SPIN CYCLE

My Motivating Factor--Living A Life Without Regrets

2012-01-10T17:37:00.000-06:00

I often get feedback and comments about what I am doing that run along the line of, "Wow, your life is amazing!"....to which I say, 'no....not really'. I have just had the good fortune of being taught important lessons early in my life. I lost of my father when I was still in my twenties, then cared for my mother as she declined into the haze of Alzheimer's Disease. While both were painful losses, they were also gifts; they taught me the value of living a full life, that life can change on a dime, and to live without regrets. I also learned about gratitude.

It was not until my divorce, however, that I took over the reins and began to control how I wanted to live....prior to that I was just doing what I was 'expected' to do. Now, I am living the life I want...one without regrets; one without apology. It has taken courage to venture beyond my safety zone and fortitude to swat away the criticism and naysayers. There have been obstacles, but I have learned to turn these into opportunities, and use my fear as an ally.

I read an interesting article today about the top five regrets of the dying. I understand precisely what the author shared. I am passing this wisdom on to you so that perhaps you will reflect and find value in their experience. Life is a choice....

Top Five Regrets of The Dying

December 1, 2011 By T Kelly 101 Comments

By Bronnie Ware on November 30, 2011

For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.

People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learnt never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.

Sources:

http://www.activistpost.com/2011/11/top-5-regrets-of-dying.html

http://www.inspirationandchai.com/Regrets-of-the-Dying.html

Groovin' on the Groover

2011-12-18T15:22:00.003-06:00

Having returned from my first experience sea kayaking, one might ask what I found to be the most challenging event. I could say it was rolling upside down in the water and escaping from the overturned kayak during a wet escape, or paddling through winds and rough waves without previous experience, or even being very ill for a couple of days. None of those, however, compares to what stretched me to the point of thinking...."I can't do this!"......

I took this sea kayaking trip to the Exuma Islands as an alumni of an educational organization called NOLS, (National Outdoor Leadership School.) This school teaches all sorts of outdoor skills, using the wilderness as the classroom. They teach and adhere to the leave no trace (LNT) principles; what you bring into an area, you take out, leaving minimal impact on the environment.....that means everything. Yes....EVERYTHING!! So, as we paddled from one deserted island to the next, we camped in accordance to the LNT directives, which included the bathroom....and what we 'packed' in, we packed out.

When backpacking in the Wyoming, we dug individual 'cat holes' in which to relieve our bodies of their 'waste', (but any non-natural, man-made substances...like TP... had to be packed out). In the Exumas, we could not use cat holes; the mineral make up of the islands did not allow for the breakdown of the waste....if it got planted, there it would remain in its original state. As a result, we had to use a container called a 'groover' as a toilet, but only for solid waste. It resembled a large tupperware container with a screw off lid and is so named because it leaves grooves on your rear-end when used.

The groover, measuring approximately 6x10 in. Cubic volume unknown...but it wasn't much!

For the sake of modesty, the groover was housed under a tent fly.

Only used for solid waste, we carried ziplock bags in which to deposit our soiled paper products

The groovers, (we had four), were transported on the back of the double kayaks, as seen on the back of this one. The used groovers were well bundled in garbage bags.

When the groover tent was occupied, a kayak paddle was put upright in the sand to warn anyone else away. It's not a sight one would want to witness,and the embarrassment of such an accidental intrusion would have surely created some performance issues for the user and interloper, alike!

The first time I went to use it, I thought "How bad can this be?" Let me put it this way.....it was all I could do to keep from vomiting. I am sure my gagging could be heard all the way down the beach. I knew after that first experience that I just wouldn't be able to do this.... but what was the alternative? There was none--at least, none that supported the 'Leave No Trace' principles. How I wished for another way....

Well, be careful what you wish for; I spent the next two days sicker than a dog, with a raging headache and unable to keep down any food. Grateful that the high winds and rough ocean kept us grounded and unable to paddle to our next destination, I laid in my tent for those days, only drinking water, nibbling an occasional cracker and watching the others hone their kayaking skills and frolic in the water. I was truly miserable, but without food entering my system, I did not have to use the groover!

Sick, I found a patch of shade in the tent. It was very hot; the islands offered very little shade.

I have little doubt that not everyone used the groover. Like the character from Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window, as I laid immobilized in my tent, I watched people come and 'go'. Most trudged to the groover like good soldiers, emerging in the appropriate amount of time. One gentleman, however, entered and vacated within seconds, only to make a second attempt after contemplating the matter for a few minutes. Failing at this in an equally short amount of time, he walked hurriedly to the ocean, and began swimming long, easy strokes to a point far beyond my range of vision. Returning 10 minutes later, I had no problem in assuming he had 'dropped the kids' off somewhere else. I know with certainty of one person who preferred to build a 'shrine'..... So much for leaving no trace. In fairness to those who just could not bring themselves to use the tupperware toilet, I just have to ask this....'Did our food really have to have so much spice, onions and fiber?'

Despite my lack of sustenance, the groover beckoned..... I observed the LNT mandate and made friends with the contraption, but this was, without a doubt, the most challenging part of the trip!

The Exuma Islands were absolutely beautiful and it was a wonderful trip. If you ever get the chance to experience them like this, jump at the opportunity. The beauty and serenity is phenomenal!

Concierge service by Steve....his makeshift raft, serving almonds and sun warmed chocolate to the water worshipers.

2011 NOLS Alumni trip; Sea Kayaking in the Bahamas

The end of another day in paradise. All the islands on which we camped were deserted.

A double rainbow greets another perfect morning

Beaching the boats for lunch

The tranquility of sunset

Dinner on the beach--camp-made pizza

Perfection.....

Reminiscent of Gilligan's Island. One did not venture into the jungle; it was full of poisonwood trees, which causes a rash worse than poison ivy.

Cutting vegetables for dinner

Our kitchen was under the green and white tarp. We traveled self-contained, carrying all our food, water and gear in our kayaks.

Doug, one of the instructors, teaching me to roll.

Practicing the different maneuvering strokes.

Waiting for dinner.

Thank you, NOLS, for another wonderful adventure!

The Thin Branches........

2011-11-15T13:46:00.001-06:00

I am sitting in an almost mid-level motel in the Exuma Islands. A few months ago, I had never heard of them; they are part of the Bahama Islands. Who knew? I thought the Bahama Islands consisted only of the island that Nassau was on. I guess the first clue to my error should have been the "s" on the end of Bahama Islands. But here I am, sufficiently educated and waiting to meet a handful of strangers, with whom I will be spending the next week.

I am here to learn how to kayak, specifically sea kayak. I have never kayaked before, let alone in the ocean. The trip is self-contained, meaning we will be carrying all our gear and camping on the various islands, to which we will be paddling.

I should mention at this point that I don't swim well and have a fear of drowning. Last time I swam in the ocean was for a triatholn, and I was so frightened of the waves, (in my defense, they were BIG), that I begged the life guard to paddled on his surf board beside me. I am not afraid of being eaten by predators from below, but I have removed my toe nail polish so my tootsies don't get mistaken for yummy morsels...just in case, mind you. So to say I am 'crawling out onto the thin branches', stretching myself, is not too much of an exaggeration.

I have had a number of people ask me why I keep doing things that 'push' me so much...or as one friend puts it, "Why do you keep punishing yourself?' I don't see it that way; The reason I push is simple; I firmly believe that once one stops challenging himself, he quits growing.

Yesterday in the airport, I caught an interview of Deepak Chopra. He was talking about aging and feels that once one stops growing, he begins to age--that mental age affects biological age. He urged the listeners, regardless of age or physical condition, to challenge themselves daily with something new, with something that would stretch them mentally and physically. In doing so, new cells and synapses develop as does a healthy self-esteem that comes with achievement, which in turn, stimulates one to continue to reach beyond his boundaries and grow.

Tomorrow I shove off in my kayak, but prior to actually being able to leave, I must learn and demonstrate that I am able to do a 'wet escape'....that means flipping the kayak upside-down in the water (with me in it), getting out successfully and reaching the surface. I have no doubt that as I am hanging upside down under the water, I will feel panic, but I am prepared to walk past that fear, and in doing, empower myself, learn a new skill, and grow.

So, I challenge you...as I am hangin upside-down, fully submerged....to do one thing tomorrow that will stretch you...that will grow you. It doesn't have to be big, but just one thing that makes your heart beat a little faster, that makes your palms moist and causes you to dig into your courage just a bit....just one thing. Climb out onto those thin branches...because 'life begins at the end of your comfort zone.'

Why?

2011-10-31T11:06:00.001-05:00

Many of you have asked why I enjoy riding across the country so much: what is the allure: what motivates me, and why do I keep doing it. The following article clearly puts into words that which I cannot. It was written by a 57 year old journalist, who recently completed the trip. Enjoy...I did, because I understand exactly what he says and how he feels.....(http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/10/23/travel/bicycling-across-the-country-bruce-weber-reflects.html?scp=2&sq=bruce%20weber&st=cse )

"IF you can be said to be hurrying on a cross-country bicycle trip, for about two weeks I hurried to Pittsburgh. I pushed through some dreary weather in Michigan and Ohio, climbed the roller-coaster foothills of the Appalachians and battled traffic and chewed up roads as I entered the city. From there, though, with the end of a ride that began almost three months ago looming, I slowed down and started on an oblique route home.

IN TRANSIT BLOG

Life Is a Wheel

Bruce Weber cycled across America — from Oregon to New York. Read about his journey on In Transit.

A Map Charting Bruce Weber's Route

Multimedia

Slide Show

Coast-to-Coast

Map

On Wheels: America at 10 M.P.H.

Bruce Weber

In 1993, Bruce Weber cycled across America. The series, “On Wheels: America at 10 M.P.H.,” appeared in The New York Times.

Life Is a Wheel: Crossing the Nation on 2 Wheels — Again (July 10, 2011)
Life Is a Wheel: After 500 Miles, Hitting a Wall (August 14, 2011)
Life Is a Wheel: Lessons of a Daybreak Rider (September 4, 2011)

For three days, instead of plunging ahead eastward toward Manhattan, I veered to the south along the Great Allegheny Passage, a lovely rails-to-trails thoroughfare through the woods that accompanies a couple of splendid wild rivers I’d never heard of, the Youghiogheny and the Casselman, and crosses the Mason-Dixon Line, connecting Pittsburgh with Cumberland, Md., where, if you choose, you can pick up another off-road trail to Washington.

I’m in Cumberland as I write this. It’s 10 days or so before publication, so by the time you read this I might well be home with my feet up and my knees swaddled in ice. The temptation, of course, is to race to the finish, and to imagine it even before I get there. That’s certainly how my previous continental crossing ended 18 years ago; I was 39, a young man eager to feel a conqueror of the country and to accept the plaudits of friends and colleagues. This time, while I won’t say that I won’t be ready for the trip to end when it does, I’m feeling the different pleasures of delayed gratification.

I’m feeling the pleasures of contrariness, too. Why is everyone trying to rush me?

People have been telling me that the tough part of my cross-country bicycle journey was behind me, or that I was almost finished, or that the rest would be easy — or some related sentiment — ever since I crossed the Continental Divide, and several friends and readers wrote to express the absurdly wrong idea that it was going to be all downhill from there. When I reached the Mississippi River at its source in northern Minnesota, a grocery clerk made sure to inform me that I was closer to the finish than the start. In Minneapolis, in Madison, Wis., and again inChicago, the friends I met up with offered congratulations as if I were already taking a victory lap.

When I began my ride on July 20 in Astoria, Ore., the continent was sprawled enormously in front of me, but from the outset what people (noncyclists, generally) always seemed to be interested in was when it would be over. I understand the impulse; it’s a way of encapsulating an enterprise that doesn’t exactly fit in a capsule. After all, an endless journey is a little intimidating, a little scary —Columbus sailing off over the flat edge of the world — but a journey that ends you can put in your pocket.

Still, the actual day-by-day doing of the trip — the hours-at-a-time riding, the countless pedal strokes and huffing and puffing up hills, not to mention the daily deciding on a route, the finding of places to stay, the maintaining of the bike and the consuming of sufficient calories — has been so fraught with effort that I’ve never been able to project and see myself any farther east than, say, the Holiday Inn Express across the county.

This isn’t to say I don’t dream about crossing the George Washington Bridge with my arms raised in triumph (and then putting away my bicycle for a winter’s hibernation.) I do. But my visions aren’t terribly convincing; they generally engender despair, causing me to sigh out loud and give off a lament that begins with the words “I’ll never. ... ” It makes me more than a little nervous to write this article now, about 300 miles from Manhattan. It may be easy to expect that someone who has already pedaled 3,600 miles can do 300 with his eyes closed, but I don’t think so. In order to own those miles, I have to expend my energy on them; in order to live those days, I have to work through all their hours. I’m as daunted by the next 300 miles as I was in Astoria by the first 3,600.

I’VE often told people that traveling by bicycle isn’t the contemplative, mind-meandering activity that it is generally presumed to be. Rather, it’s concentration-enhancing. When I’m cycling I tend to be focused on cycling, keeping a close eye on the road, keeping tabs on the messages my bicycle and my body are sending me. But one thing that has diverted me all across the country is the relationship between time and distance. I’ve measured my progress with both of them: Closing in on 4,000 miles and 13 weeks.

It interests me that both time and distance are concepts in the abstract but that both are more often used in specific terms — a particular span of one or the other — and can be described similarly, as long or short. On a tiring afternoon I’ll habitually monitor my odometer and do the math — 23 miles to go, two hours if the wind doesn’t turn; I’ll be in my motel by 5:15. It suggests that time and distance are inextricably related, but that isn’t so. If I stood still on the shoulder of the road, 5:15 would come and go on the shoulder of the road. You’ve noticed, haven’t you, that 23 miles in two hours is 11.5 miles an hour? That’s pretty slow, unless you’re climbing or facing a tough wind. Thirteen weeks might describe a lot more than 4,000 miles for a stronger or more zealous cyclist. On the other hand, I’m dancing as fast as I can.

In sum, for time to be meaningful, it needs to be filled by distance; for distance to be meaningful, it needs to fill an appropriate measure of time. A long trip like mine — timewise, I mean — requires a lot of distance to make the whole experience rise above standing on the roadside. You have to pedal and keep pedaling.

IN TRANSIT BLOG

Life Is a Wheel

Bruce Weber cycled across America — from Oregon to New York. Read about his journey on In Transit.

A Map Charting Bruce Weber's Route

Multimedia

Slide Show

Coast-to-Coast

Map

On Wheels: America at 10 M.P.H.

Bruce Weber

In 1993, Bruce Weber cycled across America. The series, “On Wheels: America at 10 M.P.H.,” appeared in The New York Times.

Life Is a Wheel: Crossing the Nation on 2 Wheels — Again (July 10, 2011)
Life Is a Wheel: After 500 Miles, Hitting a Wall (August 14, 2011)
Life Is a Wheel: Lessons of a Daybreak Rider (September 4, 2011)

Perhaps you sense a larger metaphor looming ahead. Good for you, because here it comes. I decided to make this trip in the first place because I felt my résumé for adventure wasn’t keeping pace with my advancing age. Unlike my last trip, which I viewed, somewhat contradictorily, as both a young man’s errand and a farewell to youth, this one, at age 57, has been about my encroaching mortality, no doubt about it, and when I compare the two journeys I recognize in the current one the frailty of age. I’m slower. I’m less eager to ride long days and long hours and ride with the sun going down. I’m much more concerned about finding a place to stay and knowing early in the day where I’ll be spending the night. Never an especially intrepid downhiller, I now ride the brakes on a steep incline like a grandfather. And though I’ve been thinking all across the country that there is simply more auto traffic than there used to be, and that roads that felt safe 18 years ago are now riddled with hazard, it occurred to me recently that I’m simply more attuned to cars on the road and no longer blithely unconcerned about them. To put it bluntly: I’m more of a chicken.

All that acknowledged, my decision to ride cross-country again was a great one. Not because I’ve staved off anything grim, but because I’ve found a new way to think about my life — as a self-powered trip across the country. What is distance, after all, but experience?

Maybe you will scoff. O.K., it’s a little facile. But what I’m trying to do here is spin the cliché, not fall back on it. I don’t declare that life is a journey. I do think what I’ve discovered is that a journey can add depth and dimension to a life and even, in retrospect, represent it.

Among other things, my path through the nation has made me far more conscious and appreciative of the nation. I’m not just speaking of the scenic highlights, though the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon, Glacier National Park in Montana, Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota, the headwaters of the Mississippi River in Itasca State Park in Minnesota, and the Great Allegheny Passage, where the fall colors were on vivid, spectacular display, are enough to make a patriot out of a cynic.

This was an American journey by a New Yorker who became more American as he went along. By virtue of absorbing almost 4,000 miles of thrilling landscape, inch by inch, I learned more about topography and how it figures in the identities of thousands of localities and millions of Americans than I had ever understood.

Is there any way for a cyclist, especially one from a vertical metropolis, not to be awestruck by northern Montana? It took me two weeks to cross its vast expanse, from the dauntingly magisterial Rockies in the west to the endless, wind-whipped flatland of the east, where the towns are dots on the highway dozens of miles apart, pulsing on the prairie like blips on a colossal oscilloscope.

Easterners, city dwellers and certainly Manhattanites tend to view the West with a kind of dismissive interest in its vastness and little interest at all in its variations. But it was striking to me how equally remote regions are hewn by different forces. In the Palouse of eastern Washington, where the golden wheat fields were so blanched by the summer sun that they seemed to reflect the light, life revolves around the heat and the harvest. A month after I left there, I passed through the flood-riddled plains of eastern North Dakota, where crops have been compromised, grazing land for sheep and cattle has been submerged (so have a number of roads, which seriously complicates getting from one small town to another), and everyone I spoke to, ranchers, hotel clerks, waitresses and pharmacists, joked unhappily about scanning the sky for the next cloudburst on the horizon.

In the heartland — Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio — day after day I traversed enormous farms, and the sheer acreage of corn and soybeans, not to mention the huge grain silos and mammoth tractors and hay trucks, testified to the unending labor of farmers. They were always out working in the rain, and as I rode by, sodden myself, they always waved.

IN TRANSIT BLOG

Life Is a Wheel

Bruce Weber cycled across America — from Oregon to New York. Read about his journey on In Transit.

A Map Charting Bruce Weber's Route

Slide Show

Coast-to-Coast

Map

On Wheels: America at 10 M.P.H.

Bruce Weber

In 1993, Bruce Weber cycled across America. The series, “On Wheels: America at 10 M.P.H.,” appeared in The New York Times.

Life Is a Wheel: Crossing the Nation on 2 Wheels — Again (July 10, 2011)
Life Is a Wheel: After 500 Miles, Hitting a Wall (August 14, 2011)
Life Is a Wheel: Lessons of a Daybreak Rider (September 4, 2011)

In addition to America, there were, of course, Americans. We New Yorkers can be hideously provincial, so enamored of our high-cultural advantages that we lord our sophistication over the rest of the population. An island off the coast of America — so goes the smug definition of Manhattan. Here is what I have to say about that after not being home for three months. New York Cityremains the national center of conversation; one thing I’ve missed on the road is the kind of verbal dexterity that you can find in any Manhattan bar. But one thing we could use more of in the city is the inclination toward benevolence.

By the lights of my experience over the past three months, in most of America, the default temperament is decency. O.K., there were a few beer cans tossed at me out the windows of pickup trucks. But strangers have gone out of their way for me regularly, to give me a lift over construction sites or unridable gravel, to help me find a place to stay when none were evident, to do me simple favors when there was no actual reason to do so except the inclination to be kind. To give one example, I was on the road late one afternoon in the middle of Montana, and with 25 miles to Chester, the next town, and my strength flagging, I called the sheriff’s department to ask where I might stay that night. The woman who answered — I wish I could remember her name — not only called the two motels in town to find me a room (and called me back to say I had a reservation) but also asked if I needed her to send someone out on the highway to pick me up.

“We do that all the time,” she said. “A lot of cyclists through here, and it’s a long way between towns.”

It’s hard not to be grateful for that attitude.

MANY moments on the trip have revealed me to myself. I knew, before I started, how rigorous the trip was going to be — I’d done it before, after all — but I was unprepared physically. I can confess it now: the first two weeks I nearly gave up and flew home half a dozen times, thinking I could feign an injury. But I didn’t. The stick-to-it-iveness I needed to build up the stamina in my legs and my lungs was something I didn’t know I still had. As I approached the Rocky Mountains, I was sad, disappointed, weary, self-doubting. I was living with the kind of perpetual lump in my throat that I have associated for 40 years with the aftermath of a broken teenaged heart.

The turning point was Aug. 13, the day I crossed the Continental Divide on Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park. The ride to the top of the divide features an 11-mile climb that rises about 3,500 feet to Logan Pass, 6,646 feet above sea level. Intimidated, I’d intended to go around it, get through the mountains over a lower, less challenging and interesting pass, until a stranger at a lunch counter in Whitefish, Mont., shrugged and said it seemed awfully silly to be so close to one of the justly celebrated rides in America and not take advantage of it.

He was, of course, correct, and two days later I set off fromLake McDonald Lodge in the waning dark of early morning, pedaled for nearly an hour as the sunrise glowed pink and orange behind the mountains and began the ascent with trepidation. My thighs and glutes strained and started to burn, but for three miles, my enthusiasm grew. Eight miles from the top the road makes a hairpin turn, ceases being a forest road and begins a series of switchbacks along a mountain precipice. The views are progressively gasp-inducing, but so was my muscle-weariness. I crept uphill, but, importantly, I kept creeping. At the top, the relief, the wonder, the thrill were previously unimaginable. The 17-year-old girl I longed for as a 17-year-old boy had just kissed me. It was exactly like that.

One of the things that makes me feel as though this bike ride is like my life is that it has been long enough in both time and distance that I can’t remember everything about it. Details, for example, from my several days’ ride through the Montana Hi-Line, the plains near the Canadian border, are hazy, the towns I stopped in mixed up in my head. Was that meal in Chester or Malta? The picture I took of the silos and the passing freight train — was that before or after I took a rest day in Havre? It’s hard for me to believe that the bike ride I’m on now is the same bike ride I was on then.

But of course it is. The other day in eastern Ohio I turned a corner from a lonely country lane onto a better-used thoroughfare, a two-lane highway with a yellow center stripe and a very slender shoulder with a raggedy edge that dropped off dangerously into a cornfield. There wasn’t much traffic, and it was the sort of road I’ve been on a lot, though it always makes me a little nervous to share a lane with drivers who don’t expect a lot of company and hurtle by at high speed.

The moment I made the turn I had a vision, the kind of flash before your eyes that people call déjà vu. Maybe it was the time of day, late afternoon with its pretty, angled sunlight. Maybe it was the fact that there was sunlight at all; I’d been riding in wet weather for several days. Maybe it was the precise height of the corn or the precise width of the shoulder. Maybe it was the sense of anxiety at having to trust the drivers coming up behind me after happy hour had begun. Maybe it was my level of exhaustion. Whatever the stimulus, I saw in my mind’s eye a road outside McMinnville, Ore., that I’d ridden at the end of the second day of my journey. I suddenly recalled that whole day’s ride with utter clarity, from the Oregon coast on a rainy morning, along the twisty, forested bank of the Nestucca River, and out into a sunny valley with the foothills of the Cascades in the distance. It was as though I’d encountered a college friend I hadn’t seen in years and together we reconstructed the memory of a wild party in 1972. I love the idea that the bike trip, in and of itself, has its own vanished but recoverable memories. Perhaps there will be more of them before I’m done.

I hope it’s true that when you read this I’ll be home. I’m ready for the ride to come to its natural end, but I don’t want to anticipate it or celebrate it before it happens or even to talk about it. Eighteen years ago, from the time I crossed into Manhattan on my bike, I became the guy who had ridden across the country. But I’m no longer as eager to put the past behind me as I was in the past. If there’s one thing the ride this time has impressed on me, it’s that the present is where I want to live. Never wish away distance. Never wish away time.

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BRUCE WEBER is a reporter for The New York Times.

Random Acts of Kindness

2011-10-11T12:01:00.001-05:00

I got a new wheel set yesterday and was extremely excited to go out and ride today. As I rolled out of my driveway, it was like riding on air; the resistance was so minimal. It may have been the placebo effect or perhaps due to the upgrade in gear, but I flew today with what seemed little effort; so little, in fact, that I looked for a flag to see if I had a tailwind pushing me! (It was, in fact, a slight headwind). So I rode with glee, smiling like a fool, until....BOOM! The rear wheel blew out.... (and, of course, it had to be the rear since that is the more difficult one to change)

I pulled off the road, and began making the preparations to change the tire. I was anticipating a struggle since, not only was the wheel set new, but also the tire. This meant it would be tight on the wheel, and hard to remove. As I pulled my tire changing gear out of my seatbag, the CO2 cartridge went rolling out. It was empty. I had lent it to someone in need, and forgot to replace it. Great.

Just about then, a Toyota Avalon pulled up, and a man got out, asking me if I needed help or a ride. Not shy to turn down the offer, I immediately accepted the ride. His name was Tim, and he and his wife drove me all the way back to my house. I am so grateful for that random act of kindness, and now, I get to pay it forward.

Tim, if you read this.....a big thank you to you and your wife! I hope to see you out on the road someday!

Scorching Sun, Blazing Saddles.

2011-09-01T22:02:00.000-05:00

Utah........land of the Mormans, Moab and Misery. Even though I had headed out to ride there at 8:30 am, I miscalculated how long it would actually take to get to the jump off site, and didn't begin pedaling until almost 10:30. The temperature was still in the 80's, so with a full camelbak and two water bottles, I parked my car at a convenience store and began pedaling towards Hovensweep National Monument.

In this remote area, these are ancient Pueblo Indian ruins, dating back to 900 AD. The village is estimated to have been home to 2500 people. Now, however, as I rode through desolate landscape, I could see that it is home to only a handful of hardy souls. It's a hard life here, as evidenced in the many beer and alcohol bottles that litter the roadside. The route into the park goes through a Navajo reservation, and, as I have witnessed in other reservations, proof of rampant alcohol use is obvious.

Piles of beer and booze bottles....they are everywhere along the road

Under the morning sun, the bottles glisten like lights on a Christmas tree.

The land here is desolute...it is a desert. Nothing breaks the montonous brown except for the gun metal grey of the asphalt road. Even that has faded, though the Federal government has spent a considerable amount of money paving that which was once dirt and repaving the deteriorated areas. So a new black line now snakes through the territory instead of a faded gray one.

Thank you, Mr Obama for the new roads and the work

Old road....cattle guard....new road

New road...thank you very much Mr Obama, but did it have to be chipseal?

Chipseal.....brand new chipseal....

For those of you that don't know, chipseal is an extremely durable surface, but it is also very, very rough. It is almost like cobblestone, but the stones aren't as large and they are impregnated into asphalt. So what this meant to me as a bicyclist was, that not only was the surface very bumpy, but also sticky with new ashalt....that equals a lot of resistance. It means that one has to pedal even when going down hill. The asphalt was so new that there wasn't a mark in it. It was beautiful to look at, but there weren't even the smoother wear marks in which to ride.

Additionally, the temperture was rising quickly, creating big head and crosswinds. Once the temperature climbed above 102 degrees, the wind picked up considerably and ceased to be cooling; it created more resistance against which to ride. It was like opening a hot oven while sticking to melted chewing gum!

This was my ride--43 miles in the desert. I think I must have been half baked to have attempted this in the summer.....(half baked.....nah, try fully fried!) I was fortunate, though, that traffic was extremely light, and I only had to share the road a few times.

Open Range.....

With the paint

With the sorrel

and his brother horse

With the sheep

And those pesky cows

And the buffalo....but they were pretty far away.

Interesting enough, there was also a baseball diamond....America's favorite pass time. I cannot imagine playing in this heat, but obviously, someone has watch "Field of Dreams".....

"Build it, and they will come"

The dugouts.

I reached Hovenweep with an empty camelbak and two empty water bottles; that is 80 ounces of water in 20 miles. It was hot! My face was so crusted with salt that it looked like it was part of the Great Salt Flats; all I had to do was rub it and I could give myself a microdermabrasion! No wondered people were staring! At least, for once, I knew it wasn't because of my spandex shorts!

I rested and cooled down before heading back; I just did not have the energy or enthusiasm to tour the park and see the wonderful ruins. I will save this for another time when I am in an air-conditioned car. Right now, though, I still had to cycle back in this heat.

As I departed the ranger station with full water bottles, a full camelbak, and freshly applied sunscreen, I happened to notice that my bike thermometer registered 107*. Despite the reading, I felt good and was grateful that it was a dry 107 instead of the humid triple digits in Dallas.

Relentless, blazing sun

I truly do not know how our ancestors lived here and traversed the area in their heavy, long dresses and stiff shoes. I guess I am a weinie....I was struggling in my light clothing. It was scorching hot....

There are two kinds of quitting; mental and physical. I've had plenty of experience of the mental quitting--allowing myself to make excuses and succumb to the mental conversation of "I can't". Physical quitting is when the body just can't go on any further. On this ride, I experienced the latter.

As I reached my start point, I was short on my mileage to make 50 miles, so I turned right and continued to pedal. To that point,, I had been ignoring the growing and pounding headache; I also decided to disregard the cold chills. I've experienced both these symptoms before, and knew my body was beginning to go into heat exhaustion. However, on this ride, I only had 7 more miles and I could just push through it....it's only seven miles. I wasn't far into picking up this mileage when I began to get nauseous. This is when I knew I was being foolish; my body was quitting, and I had better heed the warning. I turned around and returned to the car.

I must say, the drive home was challenging; I was very light headed and sick to my stomach. I don't regret not finishing the qualifying mileage; I did the right thing. It did take me several days before I felt normal again.....

Desert everywhere...........

Hills.....Hell

2011-08-30T18:10:00.000-05:00

Now that Wyoming was under my belt, I headed to Colorado. With an appointment to keep in Montrose the following day, I drove straight from Jackson to a little place called, Fruita. Now, I ask you, who would name a town Fruita? Well, obviously, at one time there was a lot of fruit grown there...In 1886, for the cost of $500, a farmer could buy five acres, 200 fruit trees and water. In 2011, it boast fabulous mountain biking, Jurassic age dinosaur fossils, the Colorado National Monument and the Book Cliffs.

The following morning, disappointed at missing Dinosaur National Park, I decided I would bicycle Monument park instead; unfortunately, I overslept, and I didn't have time to ride and make it to Montrose for my appointment. I would have to be satisfied with driving through the park instead. I would ride in Colorado later in the day, anyway.

I headed out to the park; I was told the vistas and scenery were not to be missed, and it was on the way to Montrose. As I entered the park, I unsuccessfully convinced the ranger that I was a Senior citizen, and had to pay full price...not even telling her that Kroger considered me a Senior worked. She didn't believe I was under 15 either....

Once in the park, I passed a lot of cyclists heading up the pass, which was long and steep; my four cylinder KIA seemed to be straining more than they were. Up we climbed and as the valley floor became smaller and smaller, the drop offs more severe, I began to sweat and clench the steering wheel. The views were certainly breath-taking, but who was able to look. We were so high, and I am very afraid of heights!! It was indeed fortunate that I woke up late, as I don't know if I could have cycled these roads, with no guard rail and a plunge of many thousands of feet if I were to go over the edge.

Stopping to take pictures at the marked turn-outs, I clutched the fence in one hand, while snapping to photo with the other. This proved to be quite amusing to some young Danish tourists, who thought it hilarious that the edge made me so nervous. As the boys then began to 'plank' on overhanging rocks, I left; I could't bear to watch. Walking down the trail, I could hear their peals of laughter at my cowardice.....

I made it to Montrose on time, then drove on to Durango, which took me on the "Million Dollar Highway". Again, the plan had been to cycle here, but fortune was shining on me again as it was raining....and I don't cycle in the rain if I can help it--too dangerous, too unpleasant, (usually) and too much clean up after the ride. So, once again, the 4 banger KIA and I struggled up the steep, winding incline. It was obvious to me at this point that Monument Park was just a precursor for this adventure....it was to get me ready. I was so scared that I actually had tears running down my cheeks....and I was going to cycle this?? I guess riding in Colorado will have to wait......

Million Dollar Highway....and you wondered why I was scared.....

Enjoy the following pictures; I risked life and limb taking some of them....

Dinosaurs everywhere in Frutia, CO

Colorado Monument Park

Beautiful red cliffs in Colorado Monument Park

Tunnels in the limestone

You've seen this in car commercials with the car on top

People are pigs; cig butts in the limestone

Colorado Monument Park

It's a long way down.

Clouds moving in on the Million Dollar Highway

View from the Million Dollar Highway

Old cabin on the highway

Size Matters..... or Does It?

2011-08-28T17:52:00.002-05:00

I pulled into cool temperatures in Jackson, WY, (aka as Jackson Hole because the settler for which it was named thought the valley looked like a big hole in the mountain range), at a relatively good hour--4 pm.

Since the sun didn't set for 3 or 4 hours, I decided it would be a good opportunity to ride; I may not get the 50 miles in, but I could get in some. Plus, I was stiff from being in the car all day, and was ready for some exercise. So I pulled on my clothes, pulled out my bike, and commenced to ride.

Now one does not just jump on a bike and begin to pedal in a strange location. I try to find routes that have been previously mapped on mapmyride.com or garminconnect. To be perfectly honest, though, I am too directionally challenged for these to be effective tools; they do, however, give me some idea where to go.

Jackson made me nervous....the traffic was as heavy as the shopping mall at Christmas, and all the routes I was finding took me on a busy highway. I had come in that way, so I knew it had a good shoulder and had seem others riding on it. So off I went....

Much to my surprise, as I turned to go to Teton National park , a wonderful bike path appeared, and took me off the traffic-ladened road. Down and back I went, logging just 21 miles; as I stood at the trail's end trying to figure out how to add more miles since sunset was a long way off, a 40 something man with a pot belly came whizzing by on his Trek. I hailed him, and explained my dilemma, to which he replied;

"Come ride with me, I'll get you at least 20 more miles."

So off I pedaled with Bruce, who was a profession ski instructor in the winter, a heli-ski guide in the spring and fall, and a Grand Canyon boat guide in the summer.

Now, if you ever ride with someone who has a gut, check out their legs.....that gut can be deceptive. We were soon sailing along at 19 mph, which isn't normally a problem, except I had my touring gears on my bike, was riding a 5% grade, and was at 6000 ft of elevation. Heck, my heart rate was 100 beats/minute just getting out of the car, let alone trying to keep up with this animal! I didn't even try to be macho about this...

"Bruce, you're killing me....." I gasped, "You gotta slow down; I'm an old lady from Texas!"

He laughed and obliged... a little..... we rode a fast pace, which was good. I had gotten into the habit of riding quite a bit slower, but taking it all in. Once I return to my bike club in Dallas, and put my performance gearing back on, I will have to ride faster in order not to be dropped. But that aside, I am putting it out there again, 'Don't judge a rider by his gut'.

And, btw, I got all 50 miles in before sunset. And, as a side note, Jackson has the most incredible network of bike trails I have ever experienced. Except for the short jaunt on the highway, I never had to ride on the road again during that 50 miles!

I beat the sun.....

Picture Time!! (I did this once, and everything magically disappeared)

2011-08-24T23:38:00.002-05:00

Karen Cooper's picture; from Bay View, WA ride

Wild Horse Sculpture above the Columbia River, Vantage, WA

East of Spokane; fields of golden grain, for as far as the eye could see.

Trail Head at Couer D'Alene, ID The Couer D'Alene tribe erected this in honor of their warriors and veterans.

Out the front window of my warmshowers.org hosts

Along the Couer D'Alene trail; the camera can't capture how turquoise this water was.

I got this chipmunk to climb up my leg and do other stupid chipmunk tricks....like dancing for his food.

Couer D'Alene trail

Mission of the Sacred Heart Church at the Cataldo Mission, the oldest standing building in Idaho, built 1848.

The ceiling was painted with huckleberry juice

"Example of the newspaper wallpaper and tin can metalwork"

This wall paper was made with old newspaper

The walls were made by the wattle and daub method. No nails were used. It took 3 years to complete.

This raptor was not happy with my presence; soon Dad joined here. Anyone know what kind of bird this is?

Couer D'Alene trail

What is Smokey doing?

Big, big haystacks in Montana

Helena, MT is down there somewhere

Long and windy road in Montana

Wolf Creek, Montana

Pesky cows.

Big Sky Country

Absolutely nothing out here but me, cattle and endless miles. Montana

Do you see the waning moon?

Montana ranch land

Believe it or not, the is the Govenor's Mansion for Montana!

Montana's Capitol building

Gates of the Mountains, near Helena, on the Missouri River. Named by Lewis and Clark
(the 'gates" are just starting to open)

"Captain Lewis wrote on July 19, 1805,

this evening we entered much the most remarkable clifts that we have yet seen. these clifts rise from the waters edge on either side perpendicularly to the hight of 1200 feet. ... the river appears to have forced its way through this immense body of solid rock for the distance of 5-3/4 Miles ... I called it the gates of the rocky mountains." (Wikipedia)

The 'gates' are open

Indian pictographs in red.

Missouri River, the longest river in the US

Kids trying to get up the nerve to jump off

Early French Voyageurs used the name "les Trois Tétons" (the three breasts). It is likely that the Shoshone people once called the whole range Teewinot, meaning "many pinnacles". (wikipedia)

Four antler archer at each corner of the park in Jackson, (also called Jackson Hole) I have been told
these are elk antlers that fall off naturally. Thanks, Sherry Wells, for that info.

Famous Cowboy Bar; I was too tired to partake....

Smoke in Jackson Hole from a nearby forest fire.

Ruts from the Oregan Trail are still evident in Wyoming

Can you imagine travelling this way, on foot, in a heavy, long dress!!

The Oregon Trail--those settlers were tough people!

Storms brewing in around Grand Junction, CO

More Cow Country Adventures

2011-08-21T02:07:00.001-05:00

So, I told you about my near death experience with the cattle. There were other aspects to the ride, but when one comes eye to eye with the specter of death, it tends to take center stage!

I had stopped at the local bike shop the previous day to inquire about different routes that I could take that would be safe, yet provide scenery. Eric, at Great Divide Cycle, perused his records on mapmyride.com, and decided this would be the perfect ride for this sea-level, middle-aged visitor. It was not, however, on mapmyride.com, so he gave me verbal directions how to get there and the route to take. Uh-oh....I wrote it down and hoped for the best.

After a 25 mile drive, I arrived at the jump off position. The weather was perfect--about 55 degrees, so I filled both my water bottles, put on a vest and colorful arm warmers, and I was off. I immediately turned the wrong way, but heck, it was a 50/50 chance! Fortunately, the road deadended; that's how I knew it was the wrong way....

Back on route, the correct route, I got into a tempo and began to enjoy the ride. Nothing compares to that feeling of freedom and the appreciation of good health as it does while rolling down a smooth road in the cool early morning sun. I was smiling, and soon I was climbing... I hadn't even ridden 3 miles, and the road rose up and up; my legs were still a bit stiff and hadn't even warmed up yet. Nonetheless, up, up I went, climbing a steady 6% grade that occasionlly popped above 10. On and on it seemed to go. My heart was racing, and I was sucking air; this, I knew, was caused largely because of the elevation, but my muscles didn't care....they wanted oxygen. Gasp...gasp...gasp...

At the five mile mark, my arm warmers were down and my vest was unzipped. Depite the cool weather, I was sweating and slugging down water to replenish the fluids I was losing. Finally, I reached the top, and sailed over, and into the cows from yesterday's post......mooooove over..... Despite the fright the bolting bovines gave me, I was secretly glad for an excuse to stop...... As I watched their boney black backsides run away from me, I drank more water, and stripped off my outer layers.

The trouble with stopping, especially when perspiring, is that once going again, one becomes chilled. I really didn't have to worry about that, though, because that well deserved descent that was interrupted by the cows...well, it didn't last. Around yet another curve, the road began to rise again; this time I had a good view of what was coming. At this point, I had done 1700 ft of climbing, and only 300 of descent... This is when that little voice in my head started yammering at me....

"You could turn back now....you'd get 16 miles in." "You don't have to keep going; no one will know if you quit." "You don't have to climb those hills......it would be so easy to turn around and go get a nice cup of coffee!"

This is the toughest part of any ride, and in an odd way, it mimics life; it is confronting those self-defeating conversations and pushing through them. Only one person would know I didn't ride 50 miles in Montana--me. So what did it matter? Was it really that important? Yes, it is;it boils down to is a matter of integrity; one either has it or they don't.... I do, so I drank some more water and pedalled on. Heck, I only had 42 miles to go--so what if it was all up hill!

The scenery along the way was beautiful; breathtaking in a desolate sort of way. Other than the cattle, there is nothing out there....nothing but golden grass, rocky outcrops, distant mountains and sky. I understand why they call Montana the Big Sky state. I don't know how or why, but the sky is big! So on and on I rode, a speck against the big sky.

Can you find the moon?

I made a right turn onto a state route. My beautiful, quiet, smooth road turned into knobby chipseal, with a narrow shoulder that had a huge rumble strip running through it. Lovely. The traffic on this road, which is actually a highway by Montana standards, was moderate and fast, 70mph. Lovely. Fast traffic and bad road.....and more climbing....and now the wind was picking up, enough so that it was moving my bike. Well, nothing to do but pedal on, and be diligent.

Vrrroooommmm, swish, vrrooommm, swish. Traffic whizzed by me as I slogged up another grinding hill. I know it is steep when I can hear the deep whining of the semis as they struggle up with me. I also know that that sounds means there is a long line of traffic behind them.

When climbing a steep grade, it can be challenging to steer in a straight line; this is called 'holding your line.' One's speed drops significantly despite how fast one is pedaling, and as the speed drops, so does stability. Riding the thin strip of pavement between the rumble strip and the pavement drop off takes skill; I have found it most effective to focus far ahead and not worry about the pavement immediately in front of my tire. Still, it is unnerving to be creeping a long, trying to maintain your line, and have traffic whizzing by. And, once at the top, there is no downhill reward. Still straddling the rumble strip and the edge of the pavement, one has to be diligently alert for road hazards as well as harried drivers trying to pass the slower moving traffic. And then there are the over-sized loads--you know, those big trucks that are hauling pre-fab homes or other such things. I have only one thing to say about that; if you see one coming, just get off the road, way off!

Just get way off the road.....

I had just summited at rather steep, long climb when an over sized truck came along. Fortunately, there was a turnout, and I pulled into that, deciding to take the opportunity to get a drink and rest a moment. Oddly, there was a port-a-pot there....in the middle of the field, in the middle of nothing. What the heck? I reached down and grabbed my water bottle.....two swallows left. Uh-oh....both bottles were empty, and I still had 25 miles to go....in the middle of nowhere. There weren't even houses out here, but it was a cool day, and though I might get thirsty, I should be ok. As I was pondering the sitation, an Army Hummer with a big gun mounted on top stop a short distance from me. A GI got out on the far side, and I could tell by the way he planted his feet, that he was watering the plants. (I wondered why he didn't use the portapot). Once he started walking again, I decided to ask them if they had any water. I rode over to them, and they actually looked scared! Maybe they have never seen a slightly overweight, middle aged woman in spandex on a bike....maybe they thought I was a cougar! After picking up their jaws, the driver refilled my waterbottles and I went on my way. While he was doing that, though, another GI had climbed up on the Hummer and was messing with the big gun. What were they going to do, shoot the portapot? Things that make you go 'hmmmm' Anyway, it's not everyday you get SAG support from the Army!

Not my picture, but this is what it looked like.

When I stopped by the bike shop today to thank Eric for the ride info, I was telling him about being sagged by the US Army, and wondered aloud what they were doing out there. Apparently there are a number of missile silos in the area, and the Army regularly checks on them, and are armed when doing so. I suppose I really messed up protocol approaching them like that and asking for water. I guess it is a good thing that I was a middle-aged woman in spandex; it leaves little doubt about me being a terrorist..... and here I thought they were dumbfounded at me being out there riding.

On the top......

Still riding the top.....anyone know what that is called?

Darn it....I had a whole lot of pictures uploaded, and the site just dropped them all. I'll have to upload them again tomorrow. It's getting too late tonight to do it.

Get Along, Little Doggie: Adventures in Cow Country

2011-08-20T01:04:00.002-05:00

Night is falling, and I am currently sitting in Helena, MT, listening to music from an outdoor concert somewhere. I should go see what is going on, but to be honest, I am just too tired. I rode a challenging 55 miles today out in cow country...just me, the cows, and the mountains.....3500 ft of climbing and too many cows.

After climbing a long, steep ascent, I was just starting the well earned downhill, when I rounded a corner only to come face to face with a herd of big, black cattle, all sporting red ear tags. I slammed to a stop, and, of course, immediately started digging for my camera. The cows looked at me, and I at them. Just as I pulled my camera out, some dogs from a nearby fenced in house barreled out, barking and snarling. This set the cattle running....in my direction. Eyes wide, I stood perfectly still straddling my bike. I really didn't know what else to do--I certainly didn't want to be on the bike; the risk of getting pushed over was too great. So I stood there, waved my arms and made a lot of noise. "Get along there, little doggie".....Poor cows--they veered away and scampered straight up a steep embankment, mooing all the way. Just think, my first stampede!

After completing the ride, I stopped in a little cafe in Wolf Creek that seemed to be frequented by the locals. The only people in the place was a table of four ladies in working western wear, I asked them if the trailer of horses outside was theirs, to which they replied 'yes'. They lived in Wolf Creek, and were returning from a week of trail riding in the Bob Marshall Wilderness. They inivited me to sit down, and we proceded to have a wonderful lunch and conversation. Two were sisters and owned a ranch. They thought the story above was funny and confirmed that I had done the correct thing. Then they tried to figure out whose cattle it was; It is common practice when moving cattle to let them roam as they usually now where to go. It was surprising, however, that there was no one around. Lunch ended, and the ladies left before I had finished. Upon asking for my bill, I was informed that Peggy had paid for my lunch. I was dumbfounded and touched by the kindness.

l-r Sally (sister), Peggy, Kathy (sister) and Kathy

The kindness that has been shown to me on this trip has been amazing. People I don't even know have opened their homes and shared their lives with me. Accepting these invitations and traveling this way was initially a stretch for me;I was nervous about staying with people I didn't know and with such varied backgrounds. What I have discovered is a world of wonder; each of the people I stayed with has given me a gift and made my life richer. And the only thing I had to do was be open....it has been an incredible experience so far.

Barb, Couer d'Alene, ID; more about her later, but she told me some cool places to visit

Cindi Rauch, on the right, Brush Prairie, WA

Marilyn, Roseburg, OR

Drew and Rebecca Brown, Coeur D'Alene, ID Becky rode solo, self-contained across the Southern Tier.

Riding the Waves

2011-08-16T01:48:00.001-05:00

Fluid.....I keep saying my plans are fluid. Morphing and changing with ease, like the blobs in a lava lamp. Note, however, that I said my plans were fluid....not me. I have found myself frustrated, angry and sometimes in somewhat of a panic when my 'plans' don't go as....well, planned. Let's just say these situations have created some waves, and I have had some challenges in riding them gracefully.

After a series of frustrating mishaps on Saturday, I found myself holed up in a fleabag motel with an non-functioning phone. I supposed to have met Karen and Rhonda and been on my way to Whidby Island; I was supposed to have a phone that worked....I had just paid to have that done; I was supposed to riding Lopez Island tomorrow. But instead, here I was, in the Sunset Motor Inn, a down and out motel, where one is regularly serenaded by police sirens...and lucky to have a room. The entire inventory of hotel rooms north, south and in Seattle, were sold out due to concerts, fairs, soccer tournaments, an Ironman race and who knows whatelse. I only go this room because it was 6 pm and the reservation was released. Aahh--somewhere to sleep tonight. I had been worried that I might have to sleep in the car. I was grateful for the room, but still angry that all my plans...my 'fluid' plans.... had been cancelled. I had to go back into Seattle tomorrow morning to get whatever was done to my IPhone reversed. I needed a functioning phone, and it couldn't wait. Once I leave Seattle, there may be no other opportunity for repair.

While trying to contact Rhonda and Karen, and while trying to locate someplace to sleep, I kept using my phone, only to have it reboot in the middle of a conversation. It was now rebooting itself every couple of minutes. The phone was useless, and I felt helpless as that lifeline to the world disintegrated. I had not realized how much I depended on it; it contained all my contact information. Who carries an address book anymore--it's all on our cellphones. I couldn't research and find hotels in the area, or call them to inquire about vacancies--the phone didn't work. Instead, I had to do it the old fashioned way--look for one and stop and ask. I was getting in quite a panic when one hotel after another said 'sorry' and told me I would have to travel as far as 50 miles north to find a vacancy somewhere. Nonetheless, luck prevailed...I had a roof over my head, even if the surroundings outside were questionable.

About 10 pm that night, I was reading, with my curtains drawn and door deadbolted; someone knocked on the door. I sat there frozen, not making a sound, pretending I wasn't there. The person went away. Twenty minutes later, the footsteps returned; another knock...again I played possum. It happened a third time....I was really getting nervous, and shouted 'Go away', and the mysterious visitor did after rattling the door knob.

As I sat there looking around the room for something to shove in front of the door, the room phone rang. Tentatively, I answered.

"Ms Hersman?"
"yes."
"This is the front desk. The man in the room next to you is trying to get a hold of you."
"Yes....."
"He gave up and came here. You left your room key hanging in the lock and he was worried about you. He took it out and brought down here. I'll bring it up to you."
"Okay. Thank you."

I felt about two inches tall..... I had made a decision based on my assumptions about the area. Would I have made the same decision not to answer the door if I had been in a nice hotel in a nice suburb? Probably....

But I still felt like an idiot.

Fields of lavender in Sequim, WA, the Lavender Capitol of the World

Space Needle

On an old building in Edison, WA

Giant maze by the Space Needle

20 foot tower made of guitars

Memorial to a fallen cyclist in downtown Seattle. Bicycling is crazy and dangerous there,
even though there are bike lanes

55/50/50...What?

2011-08-14T02:36:00.000-05:00

So if you haven't heard, I got this crazy idea that I wanted to bicycle in all 50 states. It would have sounded a lot cooler if I could say I was doing a 50/50/50...that is, turning 50, riding 50 in 50 states...but I'm a bit long in the tooth for the first part of that equation. Double nickels, in fact....55. But it's still all 5's, right? So, how does 55 riding 50 in 50 sound?

When this idea hatched, I had already ridden in 50% of the states, (funny how that 50 keeps popping up!), and temperatures in Texas were soaring over 100 degrees; it seemed like a good time to leave. Originally, I was going to go ride the central plain states, but their weather was just as hot. Looking at the map, it was a simple decision to head to the wonderful Pacific Northwest, where daytime temperatures peaked in the high sixties... Hallelujah; pack the bags and hit the road.

A few days before I left, I read a quote that really resonated with me. "Life begins where your comfort zone ends." Well, I guess I am living because I have definitely left my comfort zone because:

I have never ridden my bike unsupported, in a unknown area alone.
I have always been a phone call away from help.
Though I have driven a couple of days solo, never have I done an extended car trip alone.
I have never stayed with people I didn't really know; it is easier to stay in a hotel, safely hidden behind an anonymous hotel door. On this trip, I will be staying with friends of friends, and folks from the cycling site, warmshowers.org

After three days of driving, I finally reached the first state in which I was going to ride, Oregon. I chose to start at Crater Lake. The lake is a collapsed volcano and sits over 7000 feet above sea level; I was coming from almost sea level--300 ft. The weather was perfect and I was eager to ride. The ride around the lake is only 31 miles, and though I was arriving at the park at 2 pm, I felt I could easily ride it in a couple of hours, despite 3700 feet of climbing.

Bike computer upload

Surprise!! I was not prepared for how the elevation would affect me; about half way through the ride, I began to get tired....really tired. My heart rate ran way up and I was huffing and puffing as I spun up the mountains surrounding the lake.

Ten miles in, it sunk into me that I was truly on my own. There was no SAG car or friend to support me, either with water, food or encouragement. I was alone, and if I was going to finish this ride, it was totally up to me. It was just me and my bike. Mile after mile, my mind played games with me as the road just kept going up and up. Around mile 20, as the shadows started to get long, I was tired and worried that the sun would set before I got back to the car.

At this point, I actually considered flagging down someone ... anyone....and hitching a ride back to the visitor center. I felt so vulnerable without the support, and self-doubt was nagging; it was then that I realized what a crutch I had allowed that support to become. With that realization came freedom. I knew I was perfectly capable of riding the rim; I had ridden much more challenging courses. With this shift in attitude, I found I had plenty of strength left and finished the ride as strongly as I started.

Yes, I had left my comfort zone....and even though I was tired, I was living.

There is still snow beside the road, some which didn't open until June.

Half way up the first climb. I thought I was done until I got back on my bike and rounded the corner. It was still 7 miles to the top.

Crater Lake vista point

Snow along the road

Fumaroles made by gas escaping through the molten lava.

Enjoying the scenery

Vista point, and an excuse to stop and smell the roses....and catch my breath.

Sorry...on vacation

2011-06-18T15:55:00.000-05:00

Will return....sometime......thanks for following me up to this point. Updates can be found on Facebook....

Sue Hersman

Men.....of Cloth

2011-06-17T16:17:00.003-05:00

I was the SAG driver last Thursday, and at the second sag stop, I chose a little convenience store in Barcelona, NY. As I stood there waiting for the riders to begin flowing in, a man from a blue minivan crossed the parking lot, wearing a white sweatshirt and eating Combo pretzels. As he drew closer, I noticed his sweatshirt said "SAG Wagon Driver".

"What a cool sweatshirt', I thought, "Wonder where he got it"

As he drew closer, we began a conversation about SAGging and for whom we were sagging. He was supporting 3 of his friends, who were riding a century (100 miles) that day; he often did that for them and as a gift of appreciation, one of the riders gave him the sweat shirt. He introduced himself as Skip, and I told him I really liked his sweatshirt, and if I couldn't convince him to sell it to me, I might have to take it off of him. Some good-natured bantering ensued about the previous comment, and continued as his riders came in, all smiling.

"Hi Father!" one of the said, as he pulled up.

I looked at him, and then at Skip , and knew that they were not father and son. Asking Skip about it, Skip popped a Combo into his mouth and answered

"Oh, I'm the parish priest"

Good one, Sue....I had just told a priest I was going to undress him......

Skip in his cool SAG wagon driver sweatshirt

"Support can be beautiful"

Sissies in Cleveland

2011-06-16T20:28:00.000-05:00

Yes, I'm behind....so I will attempt to catch up with what is happening in the biking bubble. Last weekend, we arrived in Cleveland amid a torrential downpour. It was a warm rain, though, so it was quite pleasant. In fact, it was downright enjoyable riding through the rain....when was the last time you played in the rain with complete abandonment? Probably as a child, right? Well, that's a bit what it felt like! I actually was singing;

"I'm riding in the rain

Just riding in the rain
What a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again....'

Fortunately, the rain drowned (pun intended) out my singing, so I was just serenading myself! Arriving at the hotel. which was opposite the Cleveland Water Works, (how appropriate), the hotel staff brought us towels, then hustled us to our rooms quickly as we were dripping all over there floor. We dripped faster than it could be mopped up by maintenance.

Then the highlight of the weekend; my sisters, Jeanne and Shari, arrived! It was so great to see them! We spent the afternoon and following day visiting. laughing and catching up, then went fishing the next day. That's right, folks, fishing in Lake Erie, off of Pier 55. And we caught some whoppers, too! (See picture below)


Jeanne, with the only fish caught that day.....

To celebrate our successful fishing trip, we went to a Slovic/German beer hall for some authentic ethnic food, beer and live German music. Even our waitress was a buxom wench with a heavy Slovic accent.

We were expecting 'Heidi' to show up at any moment.


The Sisters....Shari, Jeanne, and Me

Feeding the squirrels jelly is always entertaining

Dayglo Rabbit sculpture

Eyelashes on a car....cute!

I really enjoyed visiting with Jeanne and Shari! Thank you so much for coming!!

To blog or not to blog.....

2011-06-13T19:42:00.001-05:00

Would anyone be upset if I discontinued to blog? If a good number of peeps are out there in cyperspace reading it and enjoying it, I will continue. I also wonder if I will be sorry I didn't blog at a later date. What do you think? How about a vote? There's a poll at the top of the page....please vote.

Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble.

2011-06-12T19:34:00.000-05:00

I am very behind in blogging; it doesn't take long. One day missed, then two, then it becomes a race against time and memory. Yes, I did say memory. If the day isn't recorded almost immediately, the events begin to blur, and details fall off the grid. Part of this may be due to age (ahem..no comment), but a large contributor of this memory glitch is what we riders call 'the biking bubble'.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble."

The biking bubble is being out of touch and out of synch with the rest of the world. We listen to the news only to get the weather report; which way the wind is going to blow becomes bigger than who is shooting who in the Middle East. It is a complete disconnect with the rest of the world. I actually had to ask someone via email last week what day it was. I was pretty sure it was Friday; it was Tuesday.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble."

Another phenomenon of the biking bubble is losing time; what happened on what day and where becomes a blur. So a few days of lost blogging can create havoc. Since I can't and don't take notes as I ride, I rely on my pictures to jog my memory...but again, this memory is not what it used to be.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble."

So the bubble does create toil and trouble in recall and recording that recall..... I last recorded June 8; the following day I was SAG driver.

The day started relatively easy, until I followed Jan and Lin; they are our oldest and most reliable riders. They set a pace, and though it may not be as hurried as others, it is steady, steady, steady. I spied them ahead as I drove to the next SAG spot, looked for their 'thumbs up', (which signals all is ok), as I passed, and continued on my way. After several miles, the cues and street signs weren't in sync; deciding I had missed the turn, I retraced my steps. Sure enough, there were Lin and Jan, also going the opposite direction than when I passed them the first time. I think they realized a little quicker that we had missed the turn.

As the SAG, it is quite embarassing to have to pass the same rider twice;everyone knows I'm not being kind and checking on them again. It's the drive of shame as it is quite evident that I got lost....again.

Passing them twice, however, became the easy part of the day. I got a call at about mile 40 that the road was flooded and was given an alternative route my our guide, Denise. She was on her bike and doing it on the fly. I relayed those directions to several of the back riders, including Lin and Jan. I drove ahead to scout the new route and confirm it for them. They were not correct, and I had to give the riders an alternative route of my own...me, direction-challenged Sue is guiding these poor guileless riders on a detour...

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble."

Lo and behold, my detour worked out, and the riders were able to pick up the original route on the cue sheet without adding too many extra miles. After that, it was an easy, but still lengthy, ride in for them.

"Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble, Leave this island on the double."

No, I won't be leaving this island for awhile....... I kinda like living in this bubble.


A train going under the Ohio turnpike, while I go under it....

Entrance to a wonderful bike path between Fremont and Clyde. Both towns have beautifully restored Victorian homes.

Bugs on our window trying to get in.

June 8-- Hot Time in the City (Defiance to Bowling Green, Ohio)

2011-06-09T16:34:00.000-05:00

Another scorching day on the bike, but it was a short day--only 48 miles--so we had plenty of time to go slowly and enjoy the ride and surroundings.

Today's ride took us down a towpath that was part of the canal system through out Ohio. The canal followed the Maumee River; the canal was on oneside of the towpath, and the Maumee Rivier was on the other. We just couldn't figure out why they would need a canal when the river was wide, deep and with a good current. Why not just use the river instead of having mules pull the canal boats? As we puzzled over this, we stopped an older gentleman walking down the towpath and posed that question to him. He looked at us as if we were half-baked (and we were, literally, in that heat!) and realizing we were serious in our query, he answered.....
"Once the boats get down the river, how are they going to get back up? That's what them canals are for--gettin back up here" Things that make you go "hmmm'....enough so, that I decided to look it up.

In a nutshell, in 1825, building the canals provided the quickest and cheapest way to get farming goods to the Ohio River and to market. Prior to the canals, the only available method of transport was with horse drawn wagons on washed out, unreliable roads. Compared to that, the canals were a godsend and played an important role in the economical development of Ohio. They were used successfully until the railroads entered the picture in 1855, and pretty much made the system obsolete; at that time, it was more profitable to sell the water from the canals to businesses and industry than to actually transport goods.

From Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ohio_Canal.jpg

I don't really know why one was built beside a viable river; perhaps the river was too unreliable, or too hard to navigate. It did, however, provide a constant water source to this portion of the canal system. Other canals relied on man-made lakes, such as St Mary's, Indian and Buckeye lakes, to keep them full during dry spells. You can read more about the Ohio canal system here: http://www.ohiodnr.com/water/canals/canlhist/tabid/3285/Default.aspx

It was a pretty ride, and provided shade as well as a nice change from riding on roads.

As we popped out on to the road from the trail, our cue sheet said, turn left and go over the bridge; once again we stood there in discussion about which way to go....the bridge was clearly to the right! Do we go right and go over the bridge, or left as the cue sheet instructs? After a few minutes discussion, I noticed that to our left, the direction we were instructed to go, there was also a bridge.... how could we have not seen that....and better yet, we knew the river was to our right and the canal was to our left, both requiring a bridge to cross; how could we have not realized that when we had just been sandwiched between them for the last 8 miles? Things that make you go 'hmmmm'. Clearly, we were out to lunch, so that is exactly where we went!

Less than two miles away was the delightful little town of Grand Rapids, Ohio, population 1000. It is situated right on the canal, and the Maumee River and surprisingly had a very nice restaurant, LaRoe's. The interior had just been redone because an elderly man had driven through the front and into a good portion of it in 2010

Bumper from the car that crashed into the front portion of LaRoe's

In repairing and renovating from the damage, a local artist did extensive faux and trompe l'oeil paintings on the walls and mirrors--even the bathroom and patio! It was very cool--an elegant and unexpected find!

I don't think that Carol realizes the waiter isn't going to share his wine.

I had a wonderful BLT sandwich, though I was quite tempted to order a fried balogna sandwich, which I think is the official state sandwich. The only time I have ever seen this sandwich on a menu has been in Ohio.

The rest of the ride was uneventful--well, almost. We managed to miss another turn, and pedaled about 5 miles before catching the mistake. Looking to my left, I saw a sign for 65 North and noticed on the cue sheet that we would be travelling on 65 South eventually. I suggested that we turn right on it instead of backtracking in a headwind to catch the missed right turn. Everyone looked left at the sign I was pointing to, 65 North, and one person said, "But the cue sheets says to go on 65 South", to which I replied, "then we'll just go in the opposite direction.....which will be south." Things that make you go 'hmm'.

We arrived in Bowling Green without further ado, and as the town's bank thermometer registered 108 degrees, we stopped at the local bike shop and supported the economy. All in all, a very enjoyable day.

Patio at LaRoe's overlooking both the canal and the river

Happy locals in Grand Rapids, Ohio

Maumee River dam

Lea Adams speeding down the towpath

Campbell's Soup factory, Napoleon, Ohio

Sad house....what stories could it tell?

Lunch break.....notice the fancy lock.

Crash

2011-06-08T20:00:00.003-05:00

Blogger site keeps crashing, so no blog tonight.....sorry!

Shuffle Off the Buffulo in Searing Heat.......

2011-06-07T20:22:00.001-05:00

Lordy, lordy..it was another hot day. My thermometer read 100 degrees on my bike. Though the weatherman might say something different, that is what was the temperature on the bicycle today; we get the heat from above and the radiant heat from the road. Add that to 78% humidity, and it was a warm one. I lathered on the sunscreen every 15 miles, but it just dripped off of me like white rain. I am more than pink, but not quite red tonight....medium rare, I guess you could say. I kept moving so the wind would at least provide some evaporative cooling. Today's ride was 84 miles; we were treated with a nice tailwind and were able to start riding at 6:45am to beat the hot afternoon sun. So all was good.

Early in the ride, we came across a buffalo farm, and all the mothers and calves were in the front pasture. (What do you call a female buffalo?) The calves were young, yet playful; the mothers were not happy with our voyeurism, pawing the ground, snorting, huffing AND growling at us. Who knew that they growled!!


Baby buffalo nursing...scary eyes on Mom. There is sunscreen on my lens, so it looks hazy.

While pedaling through the small towns of Indiana, Lea Adams and I stopped at the Post Office in the small, but busy, town of Yoder. My mail has not been getting delivered in Texas, so I needed to sign some papers to get it going again. Lea needed a stamp to mail a post card to Australia; the post card was 50 cents, the postage was 98. (Things that make you go 'hmmmm') Hopefully, Jeremy, the nice postal worker got it straightened out for me He was quite friendly and accommodating--a refreshing change from those in Dallas!!

Lea Adams and Jeremy, Yoder, IN. I finally got Lea to pose with a fellow postal person--Lea works for the postal system in Australia.


Lea and her bike in Yoder.

The day just got hotter and hotter. Sag stops were short--just long enough to put on more sunscreen, and get ice and water. Everyone wanted to get in as quickly as possible; it was too hot to dally! I rode most of the day with Lea.

Cruising a long with Lea Adams. We fell way behind because of our stop at the post office.

I'll let you guess from the picture below what I am doing and why.....(FYI--Lea thought the sun was getting to me....a bit daffy)

Give up???......O...H....I...O...... We crossed into Ohio today. I grew up in northern Ohio in a small community near Akron, then lived in Columbus for a long time. It is strange to be back, and feels a bit like coming home....similar to eating comfort food....warm and fuzzy.

My saddle sore issue from last year's Southern Tier has raised it's ugly head again, but not as severely. I am treating it with warm compresses tonight and antibiotic ointment. Tomorrow is a short ride of about 50 miles, then I am the SAG driver, so hopefully the problem will be limited.

Well, another evening has whizzed by and I need to retire. I pop up a few more pictures, then say good night to y'all!

And lastly, a happy birthday to my daughter, Jennifer!!

My bike and Bev Park's lean against each other at a SAG stop


I know someone named Boo!


Cooled off here with an iced tea~~boy, did it taste good!


Everyone trying to squeeze into a little bit of shade

The Dan Quayle Center in Huntington, IN (Did I spell that correctly)

Indiana Nice, cont.

2011-06-07T15:44:00.002-05:00

So off we went, my bike on top, to the next SAG stop and waited for the riders to come in. Karen Cooper rolled in and said she had a surprise for me. She was riding a long and as she pedaled past a yard, 'this old guy on a mower without a shirt, jumped off his riding mower and came running and yelling across the yard. He was going so fast, I thought he was going to have a heart attack." Stopping, the man asked Karen if she was with the group riding to Maine. When Karen confirmed that she was, he pulled out a baggie, and said that the woman with broken bike had left it behind. His wife had called the police to try and get it to me! In it was my driver's license, credit card, money and ipod. I never even knew I had dropped it! Not only did this couple share their shade, hospitality and puppy with me, but went to great lengths to return my lost items!! Indiana nice!!

At the last and final SAG stop, Rita and I pulled into the driveway of a honey farm to wait for the final riders to come through. I walked up to the barn to get permission, and was greeted by two elderly dogs, who were quite determined to protect the property. They alerted the owner, Cindy, who graciously gave us permission. I chatted with her for awhile, and she took me into her shop, which was filled with honey and honey products. The business is quite fascinating. They have over 3000 hives, that they 'rent' out all over the country to pollinate fruit trees. Currently, they have hives pollinating in Michigan, Georgia and California. A by-product of the pollination is honey....lots of it! In addition to selling the honey, Cindy makes all sorts of organic, honey-derived products. Her cute little shop contained all sorts of wonderful smelling, handmade soaps, candles, and other honey-based beauty products. Cindy gave me soap for each person on the tour! I have to say, that after a long hot day on the bike, that her peppermint soap was both soothing and refreshing! Thank you, Cindy!! (Majenica Creek Honey Farm ) Indiana nice!


Cindy of Majenica Creek Honey Farm

These are called queen cells. All bees are start life as drones, but some larvae are moved to larger honeycombs, or cells. These larvae are feed a special diet and have room to grow into the larger queen in these oversized cells. This apparently occurs in nature but is done more frequently in captivity by humans to produce more hives. Cindy's 21 yr old daughter cultivates the queens. Maybe if I got a bigger house and had special food I would become a queen....sorta like Kate Middleton.

I got a wonderful message from her on my blog inviting the Womantours riders to stop by anytime for 'some honey sweetened tea' and to use her new bathrooms. (Her ca 1880 home, which she and her husband had spent years restoring, burned down in December. They are living in the barn until the new house is done. It was a heartbreaking loss.) Like I said, Indiana nice! Thanks again, Cindy!

Once I arrived at the hotel, (a flea bitten....literally....Super 8), our guide, Denise, said she would take me and Sara to a bike shop in Ft Wayne to get out bikes fixed. Yay!! I thought I wouldn't be riding for a few days due to the broken spoke! After a 45 min ride, we got there, and were attended to immediately. It was a very busy bike shop, Summit City. A nice young man, Aaron, waited on me; as luck would have it, he was a custom wheel builder. I knew my wheel was in good hands. Another young man worked on Sara's bike, which need a new wheel and derailleur. We browsed around the store for about 45 minutes, when Aaron brought out my wheel...better than new! And at no charge!! We spent some time talking; Aaron is an engineering graduate of Purdue University and is applying to Yale grad school. We talked about the tour for awhile and bikes, when he said, "Wait right here--I'll be right back." He returned with 3 jars of a chamois cream he formulated just for women. (He originally made it for his girlfriend, saying girls just weren't designed to sit on bikes) It's made of all natural, organic products; I used it today, and it is wonderful. Thank you, Aaron--Indiana Nice!!

Aaron, a Purdue University grad, with Denise Purdue, whose great-great uncle founded the school

So, three times today, folks in Indiana were nice....more than nice; they were fantastic! Thank you!

Indiana Nice

2011-06-06T20:21:00.001-05:00

I've had quite a day. Afew blogs back, I talked about the 'best laid plans of mice and men", and the value in being flexible to unexpected events. Today was such a day.

Being blonde, blue-eyed and with freckles, it is no stretch to say that I don't do well in the heat and sun. Last Saturday was brutal, with the heat index reaching well above 100 degrees. When we started to ride at 7:30 AM, the temperature was already reading 85 degrees, so in an attempt to beat the worst of the heat, I pedaled with urgency, averaging around 20 mph for the first 30 miles. The heat won out though, and by noon I was experiencing the onset of heat exhaustion, and had to quit at the 70 mile mark, falling 26 miles short of the end.

Since my effort to get in before the afternoon sun and heat failed so miserable on Saturday, I chose a different tactic today, as it was supposed to go from "warm, to sticky, then muggy" (according to the local Indiana weather report). Today I rode at a more leisurely pace, enjoying the company of the other women. The faster pace wasn't effective in beating the heat, so maybe a slower pace would be. It was certain to be more pleasurable since I had someone to talk to as I rode! The morning went by quickly, with a nice easy pace. Around mile 47 (out of 70), we stopped at a stop sign; I heard a rather odd 'snap' come from some where on my bike. I looked for the source, but couldn't find it, and decided I must have just run over something the ricocheted off my bike. We continued on, and as I was half way down a wonderful descent, I heard a loud sound, reminiscent of the sound of childhood-- of playing cards fastened to the fork of the bike so they make a flipping sound on the spokes. That's not a good sound. I was able to stop without incident, knowing that sound was because I had a broken spoke. My ride for the day was over.... I pushed my bike to a nearby home, and asked the owner, and elderly, shirtless man, if I could sit in the shade of his front porch while I waited for the SAG vehicle to pick me up. "Of course', he said. So I sat down in a plastic chair next to his ashtray....obviously his smoking spot....pulled out the baggie I keep my driver's license, credit card, money and my cell phone in so I could call Bob and get his advice. I had barely said 'hello' when the gentleman emerged, still shirtless, from the house, followed by his wife, who had no teeth and was carrying a Papillon puppy. My goodness they were proud of the little fellow, who they named Pappy. They had had him for two weeks, and they glowed as they talked about him. Of course, I jumped up to admire and cuddle him, and we all sat on the porch, as I waited for the SAG to come. He was telling me all about Pappy, she was smoking a long brown cigarette (guess it was her smoking spot), and Pappy was chewing on my bike glove. (Good thing it is padded he had sharp teeth). They could not have been kinder, offering me food and water, and listening in amazement as I told them about my ride and the other women doing it. Soon Rita came, and after taking their picture and thanking them, we were on our way.

Indiana Nice....with baby Pappy

....my room mate tonight, Lea Adams, from Australia, has gone to bed, so I must sign off for now.... there is more, ALOT more to this story so....stay tuned....


Lea is zonked out...

TO BE CONTINUED.......

A Very Sag Story, Indeed

2011-06-05T16:07:00.001-05:00

My humblest apologies for the days of non-blogging....I have gotten a few 'where's your blog' from some of my followers and I'm so sorry....here's why, but I warn you, it is a very sag story and occurred over about 12 hours.

After my last blog, and my failing energy, I woke the following morning to find my back in spasm, and was barely able to get out of bed. As such, I called my friend, Karen, and offered to trade SAG driver days with her. (She had really wanted to ride that morning with a friend from last year's ride, Kathy Kirby, who was visiting.)


Southern Tier 2010 riders,, Rita Rowe, Mary Drennan, Kathy Kirby, Karen Cooper, and me

Since I was in no condition to ride, Karen may as well be able, too. Right? So, with the switch made, I checked off the riders as they departed in the early morning light. The weather looked promising, though we were still riding into the stiff headwind that has plagued us continuously on this tour.

So, let's take time out right now, and talk about being a SAG driver. There are four SAG drivers on this tour, and we take turns driving, or 'being on duty'. I thought long and hard before I signed up for the job. It requires giving up a fair amount of free time to be in service of the other tour members. The latter part of that statement appealed to me--being in service; I enjoy being able to support the others in reaching their goals. We are also given a substantial discount on the cost of our tour- that too was appealing. (I am already eyeing a new bike with the money I am saving)

SAG, to most, means Support And Gear. On this tour, the SAG is responsible for the riders and the SAG vehicle. While the riders are on the road, the SAG makes sure they are all accounted for by checking each rider in and out of the rest stops. At the rest stops, aka SAG stops, we provide food and water as well as sunscreen, toilet paper for the Green Room and emotional support. Everyone is happy to see the SAG! Enroute, we help with flat tires, and give the cyclist a ride if they encounter any mechanical or physical issues. In short, when the riders are on the road, we do everything possible to ensure their safety and comfort, short of riding the bike for them.

There are duties, however, that aren't as obvious; after each day, the SAG driver has to service the vehicle, which is called BoPeep. This involves cleaning it out, throwing away trash, restocking the food and water, topping off the ice, removing gear bags and getting gas. Still, the day is not done....we also do the clean up detail after dinner. This is my least favorite part. I like being in support of the riders, but I hate doing the dishes. So, in short, the day a SAG person is on duty can be very long.

So, with that long explanation, you now know what I do when I am on SAG duty. Having traded with Karen, I was responsible for the riders during the 87 mile ride on Thursday. It turned out to be a 3-H day....hot, humid and headwind. After 40 miles or so, many of the riders chose to ride in with the van and trailer, but a determined few rode the entire route. On long, difficult days like this one, the riders tend to get very spread out. This can be for a variety of reasons--how fast one rides, how often one stops to take pictures or use the bathroom, how long one stays at the SAG stop, or if one stops at a restaurant for lunch. Today was no exception. At times. there were several hours between the riders....some way in front, (called the front runners) and some way in back. I also had a few stray off the course, and had to hunt them down. (Hence, the name of the car, BoPeep....has lost her sheep...) So the day was long...it started at 7:30 and I didn't come in until the last riders were in, which was around 5:30 or 6....then I still had to service BoPeep, and do the dishes after dinner..... My SAG day, on this particular day, didn't end until around 8:00............ a long day, but it was worth it to see Bev, Ramsey and Hille complete the ride in its entirety. (I still don't like doing the dishes)

So that is my SAG story, and I'm sticking to it.

Scenery during my day as SAG---somewhere in Eastern Illinois.....


Like this car, I didn't know if I was coming or going today as I ran up and down the roads looking for riders


Huge tornado siren......with so much distance between farms, I wonder how effective it is


Windmills for as far as the eye can see. If there is a tornado, do the windmills spin so fast that they make a lot of electricity? Things that make you go 'hmmmm'.

Just a cool picture.

Historic gas station in Odell, Ill on Rt 66....

There was sky was very overcast, which created a lot of glare in the pictures. Very hot.....

Even the cows were hot, and decided to cool off.

Lack of Activity

2011-06-02T17:35:00.012-05:00

When I don't blog, that is usually a good indication that I am tired....or too busy....but mostly tired. I was puzzled today at my lack of energy. Yes, I rode 80 miles yesterday, but it was an easy 80 mles. Today, I was 'boinking' by the 50 mile mark. Yes, there was a constant headwind, but that shouldn't account for being sooooooooo tired. Spinning is spinning despite the wind....sometimes you go fast, sometimes you go slow with the same amount of effort. (It's just a drag to expend the same amount of effort and not go as far in the same amount of time). So what was the difference? Well.....this is where some of us went after a fantastic, and quick ride yesterday.....

Has the longest bar in Illinois, dating back to 1898. It is one of the last remaining, and original Pabst Blue Ribbon bars

Me, Donna, Bev and Mary, each enjoying a different brew on tap. Of course, I had a Shiner Bock

Blurred picture of all the handles at the bar.....this was taken BEFORE I had anything.

Is it possible to avoid a DUI this way?

Original 1898 mahogany bar, with original Pabst Blue Ribbon signage.

An original brass spitoon--it's now a tip jar

Original tile flooring, origianl tin ceiling, and wall paper from the 1920


Yea, we're still at it.....(we only had two)

So now my little secret is out. We missed lunch by 15 minutes and had to settle for popcorn and beer. The bar was quite lovely; "Imported from Belgium, this bar was built by Pabst Blue Ribbon in 1898. John P. Brady was the original owner; his initials are still etched in the front door glass. The Mahogany mirrored bar spans fifty feet, with hand carved figurines at each end. It is also accented with the original brass fixtures. Detailed carved lion heads are throughout the building. Along the wall are small buzzers topped with tiny eagles that were used to summon a waiter to the customers. While overhead is an embossed tin ceiling. Stained-glass and leaded windows enhance the 19th century atmosphere. The brass footed pedestal tables are still here, as is the teller cage where men would cash their paychecks, and then come in for a drink. The brass spittoons are now used as tip jars behind the bar. Years ago when women were not allowed in the taverns, the men would have to take their lady friends upstairs to drink. Their drinks were then sent up to them via the dumbwaiter, which still works today."

Now, getting back to my poor performance today....so yesterday was 80 miles on a very light breakfast, followed by a liquid lunch, then a light dinner of a brat and coleslaw. This morning, I had yogurt and a 1/3 cup of scrambled eggs with a flour tortilla. Breakfast was skimpy--the hotel lady didn't restock any of the food, and we came in after a road crew had eaten.... most things were gone. Looking at the quality and quantity of the food I ate......well, there's my answer. So if anyone is wondering, what one eats definitely affects performance.

Of course, when one rides through a windmill farm, one has to pause and go 'hmmmm'....perhaps mother nature also had a hand in the fatigue. There is, after all, a reason all those windmills are out there.

This was taken from a great distance. I liked the contrast of how old farming meets new farming.....


What would have been my first clue that it would be windy here? Things that make you go 'hmmm'

I rode alone today, and saw no one from our tour for hours. I spent so much time in my drops, (that's the part of the handlebar that curls under), that my back really began to complain (I have a bulging disk). About noon, after several hours of steady riding, I decided to break for lunch and settled under a big maple tree to eat my peanut butter sandwich. I laid back on the velvety lawn to stretch my back, and enjoyed looking up into the tree and sky. It took my back to my childhood; how wonderful to slow down, and just enjoy the moment. So, let's take a minute and play a childhood game....as I was looking up into the branches, I saw something....."I spy something brown..." Do you see it?


Can you find it....


At first I thought it was a hornet's nest


But looking from a different angle, I saw it was a bird's nest; from the looks of it, the inhabitants got knocked out. Su Snyder can probably tell me what bird built this.

Also bringing back childhood memories was this playground toy; not many of these are around anymore. Too much liability, I guess; funny, even though we did get thrown off and sick, I don't remember anyone getting seriously injured. I still get a little nauseous thinking about these....


A merry-go-round!! When was the last time you saw one of these?

This picture is for my children and anyone else of that generation that had a Cozy Coupe...that wonderful orange and yellow Fred Flinstone car.....here in farm country, they come in a little different style


A Cozy Coupe Pickup Truck!! Things that make you go 'hmmmm' or good marketing?

Finally--just a feel good picture. These two are best friends, according to their owner.


This was a 'bucket' calf....anyone know what a bucket calf is?

Gotta run....dinner draws near and I still need to update the Toilet page

Proud of my Country

2011-05-30T21:08:00.000-05:00

Today, as I drove through the small rural towns of Iowa, I was extremely touched and humbled by how the citizens of the communities honor those who have fought for our freedom, for our 'God given rights' and the rights of others. In small cemeteries throughout the entire area, Old Glory stood guard above the graves of those who had passed, watching over them. Not just one flag, but many, many waved in the morning sky, the wind blowing them to attention in tribute to our soldiers. In town after town, cemetery after cemetery, the gravesides were lovingly decorated with flowers and flags, and tombstones decorated with commemorative plaques. The flag-lined streets were also lined with townsmen, all waiting for the parade of veterans to lead them to these cemeteries and participate in a ceremony of remembrance--- a solemn service of respect and honor for those that fought for our freedom, and our ideals of those freedoms.

Living in a large city, in a fast paced life, it is very easy to forget what this day is truly about. To many, it is merely a day off work, it's origination and meaning lost. Today was truly a day to reflect what it is to be an American, and to be in gratitude for those who protect that privilege.

'And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!'

Thank you.....

One of many celebrations of honor, remembrance and gratitude.

No Blog Today....Ride Cancelled Due to Weather

2011-05-29T17:06:00.002-05:00

Really!

Up and Over

2011-05-28T18:04:00.001-05:00

I went birdwatching today. I saw scarlet tanigers, gold finches, robins, titmouses, lots of redwing blackbirds, towhee, and a Baltimore oriole. Unfortunately, this was all roadkill! I've never seen so many birds on the side of the road before. Given the chorus of different songs I hear as I ride along, I know the area is thickly populated, but usually these flying Pavarottis manage to avoid moving vehicles. One bird I saw today that was especially exquisite, and alive, was a bald eagle. He circled over head for a while, looking for prey...we didn't qualify....was attacked by a smaller bird, then winged away, looking for richer fields for hunting. What a majestic bird; I am so glad it is our national bird instead of the turkey. I saw several of those yesterday; they were scratching in the dirt looking for worms....no comparison.

Today we rode from LaCrosse to Prairie du Chien...the town's name literally means dogs of the prairie...or prairie dog. I haven't seen any, dead or alive. It was an unexpected challenging 70 mile ride, and yes, I did get lost...but only because the cue sheet was wrong. I appreciate the mistake as I rode down into McGregor, WI... the home of the Ringling Bros. What a cute town! They were having a big street fair. I saw some 'interesting' sites there, but the pictures below best illustrate them.


A clown, of course, since this is the home of the Ringling Bros.


This little house was built into rock on the side of a bluff (aka a cliff). It was used for a jail, among other things

So after browsing around there for awhile and checking out the street fair, I pulled my Iphone out and got directions to the hotel. It was back the way I had just come, and across the bridge over the Mississippi River. (Oh, gads, another bridge!) Even with the detour, I was in long....long before anyone else, even the van and guides. So with nothing to do, I went to a pub and had a Bud Lime and cheese curds, (I am in Wisconsin, after all....when in Rome...).

It's not surprising that no one else was in. It was a tough day; it was very windy, and in the morning the rollers were gentle, 2-5% grades. After about mile 45, though, those climbs turned into 6 miles of 8-10% grades, and my bike would not shift into my 'granny' gears. (The easiest of the three chain rings). So I muscled my way up. My legs felt like rubber. I did stop a the Effigy Mounds. The ranger said it was about a mile walk to the mounds, and I said....well, you can guess what I said....I'll look at them on the internet.

Good scenery today....enjoy the pictures.


Interesting yard art. I loved the contrast of the rusty bikes and sandstone.


The Mississippi is a little high.


At one time, this was someone's pride and joy. Wonder what stories it could tell.


Honoring our Fallen in Harper's Ferry

One of many smaller roller we shared with farm equipment

Wild flowers along the railroad track


Tree that looked like something out of Wizard of Oz.


Unusual, yet striking church in the middle of nowhere.


The ride was tough....I was hallucinating.

Enjoy---SAG duties call. See you tomorrow.

A Path Less Travelled.

2011-05-27T21:21:00.000-05:00

If one were to put a gps on me to track my path, I am afraid it wouldn't make much sense. I truly don't understand how someone with above average intelligence can have so much trouble following directions! I even argue with the Garmin and, deciding that I am right, take the wrong turn. (That truly is something that makes you go 'hmmm') Obviously, today was no exception. Our route should have only taken us 70 mile; I logged 85. Sigh.... Thank goodness I can ride fast to compensate for the extra mileage.

It all started when I decided to ride the Great River Trail instead of sticking to the road. (We had a choice of two routes today). I entered the trail at the Marshland trail head a few minutes behind Bev. I could see her in front of me, but chose to hang back so I could experience the sounds and sights of nature alone. The road was a loose gravel, but enough was worn away to make it ride-able, even on a road bike. It was a feast for the eyes and ears.

The feeling of ecstasy described in that video clip was short lived. Bev and I wound our way through the park; coming to yet another fork in the road, we referred to the gps on my bike computer, and went left. Soon, however, we realized that we were back where we had started....we had been going in circles, and I had not idea how to get to where we needed to be. At that point, I knew how to get back on the road at the point at which I had left it. I told Bev I was going back that way and taking the road into the hotel, (which was still was still about 35 miles away). Bev, on the other hand, chose to continue trying to find her way on the trail. I just felt like Hansel and Gretel in the evil woods, except I wasn't dropping bread crumbs. So down the road I went, alone. Somehow everything seems further and harder when cycling alone. I rode without seeing anyone for so long that I began to wonder if I was lost, but finally, after making the last turn before coming to the SAG stop, I ran into Mary and Jeanette puzzling over the cue sheet. None of us knew exactly where we were, more specifically, where the SAG was. We knew where the hotel was, so that's where we headed...down a busy highway. As we passed a Dairy Queen, out came the group with whom I had been riding before I decided to go on the trail. We regrouped, and darn if we didn't get lost!!! We rode the bike paths of most of LaCrosse, I think, before we found our way. And that only happened because we got off the bike trails we were supposed to take, used my map app on my Iphone, and rode in on the street.

Still no sign of Bev..... She did come in some time after us, and said the trail was wonderful.

Marsh grasses in protected area

Turtle Crossing

Another Turtle crossing

For Diana....only the best designers in Winona

Beautiful county courthouse in Winona, MN

Gargoyle on the courthouse

Houses on docks on the Mississippi

We had to cross the bridge over the Mississippi to cross over to Wisconsin. Anyone that knows me, knows how terrified I am of high bridges. This one had me in tears as we had to take the pedestrian walk way right next to the edge. Even though there was no way I could fall in, I was hyperventilating and crying....a big thanks to Donna who walked beside me so I couldn't see the edge, and made me laugh all the way across.

Wheat...the variations of green were beautiful

Feminist movement in reverse.....

Going to bed...not going to proof read. Let me know of any errors you might find.

What Should I Call This Post?

2011-05-26T21:40:00.000-05:00

I had a lot of time to think about what to write about today. I was the SAG driver, and the riders were very strung out on the 84 mile route--often two hours or more between when the first ones left and the last ones arrived. That was a lot of 'wait' time, and hence, time to think. What did I come up with to write...........I forget. Whatever it was, it seemed like a good idea at the time, though!

It was a perfect day to ride--beautiful weather, beautiful roads beautiful countryside. Hopefully all will be duplicated tomorrow when I am back on my bike.

What I missed today while I sagged, besides the picture perfect riding were:

Riding the Afton Alps
Seeing the widest point in the Mississippi River--6 miles across. I may have seen it, but I am not sure....to busy looking for my 'sheep' and watching traffic.
Seeing the world's largest boot in Red Wing, MN. (but I've seen the big shoe in front of Brown Shoe Co, so anything else would pale)
Visiting the National Eagle Center in Wabasha, but I did see wild turkeys--they look just like the Thanksgiving pictures!
Eating lunch....lots of food in the SAG wagon though.
A train the had a sign on it that said 'No Humping" (things that make you go 'hmmm')

All in all, though, it was a lovely day, whether in the car chasing riders or on a bike. I am looking forward to riding tomorrow; cross your fingers that I will get the same weather we had today!!

Tired.....night!

Blippity, blip, blip

2011-05-26T21:18:00.000-05:00

I just lost the whole post I had nearly completed, so, dear reader, tonight there will be a big fat nothing in my blog! It was a long day of SAG driving, so I will sign off instead of trying to duplicate my witty writing.... Perhaps, in my dreams, I will compose the blog to end all blogs. Night all!

Things that Make You Go "Hmmm"

2011-05-25T14:38:00.000-05:00

Call it a curious mind, call being cynical, but sometimes I run across things that seem to defy logic, (my logic, anyway) and I can't help but to mentally scratch my head and go "hmmmm".

One such incident occurs in the picture I took below. Take a close look at it and see if you can figure out why I would label it "Things that make you go 'hmmm'

It's a sandal, right? ....so what is wrong with this picture? (Besides wearing socks with sandals, but in this case it is ok because they are riding sandals) Give up?? Scroll down and take a closer look.

Waterproof sandals!!!! Why? Things that make you go hmmmmm.

I saw this sign at a grill where we stopped for lunch.....

Really? Parents have to be told not to drink and drive with their children??? Things that make you go 'hmmm'

Minnesota truly promotes wild life and has bird houses on every fence post a long the Nature Rd. Take a look at this bird house.....specifically, look at the post

The post was all burned out....how did that happen? Things that make you go 'hmmm'.

This is the back of the SAG wagon...BoPeep, we call her because she gathers up all the 'lost sheep'. Look at all the food in there.

There was more on the hood. How am I ever going to lose weight on this trip? Things that make you go 'hmmm'.

This sign just made me laugh......

The restaurant posted all the returned checks here......things that make you go 'bahahahaha'.

Got any good things that make you go 'hmmmm'? Leave'em in the comment area so we can all ponder the irony.....

Of Mice and Men

2011-05-24T17:39:00.001-05:00

Today was our first long ride of the trip--106 miles of smooth roads, nice weather and beautiful country. Last night, I carefully laid out my biking clothes and all the paraphenalia that accompanies a ride of that mileage. (electrolytes, cues sheets, bike computer...you get the idea). I was ready; I was organized and my execution of the ride well planned. I expected it to be about a 7 hour trip and went to bed knowing I was well prepared.

Ah..."the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry".... This phrase, originates in a poem by Robert Burns. It tells of him plowing a field, and accidentally destroying the nest of a field mouse in the process. The phrase illustrates that despite careful preparation, things don't always go as planned.

I experienced that this morning when I awoke at the sound of my alarm and found my back in spasm. Moving gently, I stretched and flexed to loosen it, then slowly got out of bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I turned around to answer a question my room mate, Rita, had asked me, and winced as pain shot through my lower back, radiating across my hips. I had had soreness the last couple of days, and yesterday had experienced electric like sensations down my left leg as I rode, but chose to ignore it, thinking it would work itself out. Clearly, today, I had better listen to what my body had been trying to tell me. So the well laid plans from last night changed....I decided that I was not going to ride today, but rest my back instead. I suspect the pain is not the result of cycling, but the lifting involved with moving my luggage and lifting heavy items while SAGging. (I have a bulging disk, L5 on S1) With the next three days out of the saddle (today, a rest day, then a day of driving SAG), I should be ready to resume pain-free pedaling on Friday without losing much mileage. (As long as I am throwing cliches around, let me just say that 'it is not the destination but the journey, right?) I learned on last year's cross country ride to listen to my body when it talks to me....a little preventative pampering now will avert much more misery later! So here I am, actually having some free time! Woohooo!!

I spent part of the morning navigating for the SAG, Karen Cooper. She should have left me at the hotel; I got her lost TWICE in 20 miles! I don't know why I am so directionally challenged and dyslexic. I always managed to get where I want to go; sometimes it just takes a little longer....remember, 'it's not the destination, but the journey', right? It's a good thing I didn't have to take a cue sheet reading test before I signed on to be a SAG driver. Anyway, I figure those wrong turns were a good way to make sure that none of the riders were off course.... (believe that and I have some land in Florida I can sell to you...) We did see some interesting sites on our off beaten path.

Pretty, but abandoned barn in the early morning light


A boat with little dingies that we saw while 'lost'. Whose dingy?


Karen, still smiling after I got her lost. Lifting that full water cooler has played havoc with my back.

Gray Overhead with Blue Skies on the Horizon

2011-05-23T21:54:00.000-05:00

Woke up this morning to the news of the devastating tornadoes in the surrounding areas. We had thunder, lightening, and rain during the night, but not tornadoes, thank goodness. The morning was cool and glum, which made me indecisive as to how to dress. When in doubt, under dress and be slightly cold before 'take off'. Today, was a recovery day....a day to ride gently and let the muscles relax and, well, recover. It was a 56 mile day, with some added bonus miles because I missed a turn.....seems to be a reoccurring theme, doesn't it?

My first stop was once again to the flood gates to watch the gushing water of the Mississippi River. Because of the ran, the engineers were opening more gates while we were there. Warning whistles and red lights flashed in preparation. It was an incredible sight. A local told us that in July the water is so low that one can walk across it on rocks and not get your feet wet. Not today! If you compare the video on yesterday's post to this one, I think you will be able to see how much the water rose overnight.


My bike at the flood gates

The summer home of Charles Lindenberg is located here in Little Falls, MN, right on the Mississippi. It is now a state park. His father immigrated from Sweden, where he was a big wig in the Swedish government and quite wealthy. So his son was born with a silver spoon. Do you suppose if his son, the Lindenberg baby, hadn't been kidnapped, he would be so well remembered?

Anyway, the weather was perfect and the ride down The Great River Road and Nature Rd was very pretty,,,and easy.


Early morning spin down the Great River Road, which runs parallel to the Mississippi.


A Mississippi tributary swollen over its banks.


Blue skies on the horizon

On the road, dogs often chase us. Some just bark at us from a distance, some run to the property line and stop there to bay at us, others chase us snapping furiously. Today, a german shepard mix bounded out from a yard. He didn't bark, but did chase us. At least, I thought he was chasing us. Instead, he ran beside us for over two miles; he wanted to be part of the fun! We stopped at a restaurant, and he tried to join us there, too. He was a young dog, very sweet, very friendly and well trained.

I asked some locals that came in behind us if the dog was still out there, and they answered, "you mean the speed bump?". Not funny.

Gotta get to bed. 106 mile tomorrow....I'm not even gonna proofread this--I should, though. I've had a lot of interruptions tonight.

Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head.....

2011-05-22T22:08:00.000-05:00

You know what I said yesterday about enjoying the arrival of spring in Minnesota....forget I mentioned it. Today I rode 82 miles, most of it in the rain.....sometime very hard rain, with thunder rumbling in the distance and tornado warnings in neighboring counties. The first 20 miles, however, were ridden in beautiful weather, at a conversational pace, enjoying the company of some of the fine ladies on this tour. We even had took time to pet some horses. Check out this beautiful Appaloosa...

That's our Aussie feed the Appy an apple.

I rode with my good friend Karen for a while.......that's a shower cap she is wearing over her helmet to keep her head dry. Unfortunately, less than an hour later, we were in heavy rain, and the shower cap didn't make much difference.

The scenery is breathtaking in its pureness. The aspen woods are filled with blooming trillium and wild daffodils.

As always, loose dogs are a hazard and prevalent in the country. Had it not been for one particularly noisy, but lazy dog, I would never have noticed this Amish farm. I had to stop and take a picture. As I did, I noticed the curtains moving, and realized I was being watched. I am not sure what the inhabitants thought of us spandexed clad women out riding on a Sunday morning instead of observing the Sabbath, but then again, they weren't in church either. (Unless they had gone and come home already, but it was only around 9:30) I thought it was particularly sad that this homestead was up for sale.

Once the rain began, my little internal voices were again telling me that I didn't have to do this....that I could take it easy and catch a ride in the van. I read an interesting essay a few weeks ago that talked about quitting mentally or physically. The mind gives you a choice, and you choose; when the body quits, however, it can go no further.... Today was one of those days. Though I was getting tired, my mental atittude was a tug of war of continuing or quitting. Riding in the rain is not pleasant, unless I choose it to be. Making that mental shift from one of drudgery to pleasure makes a huge difference. So I shifted my attitude. If the cows and horses can stand in the rain all day and not mind it, then so can I. Those animals, however, have fur that keeps them warm...perhaps I should stop shaving my legs. Anyway, accepting that I was going to get wet, be wet and deciding 'so what' made all the difference. The ride was very pleasant once that was done.


happy cows.

I crossed the Mississippi for the first time today. We are close to the headwaters, where it begins. The river is very swollen and angry; I feel for those living down river as the rain keeps coming and the river keeps getting bigger and faster. The floodgates were open in the town of Little Falls, and despite the pelting rain, I took a short detour to look at it. The following video doesn't not show the sheer power and rush of the escaping water. I wish the video was longer, but I was out of battery power. The constant clicking you hear in the audio is rain hitting the mic.

I have to apologize for this somewhat lame post. I am tired, short on time and not putting in my best effort. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it. Now, to take some Aleve and go to sleep.

April Showers.....in May?

2011-05-21T23:36:00.000-05:00

April showers bring May flowers...how many times have we said that ditty as children. I don't think they know it in Minnesota. Here, spring seems to be showing it's first blush, and the weather is cold, wet and windy, though the Northerners have chided me for my thin Texas blood; they think this is a warm spell!

Yesterday's ride was relatively short, only 58 miles. The night before I expected to ride it in three or four hours.... the roads are wonderfully smooth, lightly traveled, and with long rollers....a fun ride through beautiful countryside. The weather, specifically the wind, made this one of the more challenging rides I have ever done. I think the only ride that was tougher was Alp d'Huez! The winds howled straight into our faces at 20 mph all day, carry rain with it at times. The short ride ended up being almost 7 hours, though true moving time was around five and a half. It was one of those days when mental toughness prevailed. Several times that little voice in my head told me to save my strength for another day and catch a ride, but I continued to pedal. If not for my riding companions, I might have caved in; it is so much easier to keep going when there is moral support. Or perhaps misery loves company, or no one wants to be the first sissy, but whichever way, it's a lot easier to keep going when in the company of others. Besides, the world was supposed to end today, and since I was the SAG driver today, yesterday might have been my last ride!

Today, the winds were much, much calmer, but it rained almost constantly. As I said earlier, I was the SAG driver today. Since it was such a wet ride, SAG stops were every 15 miles instead of 20. It is a great feeling to see the riders coming in, and excited to see me. Now, in reality, it wasn't me that they were thrilled to see, but the opportunity to stop for a rest, get some food, and some hot coffee! ? Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed being in support.

I had forgotten what spring smells like and was delighted to be reacquainted with the scents of my childhood. There is an indescribable freshness in the air of land that is just waking up from a long winter's nap. The dark, rich soil, punctuated with shoots of green as crops begin to push through the earth, emits a rich, clean fragrance. The green that is just appearing....it is truly a different shade than that found later in the season or in other parts of the country. Its color and saturation yanked me back to second grade when I perused a friend's box of 64 crayola crayons for that perfect color. I vividly remember a 'spring green' crayon. It was a rather odd color--not green, not yellow, but somewhere in between. I understand the name today....it was the color prevalent in the budding trees and the sprouting crops. (BTW...how do you say that word, crayon.....do you say 'cran' or 'cray-on'...things that make you go 'hmmmm'). And fishing worms....they were everywhere....and the air smelled like them, too. I haven't seen a fishing worm in a long time. Texas doesn't seem to have them--at least, not where I live. I learned today, however, that they stick to one's bike like glue once they dry, and are hard to get off. That might explain the thorough cleaning going on late in the afternoon today.

It was a nice day. Whether because I was nice and dry in the SAG car, or because I was supporting my fellow riders, or because I revisited part of my youth, I don't know, but it was a thoroughly pleasant day, nonetheless.

I better get to bed--we have 80 miles a head of us tomorrow, and it is thundering outside right now. More rain in the forecast, so it could be another long day in the saddle. But, at least the world didn't end, and I get another day of riding.

Night!

Reminders

2011-05-19T16:56:00.000-05:00

Today was the kick off and orientation for my ride from Fargo, ND to Bar Harbor, ME. This year's ride will look a little different from last year because:

I am no longer a multi-day touring virgin, having last year's ride under my belt (No pun intended.ok, maybe it was)
I will be riding much slower; I have been coached to keep my heart rate under 124 bpm to build cardio endurance so I can become a stronger rider.
I am going as a support driver, meaning every fourth day I will drive the SAG wagon, (not to be confused with the paddy wagon) I addition to being support for the other riders, I also have to do dishes....this is sorta akin to not having enough money to pay the dinner bill..... I got a substantial discount for doing these duties

With the extra duties, I may find it challenging to blog, but I will do my best to keep you entertained and amused as I pedal through the bread basket of America, sail through the steel belt, past Niagara Falls and into New England, where I will gorge on lobster. This will be like a roving geography lesson!

Getting ready and the days leading up to this trip have left me wondering if my angels aren't watching over me and trying to send me a message. On a training ride a few weeks earlier, I was about to tackle a big...big hill, and just as it started getting really tough, and my heart was thumping out of my chest, my pedals froze. Unclipping quickly to keep from tipping over, I thought I had dropped my chain. That was my first lucky break--being able to dismount before falling; my second break wasn't so lucky as my chain had actually broken. So that ended the ride for me.....can't ride with a broken chain. Darn--I so wanted to climb that really, really big hill....that really BIG hill....

Not long after that, I rolled out for a ride, only to get a flat a few miles out. Then last Sunday, I was out on a Chick Clique ride, and could not get my shoe to unclip from the pedal. I finally yanked it off and came to a skidding halt, narrowly missing a nasty spill. Removing my shoe, I discovered two of the four screws that hold the clip on had fallen out, and the remaining screws were barely still threaded. Examining my other shoe, I discovered that those screws were extremely loose also. I stole from one shoe to fix the other, and went on my way. Another accident averted, but unsettling enough to make me wonder about the rash of mishaps.

Yesterday I arrived in Fargo, and planned to join the local bike group for the Ride of Silence, then their regular bike ride. I picked up my helmet to put it on, and it fell apart. It literally fell apart. The cage, or the part that cradles my head, disintegrated in my hands. Had I worn that helmet and been in a crash, it would not have protected my head, and I kinda like my noggin. (How did noggin ever become a synonym for head? Things that make you go 'hmmm')

I bought a new helmet, and rode with the group. I was the only woman to continue with them after the Ride of Silence, and they did their best to shake me off the back.....and they did. I couldn't hang with them, and got pathetically lost as I rode back to the hotel alone. (I think the ladies on this tour should be very worried about me being their SAG....I do seem to have a tendency to get lost.)

So, with all these odd mishaps occurring, do you think someone is watching over me? I feel as though I am and it serves to remind me that life is fragile. I will be careful.

Blond and Menopausal

2011-05-09T11:33:00.013-05:00

If you know anything about menopause, you know all about hot flashes....power surges.....force fields..... I have started wearing a bodybugg to measure my caloric output; I was fairly certain that all the heat my hot flashes generate also burn a lot of calories. To my dismay, I discovered that these high heat levels, that occur almost hourly, do nothing to increase my calorie consumption...just my discomfort! Worse yet, in comparing my sleeping/at rest measurements with my daughter, I found she expends almost twice the number calories I do while she is slumbering....the same number that I burn when I walk the dogs!!! Sigh.... Getting older isn't for sissies.

A little known fact about menopause is how it messes with a woman's mind. I am not talking about the PMS type of rages or depression, though it certainly creates those issues also. I am referring to that which is known as a 'menopausal fog'. It is a general fuzziness of memory and cognitive functioning--like walking through a mental fog....like walking into a room, and having no idea why I went there, or telling a story, then lose track of where the story was going. Forget about figuring out a tip; it just isn't going to happen without a calculator! Put that with being blond....and it is a recipe for diaster, or funny stories, depending on what kind of menpausal state one is in at the time.

Last weekend I ran in the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon in conjunction with raising money to support the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I trained for almost six months, and though plagued with bio-mechanical issues, (fancy way of saying my body is falling a part), I was ready to run the race with relative ease, and pain killers.

The morning of the marathon was cold and windy, with thunderstorms. Meeting the Texas team in the hotel lobby, after-race gear bag in hand, we got word that the race was on a one hour weather delay. So we waited. The minutes ticked away. Restlessly, we listened to announcements being braodcasted over the loud speaker in the start area and decided to head over. Pushing against the wind, rain and crowd, we neared the start, where the 'fast' people were lined up and ready to go. (In these large endurance races, participants are put into 'corrals' according to their speed. The slowest are in the back so they don't get mowed over by the fast ones). As nervous participants pushed and shoved to get into the race area, the start buzzer sounded. The marathon had begun; the runners surged forward on the course. Those still trying to get to their start corrals knocked down fences and elbowed each other in desperation; the race had started without them, and in panic, they pushed their way into the melee....taking me with them. So there I found myself, 8 pound gear bag slung over my shoulder, in the middle of the run zone, causing the racers to part around me like the Red Sea. Thinking like a pro, I did what any seasoned marathoner would do; I turned and ran with these elite athletes, trying my best to look like I belonged.

That posing was short lived. My pace was significantly slower than those around me, and skinny little hard bodies passed on both sides as the wind and rain pelted my face and whipped my poncho like a loose tent flap in a hurricane force gale. To compound my discomfort, I had a magnificent hot flash, and had to move to the left to shed some clothing. Already burdened with my 8 pound, makeshift gear bag, I did not want to carry anything else, I left the discarded clothing on the side of the road. (Rumor had it that it is collected for the homeless.) My arms and shoulders were also starting to ache from running with my gear bag, which was just a hotel laundry bag knotted at the top like Santa's bag. There was no effective way carry it, so I kept switching it from shoulder to shoulder, and sometimes gripped it around the middle like a sack of potatoes. Clothes shed, bag in place and Ipod on, I began to run again, staying to the left, where the slower racers ran. Gradually people stopped passing me; I got into my rhythm and began to let my mind go as my legs carried me forward and my arms toted the bag. Mind afloat and drifting, I ran like a lemming with the crowd, following where they went....over the bridge, up a hill, to the left and onward...mindlessly running.

I must have finally achieved that state of mind called the 'runner's high' because before I knew it, the finish line appeared in front of me, both sides of the street lined with screaming fans and photographers. Amazed at how quickly the miles had passed and how strong I still felt, I knew that could have run longer and faster...even carrying that stupid bag! I chided myself for setting such a slow pace when clearly, I was capable of much more!

As I crossed the finish line, proud of my accomplishment, excited about finally experiencing the runner's high, and already thinking about the next race (if this is how wonderful it can be), the announcer broadcasted across the PA; "Congrats to Sue with North Texas Team in Training for completing the 5K" !

Whoa~~stop the music!! What did he say?

Then if hit me................true to form, I had gotten lost.....and had run the 5K instead of the half marathon. Instead of turning left, I should have gone straight. Instead of running 13 miles, I had run 3.5--I was ten miles short!!

I approached one race official after another, trying to get back on the course, but no one seemed to know the route. By the time I found someone who could 'sorta' give me directions, 'but you'll have to run some extra miles to get there', a good half an hour had passed. It was raining hard by now, with tempertures hovering around 50 degrees; cold and wet, still clutching my heavy gear bag, and with muscles beginning to seize, I threw in my hat. I was done.

So this goes down as not just a blond moment, but as a truly blond and menopausal one.....

No wonder I look so fresh....I had only run 5 kilometers!

One Year Later: I AM, I CAN!

2011-03-04T12:26:00.002-06:00

Today's blog is naked and vulnerable. I am writing with such open honesty so that others may perhaps identify with what I have to say, or pause to reflect on something that rings true with them.

An entire year has passed since I left for my cross country bike ride. Looking back, I am not sure what my true purpose of the ride was, though I thought I was clear on my intention at the time. It was something that I needed to do...had to do.... and I was fortunate to be in a position to do it.

My last post, 'Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish', discussed the importance of understanding that life's events are lessons and opportunities, not setbacks...if "X" hadn't happened, then "Y" wouldn't have happened. Essentially, "X" gets me ready for "Y".

In the case of my ride last year, I struggled with the 'aloneness' of it; the being responsible for just me. Several years before, I had been with one man for 3 decades and a mother of four; during that time, I had lost 'me'. Over those 30 years, I had given myself away, unknowingly and bit by bit. When the children grew up and left, and my marriage dissolved, all I had left of 'me', that formerly curious, eager, rearing-to-go and passionate woman, was an empty vessel. My identity had been so attached to being a mother and wife, that I had left no room for 'me', and gradually all traces of who I was disappeared. In the few years following the divorce, I stayed very busy, but essentially, I was avoiding myself. It wasn't until the ride that I was confronted with 'me'.

Riding is a solitary venture, just me, my bike and my thoughts. I had a lot of time to visit with myself. I cried... a lot.... on my bike, in my room, almost always alone....and, most of the time had no idea why. Now, I understand...growing pains. Each time I was confronted with challenge -- mental or physical, big or small--I had to handle it...alone....and I did And each time I grew a little and the voice of self doubt faded while the mantra "I am, I can." grew louder. Today, I know in my bones....I am, I can!

So last year's ride was "X", getting me ready for "Y".... the next step......this step..... I am taking on some major life changes....because "I am, I can" For the first time in my life, I am choosing to explore it alone. I don't know where it will lead me; I don't know how long it will take...but it is something I must do. I am deeply sorrowful for those I have hurt in this quest, but it is something I must do, and can only do alone.

Again, I will be riding across the United States, from North Dakota to Maine.....I hope you will follow along, laughing and crying with me, as I journey within as well as across this great country.....and perhaps you will journey, too.

"Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish"

2011-03-02T11:20:00.000-06:00

Life is dynamic, or should be. Events that happen in life have been put there for a purpose; they are lessons to catapult us forward...they are opportunities to learn. What we do with these events, however, is crucial. The events may seem so catastrophic, so painful, that one is not able to see past the pain, becoming stuck in the misery. But the lesson is there....one just has to let go and embrace what could be.....

I was sent this article from an old friend out of the blue today;it is very timely for me. I would like to share it as it says so eloquently what I have tried to say here.....It is a graduation speech given by Steve Jobs.

The 2005 Jobs Stanford Commencement Address:
I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That’s it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first six months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: “We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?” They said: “Of course.” My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents’ savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn’t see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out okay. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn’t interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn’t all romantic. I didn’t have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends’ rooms, I returned Coke bottles for the 5-cent deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the seven miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn’t have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can’t capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But 10 years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, its likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards 10 years later.
Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something–your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky–I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation–the Macintosh–a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30, I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn’t know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down–that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the Valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me–I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn’t see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, “Toy Story,” and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple’s current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I’m pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don’t lose faith. I’m convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You’ve got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn’t even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor’s code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you’d have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up, so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying, because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I’m fine now.
This was the closest I’ve been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma–which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called “The Whole Earth Catalog,” which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960′s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: It was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of “The Whole Earth Catalog,” and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.” It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
Thank you all very much

Will you stay hungry and foolish?

Spin Cycle

2011-02-03T17:34:00.004-06:00

When I started this blog, it was to record my bicycle journey across the United States, and in doing so, inspire others to reach for that which they thought wasn't possible. Since the completion of that trip, I quit blogging; during this hiatus, I received a number of emails and requests to continue. Some emails touched me deeply as they explained how I had inspired them to do something they were afraid to do. Wow--that had been my intention....to be the change....and so, I have picked up my pen....er, I mean keyboard...... and here I am, blogging again.

Life challenges us with many unexpected events--rubber chickens, I call them. These often throw our lives into a spin. With the washing machine, we can choose our spin cycle.....full speed, which wrings everything out, leaving it fairly dry but mangled: medium speed: delicate speed, or we can turn the machine off and seek a different option. Life is the same way; we can choose how we wish to handle our 'spin cycles'.

Hence the new name....."Spin Cycle". (It also plays on my passion for bicycling.... and yes, I am patting myself on the back for my cleverness...) So, what do you think? Is this a title worth keeping, or does it teeter on dorkiness.....

There's more than one way to skin a cat....er, dog

2011-01-24T17:02:00.000-06:00

Today, I had the pleasure of running with two dogs. Usually, I just run with Beppo, my 11 year old miniature poodle. Despite the foo-foo reputation of poodles, Beppo is quite the athlete, swimming, running and chasing the ball. He does not act like an 11 year old dog. Poodles were actually bred as water retrievers by the Germans, and their goofy hair cuts were designed to keep their core temperature warm, while preventing them from becoming entangled in debris while swimming. But I digress.....

As I was saying....usually I just run with Beppo when I am alone, keeping him leashed because of the maurading coyotes and bobcats (I have actually seen a bobcat on the trail and some people carry big sticks.). He jogs very nicely beside me. Today, however, Twiggy ran with us. Twiggy is my daughter Susan's dog, and is a true 45 pound American mutt; she got her from the city pound. Susan has moved to New York City, and has decided that this was no life for the Twigs, so she is temporarily residing with me. She is a very sweet dog, but strong; today, she went for a run with us.

The challenge was how I was going to run with two dogs. Twiggy is so strong that she was actually pulls me, even though she has wonderful leash manners. Now, I am still stiff from Sunday's five miles, and the temptation of getting some help by being pulled by Twiggy was might tempting. This would not be helping me train--a cheat, so to speak-- so I sucked it up and devised a system to keep both Beppo and Twiggy leashed and close to me without becoming encumbered with having to carry the leash. Check it out....

They never knew I wasn't leading them......tell me I'm not a genius!

Mud Pies

2011-01-23T15:58:00.000-06:00

Waking up yesterday morning to 22° weather, I was faced with a dilemma. I was supposed go run with the Team in Training team at 6:30 AM....yes, that's right 6:30 in the morning......but anyone that knows me knows that:

I don't 'do' mornings....at least, not well
I don't do cold....even with hot flashes

That being said, I texted the coach and let him know that it was too cold for my old bones, then rolled over and went back to sleep. Aaaahhh--glorious slumber. There is no sleep better than stolen sleep, especially in the early morning, snuggled deep within the warm blankets..........even the four legged creatures sharing my bed continued to snooze.

However, at some point, the Piper has to be paid, and as the temperatures climbed into the high 40's, Bob and I went to run at Arbor Hills nature preserve. It was a five mile run--my first.... (Last week, in case you didn't know was my first 5K marathon..a lot of 'firsts' for this old lady) I set a slow, but steady pace and commenced running. Being a beautiful day, the paths were full of skate boarders, walkers, dogs and children . I felt a flush of irritation as I dodged the more dangerous pedestrians, most of whom were toddlers on bikes. Still I ran on, my feet thumping out a steady cadence.

All was well until Bob signaled me to turn and run down an unpaved mountain bike trail. 'Yay', I thought, 'No more dodging little kids!'

I have no doubt that Bob knew where he thought he was going, but soon we were crossing streams, pushing aside prickly branches and occasionally rolling an ankle on a tree root. Nonetheless, it was pretty and rather soothing to be surrounded by nature, that is, until we hit the mud....

The sodden Texas clay suddenly appeared everywhere on the trail and one could not avoid it. Soon, it was sticking fast to my shoes, which became heavier and heavier with each step... but still I plodded on. Now I am no skinnie-minnie, so when you add the extra pounds that were now adhering to my feet to that on my hips and thighs, things became a little tough. My heart pounded and I gasped for air, but I was not going to stop, Bob, unaware of my struggle, ran blithely ahead and that's when I was started to do a slow seethe. Then came the hills....hills with 5 pounds of mud sticking to my feet! Lordy, lordy, what is this man trying to do to me? Still I ran, huffing and puffing, wondering when was I going to get the runner's high everyone talks about?

Finally we got back to civilization, and onto a paved path. The toddlers and skate boarders were still there, but now the challenges they presented didn't seem so bad. My shoes started to lighten as the mud flew off of them and I picked up speed as I completed the remaining couple of miles.

Moral to the story: Things can always get worse, so appreciate the present instead of finding fault....

Remind me of this next time I complain.

OUCHIE, OUCHIE, WOW, WOW

2011-01-18T15:05:00.001-06:00

I got up achy and tired this morning, but motivated by a donation from Amy Whaley, I went out and ran anyway.

~~OUCHIE, OUCHIE, WOW, WOW!!~~

Today was a fartlek day...in other words, interval training. I pushed through the first couple of fartleks, but the back side of the run became so painful, that I ended up walking most of the way home. My knees had sharp pains in them, particularly the right one. I felt a twinge of that last night after spin class, but today it was painful. Perhaps I am reverting to my old running posture, which was very unhealthy. More concerning was the muscle pain--it wasn't cramping, but more like the growing pains that I remember as a child. Does this mean I am building muscle? (fingers crossed)

I probably didn't help my body last night by eating all those Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies. But...... Oooohh--they were so good!! MMMMM.... Today, I decided I better eat a little healthier and had yogurt and poached chicken breast for lunch.

Besides, there weren't any cookies left.............

"What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"

2011-01-17T12:22:00.000-06:00

Every year I try and do something that will push me out of my comfort zone and challenge me. For too many years I let my fear rule me--you know, fear of failure, fear of being laughed at, fear of not being good enough....you get the picture.

This year I have decided that I am going to run a marathon...well, a half marathon, to be exact. I thought running 26.2 miles was a little bit too much out of my comfort zone--especially since the only place I tend to run is to the bathroom and I only have until May to train--so I have settled on 13.1 miles and will be running the Oklahoma City Memorial marathon May 1. Let me make it perfectly clear....I HATE RUNNING. I don't know why--perhaps because it is such hard work, (unlike a bike, when the legs stop moving, so do you), perhaps because I am so slow, perhaps because I think I look like Sasquash when I run...who knows. I just know it is something I have avoided like the plague. So this is the year that I push past all that and just do it.

Since you were on my journey across the United States, I am inviting you along on this one to cheer me on, to laugh with me, to commiserate with me and to kick me in the behind when needed. And maybe a long the way, you will become inspired, too. .....what would you do if you knew that you could not fail?

BTW--I am also running this marathon to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Last year's ride was to raise awareness, this year I am actually raising funds. In the ten past years, I have raised almost $25,000, and this is a shameless plug for donations.....so feel free to give. It is a tax write off, you know..... :-) Click here to donate to finding a cure for blood cancers!

SPIN CYCLE

My Motivating Factor--Living A Life Without Regrets

Top Five Regrets of The Dying

Groovin' on the Groover

The Thin Branches........

Why?

IN TRANSIT BLOG

Multimedia

Bruce Weber

Related

Life Is a Wheel: Crossing the Nation on 2 Wheels — Again (July 10, 2011)

Life Is a Wheel: After 500 Miles, Hitting a Wall (August 14, 2011)

Life Is a Wheel: Lessons of a Daybreak Rider (September 4, 2011)

IN TRANSIT BLOG

Multimedia

Bruce Weber

Related

Life Is a Wheel: Crossing the Nation on 2 Wheels — Again (July 10, 2011)

Life Is a Wheel: After 500 Miles, Hitting a Wall (August 14, 2011)

Life Is a Wheel: Lessons of a Daybreak Rider (September 4, 2011)

IN TRANSIT BLOG

Bruce Weber

Related

Life Is a Wheel: Crossing the Nation on 2 Wheels — Again (July 10, 2011)

Life Is a Wheel: After 500 Miles, Hitting a Wall (August 14, 2011)

Life Is a Wheel: Lessons of a Daybreak Rider (September 4, 2011)

Random Acts of Kindness

Scorching Sun, Blazing Saddles.

Hills.....Hell

Size Matters..... or Does It?

Picture Time!! (I did this once, and everything magically disappeared)

More Cow Country Adventures

Get Along, Little Doggie: Adventures in Cow Country

Riding the Waves

55/50/50...What?

Sorry...on vacation

Men.....of Cloth

Sissies in Cleveland

To blog or not to blog.....

Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble.

June 8-- Hot Time in the City (Defiance to Bowling Green, Ohio)

Crash

Shuffle Off the Buffulo in Searing Heat.......

Indiana Nice, cont.

Indiana Nice

A Very Sag Story, Indeed

Lack of Activity

Proud of my Country

No Blog Today....Ride Cancelled Due to Weather

Up and Over

A Path Less Travelled.

What Should I Call This Post?

Blippity, blip, blip

Things that Make You Go "Hmmm"

Of Mice and Men

Gray Overhead with Blue Skies on the Horizon

Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head.....

April Showers.....in May?

Reminders

Blond and Menopausal

One Year Later: I AM, I CAN!

"Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish"

Spin Cycle

There's more than one way to skin a cat....er, dog

Mud Pies

OUCHIE, OUCHIE, WOW, WOW

"What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"