am only capable of slow speeds.

Most of the time I am perfectly content to ride at my slug pace. I just find it more enjoyable to take things in on a bicycle than to race by everything, but on some of these trips, I find myself - often just for a brief moment - sparked by some outside happening to speed up. It could be a variety of triggers from an ill-behaved motorist to another cyclist far enough ahead of me that I think I can catch. Neither of these is necessarily always a motivator, but given the right set of circumstances, I can find myself in crush-it mode, wanting to out pedal anyone in my path.

A couple of weeks ago, I experienced one such moment. I was out on what was supposed to be a meandering ride, to test out some changes to a bike and just enjoy being in the outdoors. I had been perfectly content, pedaling along, singing a song (mostly in my head, but occasionally out loud), enjoying the ride. My pace was slow, but I really didn't have any concern about such things and instead wanted to get a good feel for some different bits on the bicycle I was riding. In fact, the Garmin was only attached to the handlebars because I wanted to know what distance I'd traveled with the tested parts.

At one point, I came to a junction on my path that would allow me to continue along on a bit longer journey or to turn in a direction to take me home. The day was running late and I had some other things to accomplish so I made the decision to head in the direction that would take me home quicker.

As I rode, I still had no concern about speed. My pace was comfortable and I was enjoying. No sooner was I thinking these thoughts when a gentleman on a race bike came tearing past me. On the right day, this may have been a motivator to get me to chase him (not that I would have caught him), but today, I was perfectly content. I smiled as he whipped by and I continued to move forward.

A couple of moments later, I could hear another cyclist coming up behind me. It was a different sound though. It wasn't the whirring of race wheels, but rather the sound of something perhaps a little clunkier, older, or in need of some TLC.

The sound was pretty close before I took notice because I was now pedaling beside motorists who were traveling at 60-65mph/96-105kph, but I could definitely hear that the person on a bicycle approaching was on a different sort of ride.

At this point, my pace had picked up. The road was flat and there was no need for me to pedal at a slower speed. When I looked down, the Garmin indicated I was traveling at about 19.5mph/31kph. As I looked up to the road in front of me, the bicycle I'd heard approaching came past quite swiftly.

*Image found here

It was in this moment that I started to giggle internally. The rider who was passing was wearing plain clothes (jeans and a short sleeved button down shirt, along with a wide-brimmed hat) riding, I would guess, a very late 60s to early 70s Schwinn, yellow in color, equipped with upright handlebars and what in a quick glance appeared to be fairly rusty original parts. It was also donning a rear rack with a roughly 13 gal, rubber receptacle attached to one side.

As the rider and his squeaky bicycle rolled by, I realized I simply couldn't allow him to pass me without putting in a bit more effort.

I picked up the pace, wanting partially to get a better look at this bike, but also realizing that it seemed a tad unacceptable that I was on a machine most would consider far better suited for this type of travel, and yet I had allowed him to roll by without much thought.

About 1/2 of a mile down the road, I caught up to him (which should also indicate how fast he was pedaling). I could see that he was spinning well, and I was frankly surprised he was able to keep up this sort of speed for such a stretch of road. I have ridden similar bikes and I know there's no human way I would have ever been consistently traveling these speeds. At this point, we were pedaling at around 25mph/40kph.

His wheels continued to squeak and the whole bike was making noise, but I was absolutely fascinated by this entire moment.

As I lagged behind him for a bit, I checked out the rusty wheels, the chain in need of lube, the paint bubbling in many places from the surface of a frame that had likely seen much better days. There was something about this entire situation that made me smile; it simply made me happy.

When I pedaled by, I knew it would be difficult to have a conversation because of all the motorized traffic beside us, but I felt the need to say something. "You have quite an efficient cadence going on that bike," is what came out of my mouth. I have no idea if he actually heard me or not, but he laughed a bit and smiled.

I continued on my journey, still several miles from home, with a huge, ridiculous smile on my face. I have no idea where the rider was headed or what he was doing that day, but he certainly seemed to be on a mission. And for me, what better bike-riding moment than an opportunity to see a bicycle some might discard being used not just for a quick jaunt to the corner store, but rather being utilized on a highway for longer distance needs.

What sort of cycling treasures have you found on the roadways?  Would or do you use a bicycle that others might see as unsuitable or not ideal for the type of riding you do? Feel free to share. As always, happy weekend riding to all (and a long weekend for those in the US!).

The Shortest Ride

Ah, mountain biking. When I think of the activity in a theoretical sense or when watching someone else ride the trails, it seems exquisite. I like the idea of working hard to get over a pass or maneuvering around, through or over obstacles. There's something about it that makes me smile, that causes me to believe that those who are able to get through the toughest of courses are truly remarkable human beings. Perhaps this is due, in part, to the giant, unrelenting cloud that hangs over me when it comes to mountain biking. Surely, only the smoothest, toughest and most athletic are able to achieve success on a mountain bike.

*Image found here

Or, perhaps it's merely that I've built mountain biking over the years into a task that seems to scare the bejeezus out of me.

But, let me first go back a bit.

I grew up riding mountain bikes. After my first tricycle and banana seat bike (with training wheels of course), I was on to mountain bikes. I don't think I owned a road bike until well into adulthood. Mountain bikes were simply the only option, unless a person was into BMX bikes, and I was not.

I rode my bicycle, like most pre-teens, to get around town when my parents weren't willing or weren't available to drag me to whatever location was of interest that day. I rode my mountain bike frequently over paved roads, dirt roads, and wherever I needed to travel.

I honestly don't ever remember being afraid to pedal anywhere I needed to go. In fact, I looked forward to going over obstacles and would often seek them out. Tree branches, rocks, giant puddles of mud/water - I loved it all.

Something happened between that care-free time in my youth and what I'll loosely refer to as today (which actually encompasses the last decade). What was once a fun, exciting, practical means of travel or fun became a thing of fear and dread. I wish I knew where it all turned or that I could point to a specific moment and know that it was where everything changed.

But, I can't. I don't know why or how the fear came about, but one day I simply became aware that mountain biking is scary. It became a daredevil activity in which I was no longer allowed to participate.

A few years ago, poor Sam attempted to get me started on it again, knowing full well that I am the biggest scaredy-cat when it comes to mountain bikes. That ride didn't go well. So unwell in fact that I didn't touch a mountain bike again for a very long time.

As Sam has participated in mountain bike races over the summer, it's caused me to take another look at mountain biking. Not because I want to do races, but because everyone I see actually seems to have a good time. They don't look scared out of their minds and they don't seem to be death-gripping the handlebars like yours truly. I wanted desperately to be able to find that joy and not be completely terrified of even the simplest of dirt trails.

Not to mention, I'd love to understand where the breakdown happens between riding paved roads and riding unpaved trails in my mind.

*Image from Santa Cruz

Several months ago, as Sam and I were wandering around a bike shop, I pointed to a Santa Cruz Nomad that stood brightly at the front of the store (If you follow that link, be prepared to gulp if you haven't priced above-base mountain bikes any time in the recent past). "If you buy me that bike, I'll go mountain biking with you," I snickered with far too much delight.

I knew full well that there was no way on this earth Sam was going to buy that bike. For starters, the bike as built was just shy of $7k. Really. It's an easy way to get out of something when you know there's no money for that sort of thing - particularly knowing that I may very well never touch the darn bike at all. He replied that if he could, he would, if it would get me out, which made me feel worse for suggesting it - even as a joke.

But, the more I wandered past mountain bikes in shops, the more I pondered the idea of actually using one for something other than riding up and down a paved road. The Bridgestone from the 90s I had was really too big to be used for such activities, so if I wanted to test things, I'd either need to ride Sam's bike (which is an option, but we set our bikes up very differently, and I'd hate to mess with his ride too much), or I'd have to get my own.

I looked, on occasion, through Craigslist and eBay, wondering if there was a good deal on something that would fit, but I couldn't justify spending even a few hundred dollars knowing that it could very well just end up gathering dust (and not from riding somewhere dirty).  I pretty much let the whole thing go, figuring that I get plenty of other types of riding in and I didn't feel like cluttering my head with such things for the time being.

Then one day, several weeks later, Sam arrived home from work with a mountain bike on the back of the car. Argh. Not sure if this was a good thing or not, Sam informed me that there was no need for panic as the bike was $50 from someone just trying to get rid of it, so he figured if nothing else, it would be worth testing out.

The tires were pumped up a bit and I stood over the bike in front of the house as though I was going to die if I started to pedal. As I stood there, I pondered actually taking off up the hill in front of me, but just couldn't get myself to move. I played with the brakes, pretending to test them, and a few minutes later threw my leg back over and started walking the bike back to the bike area.

Sam looked disappointed. I know he wanted me to ride the bike, but the fear running through me was more than I could handle. My insides were shaking and my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. "I promise I'll ride it soon," I said, only half believing it myself. "I just need to take it slowly."

Slow definitely didn't begin to describe it. I pretty much ignored the bike entirely. Then, one day, without warning or much thought at all, I decided that I should at least take the mountain bike around the block to see if it even fit properly. I took it from its spot in the holding area and pedaled around the block. The saddle was low, so I raised it up. Then, I pedaled around some more. I rode about 6 miles that day just testing the bike on paved roads.

That didn't seem so bad, I thought to myself. Of course, I knew very well that the problem was not paved roads, but rather dirt, rock and other off-road type rides.

I ended up on a dirt path accidentally on a ride with the Hillborne one day several weeks ago, which seemed to provide my brain a bit of peace with the idea of using a mountain bike on a dirt trail. If I just start slow, it won't be a problem, I told myself. I really had been trying to work my way up to even getting on the bike anywhere that wasn't paved.

As crazy as it sounds, as soon as I get near an off-road path I immediately tense up and fear takes over. I can ride dirt roads on the Hillborne because I'm comfortable with how it handles and the way it rides, but beyond that, the thought just overwhelms me. The biggest problem is that there are limits to what I can handle with the Hillborne because it is so large.

And then one day, it happened. I woke up and thought that I needed to take the mountain bike to an easy trail and just ride. I tried not to think about it too much and as the day got started, I went about preparing as though everything was normal.

As I got closer to the trail head, my heart was pounding so loudly. I was fairly convinced at this point that I wasn't going to ride the trail at all. I did a quick riding loop around the parking lot and then seriously pondered turning around and going home.

But, I didn't. Instead, I opened the gate, drug the bike through, stood over the bike and took a deep breath.

I understand completely that this all sounds insane. For someone who rides her bikes a lot, it must seem so absurd that I'd have so much anxiety about a simple dirt trail, but as I stated close to the start, there are some demons I'm dealing with when it comes to any form of mountain biking - even a silly, technically very easy, dirt trail with little climbing.

I stood on the other side of the gate for a few minutes. My brain was saying, Go back, GO BACK! You don't need to do this. My body seemed to agree as my hands were noticeably shaking. My heart was pounding so loudly I thought it might actually come out of my chest. I fought every instinct in that moment and started to pedal forward.

I had a ridiculously tight grip on the handlebars and told myself to just breathe and relax. Easy for you to say. I can't help but have fights in my own head, at times.

I pedaled for what felt like an absolute eternity (which turned out to be only a mile), at which point I stopped and got off the bike. Ahead of me were two riders on horses and I had the option to keep going and figure out how to pass them on the trail, or turn around and head back. I decided in that moment that I hadn't fallen over yet, nothing bad had happened, and I needed to keep this first ride positive, so I turned around and headed back.

As I returned to the start of the trail, I heard someone behind me say with heavy breath, "On your left." I suddenly heard the pounding of running shoes on the ground and realized that a runner was passing me. How embarrassing! Seriously, I was pedaling so slow that a runner was able to easily stride past me. I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the ridiculousness of the situation.

I noticed on the short ride back though that I was far less cautious with my riding. I was starting to loosen the death grip on the bars, and I even purposefully went over a few areas that I would normally avoid or would get off the bike to walk over.

As short as the ride was (just over 2 miles of trail), I could feel that there was a bit of confidence gained in just that short distance. I'm not ready to set off on the rockiest of terrain nor am I prepared to say that I am entirely comfortable on a mountain bike trail - even an easy one like this, but I think with some repetition and increases in distance, I can overcome some of the fear that seems to have taken over this aspect of riding for me.

The bike Sam got for me is on the large side, which hasn't resolved some of the issues with having a bike that's too large (it's a bit long in reach and the standover is a tad scary, so sudden stops are a bit precarious - which I do realize probably isn't helping the fear factor), but it handles like a tank, which for me, is a wonderful quality because I don't worry as much about holes or smaller obstacles on a trail. I'm sure I'll regret that characteristic when climbing becomes more serious.

Ultimately, it's a great feeling to have gone out and at least tried to conquer something I fear so much - particularly doing it on my own. When I look at the photos of the trail, I have to wonder what it is I am so terrified of with off-road paths, but when actually riding them the fear comes and simply takes over. Being able to overcome a bit of it is definitely confidence-inspiring though, and I was reminded that while there are few things that scare me as much as mountain biking, it is important to face my fears and attempt to overcome them.

I find it hard to believe that a two-mile bicycle ride (can I even call that a ride?) could cause such a shift in my mind, but I do think it has helped to remind myself that I don't have to do anything I am uncomfortable with riding. Perhaps one day I'll feel confident enough to head to the actual mountains rather than the foothills, but for now, I'm happy to take things slow and see where it goes.

With cooler temperatures setting in and snow likely on the way, I don't know how frequently I'll be able to ride before trails become too intimidating for me. However, I look forward to trying again soon and I know that we have enough sunny days even in winter that I may just be able to get this demon conquered before spring hits again. Maybe.

Random Psychedelic Bicycle Photos

A few days ago, I was riding my bike to kickboxing. Normally, I don't take my cell phone with me because I live close enough to the meeting spot that if something happens, I figure I can just walk home (additionally, I just think it's rude when phones are going off in the middle of class), but because I had some extra time prior to the workout, I decided to take a ride, thus causing me to err on the side of caution and bring my phone along. Feeling lazy when I left, I just tossed my phone in the front basket and didn't think anything of it.

Later in the afternoon, I was trying to find a photo I'd taken a couple of weeks ago with my phone and when I went to look for it, these photos were the first thing I saw.

Somehow, the camera got turned on and took pictures on its own. I'm pretty fascinated by this. First, it's amazing to me that photos snapped at all as it requires a finger to actual press the screen. I've tried in the past to use other means of touching the phone screen and it just doesn't work, so how these were captured is beyond me. Second, how did the camera get turned on at all? I have a habit of completely closing out everything on the phone each time I'm done using it and locking the screen, so it seems odd to me that the camera decided to turn itself on as well.

Beyond the weirdness of the situation, I'm kind of mesmerized by the photos. Particularly, the second, third, fourth and final shots. I sort of want to do something with these, but I can't quite decide what precisely. Any thoughts? I also want to try again and see if I can get it to happen a second time, but also figure out a way to have a bit more control over the photos. There's something cool about the randomness of the shots, but it would be interesting to see what would happen with just a bit more precision.

City Bike: Shinola Women's Bixby Bicycle

Bicycles are a curious thing. They are simple, easy to use machines that require little maintenance. They can be used for transportation, recreation, sport, and/or endurance. Despite their simplicity, they come in a vast array of sizes, shapes, materials, and capabilities, making them possibly one of the most confusing items to purchase. I seem to find myself spending a lot of time in bike shops, ranging from small stores with only a few bikes on hand to those that have rows and rows of bicycles to choose from. Even having a baseline knowledge of what different types of bicycles are best suited to accomplish, it can still be confusing or overwhelming to have so many choices. Add in the internet, which can virtually put even more options at an individuals fingertips and things become even more hazy.

It helps to know what sort of riding the cyclist intends to do on a bike. I think it's safe to say most people who have been riding for any amount of time start to see that having one bicycle to do everything is highly unlikely. Sometimes it helps to think realistically about what sort of use a bicycle will get. If the intention is to take casual, 3-10 mile trips at an easy pace, this may not require the sort of set up that an individual who plans to race or regularly participate in extended road rides would need. Some people prefer a middle ground that allows them be comfortable on a short commute but that can also allow for some longer rides as well; others prefer a dedicated commuter and separate road/race bike. Some don't mind having a garage full of bicycles with only minor differences among each of them. I don't think any option is wrong in itself, but it's important to understand what sort of rider one is and what sort of means to purchasing options a person has when choosing a bike. The wrong decisions can make a huge difference in happiness and use of the bicycle chosen.

Recently, I found myself in a bit of a bike conundrum. I had been talking about the possibility of adding a city bike back into the fold, but having experienced several different versions, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do or which direction to go - or even if I wanted to add this sort of bike again.  During this discussion of possibly adding another bike, a coincidental test ride on a Shinola Bixby Women's bicycle took place and I thought there might be others looking at this bike, so I thought I'd throw out a few thoughts on this bike in particular to help those who might be on the fence or even seriously considering this as a purchase.

*Image from Shinola

As it would happen, I was walking by a bike shop in Boulder and saw this beauty staring at me from the window. I felt drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It is gorgeous! The pictures you've seen online simply cannot do it justice. It's really the little things such as the headbadge and small touches that make this bike something spectacular to behold. It is available in four colors from Shinola (charcoal, taupe, mauve and teal). This shop happened to have a mauve colored version.

*Image from Shinola

I had read about and viewed pictures of this bike online (though there doesn't seem to be many thoughts on the mixte version), but there is something about seeing it in person that provides a new level of respect for craftsmanship. While it is a beautiful bicycle, what really counts is ride quality, so off I went for a test ride.

The first thing that came to mind is that it was quite easy to start riding. I think for those wanting a handlebar that is higher than the saddle position, this may not be the best choice, but with that said, I wouldn't necessarily rule it out as even having the handlebars level with the saddle, I didn't feel particularly leaned over. The Bixby has a city-bike/lightweight cruiser feel and one that seems as though I was perched up on the saddle. Pedaling was easy and shifting smooth. Nothing felt shaky or twitchy. I went up and down a few hills to test the gearing and it seemed sufficient for those not having to deal with a very steep grade. The cream Schwalbe Delta Cruiser tires are a perfect choice. I've had these on other bikes and have enjoyed the ride quality and puncture protection (as long as I haven't ridden through a thorn field, they've held up well), and the color sets off this bike perfectly.

One item I wasn't absolutely certain about was the saddle width choice for this bike. It's such a beautifully made saddle (by Shinola) to go with the bike, but even despite the ever-so-slightly aggressive position, I still felt quite a bit of weight on my backside. I think a bit more width in the saddle would have helped eliminate the sensation that there just isn't quite enough there to support the sit bones (we are all different though, so this will vary from individual to individual). Of course, if a person is taller and had the saddle higher, s/he would be more leaned on the handlebars and would likely eliminate this issue. I also appreciate the disc brakes and internal hub as these features make the bike easy to ride in all sorts of weather and help make the bike nearly maintenance-free.

As is typical for me while riding a bike, it was the small things, such as a coordinating bell that made me smile (the bike made others smile and look as well - even in a city full of people on bicycles). It was difficult not to picture myself someplace sandy with ocean breezes, cruising along on this beautiful bike. However, practicality soon set in and I realized that I don't live somewhere with beaches surrounding me and instead I have many hills to climb on a regular basis, so I quickly came back to reality and realized it's simply not the right bike choice for me. Which is not to say that I didn't stare longingly at it as I walked away, but rather my practical side seems to rear its head more frequently these days than in the past.

There are also a few items missing from the build that I think are practical for those wanting to use this as a commuter or grocery-getter. For instance, there are no racks on this bike, making it challenging to carry more than a bag over ones shoulder. Additionally, it does not come with lights. Both of these items can be added, of course, but with a price tag of nearly $2,000, I would hope these would be included.

The thing most difficult (I believe, and as pointed out by others) for Shinola to sell this bicycle is price point. I would be surprised to suddenly see many of these out on the roads (which is a shame because both this version and the diamond version are lovely options) as I think they are a bit more costly than most American's are willing to spend on this type of bicycle. Of course, that could be a motivator for some to purchase the bike because it probably won't be a common find on the roads. Although I understand having a frame made in the USA and in the Waterford factory comes at a cost, building this bicycle with the 3-speed Nexus hub will limit who will use this bicycle and how it will functionally work for the individual. Speaking from experience, I know that a cruiser-type bicycle can be used to cover more than a few miles, but it comes at a premium to ones energy usage and joints. It's simply not the most efficient means to use as a commuter over any sort of distance - particularly when dealing with hills. Meaning, this probably isn't going to be someone's do-everything bicycle. While it feels lighter than many cruiser bicycles I've used, and has a slightly more aggressive sitting position, ultimately it still has the feel of an easy-going/riding bicycle - which is both to its credit and detriment.

If you are aesthetically driven, have a Shinola dealer nearby, and are looking for a city bike (& have the $ to spend - of course), I think this could be one to try out. It's a beautiful and easy to ride bicycle that I hope will be one of many options available for every day riders. It will be interesting to see if Shinola continues these models and/or if they modify them as time goes by. Have you had the opportunity to ride one of Shinola's bikes? If so, what were your thoughts? It's always great to have more opinions in the mix.

Giving up bicycles

I am through with bicycles.

That was the brief and only contents of an email sent recently. I was, without mincing words, pissed off. I despise the fact that I go through so many emotions when it comes to bikes, but there reaches a point at which all of the seemingly little things - the ill-fitting equipment, the too-often moronic motorists, the non-compliant weather, etcetera - come together in a brief span of time and I arrive home wanting to literally throw my bicycle in the trash. So, as I returned home after an extremely brief ride one day, I could feel the anger boiling inside. I was shaking visibly, and since no one was around for me to take out my hostilities, I sent the five-word email and decided that I'd had enough of dealing with bicycles and their "drama."

*Image here

Just days before, I had been in conversation about the prospect of building a custom frame. While not in love with the costs involved in such an endeavor, I was excited about the possibility of having a frame that might actually fit properly. I had been wavering back and forth about whether or not this would be the thing to do, but those from whom I'd sought advice thought it seemed a good idea. Heading to a local shop, I said the magic words... "Okay, let me know what I need to do to move forward." After which, I immediately felt ill. I want a bicycle that fits properly, but I definitely don't want to spend the money. I have a bike that's close to a good fit, but I still experience pains and numbness and was hopeful that a custom frame would be the answer. Now, as I sat reviewing the 5-mile ride I'd just returned from, I wasn't sure I wanted a custom bike, nor any bike for that matter.

The morning had been chilly, so I worked for several hours, thinking that a ride later in the day might be a better choice. I made the mistake of eating just before I set out, and unfortunately, I was feeling it a little more than I'd prefer. The heat of the day had also arrived quicker than I'd anticipated and the air seemed far warmer and thicker than the actual temperature would indicate. Additionally, I had opted to try out a different pair of shoes this day. I'd been experimenting with shoes/pedals/etc in an attempt to resolve some foot issues while riding. Pollen was flying through the air all around me as I stood over the bike preparing to set out. Despite my head already throbbing with an allergy-induced pounding, I wanted to ride. I had a route in mind - something rarely tackled by my brain before venturing out. So, I was going whether the circumstances seemed in my favor or not.

As I rolled down the hill from home, I realized I'd left my gloves sitting in the bike storage. I had decided it would be a good idea to check the air in the tires before rolling out and could picture exactly where I'd left them. Ah, well... I would continue on. As I rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill, I realized there was an incredible strain taking place in my shoulders and neck. I tried wiggling a bit and stretching to see if it would work itself out to no avail. Then suddenly, I was instantly aware of all the issues taking place on the bike: the saddle was tipped up way too high, the handlebars had a reach that suddenly seemed to grow many inches in just seconds, the bars were tipped too far forward, and so on.

Over the prior weekend, Sam and I had taken the bike out to make adjustments in an attempt to improve the fit. We were convinced that minor changes could make a huge difference, so if we went together, Sam could see how my position might appear off, and I could describe what exactly was taking place physically. We'd made so many changes by the end of that ride, I was numb to everything. I had decided after our second hour on the bikes that we should just leave it alone and I would take the bike out later to make another round of adjustments, if needed.

And, oh boy, were adjustments needed. Stopping the bike after a few miles, I decided I was going to make the fixes because I wanted to ride. I frequently struggle with adjusting the tipping of the saddle, so I decided to focus on the handlebars. I loosened the bottom screw on the handlebar stem and then went after the top screw. Except, it wouldn't budge. With all of my might, I sat on the side of the road attempting to release the screw. I grunted and groaned, and muttered to myself about Sam making everything so tight that vice grips are needed to release them. "How am I supposed to make changes if I can't even get the damn screw loose!" I yelled to no one, as I stood in a small patch of dusty pea gravel beside the road. Perhaps another cyclist would ride by, I thought. It's a frequently ridden road for many in the area and there was a chance someone would be kind enough to help me get the screw loose. But, I had ventured out after lunch time and the odds of a cyclist pedaling by were unlikely.

For fifteen minutes I tried different methods to release the screw, but it was no use. My hands were in so much pain at this point that I had no grip left. The indentations left on my hands by the wrenches on my bike tool were getting worse, and I was aware that I wasn't going to be able to continue riding. I didn't really want to ride at this point, so I walked across the road, about faced, got back on the bike, and feeling defeated, started pedaling home. I had quickly gone from happy and determined to angry and discouraged, and there didn't seem to be any turning back.

It's amusing that when one thing goes wrong, it all seems to domino from that point. Even the littlest of happenings seems to add exponentially to the internal turmoil, and it's easy to think back on the start and believe that everything that was taking place, all of the "signs" that it wasn't my day, all of these moments were a means of telling me not to leave the house. Normally, I can let things go, but on days like this, the world seems to be against me. I turn into a bratty child, throwing internal tantrums and believing that I am "not meant to ride a bike." I convince myself that it is too difficult to get things set up properly and that it's not worth the pain.

As I continued home, muttering to myself, I am shook from my internal world of thoughts by a car that has stopped dead in front of me. "Seriously?" I state aloud. I'm on a hill - the hill home - and definitely don't want to lose what little momentum I have. The grade is steep, and stopping and re-starting is unpleasant to say the least even when I'm not in a foul mood; but today - today, I really don't need this. The driver, who is on her cell phone, motions for me to go behind her. "I can't... you're blocking the path," I say. Not that she can hear me as she is quite obviously caught up in her (I'm sure, highly important - [insert sarcastic eye roll]) phone call. She sits, continuing to talk, as I shake my head and feel the anger rising inside. "Are you blind? There is a sign right there (I motion to the sign clearly posted) to watch for cyclists!" Again, she has no interest in me and isn't even aware of my mouth moving, nor my frustration level. I call her a choice name and she finally moves so I am able to continue on.

Arriving home, I am beat. I have traveled just over 5 miles and feel as though I've ridden 60+ miles. I sulk into the house, truly believing that I am never, ever, riding a bicycle again. "Cancel my frame order, shut down the blog," I tell the dogs as I pout my way through the house, dropping pieces of cycling paraphernalia as I go. "I'm done." Then, a quick stop to send the e-mail to Sam... "I am through with bicycles."

Sam responds wanting to know what happened. I don't bother to reply. When I don't send a message back, he calls, but I don't pick up. I have no interest in engaging in conversation or discussion about my feelings. I am simply done. I don't want to be in pain, I don't want to struggle with bikes, and I don't want someone attempting to talk me out of my (entirely reasonable... at least in that moment) desire to sell every bicycle I own. Instead, I sit in my stupor, wondering why I ever learned to ride a bike and why on earth I returned to riding them more and more frequently over the last several years.

Lost in heated, resentful thought, I stew in my self-made concoction of three-year old child outbursts and contempt. Slowly, however, I become aware that I am telling myself, "Well, perhaps I'll keep just the Hillborne. I may actually ride that one." Those little slivers of truth keep sneaking into my thoughts. "I can't sell the Soma," is the next one to find its way into my consciousness, followed by, "I need the Trek. It's the road bike that fits the best at the moment."

I try to fight the thoughts. I want to hate my bikes right now and I never want to ride again. Bicycles are stupid. There are other activities to engage in without riding a bike. Think about the agony of trying to find one that fits properly, think about the near-death experiences with drivers, and think about the pain of trying to build on mileage each spring and summer... all for what?

But it's too late. The positive moments are already flooding my mind. The memories of seeing that cruiser bike for my birthday and riding all over, no matter what anyone said was a reasonable distance to cover on it. The casual rides to nowhere that were fun just because there was absolutely no purpose in them other than enjoying being outside. The rides with friends who are just getting on bikes again as adults and sharing their new experiences. The first road bike and the realization that I could cover more territory so much faster. My first century ride, despite believing it was impossible to complete.

What would I do without a bicycle? It's become more than I ever thought it could be. I use it for transportation, to clear my head when it's full of thoughts that need to be released, for exercise, for training, for adventure, to challenge what I think is possible. Bicycles are simple, yet beautiful. They are reminders that even as technology changes, a bicycle remains relatively consistent. Our two-wheeled device is capable of giving so much and asks so little in return.

By the time evening hit, it was kickboxing time. Without even thinking, I move toward bike storage to retrieve the Hillborne and head to class. Rolling down the same hill I'd ridden just hours before, I smile. Riding around is always fun, and being with Sam on a bike is the best. I love this bike, I think as we roll over bumps and rocks. "Maybe we can try again this weekend with the adjustments on the other one?" I ask Sam as we ride side by side. He nods in response and I realize there is no giving up something I think about almost constantly. I'm hooked for life.

Sometimes, I Welcome the Wind

Most of the time, I dread days of riding in the wind. A little breeze is fine, but the strong winds can really get to me and more often than not result in very short rides (sometimes even shorter than the short ride I'd already planned). If Chicago is the "windy city," I'm convinced Colorado during the winter/spring seasons is the "windy state." It's almost a given that if the day looks beautiful and sunny, during this time of year there will most assuredly be strong winds.

*Image found here

Venturing out on a short ride recently, I was aware that the winds were blowing in a spring storm. It is to be expected and I took note as I prepared to take it on. When I know the winds are strong, I frequently plan a rectangular route, knowing that I will experience tailwinds for at least a portion of the ride. Somehow, it seems to get me through the more difficult portions. This day was no exception. I was ushering in a cold that was taking hold quicker than I'd prefer, but wasn't about to let that stop me from getting in a little time in the saddle. In April (a fickle month in these parts), I have to take what I can get.

As I started out, I could feel the winds pushing mildly against me, but I continued on. As I rounded my first corner of the rectangle, I faced the winds head on. After the first mild climb, there is a downhill portion. I knew I was in trouble when the downhill that I normally cruise down at speeds of 20+ mph had a maximum speed of 8 mph. Two cyclists passed me. I shook my head as I wondered how they were able to power through the force. Disappointed in my ability to maintain a reasonable pace, I considered turning around to have the wind at my back, but as I was contemplating this plan, realized that there was a road coming that I could cut through to shorten my rectangle. I had decided that was as good an option as any and carried on.

Then, the shortcut road came into sight. As it did, I was pondering this harsh wind - and life (typical thoughts for me while riding). I thought about how these strong winds are really such a parallel to the challenges we can face in life. When something presents itself as an obstacle or a force to be reckoned with, we can turn around and avoid it all together, we can sneak across through some loop hole or shortcut never really dealing with the issue, or we can face it head-on and deal with the issue at hand. In that instant, I passed on the shortcut and headed into the wind (which I swear must've heard my thoughts and got stronger the moment I made the decision to press on). I felt as though this wind was offering me a challenge and I was determined not to let it get the best of me. I could still see the two cyclists who'd passed me. My mental goal was to attempt to catch them before my next turn (as a side note, they turned around before I caught them). This would surely keep me motivated, I believed.

When I reached the next turn, I shouted for joy. "Ha, ha! I win! You didn't beat me." Okay, so it may have only been an internal exclamation of glee, but it felt good to have won out over this seemingly supernatural presence. As I pedaled through the turn, it seemed as though the wind had shifted. Was I riding into a headwind? Still? Feeling as though I'd lost my mind, I scanned for trees or anything that might be blowing, but there was nothing tall enough to offer a clue. I looked above me and there was a bird, fighting with all his might to head the same direction I was going. "Well, I guess that's my answer," I actually spoke aloud this time. The wind had definitely changed direction.

Thankfully, this was the short stretch of the rectangular route, and I smiled broadly as I hit the next turn. I have realized, however, that sometimes the side-winds are even worse than the headwinds. With a headwind, I know what I'm dealing with - strong and direct forces of nature - and if I pedal harder/faster, I can keep moving even if it's a slow pace. With the side-winds, it almost feels as though the bike could be whipped out from beneath me without warning, and I dislike that feeling very much. Pedaling downhill, I was braking, feeling that the wind was definitely in control, and I most certainly was not. Again, the parallels to life are amazing to me.

In the end, I finished my short ride feeling accomplished despite my mental setbacks along the way. I had cursed the wind as I did it, but near the end realized that sometimes I need these moments to recognize that I am capable of doing whatever I set my mind to do, and remembering just how many similarities I find in bicycling and life's journey. There are always options to give up, to sneak around or avoid an issue, or to take it head-on. I hope that I more frequently make the choice to deal with things in a straight forward manner. It can be very rewarding in the end.

One Winter Day

The winter storm that came through before this last one hit here in Colorado left quite a bit of snow in our area. Fortunately, the sun came out for several days after and melted nearly all of it away, making an unseasonably pleasant small portion of January and cleared the majority of ice from the roads quickly. Because it was so nice, it was difficult not to be out on a bike, so I found myself frequently making trips on two wheels (sometimes, seemingly for no reason at all).

On one of those non-purposeful trips by bike, I came across a downed bike lane sign. My initial reaction was one in regard to some sort of repairs being made, but then as I looked closer, I came to believe that this had actually been struck by something to almost entirely uproot and split the sign: most likely, a car that had slipped on the now-disappearing ice. Because it has been a couple of weeks since that original storm, I'm curious to see if the sign will be replaced/repaired, or if it will be noticed at all. The road is pretty well traveled by motorized vehicle and cyclists alike, so I will be waiting to see what takes place in regard to repairs - or, I may even make a call to the city to see if they are aware of the sign being damaged.

On another day during that same stretch of sunshine and disappearing snow, I tweeted a picture of two bulls butting heads in a herd of cattle.

Need another reason to ride a bike? How about experiencing a literal "bull-headed" moment. pic.twitter.com/5f0Sh7MLql
— G.E. (@endlessvelolove) 

There was nothing exceptional about the photo (nor the incident necessarily), but it tickled me in the moment as I was riding by to capture a snippet of nature. Not only did I snap a photo of the bulls fighting, but I even managed a very short video of the cows mooing around them.

Just after my few moments with the cows, I headed down the road and spotted some cyclists crossing railroad tracks to get to a portion of trail that is still in tact and usable by those on a bike.

Three ladies were out enjoying their mountain bikes on a beautiful, winter day - enjoying each others' company and chatting away... and there was nothing extraordinary about it.

In fact, there was nothing extraordinary about any of these moments caught while I was riding a bike. However, had I been in a car, travelling at much higher speeds and focused on an arbitrary destination, I would likely have never actually witnessed any of these scenes. None of these moments were life-changing, but they are just three short examples that were enjoyable (for me), or that caused me to stop and ponder some aspect of my community and the people who live within it. I cannot help but wonder how many great moments are missed, or how many opportunities for insight or change are overlooked because so many of us travel by various motorized means more often than not. I frequently find myself lost in thought while riding a bike, and I think this is common for many. It's a wonderful opportunity to witness small moments that provide observations or perspective on my own life, feelings, space, and so on, and I can't help but feel a bit sorry for those folks who don't have the pleasure of engaging in something as simple as riding a bike. They truly don't know what they are missing out on - especially during the often rare, beautiful, winter days.

Manufactured Motivation

As I have been working to finish a couple of centuries this summer, I try to get in at least three training rides each week. One ride is a distance ride, simply to see how far I can go. One ride is a "push it" ride to see how fast I can go. The third ride is generally something in between, a recovery(ish) sort of ride, or if I'm really feeling adventurous that week, I try to make it a nearly all climbing ride. The week doesn't always break down this way (for various reasons), but it seems to be a good way for me to push myself, and by the time I throw in a couple of runs each week, and multiple rounds of kickboxing, it seems to be enough to keep me on the right track. Not to mention the casual, commuting-type rides I get to go on intermittently throughout the week.

*Image here

There are days when I'm supposed to go on a training ride and it just feels painful from the start. As much as I try to boost my mood before I leave, nothing seems able to counter the tiredness on these days. I had one such day fairly recently after taking almost an entire week off from any sort of bike training. Normally, I wouldn't allow that to happen, but my body was just in need of a break from some (or many) of the activities I have been engaging in, so I was trying to cut myself some slack. One would think after a nice long break, I'd be ready and excited to get back on the bike, but my heart and head just weren't in it.

As I got out my bike and pumped up the tires, I sighed heavily out loud. Muttering to myself (about nothing in particular), I pulled my water bottles and threw them in the cages, made sure I had my keys, and off I went. I have learned that on these days, I just have to let my body do what it can and not try to force something. This day was supposed to be a speed day, but I could tell that it just wasn't in the stars. Continuing to talk to myself, I kept saying that this didn't have to be fast, but just to get out and go. As much as I hate feeling this way, I also know that if I just ride, I can almost always talk myself into doing what I set out to do - even if it isn't as fast as I would like.

For once, I actually had a route in mind. I knew it would be mostly climbing for the first half and then a very slight descent with two steeper but shorter climbs on the way home. Knowing how I was feeling, I believed if I could just push myself to get to the midway point, it would be an easy ride home. "Okay, you're going to push yourself to the turnaround spot," I coached myself. "There's no reason you can't do this... you've had plenty of rest days." Amazingly, this seemed to work. As I got going, it wasn't the fastest I'd ever traveled the route, but I knew I was doing okay. When my legs were more warmed up, I kept trying to push myself to go faster and even though I really don't like climbing, I think it's a great way to test my improvements in strength and endurance while riding. I reached the half way point and congratulated myself silently. "Ah, now I can relax on the way home."

Except, I didn't really want to relax. I felt good at this point. My muscles were a bit fatigued from trying to push through at a faster pace on the climbing section, but I wanted to see how quickly I could do the return ride. Up ahead of me, I saw a slender male with quite muscular calves pedaling in what seemed to be a very speedy rhythm. The thought that ran through my mind was, of course, "I will never catch him." Still, he was in front of me and I figured it was something to shoot for and to keep me motivated. About a half mile up the road, I had caught him. I wasn't sure what to do. Mentally I was trying to will him to speed up because I really didn't want to pass knowing that he would likely just speed past me a bit up the road. He wasn't increasing his speed, however, and didn't appear to be ready to make a break for anything. I had a decision to make, and I made it quickly.

"On your left," I said as I was next to him, "Good morning, too." I was not prepared for the response I was about to receive. The first thing out of his mouth sounded similar to the air rushing out of a just flattened bike tire, "Ppshhh!" Which was quickly followed up with, "You've got to be kidding me."  At this point, I was already several feet in front of him, and I couldn't help but smile. Now, who knows what this response was supposed to mean. Perhaps, like me, he had been talking to himself and was having a bad morning. Maybe he was upset with himself that he wasn't able to get the power he normally has when riding. It's possible he had been talking aloud all along and I just hadn't had the awareness to hear it, or he noticed some sort of malfunction on his bike that just so happened to coincide with my passing by. However, in my mind, it had a very specific purpose and meaning. I couldn't help but believe the real thought running through his mind went something like, "Seriously, this chunky lady is passing me?!!?!"

I told myself in that moment that he would not catch me. Of course, I have no way of knowing what he was really thinking or the intended purpose of his statement, and for all I know, he had no desire to catch up to me anyway. I do know, however, that I never saw nor heard him again after that moment. Something in that small instance clicked my brain into overdrive through, and I was ready to pedal as fast as necessary to keep ahead of him. I felt myself pushing hard the rest of the way home, believing that he had to be right on my wheels. Whether intended as an insult or not, I am amazed to discover what these sorts of incidents can do for me physically and psychologically. The ride home was fast, and I was motivated - by what? I'm not exactly sure.  All of it was manufactured motivation, as I truly have no idea what was going through the other persons head. Yet, somehow this short moment in time gave me the shove I needed to average a faster ride on this route than I ever have before.

The question I then have to pose is, how do I motivate myself to achieve this sort of feat when there isn't someone present to motivate me? Obviously, I am physically capable of doing the work, so what is it that keeps me from achieving similar results on my own? I do have it in me to push myself - I did it during the climb to the halfway point - but how do I keep this same motivation for every ride, and every time I need or want to push myself? It is in there, and it's possible to bring it out, so I think I just have to work on finding real drive, instead of utilizing these moments of seemingly made-up determination based on perceived insults. Perhaps you have experienced something similar, or have thoughts on the matter. What do you use as your motivating factor(s) to get you to push through the more mentally difficult times? Do you have "bad" days when riding, even when you actually do want to ride? I'm curious to know if others experience similar types of rides/feelings. Ultimately, I seem to have decided that perception is what matters, and whether that perception is fact or fiction is irrelevant and unimportant; but deep down I really want to know that I can motivate myself when necessary without feeling as though I need that extra from some exterior source.

Slow Ride Reflections

A couple of weeks ago, a friend asked if I would want to go on a bike ride sometime with her. I was excited about the opportunity because I don't actually have many friends who ride. She shared that she often gets left behind when her husband wants to go, and just wanted to have a fun ride. She's fairly new to cycling (she's had a bike for a couple of decades, but hasn't really been on her bike until this summer), but I have to admit I was thrilled to have an opportunity to ride with someone. When I hadn't heard from her by the end of the following week, I decided to send a message asking if she still wanted to get together for a ride. She responded by stating that she was ready for the following day, and because we are both involved in kickboxing we decided to meet up after class and go for our joy ride.

As we were leaving class she said, "You know, I'm kind of intimidated to ride with you." I laughed (Mostly because I was thinking, "Who in the world would be intimidated to ride with me, the snail of the cycling world?"), but she continued on. "I was telling my husband that you just rode a century and he said, 'She's not going to want to ride with you!'" I assured her that I was in no hurry to get anywhere and that I actually enjoy a nice, leisurely ride around town - it just rarely seems to happen when I'm training for a specific goal. She had a couple of questions about her bike and shoes, so we chatted as we started to ride.

The pace was leisurely and enjoyable as we headed out on a multi-use trail. We spoke about cycling, spouses, art (she happens to be a great local artist), and kickboxing. It was a short, but lovely ride.

As I dropped my friend at her home and rode on alone, I reflected on what cycling has become for me, and the reality that the cycling world has forever changed because of a cruiser bicycle given as a gift just a few years ago - well, about 4 years ago, to be more exact. I am amazed at the transformation that has taken place and I sometimes wonder who I have become. Four years ago, I wouldn't have touched anything that wasn't an extremely upright bicycle. Three years ago I couldn't dream of owning a bike made of anything other than steel. Two years ago I wouldn't have thought I'd be using drop bars on a regular basis, and a year ago I wouldn't have believed I'd ever be riding a century, let alone two within a matter of weeks of each other.

I have wondered in the past if it's possible to go back and have the same feelings I once had about a particular bicycle... even going so far as to re-purchase a bike I once loved (I've done this twice, actually - because I'm apparently not bright enough to figure it out at the first time). It only ended in disappointment because I found the bike no longer met my needs in my shifting style-of-cycling world. I don't believe that one world is better than the other, but more that things have just changed and adjusted. Some would say I've "evolved" into a "real" cyclist, but I think I was always a cyclist who just preferred one style of riding over another. There have been changes, certainly, and I'm sure they will continue as life moves forward, but I definitely don't feel more evolved than I did at the start of my cycling journey.

For now, I'm enjoying the opportunity to engage in what to some may seem like opposite types of riding, knowing that through all of the changes, ultimately I remain the same person. I'd still rather just cruise around town at slow speeds, checking out the world going by, running errands, and enjoying the seasons, but perhaps now I'm just a bit more game for a long road ride, or a quicker self-race to see what I can accomplish. Whether a slow or fast ride, on a cruiser or a lightweight road bike, I'm happy to have gone through the journey I've experienced and wouldn't change it for anything.