stupid boy!

I'm so disappointed:


I was hopeful, wishful, optimistic...okay, naive...that none of the Tour de France participants would test positive this year. Sheesh! With all the doping that's gone on in the last few years and with Lance Armstrong's struggles to prove innocence, you'd think they'd keep it clean. Nope. Mikel Astarloza from Spain, 29 years old and so very talented (did you see Stage 16 in the Alps?? The dude done so damn good...er...well, assuming he wasn't all doped up). Stupid boy! And damn if it doesn't tarnish the tour. Granted, there has been loads of other drama, but the doping is unforgivable.

Speaking of drama, why all the Lance Armstrong hate in America? He's been despised for years in France, but now the good ol' boys (and some gals) of the grand USA are calling him a "douchebag," "asshole," "prick," and "scumbag." Huh? What? I've tried asking why on several bike forums but have been accused of "licking his (remaining) ball," "wanting to be a groupie," and "calling him savior." Okay, let's get this straight. I don't do/desire any/all of the above in the least. I think him a world class athlete. Is he cocky, arrogant, full-of-himself, in-your-face, temperamental, a playboy, a celebrity (cause let's face it, they all are like him) and way too obsessed with twittering? Well, yeah. But that doesn't make him a "prick!" Mike Vick who tortured dogs is a prick, but not Lance Armstrong. Since when did we as a public feel so free to damn the celebrities and sports figures around us as if we are all so incredibly perfect?

So, to all the Lance haters - yo, check it! The dude may be full of himself (some would argue for a very good reason...like, oh, that whole "won the TDF seven times and then came back at 37 to take third after three years off, partying and broken collarbone" thing), but he does a tremendous favor to cancer research. He brought excitement and interest back to the tour this year and really, now, who the hell is going to argue that point? Not to mention all the yellow wristbands that are so ubiquitous these days even among Lance haters! Get a grip, folks! Find someone worthy of all the hate, already. That or get your jealousy under control. Is he a savior? No. He's a human, a very athletically talented one, and one who did suffer from cancer that could have killed him. He could have recovered and gone on with his life without the focus on that disease, but instead, the cause of finding a cure for all types of cancer is a passion of his. Sorry...I don't personally see how he's such a bad guy. I do think someone should throw a "twitter intervention," but other than that, Lance is A-okay.

Alright, I've now ranted and raved my opinions. I got to get off and go walking or something. I'm worn out a little, so I took today off (kind of). I most certainly job searched and I wrote an article. But other than that, nothing exciting (unless you consider grocery shopping thrill-worthy). I'm thinking of throwing Boo on my shoulder and walking over to return my videos. I'm not sure how well she'd do for that long a walk, so I may drive too. Haven't decided (be a total lazy butt? or just part lazy butt?). Tomorrow, I'm riding 57 miles with two friends. It will be an easy ride as I plan to ride a harder mountain bike ride on Sunday. I was considering a solo century, but after receiving an email from a friend, I changed my mind. It looks as if next week will be my solo century week (maybe). It's not like those hundred miles are going anywhere anytime soon.

at least we split a dish

I've been switching things up a tad lately with my cycling and workouts. Last week was a heavy load (to say the least) with my all-day mountain biking, all-day hiking and then a century ride on Saturday. I can feel the wear & tear in my legs this week. For instance, on Monday, when I rode for 1.5 hours in my canyons and on Tuesday, when I reported to the gym and worked my upper/lower body, my muscles fatigued far faster than normal, and I couldn't work up a good sweat although my heart rate stayed very high throughout. I pushed it anyway.

Then, last night, I planned a night ride with Joannie. Our original aspiration to ride three miles uphill in dirt evaporated during a phone call yesterday afternoon. We were both just too tired to contemplate that kind of work load. She then suggested a Montrose/Rose Bowl type ride. I haven't done that in awhile, so I put together a route slip taking us up to Montrose over to the Bowl, up Inverness (a quiet residential canyon that is a good climb), up St. Katherine (even steeper) and then back through Emerald Isle. At night, when bombing down Emerald Isle Drive, the lights of the city are like bulbs on a Christmas tree, gorgeous! I love that view and that ride as it gives a good 21-24 mile loop with tough-but-doable climbs. Joannie, to whom I described this route, seemed sold.

Joannie is superfly lit up!

Riding back down Verdugo in the dark.

Then, on the drive over, I could feel it again, that lethargy and heaviness in my legs. Plus, something that always happens to me the week after a century ride, I was retaining water and bloated like a stuffed trout. I could see myself struggling up Inverness. As I parked and pulled Patsy down off my trunk rack, Joannie came out, dressed to ride.

"So...um...Joannie. I'm...um...well....kinda tired...and hungry," I began (whining).

"Me, too! Want to just go get dinner?" She flashed me a big grin. She is so my people.

We agreed that we'd ride to Montrose (which is a climb as well) and have dinner there so as to get some workout in. I must say, I made the right decision not to take on the original dirt trail plan for the evening! I was dying all the way to Montrose. My legs actually hurt (still not recovered from the weight workout the day before). And in lieu of not sweating, I was dripping buckets and breathing heavy. Joannie pushed the pace (and then teased me later that I was pushing it...uh-huh) and a good 40 minutes later, we were sitting on the patio of Zekes, chatting and ordering dinner. Hey, at least we split a dish!

We split this and didn't clean the plate...not pictured, sweet potato fries...they were eaten.

Turns out - bees are not vegetarians!!!! (that little bee flew off with that piece of pork)

I remember years ago when Joannie, her husband (and friend), Arvin, and a whole group of fellow cyclists first took me on a Rose Bowl night ride. We'd always end up at Zekes for dinner following the ride. Then there would just be that last downhill on Verdugo back. Last night was sort of deja vu to those wonderful rides with a great group of folks, except Joannie and I lingered for as long as we could over our baked beans, collard greens, sweet potato fries (yup) and bbq chicken with excellent conversation and lots of laughing. In fact, we closed the joint down! The evening air that had settled down over our shoulders was considerably cooler than expected, so I urged us to get going even though I could have hung out longer with my sweet friend. On the way back, it was indeed cold but invigorating, the wind in our faces with, luckily, not too much traffic.

Under the bridge

Back into the residential neighborhoods

Joannie is simply the best, such a warm energy, laid back, fun, and I know I've already mentioned on here that I'm happy to have reconnected with her, but now I'm excited cause she and I are planning some rides together, ones that will be new to both of us. She knows all the good dirt fire roads out here and I know some mountain climbs to introduce her to. I plan to take her up GMR (and eventually to Mt. Baldy) here soon. She's going to show me Sullivan Canyon, a fire road I've been wanting to try since I started riding Nellie. I'm beginning to feel the zip in my spokes returning just thinking about these rides!

Joannie in the shadows, ghost riding

She was ahead of me all night

We pulled up back at my car a little after 10pm. What could have been a long evening felt oddly rather short. I bid her farewell, gave her a big hug and headed home. We've agreed that next week, we will either ride Emerald Isle or La Tuna fire road, but we don't get any sweet potato fries unless we do one or the other!

more about Boo

I received a very sweet email from someone (whom I won't name) yesterday. It read, "...nice to see you're in better spirits and not throwing your phone at the walls this week. But enough about you already, I want to hear more about Boo." Awww...I'm so touched. Somebody wants to hear about my little dragon (and less about my sorry ass). I love it. Boo does, too, and is very flattered. She didn't say as much but I could tell so by the look in her eyes as she stared at up at me from her branch this morning.



So, how is she doing? Fine. She appears healthy, anyway. Although, she's been refusing to eat her greens. This concerns me since beardies are suppose to eat collard greens, mustard greens and chard for optimum health. But no matter how much I try to get her to eat it, she just shakes her snout at me and refuses (really, she shakes her head when I try to force a collard green leaf in her mouth). I've even dumped worms on the greens (which is what all the beardie-care websites suggest doing) but she's too damn smart. She'll wait until those little creepy b*stards wiggle off the leaves and onto her sand before eating them, thus leaving the greens untouched. I've tried starving her (i.e. only putting greens in her terrarium but no crickets or worms), but she'll just go on a hunger-strike and not eat for days when I do. Sigh.



Like I said, she looks healthy, and when I put her down the other day, she ran all over the place (first time in a long while). I was relieved since she needs exercise. She's awfully pudgy, not that I have any right to judge. I was told that she'd likely never be any heavier than 8 ounces, but I think she weighs at least a pound, if not two. Her soft, robust belly is quite impressive and often drags the ground as she walks. I'll get down on all fours and poke her belly just to tease her. She's not so fond of that, it turns out. I wouldn't be either, so I may cut it out; but her belly fat is so cute, it's hard not to poke it!



As for her learning to talk, it still hasn't happened. I keep repeating things to her in hopes of someday hearing her speak. I realize that is entirely crazy and I shouldn't be admitting it, but I'm serious. You should see her try to talk. She opens her mouth and exhales, only no noise comes out, but her tongue sometimes flicks out over her bottom lip. It's kind of sad to witness, but I pretend it's the greatest thing ever and applaud her efforts (positive reinforcement, of course). I'm an eternal optimist who believes that someday I may actually hear her say, "Hey FatHead. Get up off your pudgy ass and feed me a cricket." Now, wouldn't that be amazing?

not of this world

This morning, I got up and before I even brewed a fresh pot of coffee (life's elixir!), I took Boo out of her terrarium, walked over to my french doors, pulled the curtain back, held her up and said, "Look, Boo! Oh, what a pretty day, huh?" She looked out the doors, then at me and said nothing in return. If she ever does, I'll be rolling in major millions, but for now, I really don't expect an answer. She did, however, lick my finger which is her way of agreeing, I think. Either way, this was the first morning in quite a while that I did our little ritual. I use to do it every day without fail. Then I got all karfunked in a blue mood and for the last couple of weeks, I haven't so much as said 'good morning' to my little dragon. There will be no more of that.

Why the change of heart? Because last week I headed out of town for a refresher course on why it's a very good thing indeed to be alive and to have good health. The rest of it all is just gravy, and even with my current struggles of finding a job and figuring it all out, I live a pretty damn good life. I already knew this. Hell, I know this every time I'm blessed with another day, another chance to open my eyes, talk to a loved one or friend (reminds me, I need to call my folks) or, can you guess it? - ride my bike. You'll never hear me complain that I have to go ride. It will always be I get to go ride as I know what a privilege that is. But sometimes a person needs a change of scenery and a chance to discover something more, less familiar and yet very simple to realize how lucky he/she truly is. Well, after visiting Mammoth, I can say that I did just that.

Before I talk about the trip, I will divulge that Mammoth has a history for me, and not a good one. I won't go too far into detail, but I have been there before only once. It was in January, 2006 that I took a road trip with a large group of mutual friends (all cyclists and/or snowboarders) and stayed the weekend. I also attempted snowboarding for the first and last time. I hated snowboarding more than I think I'd hate scuba diving. It's just not my thing, I sucked at it, and spent most of the day freezing, miserable and unable to even stand up, let alone glide along the snowy slope on a surf board to which I was tethered. I like snow and all, but that winter Mammoth seemed cold, claustrophobic and held no appeal for me. Top that off with experiences I wish I'd never had, and I left that mountain with an upset stomach and even heavier heart. I vowed back in 2006 that I would never go to Mammoth again.



Sometimes, vows are just meant to be broken. When my friend, Joannie, who'd also been at Mammoth in 2006, asked me to come along on a road trip, I showed interest but sat on the fence up until the last minute. I even considered not going given my unemployed state and temperament of late. I had a meltdown last Tuesday, something I wrote about on here (cause I just have to share it all - the good, the bad and the very ugly). Joannie, who is a contemporary of mine, a mother, a very strong, intelligent woman and good friend whom I just recently (oh, thank goodness) reconnected with, talked me into going. She and another very interesting, intelligent gal, Dionne, were heading up there to ride their mountain bikes, hike and just enjoy being away from it all. Joannie loves Mammoth. She's seen it in the winter and the summer, and she knows all too well that the mountain changes moods with the seasons. She was sure I'd appreciate the summer Mammoth even if I never wanted to return in the winter.

I trusted Joannie (good thing), packed my overnight bag, grabbed my mountain bike and headed to the 'park & drive' where we were to meet at 2:00am last Wednesday. I decided to leave my road bike at home. I do want to explore the many wonderful roads up near the Eastern Sierras someday, but last week, I really wanted to explore the dirt trails more. Nellie just seemed the right bike for the moment, so she was chosen. I also packed my hiking boots, knowing we'd likely explore by foot as well. We three gals met in the parking lot, loaded the bikes and took off on a 5 hour road trip away from LA.

It was dark out and very windy when we reached Mohave Desert where we stopped to stretch our legs. Dionne said it could have been windier...wow. The air there was dry and different from even the valley I live in. In the dark with so few lights around (it's rather desolate out there), it seemed simultaneously peaceful and eerie. Such a different world. We three women wondered aloud about the occupants of that very small town and other towns we would drive through before arriving in Mammoth. Just what do those folks do for both work and play? I suppose they head to Mammoth as well, but since we were only passing through, I will likely never know.





As our drive got longer, the sun began to rise above the Eastern Sierra ridge. I could make out the mountain range looming in the distance. I'm sure those were there the last time I was in a car on the way to Mammoth, but I didn't remember them. At this point in the drive, I had switched seats with Joannie and was driving her truck (her boat - as I teased). We were listening to some tunes, talking softly as Dionne was napping, and already I was blissfully mellow. The sun got higher as we got closer and with one other stop around Lone Pine/Bishop for gas, we were headed straight into Mammoth Village.



The plan was to grab some bagels & coffee, change into our bike clothes and just take off riding. No rest for the weary! We didn't plan to check into the hotel until late in the afternoon, so it was just arrive and go. I liked this idea, really appreciated the fantastic gals I had for company, and although a little tired from being up so early, practically itching out of my skin to get to riding! We changed, they bought tickets for the Gondola (I did not as I didn't want to pay $35 for the ticket - this just meant I got to do a whole lot of riding uphill all day!) and we were off on our first trail of the day, Downtown.

Joannie

Dionne

Downtown is a single-track, a full on single-track, a twisting, winding, rock-filled, between trees, soft sand single-track. Did I mention...it's a single-track! Dionne, who has this very calming energy about her, just told me to follow as if I would have no problem. As I jumped on this trail, I gulped and just about damn near froze. I've never ridden on that kind of soft sand and I sure have never ridden a single-track like that. Is it technical? No. Any average mountain biker who might read this and know of that trail will likely laugh. But for me, Downtown was a challenge, one I quickly grew to love. The best way to describe it and what I kept telling the girls is that it's like a roller coaster. You just whip around, avoiding the rocks while going over large tree roots and grooves. The first time down it, it took halfway for me to relax and love the experience. I was "woo-hooing!" like crazy and when we came to the bottom of the roughly four mile trek, I was so bummed it was over.


"Can we go again?" I asked. Both ladies looked at me with smiles, the kind that are knowing. They knew they'd done good with this here little chicken-sh*t novice mountain biker. They then took off for more advanced trails that I was not ready for. This left me to solitude. Although I missed them both (always more fun with others), I also kind of dug being solo on that mountain. Being that it was Wednesday, there were hardly any folks on the trails. It was as if the dirt was all mine. I turned around, panting from the altitude (which does make it harder for sure!) and then climbed the Uptown trail. The way it works is that there are Uptown/Downtown single-tracks that are one way. You climb one and descend the other so that no one is in fear of running into someone head on. I liked that, especially considering how dreadfully slow I was on the climb.

Uptown is harder than Downtown. It is more rutted, has more rocks and when climbing in soft sand, the power ratio to get up it is much more significant than when descending (no duh!). I was hurting and I mean all over. I had to keep stopping just to breathe and get my heart rate down. I also fell once. It was the kind of stupid fall where I just lost balance on a particularly rocky section. I caught myself and only slightly bruised my thigh. It made me laugh more than anything else and I just continued my snail's climb up the mountain. At the final top section, I jumped off the dirt and rode up a very steep road. I just needed a break on the pavement. Although, my 'break' was not easy! By the time I reached the main lodge again, I was spent!



As I sat panting, I looked over my shoulder at the Downtown trail entrance. Even as tired as I was, my excitement grew. Another roller coaster ride!!! After a quick call home (to Dad to tell him where I was), I jumped back on Nellie and went flying down that single-track again. This time, I almost wiped out twice as I took the curves a little faster than before. I was hollering and "woo-hooing" all over again even though there was no one there to hear me but some little chipmunks, who'd come out of hiding to twitch their tails at me. I think they found me as amusing as I did them. At the bottom of the trail, the same disappointment of it being over hit me. I was all smiles and completely worn out. This was now close to three hours of riding in altitude after little sleep the night before. I was kind of surprised that I was as energetic as I was.


The other two women had gone down a beautiful trail up the mountain (something for me to try in the future) and met me in the Village at the Pita Pit for lunch. They were dirty-gurls, all covered with dust (me too!) and grinning ear-to-ear. I was petting and hugging on them with my endorphin-rush-filled high. I couldn't believe just how much fun it was being in that moment on that mountain with those two wonderful human beings. I kept giggling, and as we sat on the outside porch munching on gyros, a storm blew through, the clouds opened up over the mountain, and it began to rain. We all laughed so hard as for some reason that just seemed funny. One minute, very warm (almost a little too much so) and a sun so exceptionally bright at that altitude, and the next minute, rain and almost-too-cool temps. Go figure. We sat out that fickle storm and then took off again once the sun regained her proper place high above us. Joannie and Dionne went up the Gondola again for one more winding, whirlwind descent off the mountain, while I puttered up some more paved road climbs in an attempt to find another dirt trail.





At this point in the afternoon, I was so exhausted, breathing was hard! But I climbed and climbed and climbed - all in my granny gear - until I couldn't take it anymore. An hour or so later, I turned around, coasted down to the pizza parlor across from our motel and sat drinking a beer and talking to Dad (again) until the girls arrived to check in across the street. We all quickly showered and drove (too tired to even walk!) across the street for pizza. We were completely drained, hungry yet high-spirited. No grumps in our crowd, and shortly after dinner, laughing, joking and sharing stories from the day, it was lights out.



The next morning, Thursday, we all woke up around 8:00am, refreshed and looking forward to a day of hiking before returning to the city. I ran out and got us some coffee, and along the way was greeted by the nicest folks and several dogs. The residents of Mammoth sure are happy people. It must be the mountain air, the unbelievable views and the relaxed pace. I began fantasizing that I'd just move up there and live like a nomad. Back at the hotel room, I shared this wish with the gals as we sat talking (and lingering) over our coffee and cheese danishes. We carbo-loaded knowing the hiking we had ahead of us.





After packing up quickly, it was a short drive up to the main lodge again. Here we parked, locked the bikes and jumped on a shuttle that was to drive us into Red Meadows, a valley in the Eastern Sierras where you can hike and/or back-pack as much as your heart desires. It is also shockingly (and I mean that) beautiful. the pictures I took do it zero justice. You have to go there! The skies above us were a work of art all day - crystal blue, filled with dramatic, shape-shifting clouds. The air was crisp and so clean. No smog on the mountain! Although it was warm, it never got uncomfortable. It was just damn near perfect.




We got off at Devil's Postpile and began our 4.5 mile hike there. Mostly it was even ground until the second half, where we did our share of climbing for the day. Our destination was Rainbow Falls, where there is a gorgeous waterfall (of course) that has a rainbow coming up from it. I never caught the rainbow on film (bummer), and the beauty cannot be fully described.




It was here that Dionne, a very talented photographer, set up her tri-pod and took photos while Joannie, my sweet, incredibly joyful friend, and I braved the rocks below and sat dipping our toes in the cold springs water. With the waterfall behind us, a cool mist moistening our skin, and happy people all around, we were completely at peace. I'm never going to be able to thank Joannie enough for this trip. Sitting next to her, my arm over her shoulder, my head pressed to her arm, was as close as I'll get. To say I love her is an understatement.




After the falls, we gals were starving! So, we climbed and climbed and climbed (oh, I'm exaggerating here as it wasn't that tough, we'd just been worked hard and were worn out) up to the the little cafe at Red Meadows. Dionne, also a very accomplished back-packer (I was most impressed with this woman), had eaten at this cafe on another trip where she'd been back-packing for several days. She told us how good the homemade pie was. She did not lie. Joannie and I split a hamburger and a piece of peach pie, a la mode. I think at that moment in the cafe, I was the most satisfied as I've been in months. I'm really very easy to please and those two days last week were enough to keep me happy for quite awhile.





After our lunch, we lounged around, joked some more and then boarded the shuttle to take us out of that magical valley. I didn't want to leave, and perhaps my wishes were almost granted when the shuttle we were on stalled-out up the road! It was quickly restarted, and we made it back in one piece. From there, it was another five+ hour drive home with a dinner stop at Carl's Jr., where Dionne shared her fries with me (I don't know what it is about sharing, but I dig it). For most of the drive home, we all talked about sci-fi, volcanoes, earthquakes and aliens. It was very interesting conversation, I can promise you, as the time flew by and, suddenly it seemed, we were back at the park & drive, hugging one another and returning to our regularly scheduled lives.




Without a doubt, this trip to Mammoth is the only one I should have taken. I now love that mountain with the surrounding Sierras and cannot wait to go back. This road trip was exactly what I needed, my friend was right, and I'll always remember this experience. I left Mammoth this time with a light heart and a tickle in my belly - the kind I get when I don't want to leave a place where I've felt such joy and connection to my fellow companions and the beautiful world we live in.

98 miles is too a century ride

Last week, just before I headed out of town to Mammoth (I'll write on that this evening; I'm kinda out of order here), I received an email from Shnuddy (that's not her real name, but what she goes by on her blog/forums). Shnuddy is a favorite of mine. I've only ridden with her a handful of times but feel like we've been friends for years. She is this tall drink of water (has the figure I always wished I could have been blessed with), athletic, blond, blue-eyed and is as beautiful on the inside as she is externally. For real. If you knew her, you'd agree. Well, she's riding CAM this year too, and since she lives 2.5 hours from the city in the desert (the very-hot-at-the-moment desert), she was looking to ride a century for July closer to the coast. She asked if I'd be interested in riding some of the miles with her.

Huh? Some? Oh, come now. I can't have my pretty friend drive to the coast and not ride a century with her. I immediately volunteered my legs and a place for her to stay. This meant a full day of cleaning on Friday to make my pigsty liveble (my apartment is spotless at present, which is so nice) and gearing up to ride a second century in a span of two weeks. I've done it before and knew I could do it again, but I was curious to see how my body would feel after a full day of mountain biking this past Wednesday and full day of hiking on Thursday! I'm sick that way, I suppose, and like to push it just a tad beyond comfortable.

Shnuddy got here Friday early evening and we carbo-loaded (kind of) on tofu Thai dishes. Shnuddy is a vegetarian and the kind who doesn't impose her views on anyone. Since I use to be a vegetarian years ago, I slipped right into that mode and stayed meatless for the last two days. Really nice, actually and our dinner was perfect the night before a century. Yesterday morning, we noshed on fresh bagels (oh, so yummy) and lingered over coffee. I wanted her to have a relaxing time, so I didn't push the start time. We ended up starting the ride an hour later than planned! Luckily, the weather along the coast and up into Oxnard and Carpinteria was unbelievably (and unseasonably) cool all day with only pockets of warm air. We were blessed!



Our route was the century from two months ago, the fateful ride where my friend was badly injured. It's an out and back, starting at Neptune's Net on PCH, riding nine miles up the coast, popping off and going a tad inland at Port Hueneme, riding our normal Ventura route (not the Casistas Pass route but the Cool Breeze rendition), up to Carpinteria and back. From the start, we struck a moderate pace. Nice thing about riding with Shnuddy (and only her) is that we are the same speed/level/temperament. No egos and no desire to 'best' anything. We knew we had many miles to cover and being seasoned riders, we knew when/if to push it.




As we pulled out from the start, the usual suspects (who were doing a different, 70 mile ride up the coast) had pulled up to Neptune's Net. I mumbled to Shnuddy, "Sh*t, let's get going!" I wasn't purposely avoiding the others by any means, but we were running late. We didn't have time to socialize! Plus, I knew they'd catch us, which they did. First, it was Herb. He rode out to us, said hi and rode back to join the others. Then The Lobsters, The Colonel and Captain Kurt caught us. They were flying along the coast, the usual speedsters.




We hung on their wheels for a bit. I did not want them to think I'd shined them on purpose! They were all smiles and having fun. Then, they dropped us. Heh heh. I told Shnuddy that we'd best not hang on their wheels anyway given the distance we had to cover.





As we exited PCH, passed Port Hueneme and headed inland, our first stop was at a gas station where the others were waiting. We quickly ate a snack, drank some water and geared up to leave. Again, no time to socialize. The Lobsters considered riding the century with us. They'd have been welcomed for sure, but at the last minute, they changed their minds. We bid them farewell, and we two gals continued on our way.



Other than some grumpy headwinds complaining in our faces, we didn't have too much to worry about. Traffic was rather gentle the whole day (except for our trek along the 101 where it is always scary!). As for climbs, we really only faced two, with the second one, Gubanador Canyon (that everyone calls Governator), being anything to worry over (if hot). It was warm on that hill but that isn't what slowed me. Nope. I had definitely worn down my climbing legs last week and I just had no hill mojo. Shnuddy sure did. Hell, she went right up it like a pro. I almost yelled, "You go, Alberto!" but was too out of breath. As I crested, she was waiting with her camera and that lovely smile of hers. Did I mention how wonderful it was to ride with my friend?



After the climb, it was lunch, and we both nibbled on veggie patty sandwiches at Subway. We took a good half hour and rested our legs. We had roughly 50 miles (back) to go and almost all of it flat. The thing about flat rides is that although one thinks, "Oh, this will be an easy century," remember that flat means you pedal the whole time. No downhills to coast on. It's almost harder, believe it or not. But we women are tough and strong riders. I always tell folks that I may not be all that fast, but 'endurance is my bag, baby!' I can last and push through at times you'd think I'd fade. Same for Shnuddy whose pace was exactly the same. We traded pulls from time to time and kept a hum in our spokes without fail.




Our breaks were short, too. I loved that we both are in complete agreement on breaks and such. We need them and will take them, but we didn't mosey or waste time. At the last gas station in Ventura, we did sit for a moment to enjoy our liquid refreshments (she had Gatorade and I had rocket fuel - a Pina Colada Sobe!). From there, it truly was a straight shot back. It was here that we had our one and only flat. Shnuddy's back tire had a tiny shard of glass and a slow leak. She discovered it and fixed it in under ten minutes - without breaking a nail! I was so impressed.



On our last nine miles home, the 10 foot high waves crashing against the shore were a spectacle to behold. Those combined with the many seagulls flying (and flirting) alongside us were a treat. Although we could feel the miles beneath us, we knew that in no time, our wonderful ride would come to an end. At Neptune's Net, we high-fived each other and agreed to split a beer and order of fries. Our total was 98 miles with a 6 hour, 12 minute ride time (not too shabby!). We didn't even hammer, just steady pedaling and still got a great ride time.





Century done! As we sat and enjoyed the salty goodness of fried potatoes (I will never give those up!), we talked over the 98 miles we'd ridden. We agreed that it's fair that 98 miles is too a century ride. I know a certain fellow female cyclist and friend will tsk-tsk us and disagree, but I'm at peace with that. As Shnuddy and I acknowledged, there are many centuries we ride that are 103-108 miles! That's not fair! So, anything 97 miles to 108 miles is a century in my book, and this was my bonus century that I'm keeping in case I miss a month. I know...I make my own rules, don't I?



Truly a glorious day with a wonderful friend. Shnuddy mentioned how lucky we are...yes, I agree. So very lucky, indeed.

guess I'm not a fan of Tuesdays, either

I finally (as if this will be surprising) had a full-blown meltdown today. So did Boo. I think (know) hers was a reaction off of mine...well, that and I wouldn't put her down.



Her beard turned ink black and she glared at me with fury. Hey, no one promised me a rose garden, and I sure as hell didn't promise her a Tanami desert. She has scratched on the glass of her terrarium like a whining puppy (without the whine) all frickin' day, and when I finally give in (and let her out), she runs to the very corner she has been told repeatedly not to go into to. It's the corner of my living room where all my bike crap is, usually shielded by a Japanese screen. But since I have my air conditioning unit on, it is open at present. Boo just loves all the junk over there that she can burrow and hide under. I don't want her over there, cause something could fall on her tiny reptile head, and then it's lizard stew for all, if you get my meaning.

So, we played a little game called, "FatHead chases, captures and threatens to kill Boo" all day long...that little, scaly b*tch. As I type this, she's gearing up to start round eight. Little does she know that I'm about to feed her to Katsu, my neighbor's Siamese kitty. Do I sound cruel? Yeah, well...I.Don't.Care.

My day yesterday was a picnic compared to today. Nothing, and I do mean, nothing went smoothly for me. Of course, it didn't help that I over-reacted to every difficulty as if I were being slapped in the face repeatedly with a filthy diaper. For starters, the website for which I write articles has the worst interface (publishing tool) I've ever worked with. What takes me 1/2 an hour to an hour to write, then takes two hours to publish. No kidding.

And today, I took a crack at an article where I wrote from my own gut, using my own words and not just regurgitated info about the tour as a segue into local cycling info. Nope, I watched the tour today, read the news and wrote in my words (yes, some of the info was lifted from news reports, but no duh!). I really wanted the article published in a timely fashion so that I could work out at the gym today and get a ton of other stuff done. Nope. Took over 4.5 hours (time to write, proof, upload photos and then deal with a publishing page that kept crashing). I was in tears and ready to throw my laptop off my balcony by 1:00pm (don't worry, Dad, I wouldn't dare!).

Then, I found out that I sent an incorrect form to the EDD folks, and now I have to resubmit another one. This means getting my check late. Look, I know I've got severance and savings (that I've barely touched) to draw from, but I do not want to do so. It's a psychological thing, I suppose. I want to use my unemployment benefits before I dip into the other (Lord knows, I've earned it after working since I was 15 years old!). And in reality, I really would like to find a good job (one in which I have a life balance and pride). Combine those two desires with the realization that the EDD check will now be late, and more tears of frustration were shed.

Then I couldn't get my stupid, f'n ex-cable company on the phone (Time Warner - do NOT ever use them!). I was on hold forever and in a heated moment of just sheer "f'n had it!," I threw my cell phone at the wall. The back half separated from the front half and landed behind my television. I didn't find it until an hour later. The phone is fine. I purchased a very durable model that is used by the Military (no joke) since I ride a bike and drop the damn thing all the time. Today's 'wall slamming' proved just how tough it really is. No damage to the phone even with full-on blunt force trauma. How's the wall, you ask? Well, fine mostly. If you walk up to it, you can see that something peculiar happened in a particular spot, but it isn't noticeable from a distance.

As for the dining chair I threw across the room, the news isn't as good. It suffered a broken leg...sort of. I was able to put the leg back on and it's mostly okay, too, although I doubt I'll ever ask a guest to sit on it, "just in case." And the box of various items from my ex company that I had stored in the corner of my room and on which my printer has sat? Well, eventually, I'll get around to picking all that up, but for now, it's all over the place.

Yup. A meltdown. A good ol', throw shit all over and cry meltdown. I'm better now, in case you're curious. Of course, I called my friend whom I'm meeting at 2am this morning, and that helped. I mentioned my meltdown, the EDD check, how my day has been a nightmare and that I couldn't go out of town after all. My friend listened sweetly and reminded me that I needed (and deserved) a mere two days out of town. Cheap vaca, too, by the way. I'm splitting the cost of a Motel 6 (Motel-6ickening) room with two others, and we got a good deal at $55/night. Then we're splitting gas three ways and eating dirt cheap (Denny's type diners and pizza). This is not an expensive get-away, by any means. No, it's a road trip for so very little, yet so very much, and a chance to ride my bike all day (and hike the next before coming back) without a care in the world. I was re-convinced to join.

So, I'm going to check out, take some deep breaths and hopefully regain my sense of humor. The last few months have been difficult for sure, but the last few weeks have been truly challenging for myriad reasons. Time away is necessary in order for me not to experience more meltdowns - none of which are ever productive! Oh, and I've decided to take Nellie only on this trip. I was going to take Patsy and ride on the road, but I don't know the roads, the traffic, etc. where I'm going, and I'm not sure that in the state of mind I'm in, I'd be the safest rider on the road right now, anyway. No. I need to feel knobbies beneath me and a chance to explore. There are many mountain bike trails where I'm headed, and I'm sure some less advanced ones (although, not many). I may just challenge myself and head down a few single tracks on my own (gasp!). The worst that will happen is either I'll fall down to skin an elbow or I'll walk the bike, but at least I won't be faced with the fear of being hit by a car!

Photo my friend, Arvin Torio, took

With all the above reported, it's safe to say that I guess I'm not a fan of Tuesdays, either. Maybe Wednesday will be the magical day (as long as it isn't another Wacky Wednesday!), or perhaps, it isn't the day that's the issue. Either way, I'm heading out of Dodge and won't be back on here until Friday...au revoir! (I use French in the spirit of the Tour de France...heh heh)

I've never been a fan of Mondays

Blogging today is a bad idea, mainly because all I'd like to write is, "life is sh*t." Yup. That kind of day today, for me. I've never been a fan of Mondays, anyway, but even unemployed, I'm finding that as I crawl into bed on a Sunday night, I'm not looking forward to the next day.

Of course, it didn't help that I crawled into bed at midnight last night. I'm such an old fogey these days, I'm usually long past counting sheep by 9pm. Midnight is like staying up all night for me, and given that I just naturally woke up at 6:30 this morning, I did not get enough zzzz's. Top that with the stupid, f'n heat we have going out here in sunny So Cal, my tired legs (I don't think I need to say why) and my blue mood, and this Monday is like a sh*t sundae, minus any cherry on top.

Then (then) in my blue mood and all, Dad calls with this chipper-yet-hollow ring to his voice. He had that same tone yesterday, actually, and I thought it odd then as much as I did today.

"How's it goin'?" He asked (I pictured him grinning the way he does after a good piece of pie).

"Fine, if you consider that my life sucks," I replied. It's a game I like to play these days called "milk it for all it's worth." My father is a good sport and will play along (for the most part).

"Well, I guess I shouldn't tell ya then," he continued. Pause. In an even cheerier voice, "I crashed last week and broke my collarbone." He then went on to tell he how, where, how mad he was, how mother drove to SAG behind him as he walked the bike back to the house (oh, good grief), and how Mom then took him to the emergency room (well, thank goodness she got him there just as soon as he could walk his bike back to the house!)

As he was talking, it hit me. Last week? I think I just about blew a gasket. Lucky for my father that he's injured or I'd have been much harder on him, but last week?!!! Apparently, he didn't want to upset me. How unfortunate for him that his timing has never been spot on, and naturally, with my mood today as dark (and dank) as it is, I burst into tears.

I worry about my parents all the time (their health and well-being) and the possibility of Dad being injured on his bike. He's in great shape and all, and most men 40 years of age don't have so much as a smidgen of his stamina, but he's no spring rooster, let's face it. A broken bone can not be a good thing, not to mention the pain he's been in. Of course, he just had to tell the story (brag) about how he refused any pain pills from the doctors. (Sigh) I think I mentioned on here recently that he's a good ol' boy in certain ways. Well, this is one of them. He's stubborn, thinks he's John Wayne or something, and I think, on some levels, he just likes to suffer.

Anyway, no matter how many jokes he made about his accident (including, "Hey, now I'm like Lance Armstrong! I can ride the Tour de France!" - groan), I didn't laugh. I just cried...well, sobbed actually, like a sickened sea otter (pathetic). I then demanded that he hand the phone to Mom.

"Mom?"

"Hi, I'm here. We just had lunch at you know where." My mother has a way of being in the present but, then...kinda not.

"Mom?! I want you to do me a favor, okay?"

"What?" she asked, like we were suddenly characters in a mystery novel, and I was about to give her some hidden clue.

"When you get home, I want you to get every damn bike in the house, including my Lemond, pack them in the car, drive them to the Cumberland River and throw them in it."

Mom just laughed and stuttered, "I can't...well...I know, I worry about him all the time...but you know how he is." If the woman would do what I ask just one time...grrr. I gave up.

Mom did get me to laugh (through tears and sniffling), when she cracked, "Too bad they didn't put you in a wheelchair so you could ride it around the block." She said this to my father who was holding the phone as she and my sister were helping him out of the passenger seat of my mother's car (he needed assistance since his arm is in a sling and he's in lot of pain...cause he won't take pain pills and all, remember?).

Dad repeated the joke to me, only he didn't hear all of what she said. So, his version was, "Did you hear that? Your mother wishes I was in a wheelchair!" And then...he laughed...like it was the best joke ever! (Oh...dear)

My sister, sweet little thing that she is, was oddly silent during all of this. I'll have to call her tomorrow to get the real skinny, but I'm thinking she's not finding any of this all that funny either. We do, after all, love our Dad. But he and Mom...well...they just march to their own full-blown orchestra, I suppose.

As for the rest of my day (after the call), sh*tty. Um, did you really expect it to go up from there? I took a nap and job searched, and now I'm groggy and pissy all over again. I also went grocery shopping and suffered the heat. I drove, by the way. I'm not commuting by bike again until it gets cooler. I just can't take the valley's scorching punishment and, with my asthma, I have to be picky about how much pollution I'm willing to suck into my lungs.

Now, I've got to pop off and get dressed (somehow). I've got dinner tonight with a good friend that I haven't seen in a long time and whom I'm looking forward to seeing. He's been out of the country, is only back for two weeks, and offered to meet me up the hill for dinner at one of my very favorite restaurants. I'll offer to pay for my own dinner, but he won't let me. That is not why I'm excited to go. Nope. I'm looking forward to another nice evening with a good friend, someone else to focus on (which is how my evening was last night as well). It's that whole "pulling my head out of my ass" thing that always makes me feel a little better.

it's as if I've been microwaved

I'm thinking of leaving town next week, sneaking away with folks who, like me, are wanting to escape. I want to get the hell out of sweltering, hell-hole Dodge if only for two days. I simply hate the heat and try as I did today to beat it (which oddly enough, while in it, I succeeded), I'm now an aching, feverish mess.



Today was my hike outing, one I planned, and my original suggestion was for a 6 mile trek along one of the most stunning trails in Southern California, Mishe Mokwa. However, the trail head is a good hour's drive from the city. The gals I invited hiking are not early morning people, so asking them to get up at the crack of dawn seemed cruel (if I'd had my preference, we'd all gotten up at 5:00am and met around 6:30 to start). Instead, we met at 9:00(ish) and didn't hit the trail until 9:30am (yup, that was f'n stupid) and in lieu of Mishe Mokwa, I chose a closer trail, Will Rogers State Park.



Now, I've hiked Will Rogers' Backbone Trail to the Oak tree and back many times in the past when I was a super-hiker chick and not the bike ho I am today. To me, it's easy. And yes, even after a 53 mile bike ride yesterday, it was still easy today. Just cause I'm fat does not mean I'm not an athlete, and I've earned my endurance stripes one grueling mile at a time, either on two wheels or my own two feet. I could have hiked more miles than the 4.5 we ended up with. I had iced up my Camelback, drank plenty of water and, although I'm the biggest heat-wienie going, the sweltering temps didn't seem to bother me all that much. Well, until now.



My friends did not fair as well. They were all hot, and they hated me. I can't blame them. I'd hate me, too. After all, I was 'permi-grin' and blazing ahead effortlessly. This is not to say they aren't in shape and didn't do quite well themselves. In fact, all three are very athletic and are much thinner than I am. But I'm like the surprise fat chick who can bust a serious move on the dance floor when the right tune is playing, and today I got my groove on. One gal stuck up with me and kept my over-aggressive stride, as she's a regular hiker, but even she was having a difficult time with the sh*tty shade options along the long, steep-in-the-beginning trail. I promised them some shade but didn't make good on that promise. What can I say? It's summer after all, and we started this hike at the time of day I'd have been half way through it in the past.





Something funny to report was my lecturing every mountain biker on the Backbone Trail as they descended past us, squeezed up into the brush to avoid being run over. When I arrived in the parking lot this morning before the other women did, I asked the ranger at the park's entrance if folks are allowed to mountain bike in the park. She told me (verbatim), "Yes, but whatever you do, stay off the Backbone Trail. You can ride on Inspiration Loop." She then showed me a map and pointed to the exact route I could follow. I took her words as the park's law. Turns out, those words were her wishes and not the rules of the trail. Mountain bikers are allowed on the Backbone trail (as well as Inspiration Loop) and there are signs up by the bridge that say so. Oh.My.God. I felt so stupid (as well as annoyed at that stupid ranger), and with the women there as witnesses (and not entirely amused ones), I wanted to scurry off into the bushes like some startled raccoon. I even told a passing mountain biker, "Tell all the mountain bikers you see at the bottom, I'm sorry!" You should have seen the expressions on my companions' faces when I did that. I mean, it wasn't as if he was going to run into the exact guys I had yelled at just 30 minutes prior to his arrival. (sigh)





Well, after that guffaw moment, the hike was mostly straight forward. I did Geocache and left a brand-new, shiny dollar coin for the next geocacher to enjoy (I took a dollar bill, so I broke even) and the conversation (when not focused on the hateful heat, lack of shade and me apologizing profusely for my choice of location) was great. I really like these women, and although I got a little lost in some of my own darker thoughts this morning, for the most part, I enjoyed the time I spent huffing and puffing in the great outdoors. I got a fantastic, butt-burning workout. I still feel a bit of the trail's steepness in my legs this afternoon, but they should be fine tomorrow.





My head, however, took the brunt of the sun's wrath. Even with a bandanna and a full-brim hiking hat, my skull (and likely the pea-brain contained within it) got overheated, as did my skin. I can still feel the day's 100+ temperatures trapped within my skin! Ewww. It's as if I've been microwaved like some day-old chicken breast. My face is flushed as well, although it got very little sun (likely just what was reflected up from the dirt). When will summer end? And I mean this predictable hot-as-hell So Cal summer, cause it's the worst kind. We've got the unbearable heat, dry air, smog and that white-hot, unforgiving sun (the b*tch).



I'm home now and guess who tore her terrarium to pieces while I was out? And guess who is now curled up next to me, her little legs back up behind her, snoozing like an innocent angel? I actually hollered at her when I first walked in from my hike (not to be confused with 'yelled' - I didn't yell; I just spoke loudly and with anger in my voice). I reminded her of who around here buys the damn crickets and worms, and who has to feed those nasty little bugs to her (in fact, they are dropped at her fat, lazy little feet). She really needs to show some respect and appreciation for FatHead, and she'd better not tear her terrarium up while I'm gone next week. If she does, she'll just have to sleep in it like that and starve until I get back. Would someone please remind me again why I wanted to be a caregiver for a dragon?

hindsight is 20/20

I just got off the phone with Dad. I haven't mentioned on here much lately just how much I love my father, so I'll say it again...I love him. Never judge a man by his accent. My father sounds like a good ol' boy (and in some ways, he is), but in reality, he is a very intelligent and thoughtful man. I'm lucky he's on my team and rooting for me, and grateful I got to talk to him tonight. I'm upset over something I'm not going to share on here. All I'll say is that I'm a bit in shock about an experience I hope to never have again and that's it. Dad heard the rest and patiently gave me good, sound advice. In fact, he advised that I not talk about it on here!





Anyway, all of the above is leading to today's ride, one I'd planned to ride with two gals who are good friends to one another and with whom I'm forging a friendship as well. One of the gals, Debbie, recently injured her thumb and, after a two month hiatus from cycling, is back in the saddle. She's working hard to regain her strength, and today, I wanted to ride with her at her pace, enjoying her and Linda's company. I made that clear to all the other cyclists I ride with on a regular basis. Too bad I didn't plan a private ride with the two of them, but hindsight is 20/20.





A great group showed up today, including two cyclists on a tandem. We all set sail right on time (8:30am) and rode from Marina Del Rey to Palos Verdes and back. The weather was blessedly cooler than the cruel heat of the valley, and with creamsicle-blue skies above us and delicious ocean breezes, the day promised to be a good one. We rode at a mostly relaxed pace, with the faster guys holding back most of the day. Our one long break was at a small cafe in Palos Verdes who were serving smoothies and fresh chocolate croissants (I had a blueberry-banana-strawberry smoothie and a bite of someone's croissant).




After the snack break, our main climb of the day was up Palos Verdes Drive East and, although it was a little warm on the way up, the views were well worth the effort. I was in a great mood all morning and all through the climbing, feeling strong and happy to be on a ride with a more relaxed tempo (and agenda). As we descended inland, however, we rode right into the hottest miles of the day with the heat blasting us as if from an open furnace. Luckily, we didn't have long to go before hitting the cool ocean winds again, and on the last stretch home through some crowded beach communities, the traffic was our biggest concern.


It was at that point in the ride that my front wheel came so close to hitting a back wheel at a side angle (which would have resulted in both myself and the other rider hitting pavement with traffic to our left), I have no idea how in the hell I missed it. I know I hit my brakes so hard, the back wheel locked for a couple of seconds (I released them as I've learned that is what you must do to stop from skidding). I also came perilously close to a parked truck and servicemen. I didn't go down, no one did, but the rider behind me yelled out in fear herself as she truly thought I was going to hit the wheel or the truck. Needless to say, the adrenaline that raged through my body was hard to shake, and on the way back, bewildered, angry and perplexed, I had a hard time focusing on much other than finishing the ride.




We all made it back safely, thank goodness. Then Linda, Debbie and I headed out to munch on tuna fish sandwiches and turkey burgers. I'm now home sipping on a beer and considering an early bedtime. I'm hanging up the Sidis and lacing up my Merrills for a hike in the morning. Yup, no pedals to push tomorrow, just a zen-inducing hike up an unforgiving but view-rewarding mountain. Oh, and only women will be there, thank God. No offense to the men of the world, but I really need a dose of female-only energy tomorrow. I also need a break in general. I think for the next month, I'm going to take it. This does not mean I won't be riding, but I think I need new roads to discover and maybe a few new folks to discover them with. Or perhaps, I'll head back up the dirt trail I climbed the other night, where the mountain views remind me of just how lucky I am to be here.

connections that are real and that matter

Before I describe the most amazing dirt ride from last night, I have to report on my idiotic actions today (cause I just can't keep anything to myself). Out of anger (long story), I slammed my cabinet door on my right hand, bruising my palm and thumb so much so that it's swollen and a tad purple tonight. Oh...and it hurts like hell. I was pissed when I did it. Mad at the world for so many (perceived) grievances today. I'll list as many as I can remember - poor sleep (my neighbors need to be stuffed and mounted on walls to shut them up), struggle over an article, criticism of that article (hey, I can take it), sh*tty job search (ongoing), f'n heat, waste of an afternoon waiting for a cable man (didn't show!) and just pent up frustration that my life is still in upheaval. Regardless, taking it out on the cabinet (and my hand) wasn't the way to go.

However, screaming obscenities at the stupid Time Warner 'supervisor' on the phone this afternoon was most fulfilling. Yes, I screamed - so much so, I was almost hoarse. Trust me, he deserved it (he implied I was lying about being home all f'n afternoon waiting for the cable guy to show). I canceled the service and took another, less expensive one. It felt so good getting rid of Time Warner, as they are the worst cable/Internet providers I've come across!

Okay, now to last night, a far more pleasant and rewarding topic. I met Arvin, a friend/rider I've not been in contact with since 2006. The history behind our friendship carries such a weight for reasons I'll not expound on, but I will say, reconnecting with him brings to the forefront of my mind some memories I cherish and some I'd like to forget.

We ran into each other while out riding Griffith Park one night this past Spring and now (fortunately) we are arranging time to meet and/or ride together. I met his wife, Joannie, for lunch on Wednesday, and then Arvin for the ride last night. It was as if we'd never parted. This couple is a pair of good eggs, and I didn't realize how much I truly missed them both until now. Well, good thing I had the pleasure of Wednesday's lunch and last night's ride.



Arvin and I met at the top of Reseda Blvd. (I was running late, but, of course!). We rode up to the dirt trail and then Arvin busted ass up that first hill I can never ride up. I always walk it as I know my skills and I can't keep my wheel down. That was okay (hey, I'm use to walking it at times, now!). At the top of it, we met a group. Two of them Arvin knew, two he didn't, but all of them were just great folks.





We took off in the direction of the hub and my legs were not only present but more than happy to push those pedals. I felt alive, happy and, more importantly, happy to be riding with my new found friend. He said I rode strong up the hills leaving him behind, but I believe he held back a bit. He's recovering from foot surgery so, good grief!





Anyway, we crested the trail at the top of the Santa Monica Mountains (in Encino) and were treated to surreal views. I love it up there, so peaceful. Those mountains don't judge me or others, they just exist and expect that of us. The remote hills are calming and remind me of how so much of nothing I am in the scheme of things. Why do I let that which bothers me the most in my life matter? I had this epiphany as I climbed, sweated and heaved up those steep, dusty trails cut through some of the prettiest areas of Southern California.




At "the hub" of the trail, Arvin suggested going left to "the ruins." I just followed with glee and abandonment, so much so that when Arvin said, "We're going on a single-track, okay? It's not hard and not that narrow," I followed without argument but with plenty of resistance.


How did I do since I'm Miss No-Single-Track-for-Me? Fine. I followed Arvin's wheel as my heart raced. It wasn't even all that hard for the average mountain biker, but for me, it was tough! I did have to unclip just before the top. No big deal. I walked it up, and my efforts were rewarded with stunning views of Santa Monica and the coast all the way out to Catalina Island.



The group followed and arrived just after Arvin and I did, and all of us sat joking and nibbling on snacks up there under the warm, setting sun. Although I had only met everyone last night but Arvin (and one gal years ago), I felt as if we'd all been riding together for years. That's the soul of mountain bikers - they just 'got yur back,' and are so very personable.

We didn't stay long. The sun was truly yawning her last goodbyes for the day, and we had to get back down off the trail before too late. Plus, Arvin and I were starving. We descended fast (for me) and without incident. I was high, actually, grinning ear to ear and really happy to have met the group and to be on my bike without a care in the world next to a good friend I'd thought I'd lost forever. At one curve, I had to swivel my tires to a dead-still and photograph the setting sun, in all her sleepy-eyed glory. At that moment, I felt the most alive as I had all day.



Arvin and I then descended to the cars (him on bike, me walking that last hill down) and had dinner at Sharky's (yum). We closed the place down getting caught up. Oh, how I've missed that sweet, funny, mischievous, loyal, kind human being. If ever anyone asks me what I regret in life, I'd answer, "the times I allowed pride to keep me from the connections that are real and that matter."

like Speedy Gonzalez

I'm making this fast, like Speedy Gonzalez (minus the accent). I've been up to my eyeballs writing articles and job searching. I have some (very weak) leads on two jobs that would be up my alley, but I'm staying positive so...maybe. In the meantime, it's write, write, write...articles. And my channel manager is push, push, push (but in a very productive and nice way).

I put out two more articles today, and as much as I'd like to "pop 'em out" like Easter eggs, no can do. It takes me time. However, this whole "slanting my articles to cover the Tour de France" thing is forcing me to both learn about SEO (attracting viewers to my page) and the tour. I must say, I'm eager to learn about both and surprised myself this morning when I squealed with joy at watching the rider who won stage 12 cross the finish line (I'll put no spoilers in this blog in case someone reads it today who hasn't had a chance to see the tour; trust me, it was exciting!). I'm the type who roots for the underdog, and this pro racer showed true skill and persistence.

As to my own lazy butt, I did not (repeat: not) mtn bike ride last night. Well, I was on Nellie for a few miles but even those I could barely pedal. I was so excited too to hit that trail above Burbank and struggle to the towers above the city, too. But on the drive to The Hub, my eyes drooped and I just felt heavy. What better way to counteract that than with dinner and a margarita!



Yes, I know, I know, I KNOW! - not diet friendly. Uh-huh...well, ALL of my WW extra weekly points are being counted toward my splurge. In my defense, I split a burrito with Herb, giving him more than half, and we did ride. But I haven't had a margarita in over a year (for real) so it was a treat, but left me feeling sugared out last night. I've eaten like an angel today and am mtn biking tonight.



I'm riding in the dark with a buddy I've known for several years but with whom I've only recently reconnected while out on a ride in Griffith Park. Little does he know what's in store for him. Heh heh. I've never ridden dirt in the dark and this will be both a workout and a tad spooky. I'm expecting it will be gorgeous too and warm...oh, it's warm out here again. Yuck. I'm just not a summer girl, never will be.



Anyway, this is short, cause I got a headache and I've been writing/researching/photo uploading all day! I need a break and I need to get dressed for the ride and maybe stop to pick up a coffee or something. I'm still kinda blah, but I'm going tonight. My friend won't mind my slow butt churning up the hills. He's the sweet kind that likes to encourage others, especially when it comes to dirt, so I suspect he'll take my moaning, groaning and whining in stride. Well, that or he'll pedal off to leave me to the lions, tigers and bears (oh, my!)

I'd prefer everyone in the gym look average

I talked to one of my recruiters today for over an hour. She called me to check in and to tell me that she hasn't forgotten about me. She said, 'It's still dismally slow, even for those companies not using recruiters, the prospects of new jobs are limited." I'm not sure how that made me feel except numb. I'm five months in now (not four, I miscalculated - blame the past drug use or that head-banging crash I had in January '08) and I'm not liking the thought of approaching six months. After that, it's another six, unless I get a job. Here's the thing...now, I want a job. I really do. Of course, I want one that I like, which challenges me but one that still offers a balanced life (i.e. where I'm not there from sunrise to sunset). I don't want a sh*t job where I'm miserable like the one I was laid off from. Sorry, but it had to be said. The first three years there were fantastic, but the last 2.5 were not. I don't want a rinse and repeat.

Basically, I was told what I already know, and like Dad said in an earlier phone conversation today, "You're just going to have to hang in there until things turn around." Yup. Seems to be what I'm doing these days. Well, that and writing for a website that I now am enjoying. Main reason is the new channel manager I'm dealing with. What an incredibly smart young man he is and very much encouraging. I see him as a CEO of a major Internet brand in the future as he has the whole 'get your team motivated' thing down. I have another article to write in the morning and will be getting up at the crack of dawn to watch the Tour de France (but of course) and write, write, write. I'm not doing this for money (pay is so pitiful) but for experience and skills. I've already learned a great deal, and that alone has made the experience so undeniably worthwhile!

As for right this very minute, as I type this, I'm sorry I'm uninspired but I'm just so damn tired. Mainly, my body is worn out. Even with a rest day yesterday, riding three days in a row, including a century ride, was a bit much. I tried performing my legs workout today with plyometrics, jump rope and weights, but I just couldn't complete it. I was weary almost and mad (not grumpy, outright mad!) for just being there. I hated the way I looked too (well, duh...dressing in a big sloppy t-shirt with a blue bandanna is not an attractive look for anyone) and annoyed with people taking up the machines, including two impossibly good looking fit types. On days like today, I'd prefer everyone in the gym look average, please.

Speaking of not average, porn star was there today, of course, only this time with her twin sister. Yup, there are two of them now and I saw them talking (so, sisters? - or hot lesbian lovers?), only the second one is shorter and even more busty, as in busting out of her gym attire. And as if this is possible, she wears an even smaller, tighter bikini top than porn star number one. I have no idea if she's prettier in the face as my eyes just couldn't get past peeking at her near exposed nipples. Good grief! I was not in the mood today to view it, so I cut my workout short and headed home.

Anyway, I know I'm all over the place with this erratic entry tonight, but I have to share. I logged onto a bike forum today and found the below videos. I laughed so hard, I snorted water out my nostrils. So, as I head to bed...enjoy!

July, so far, has been a difficult month

Frustration can cripple a spirit in a way so...well...frustrating. You can sit on your hands wondering why the words do not appear typed before you and never notice a finger is missing. You can scream your thoughts to a blank page and never realize that no silence has been broken. You can type sentences like those above and never admit how lame they truly are. Heh heh.

What the hell am I talking about? Oh, I don't know other than stupid, f'n writer's block and...insecurity. I've been writing for a couple of months now for a website (link is in the right side bar) that I won't mention. I don't want this blog connected to my name. Why? Well, since I'm looking for a job and all, I've been advised against doing so. Seems sad to me that employees can't have their own political/world views without prospective employers frowning upon them, but with today's Google reality, one must be careful. If ever my real/full name comes up in a Google search connected to this blog, it will go bye-bye (well, not erased, but it will go private with only those requesting permission to view it granted as such). Sad, but true, the only real freedom of speech comes with a shroud of anonymity.

Anyway, today's article writing was a lesson in frustration to the ninth degree. I'd written this very thought-out piece on pacelining when my channel manager sent a note encouraging me to write about the TDF or, at the very least, tie in local cycling info with the tour. Um. I don't think he realizes that the only reason I watch the tour is to see all those tight, hard male asses in spandex up close on my screen. Isn't that why everyone watches? Seriously, Lance may be starved to death, but my Lord, his ass is a Filet Mignon. See? This is probably why I shouldn't be writing about the race, don't ya think?

Well, I pulled it out of my ass and did write a preview, cut my original article down to a few paragraphs, used some photos of the tour (that I'm allowed to use) and...Shazamm!...I gots me an article. Like it or lump it...I did it. My channel manager was very appreciative (I really like him - he's new and trying so hard to help me and everyone) and honestly, it ain't that bad. But (but) it took.all.damn.day. Gulp. I did job search this morning (might as well insert needles under my fingernails for all the good it did me) and I pet Boo. I did not exercise. I needed a day off as my legs were on strike today (great, unemployed with legs on strike - shouldn't I be featured on the news or what?). I also picked up Nellie (new brakes and shiny chain!), went grocery shopping and stripped the sheets off my bed (I've yet to put clean ones on). So, yeah...I was somewhat productive.

Now, to another subject, one I'll not spend more than a paragraph on. Recently, I saw a ghost, one I thought had left me for good. Through coincidence and one fateful encounter, I reconnected with a connection to the apparition and a few links later...well...July, so far, has been a difficult month. They say that you attract those things you fear/long for the most, and, often, that which you need comes in the form of what you didn't desire. But for the life of me, I do not understand why I cannot shake this apparition. I've long since given up offering a limb, a sense or my life in return for what I wish the most. Those who know me, really know me, know to what I'm referring. If they read this, they'll most likely shake their heads and say nothing. I can't blame them.

As for tomorrow, I'll be writing more, searching (for a job) more, and heading to the gym. I may even sneak in a ride. With Nellie back and all spruced up, I've got to get her dirty again before I see Eddie. He warned me to not let my bike shop clean her up. "You want to keep it dirty," he said. Yeah. Like he needs to tell me that.

icy mango goodness

Now, about that recovery ride today. The Lobsters, Herb and Linda rode across the valley to my neck of the woods where I jumped on the train (well, actually, I jumped in front to take photos of everyone). My legs were great, my mood feisty. What can I say, I'm a PITA at times and often passive aggressive. I took childish digs at The Lobsters (so not nice; after all, they are the sweetest couple). Jason is so low key, most crap rolls off his back. Lisa hands it back to me triple fold (I think in an thumb wrestling match, she'd crush me). Herb is more like me. We kept tongue-slapping one another all morning. Linda was just along for the ride and kept a good-natured smile on her face. I said to her at one point, "And you thought you were coming out for a nice little social ride, didn't you?... instead, you got us."





Luckily, it didn't get too heated on the way there, and after slurping down some icy mango goodness at the Corner Bakery Cafe (this mango drink I love that Linda split with me), I was in better spirits.

Linda, who had fresher legs and a better temperament suggested the 'bonus hill' on the way back. I bitched all the way up it and then conceded that it wasn't that bad. My heavy legs were not in agreement with me but kept quiet as I pedaled in spin mode all the way home. It then did get too hot for comfort, but by the time we got to where I was to drop off the train again, I was back to being agreeable and loving my pals all over again.








I'm fickle, aren't I?

no crowd to cheer my victory

If you'd asked me two days ago how I thought yesterday's ride would go, I'd have never answered anywhere near where it lead. That's how it is on any ride. You clip in, push off and begin to pedal in the direction you think you're headed, but rarely do you end up where you want to go (figuratively speaking, of course).

It was CAM #7 - our July century ride - and one I was looking forward to. After last month's ride and my friend's accident (horrific, to say the least), I was hoping (and praying) for a crash/incident/accident free ride. My prayers weren't answered, and as I asked the other folks around me yesterday, "Who was it that pissed off the cycling Gods, huh?" Gawddim it! No, really...God damn it! Sorry to offend, but it makes me so mad to have another rider go down on yet another century ride. He's okay (well, in light of the other accident, I suppose), but the mere fact that it happened was enough to spook me all over again.

As for the ride, yesterday was my strongest century of the year...although, I did not ride it as such, choosing instead to "wait," "pull" and "stay back," none of which I regret. I had the legs, the will and the power I'm use to having (even though I am not at the weight I was when I had all three consistently - I am now, officially, 8 pounds down!). However, my overall ride experience opened a can of worms for me and made me question what it is I'm looking to accomplish while partaking in this whole CAM challenge.

Yesterday morning, Herb picked me up at 6:45am, and we headed on the 101 to Ventura where we met a great group of fellow riders: The Lobsters, GT, Kurt, Brian, Rob, Devian (a very cool rider who just joined us for fun) and The Colonel. I was loud from the get-go, yelling out the window at all of them as we arrived. Well, why not, huh? Gets the blood pumping when someone yells at you that early in the morning. We all exchanged hugs and took off into the already warm sun toward the ocean bike path.

Right away, I felt it, that familiar hum in my system. My legs were solid from the moment I clipped in. I could feel my blood pumping right away and I knew I'd be in for a strong ride. Plus, I was excited (always am) to see how the ride would unfold and what adventures I'd be able to share later (with my fellow riders and on here). I snapped photos and kept a "permi-grin" all the way through the first 25 miles. We hit heavy fog, clear skies, lusciously cool breezes and gorgeous morning vistas (of hills shrouded in the golden glow of the sun). We all rode strong, each at a different level, but in the first round of miles, I hung well with the fast pack. Granted, the boys (especially Jason) were taking it at a more relaxed pace.



As we headed into some climbing, I busted ahead feeling the power in my quads. The 30+ miles I rode on Friday aided me yesterday, of that I'm sure. As we passed through the Ventura hills toward Summerland, I felt I could have pushed to my max. I kept a solid pace and waited a bit for riders. I like riding with my fellow cyclists and rarely want to 'beat anyone' or 'best my time.' Why? To me, the ride is social and, let's face it, none of us are racers. Hey, I understand folks wanting to push themselves, etc., but I sometimes wonder why they do so on these group centuries. We all have "good rides" and "bad rides" - why not collect those in the second group and bring them home on the days they are struggling? But that's me and not everyone agrees, nor do I feel they should. Do your own thing, by all means, but as someone said to me today, "when others help you, why do you not pay it forward?" This couldn't be a better sentiment for the sport I love, in my opinion.



Almost to Summerland, the "back pack" was pedaling at a steady pace when we came upon something I'd hoped we'd not see for the day - a downed rider. A very nice (and witty) man, GT, whose blog I enjoy immensely, hit the front wheel of another rider. Something like that is bound to happen in tight pace-lines. I generally dislike sucking wheel or having someone right up on my back wheel. Every amateur rider I know jumps on the wheels of others, but none of us really should (unless headwinds are horrific, which they were not yesterday!).



Mind you, it wasn't GT's fault or the rider in front of him, but just an accident. I'm just grateful he wasn't badly injured. He was a bit shocked (of course) and is bruised up badly, but he'll likely be riding next weekend (I hope so). Nonetheless, I 'tsked tsked' the men. I think they laugh at me and find me oddly overly mothering. Is it going to take one of us being killed - which can very well happen - to get these guys to cool it? Anyway, I grumbled to deaf ears, we sent GT back with another very nice rider (can't remember his name), and then we headed down into Summerland to our first real rest stop.

After a good break, we took off again to ride up Ortega Hill (which I hate and whine over all the way up it), along the 150 and over to Santa Barbara, along the coast (gorgeous!) and up to Hope Ranch (which involved another series of climbs). All along the way, the levels of the back pack varied. Lisa was riding strong. Herb was not. He's having a rough patch lately. The difficult issue with this is that Lisa wants to push, Herb can't. Do I wait for Herb? Do I stay up with Lisa? Do I drop both of them and try to catch the fast guys? Or...do I just quit the ride and go have a margarita? I'm thinking a double with extra salt is the way to go.



Anyway, it was push, chase, wait...console, push, pass, wait...sigh, catch up, pull, chase, tease, get passed, wait. Now, here is my dilemma that really has nothing to do with my buddies. I love the group I ride with as these are very smart, kind, fun folks. But I think I'm an anomaly in that I hate competitiveness. Really I do, even though Herb will risk getting his ass handed to him by teasing and telling me that I don't ("you are too competitive!"). He says he thinks I'm competitive with everyone who passes me. Oh, really? I guess I should damn well ride solo to just prove to everyone that my speeding up (oh, yeah, cause I can) is really not my way of racing them? And, oh yeah...I didn't drop him yesterday. Or anyone else. Nor did I make excuses when the fast guys left my ass in the dust within two seconds. Nor do I really give a flying rat's ass.



Is it the recent Tour de France that is bringing this out in everyone? Funny thing is...at one point (lunch), I teased Lisa, calling her Contador and myself, Lance. This was after I passed her on a downhill (had to work like hell to do it, too!) and hollered out "You'd better up your game!" Her response was then to fly past me, stand and sprint up a long hill we had (up to Hope Ranch). Did I attack and blow past her? Hell no. And anyway, why? My teasing at lunch was sarcasm, but no one got it. My point was, we aren't racing. We're all friends riding together as a group, supposedly, on a century ride. In all fairness, the fast boys did hang back long enough to regroup throughout the day. However, in the last 20 miles, it was every dog for himself with guys trying to pass girls, etc. What the hell is that?



I, on the other hand (and you may think me a dumbass, sorry sack), with my strong legs and all, hung back. Why? A rider was bonking. I don't care why he bonked...he bonked. He felt like hell and was having a hard time. Did I leave him (like he normally does me?) I didn't and rarely do. The only time I leave riders is when they purposely join on rides way beyond their riding levels. To me, that is their foolish egos getting in the way, and I don't baby egos. But with respect to the group I ride with, all of us are strong riders. However, each of us has had a bad ride day where we were hurting or had to quit. I'm always prepared to ride solo if I have to but if the ride is in a truly remote area, I'd hope that someone (likely whom I've waited for and helped on another ride) would wait back with me and help me - or perhaps, the group could help pull the one suffering rider. Oh, Herb will wait, of course, and he rode back with the bonked rider and me yesterday, and he rode back with me last week when I damn near bonked on Baldy due to heat. But sometimes...I wonder about the others and if they would even notice if I fell off my bike and into the ocean. And, yeah, that bothers (and worries) me a little.



Anyway, I promised folks that I wouldn't blog here on my frustrations, but sometimes I just have to. Some things need to be said, and I'm not sure direct confrontations are the right way to do it. So, I just say it aloud and hope the folks it might matter to hear it. Therefore, I'll say it again...we are not racing. It is not a race. It's a ride. If I'm not riding with folks that I feel are there to ride as a group (especially when there is a hurting rider), I might as well ride solo or just find one or two folks to ride with. But I'm finding the larger groups and the 'pushing' for what?-I-don't-know unappealing. As I mentioned, I could have dropped folks myself yesterday but I didn't. I find no pleasure in it, cause when the day is done, there is no podium for me step up on and no crowd to cheer my victory.


Oh, and on another note - my friend, Rob, rode his first century yesterday and I'm very proud of him!

bike route

Riding 30+ miles the day before a century ride might not be the wisest thing to do, but I did it anyway. It was just so pretty out today. Definitely warm, even at times too warm, but the air was oddly cleaner (or seemed to be) than on other days this week. Perhaps it was the very friendly breeze blowing through the valley and over my shoulders that fooled me. Or perhaps it was the powder blue skies and tissue-thin clouds (not a puffy one up there today).


No matter, the ride was wonderful and (go figure) on a day where I had no witnesses to see it, I kicked Trash Truck Hill's ass. Yup, I went up it with ease and in my middle ring. I just had legs today, and I pray they stay with me through tomorrow's ride as well.



At Mt. Hollywood, I turned and began the climb up that canyon, but within 200 feet of it, my pal, the breeze, evaporated. Then it was hot, and I was not willing to take on the canyon in heat knowing the miles I've got to pedal tomorrow. I turned around and reluctantly headed back down. From there, I descended down past the golf course and out almost to Los Feliz Blvd. I flipped a U-e and stopped by the pony rides to buy a drink (half diet Pepsi and half Orange Bang). It was here that I pet two of the saddest horses I've seen in awhile.



Poor things. Neither wanted anything to do with me, but I cooed and risked a finger to pet them anyway. Someone needs to show them kindness as it's obvious they get so little of that on a daily basis. If the world were according to me, no pony/horse buggy ride sh*t would exist. I'm not a believer in a child's right to pony rides. Buy your children bicycles, folks - far better for them and for the ponies!

After calling home and talking to both Mom and Dad, I finally pulled back out on Zoo Drive and followed it to the bike path. It was very quiet out there and the only riders I saw were one helmet-less older guy and two chicks in tank tops. I stopped again on Victory to buy a cold water. Did I mention that it was warm?


I realized that my time was slipping away, but I really wanted to sneak by the cricket shop and pet the two female beardies that I wish I could adopt. I try to stop there and pet them every chance I get. I wish I could bring them home, but no way. I just don't have the room for them. Besides, Boo, spoiled rotten little Boo, wouldn't have it. I've created a diva-dragon, for sure, one who just looks at me lazily anymore when I put her out for a "walk about." These days she just wants a "lay around."

From Scales 'N' Tails, it was smooth sailing all the way back home. Other than my climb up Trash Truck Hill and Camp Griffith Park, my route was flat and I don't think I blew my chances of a good ride tomorrow. I hope not anyway. I'm heading to bed here in a couple of minutes. I'm tired and this has been a frustrating week. Job hunt sucked, I suffered writer's block and have just been a little out of sorts. I did get this, though:



It takes so little to make me happy these days and I squealed when I saw this. I wore it today on my ride and plan to wear it on all my rides. Yes, I know...girlie and kind of Fred-ish. Is there any surprise in that? Didn't think so.

on the hills above the city

No mountain biking for me tonight, no dirt trail, no strenuous hill to spin out on. That meant both cursing and elated squeals were kept to a minimum, but that does not mean that I didn't ride nor does it mean I didn't enjoy it. Oddly enough, I think I may have gotten a better or, at least, equal workout. Hard to tell, and since I couldn't mountain bike due to bike brake issues, it really doesn't matter.



The ride I was on included me and two other riders, Herb and Jason. Now, mind you, Herb is faster than me even though he'll sandbag and pretend he's not. Tonight, however, I think he truly was having the kind of evening I've had too many times to count, one where you're happy to be on a bike but not happy to have to ride. Make sense? Basically, he was just really tired. I've been there myself and understand that feeling, so I kept my teasing to a minimum (mostly). I was a little mellow, too, but on parts of the ride, I performed beyond my usual. One of those times was when climbing up Trash Truck Hill (I hate that f'n hill!). I damn near lost a lung due to the smog-sh*t air we got out here at present but through hacking and snot-rocketing, I finally made it up it, and in pretty good time, actually.



As we headed up Mt. Hollywood, I spun up more than I pushed. I was too busy enjoying the beautiful, yet hazy skies around us. The air was cooler than I expected and I sweated less too. But that gawddim smog. Ugh...I need to move to Montana or wear a gas mask when riding, one of the two. I just kept clearing my throat (and nostrils) and focused on the climb.





At one point, Herb told me there was a snake in the road and, of course, I had to go back to photograph it. It had found a rather large mouse for dinner. I felt so badly for the mouse, but, hey, snake's got to eat. I don't think it was a rattler, but it did make an odd noise at me (hiss, maybe?) the closer to it I got (which was not more than five feet away!). It's rare that we see a snake up there and even in killer mode, it was a pretty one.



After that it was just climb to the top (I hate that last steep section), descend and then...descend again down Ferndale only to turn around and climb again...bonus hill! Herb opted out (can't blame him), and Jason dropped me like a badly microwaved potato (always does), but I dug it.



My legs began fatiguing here but not my spirit or enjoyment of the ride...and talk about endorphins!! By the time I'd crested Observatory hill and found the men in the crowd of folks out tonight (what was going on?), I was feeling the endorphin rush. This just inspired me, so I rode over to the ledge by the observatory to take a pic of the shadowy hills in the distance.






We then headed back on our usual route, past the Greek Theatre and up into the Los Feliz neighborhoods, again quiet this week. Stupid 14% grade hill (Parva?) wasn't so bad tonight. I was slow, though, so luckily the guys waited. We took the park route back and skipped the bike path (missed those annoying gnats!) and here is where I tried (unsuccessfully) to stay on Jason's wheel. Jason is freakishly fast and without effort, it seems. I hung for awhile but finally just let him go. The sprint was worth it even if I'm knackered now. I guess you could say I kinda pushed it tonight. Our final stretch home was uneventful but enjoyable, and I'm so glad I joined those two men for our usual (but always a little different) night ride.



Now...I think putting my head to a pillow is a wise idea. I love my night rides! I never sleep better than when after pedaling out all of my frustrations and leaving them on the hills above the city.

Wacky Wednesdy...revisited

I've already had a Wacky Wednesday this year, but it looks as if I'm going to have more. Today can only be described as such, that or it's my mood, sadly soured. Why so grumpy? I'm not sure, truthfully. Job hunting is going exactly as I'd expect, and I've heard similar tales of unemployment woe from others in the same boat as I'm in. So, it's not as if I woke up this morning and thought, 'the economy sucks, who knew?" Nor am I in any worse shape than I was when this started. Still haven't touched hardly any of my severance (okay, $300 of it!) and am living off the EDD I'm receiving. But I will concede that I'm getting restless as my mind keeps drifting...to other places and a different life. I'm just fed up with LA at present (likely the heat pressing down over the city like someone's fat armpit that's getting to me) and all of the LA idiots I somehow keep encountering.

I haven't been commuting as much by bike lately, which is a pity. It's the whole smoggy air thing and aggressive sun lately that dissuades me from doing so. That, and I value my life. Is it me, or do drivers just naturally get nastier and less focused on the task of actually maneuvering a 2,000 pound automobile during the summer months? On my last few commute/errand type rides, I've had very close calls with motorists, and I can't say this hasn't spooked me (even more so than I've been spooked of late!). I even had a close call today while in my car - only it wasn't a collision I feared but more a violent altercation, and one where I'd be the aggressor.

Some idiot decided to just park in the driveway of the store I was at and leaving, thus blocking my exit as cars kept pulling in on the left so that I could not go around. I honked (softly at first), and the driver stuck his arm out the window and shrugged (as if saying, "what? I'm parked") I honked again, held the horn down, lost my cool and rolled down my window.

"You are not allowed to park where you are parked - it is not a parking place! Please move so I can get out." Again, a shrug and something mumbled I could not hear.

I decided to reword my request - "Move your f*cking car! NOW!" I yelled this with the enthusiasm one would use at a Lakers' game.

Guess what? He moved. I'm sure he could see the look in my eyes through my dirty windshield. I'm not exactly the most put together person right now being that I don't have to get dressed for work, so the image he saw was that of a mad woman with wild hair. I honestly think I scared the man into moving his car. Go figure.

Had I been on my bike, of course, I'd have avoided that altogether, but Nellie's brakes must be changed. The back brake pads are worn so far down, it's a wonder I was able to slow the bike this past Sunday on my descent off the Glendale Motorway dirt trail. I probably should have driven Nellie to my bike shop yesterday, but given the traffic for the Michael Jackson memorial business, I avoided the 101 and 134 freeways like the plague. When I called the shop this morning, I found out that they are backed up with bike repairs already this week (due to the 4th of July holiday) and can't get to Nellie until tomorrow. Sigh. There goes my mountain bike ride tonight - one I was looking forward to! Luckily, Herb (and the fast boys) do want to ride GP this evening. I'll hop on Patsy and enjoy, but really, I had my heart set on that dirt climb up to the towers to 'drug' me back into a good mood (endorphins!).

On another topic (also affecting my mood), I really wish folks on Twitter would STFU with respect to the tour. I know everyone wants to talk about it as it happens, but since everyone is talking about it, I almost have to avoid Twitter altogether to not hear a spoiler. And I'm definitely not the only one complaining. I've had three different Tweet friends personally thank me (privately) for keeping my mouth shut about the Stage results. Others (guilty parties) have defensively suggested that we (those of us who don't want to see/hear spoilers) had better not be following Lance Armstrong or the TDF Twitter accounts. No sh*t, Sherlock! However, when I follow mostly cyclists and over half of them are leaking TDF results prematurely, it becomes an issue of me not following anyone if I don't wish to hear a spoiler. Um, hello? Twitter is a social network, not a sports broadcast station, and last I checked, if you want me to keep following you, shut up! There, I said it - not so politely, but I think it's fair to request.

And speaking of the tour, I just can't get over this one:


Why? Really. I like Ben Stiller and all, but will someone please explain to me the exact connection, cause I've seen video of him where he really doesn't look interested in the tour (results and all), like this one:



His manager/PR person needs to remind him of the gazillion cameras around him. Ben should look a little more pumped up over being there and the actual race itself. And someone...please...cut the man's hair! Again, I really like Ben Stiller and think he's funnier than hell, but I just don't get it with him being at the tour, introducing Lance Armstrong, getting on Lance's TT bike...?? Is Lance Armstrong a fan of Ben Stiller?

Regardless, I am a Lance Armstrong fan, a huge one, always have been. Do I think he can be a jerk. Sure. I don't care for his videos on Livestrong where he attacks his critics. Personally, I wish he'd just ignore them. However, I am not appalled at the Nike commercial he made stating that he isn't riding for them (the critics). I think it (the ad) a powerful statement and really, folks, he is truly helping the cause for funding cancer treatment and continued research, and I believe his passion is as genuine as it gets. He is also one hell of a pro cyclist and athlete. Hate him if you want to waste the energy, but I'm rooting for him and for Astana, and I'm not doing it for any of you (my critics)...so there! Heh heh.

Lastly, on this here Wacky Wednesday, there is that whole Sarah Palin quitting the governor job thingy. Ha ha ha ha ha...oh, so perfect. I told a friend recently that I don't believe she's going to run for President in 2012, nor I do think she really liked being governor once the VP bid went 'poof!' She really can't take any public criticism (not sure she understands it or has any real self awareness to handle it). No, I'm thinking she's got some TV movie in the works, one about her life, and guess who is going to play her? Well, her, of course! And if that falls through, she would make a very good talk show host. Tyra did it so, really, anyone can. Palin could become the next 'good-looking' Rush Limbaugh if she wanted to (I do think the woman is pretty). I'm very serious - she has the fan base for it.

Oh, and if you want to laugh, here is her twitter account to follow: http://twitter.com/AKGovSarahPalin or you can follow this one: http://twitter.com/hockeymom64. I find the real twitter account funnier than the fake one, but it did take a minute for me to figure out which one was the real one. Then I saw the 'verified' on the first one and smacked myself on the forehead. Just another one of those moments in my wacky day, I guess.

embarrassing fiasco

If anyone reading this is a Michael Jackson (rabid) fan who went online to enter a lottery to win a ticket to drive to the Staples Center to pick up a bracelet to then attend the mass memorial services today for the recently deceased pop star - please exit blog now and enjoy the festivities...um...I mean services. For the rest of you who are like me - pissed off at the whole thing - you may (or may not) enjoy my rant.

I grew up listening to the man's music, and I've already stated on here how much I idolized him (at age 13), but as a grown adult who doesn't know him, never met him and, sorry, doesn't think he made outstanding contributions to society as a whole (some folks actually are not fans of his, can you believe it?), the use of taxpayer dollars to fund his memorial service (will get to that in a minute) and his creepy family's indulgence makes me sick. Media coverage thus far of the enormous memorial service planned for today with fans smiling broadly on camera and giving mini interviews as to how they got their tickets (do I really need to hear about what a loser you are for staying up 48 hours glued to your computer screen to try and secure a seat at a memorial for a pop star you never met?) is a disgusting display of how celebrity and our society's worship of it is still so very out of control.

People have lost their jobs (hello!!) and their homes, and our state is damn near bankrupt. California (with it's celebrity governor) has no budget to speak of and many beneficial public programs are on the chopping block (one I'm distressed over - public parks may be closed), yet the city has found a few million to fund this memorial service today. Yup, that's right. We citizens of LA will be covering these services through our tax dollars whether we are fans of Michael Jackson or not. And his freakazoid family will be enjoying the party the most. Are you a resident of this here LA LA Land? If so, here is some reading to get your blood boiling:

From EOnline!
From The Huffington Post
From Ohmygov.com
From LAtimes.com

My favorite above is the LA opinion piece on LATimes.com. The question of what rational universe would allow this is a good one. Even if tourists visiting the city buy a few million dollars worth of hot dogs and glow sticks while swaying to MJ tunes inside the Staples Center, it does not justify the use of tax dollars. As a tax payer (granted, not a huge one at present, but I've put my share in over the years), I would like those dollars allocated to something, anything, other than a mass memorial for a celebrity. Hell, spend my tax dollars on an elaborate birthday party for Governor "Terminator" for all I care, but not on this excessive (and sick) public display of celebrity worship.

It's creepy, folks, and really there is no way to argue out of that one. If you knew Michael Jackson in person, your need to mourn and go look at his white face in the casket one last time is understandable. But if you never met the man (like the gazillions who are standing in line to buy their nachos at the Staple Center as I type this), please don't even attempt to justify the spectacle...or, better yet, embarrassing fiasco.

Sadly, Michael Jackson lived as a tortured soul, someone so desperate to find an identity other than the one chosen for him, he literally erased the color of his race. For all his millions and amazing talent, I wouldn't have wished for his life but do wish him peace in death, something he will never be granted. After all, just look at that freak father of his and how happy he appears to be over the whole 'death of his son,' as if this is Michael Jackson's greatest hit. In interviews over the past week, he can hardly contain his joy. Well, he does stand to gain a tremendous amount by taking over his son's estate and children's futures. What absolute control he has finally gained over his son. Just like in life, MJ is expected to earn for the family...in death. I think his death was in a very sad way the biggest performance of his life with respect to the dollars it will bring Joe Jackson. Jackson Sr. must be very proud, indeed.

I didn't allow frustration to creep in

I didn't drink last night, but only cause I had to make up for my mistake of drinking a tad too much on Friday night, the same day I bailed on Baldy for heat issues. No doubt I was dehydrated somewhat following that ride and most definitely, I should not have over imbibed. Does common sense ever stop me? No. Yesterday, I had a nasty hangover all day and did not ride (gasp!). I had planned a killer mountain bike ride this morning with Herb and Eddie.



I just had to get back up the trail I mostly walked two weeks ago. I mistakenly called it Stough Canyon when the proper name of the trail is Verdugo Motorway. It's a series of fire roads up in the Verdugo mountains above Burbank and Glendale which connects to La Tuna Canyon. There is tons to explore up there, but it's a steep climb in the beginning to even get up to where the other trails connect. It isn't a technical trail, by any means, but it is a workout indeed. The road is eroded in places and there are ruts, loose gravel and sand. The first time I rode it, I was nervous to climb it and scared to descend it (although I did so on bike). Today, I had a much better experience.



When I got up at 5:00am, after falling asleep around midnight last night, I wasn't sure I could pull it together in time to make it to The Hub by 6:45am. Herb and I wanted to start early with Eddie joining a little later. Our hope was to beat today's heat. Due to my lethargic state, however, I did not arrive right on time and instead rolled in right at 7:00am. This put us on the trail (by the time we'd loaded the bikes and driven there) closer to 7:30am. It was already warm. I was already in a mood.



As we took off on the first section, which is the steepest out the gate, I got all of 50 feet again and unclipped. No way did I have it in me to power up it. My heart rate shot up way too fast. I (again) told Herb to just keep going and began walking my bike. The mood I was in was sour, certainly, but fortunately I was in no frame of mind to allow my ego or my inner quitter to get a word in. I shut my mind off and after walking about 20 feet, I got clipped in and with sheer force, turned the pedal over and clipped the other foot on the first try. From there, it was power up to the next point of intolerance and unclip again.



This went on three times today. Three times, my heart rate soared and I simply stopped to get it back down again. I would then find a rhythm and take off once more. I didn't think about it. I didn't allow thoughts like, "move it, you fat ass!" to enter my mind. I didn't allow frustration to creep in or poutiness to overcome me. I'd like to say I HTFU'd up that mountain today, but that wasn't it either. No. I got up there today cause I promised myself I would. Did I poorly plan on a holiday weekend? Of course, cause that's the kind of sh*t I pull. Herb was game and, given that I kept my grumpiness to a minimum this morning, very pleased that we both were doing as well as we were. It took about an hour of suffering for the drugs (endorphins) to hit my system. Those little happy chemicals are like crack for me, and that was when, suddenly, the gorgeous views of the city below caught my attention.



We rode up so high, all the way to a series of towers, that you could see all the way to the ocean, through Griffith Park and Mt. Hollywood, downtown LA and down the coast. It was socked in with fog along the horizon so my eyes never could decipher between where the fog line ended and the deep blue sea began, but I didn't care. I'd kept my promise to myself and I was rewarded for it.



Also along the trail are these interesting lawn chairs (or at least, that's what they look like). Someone had a sense of humor when putting those up there. They are made of some kind of plastic that doesn't need paint nor will it likely ever erode (not in my lifetime anyway). Herb and I sat in these a few times when we needed mini breaks, but for the most part, we just rode our asses off.





At the top, I insisted that Herb call Eddie (whom we hadn't seen hide or hair of) and I began yelling out over the mountain, "Eddie!!!" as loud as I could (scaring the many lizards and bunny rabbits who were out today, I'm sure). Eddie was nowhere to be seen, so Herb and I explored a little past the towers. As we headed back and down from where we'd been, I hollered out one more time, "Eddie!!!" with as much volume possible (which is a lot for me cause I got good lungs). From just a bit down the trail, we heard Eddie holler back, "Hi, Mary."


From that point, we just followed Eddie back up (bonus climbs!) to a really steep Tower and hung out on a ledge shooting the breeze with a rather attractive mountain biker who'd come out to play as well. The views up on that ledge were even more impressive than any we'd seen all morning and I began planning some crazy epic mountain bike ride up on AC with the boys. As we took off back down the mountain, we stopped at one spot to watch a stealth deer go running with ease down the side of the hill and were for a moment stalled by the vision we'd seen.





I definitely am digging the dirt scene, or at least fire roads anyway (I don't do single-tracks, remember?) The biggest advantage is that there are no cars. From there, it's the whole beauty aspect. I use to be crazy hiker, so mountain biking is like combining the two, best of both worlds, and certainly something I'm going to keep doing.



When we got to the bottom, Herb discovered that my brake pads are worn down. Oops...time to take Nellie in for a spa day at Budget Bicycle. She needs a little sprucing up and her chain is embarrassing. I'm going to take her over this week as I want to hit that trail again on Wednesday (maybe). We've got CAM #7 next Saturday, so that may be pushing it.

puking is not an option

I've already written on here about my feelings regarding riding in hot weather. I f*cking hate it. I hate it so much, it makes me want to go out and punch random babies in strollers. High temps affect my riding abilities and my mood while others don't seem so bothered by it. I know riders who will go out in 100+ degree weather and climb all the hell over So Cal, later reporting on their heat filled adventures with the kind of gloating I find unsavory. They claim to flourish in soaring temps and look on me with pity as my face turns red and I wheeze while taking hits off my Albuterol (stupid asthma). Yeah, well...I think they are all bastards, quite honestly. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Seriously, I am the fair-skinned, light eyed individual who simply can't take a lethal combo of sun and heat. And today, the day I planned to ride up glorious Mt. Baldy, turned into the kind of hot summer day I never ever ever ever ever want to ride in again. I'll haul my ass out of bed at 4:00am to ride (solo) if that's what it takes. But no more feeling as if my internal organs are sizzling, no more nausea, and simply no more suffering for the sake of...nothing.

Now, do note, I'm the one who planned and invited others for the ride today. It is my fault that I believed the stupid weathermen/women and weather online predictions (highs of 81 degrees on Baldy, my ass!). I take responsibility for how my day of riding panned out. I just think that needs to be said. As for the ride, here goes.




I drove to The Hub and carpooled with Herb to Encanto Park. I was running a tad late, meaning we got to the park at 7:20am. Roll time was 7:30. We were all ready to roll at 7:33 when one of the riders discovered he had a flat. By the time it was changed and we took off, it was closer to 7:50am. It was warm out but not hot, and I was so excited to get up Baldy (I haven't been up it for over a year!). I was also pleased with the group that had showed up - The Lobsters, Andy and a pal, Vic (uber endurance man and super fun to be around), Kurt (another very pleasant man, new to the group) and a whole bunch of Adobo riders including Francis (my favorite), Rosalie (my idol) and Pete (a sweetie). It was a large gathering and judging from the crowd, Herb, Lisa and I would be the caboose (not that there is anything wrong with that).



As we headed out on SGRT toward Hwy 39, I was flying. My legs felt great. I did have a slight headache this morning (I had a little wine last night, but with dinner and counted into my WW points), for which I took one Advil. Other than that, I was on top of the world. In the early morning, coolish air, I felt alive, invigorated and set to climb all 5,800 feet of the beautiful mountain that stood before me like a monument to mother nature in all her glory. I continued to feel this good all the way up Hwy 39, climbing at a speed I've not ridden in awhile (again!). I didn't even push that hard, but caught a rhythm. The weather was holding out at this point, and with a soft haze down over the hills and the lake below the highway, I was certain we'd beat the heat. Foolish girl I am; when will I learn?




As we neared East Fork, the haze began to fade, and the sun's presence grew stronger. The Adobos, including Francis, had easily dropped me (like a badly microwaved potato) on 39, but they had pulled off for a quick break. I might should have followed their example, but still high from my steady climbing thus far, I continued with Herb and Lisa in tow on up East Fork to the cafe there. It was when we stopped that I realized the heat had arrived. I quickly hit the girl's room, drank another 1/2 bottle of water (I was fully hydrated) and added some ice to one of my bottles. I then doused my head handkerchief and sports bra with a little ice water. I knew Little GMR, the steepest and toughest climb of the ride, was just around the corner. I was a little concerned since the sun seemed so much brighter than when we'd turned on East Fork, but I pushed those thoughts from my mind, clipped in, hollered at the Adobos that they'd catch us, and took off, again with Herb and Lisa as well as Vic and Kurt, who'd waited for us (such nice guys!)




As we began that 5 mile climb up Little GMR to GRR, I still felt strong. My legs were holding out. Still, I pulled the speed back and pedaled softer than before. The heat had fully arrived at this point, and it was well over 81 degrees. We rounded a couple of curves, and Kurt mentioned to me that I had one more gear left. I didn't believe him so I checked by tapping my right lever. Then, like a dumbass, I tapped my left (for what reason I just don't know) and knocked the chain up into the middle gear. Drats! I quickly knocked it back down, and my chain came off. I was so pissed (at my own stupidity) and stopped to fix it, urging the others to keep going. It was here, while fixing my chain, that I knew I had a problem. For one thing, my face and neck were really hot. And for another, my heart rate was alarmingly high. Gawddim it! I jumped back on Patsy and took off. I figured it would get cooler as we climbed so I hauled ass to catch first Herb, then Lisa, up the hill.



As I pulled up to Lisa (who does just great in heat and was climbing fine), a cloud covering moved to shade us a tad. There was a nice breeze. Oh, thank goodness, I thought to myself. I was foolish enough to believe this would stay with us, so I took it up a notch. As I climbed a bit ahead of Lisa, I again thought of the mountain ahead and how much I was hopeful for cooler temps once we passed the GMR/GRR intersection. Vic, who'd climbed ahead, had come back down to continue climbing up with us gals. As we rounded another steep curve, we came out from under the cloud coverage and, as if on cue, the breeze stopped, just stopped. I swear, it was as if two large invisible hands wrapped around my neck and squeezed, it was so hot. I could feel the heat rising from the pavement to my cheeks. Suddenly, and without warning, a wave of nausea hit, hard.

I pulled my bike to the side of the road. Herb, who'd caught up, asked me what was wrong ("is it your back?") and got snapped at (sorry, Herbie). I was now taking in deep breaths. I grabbed my water bottle, the one I had put ice in earlier, and took a large swig, realizing too late what a mistake that was - the water was hot! I sat for a second, pondering my situation. Here is where my ego got the better of me. At this very point, I should have said to myself, 'At GMR/GRR, you go back down Big GMR to the car.' Instead, I said aloud, "HTFU, M.E." Seriously, when will I learn?


As I finally struggled up the final section of that climb and came to the ledge where we always take a break, I admitted to myself that it was way too hot for my comfort level. Regardless of how everyone else was coping, for me, the rest of the ride would be misery. I kept shoving these thoughts out of my head, though. After all, this was Baldy, my favorite ride, and my God, it couldn't have been prettier up there than it was today! I could taste the ice cold coke I'd order at the lodge as I sat there in the insufferable heat. I envisioned myself pushing through and climbing to a cooler section of the mountain (yeah, as if that exists on days like today!).

The Adobos were over by the Big GMR gate taking another break. Those are smart riders, those guys. They know that mountain even better than I do (well, duh - Francis is the person who first paced me up it in late 2005!). I should have followed their example and taken a longer break, but the desire to get out of the now stifling heat (and to feel a breeze, any breeze) motivated me to shove a melted Luna Bar down my throat (I was not hungry and didn't want it, which should have been yet another clue that I was overheating) and get back on my bike to continue.






I kept a game face as I rode with Lisa through the first section, up and then downhill for a short stint. I engaged her conversation and really listened to her, trying to ignore the waves of nausea crashing over me. My head now throbbed and my throat tightened. As we began the real climb on GRR, the first bit of bile mixed with regurgitated Luna Bar arrived at the top of my throat. I pulled the speed way back and watched Lisa continue up the mountain without me. Vic and Kurt were just beside me. I smiled at them and watched them go too. Then it was Herb, good ol' true blue riding buddy of mine, and me. Herb will never leave me, just as I won't him. It's a pact certain cyclists make with one another without ever saying a word. Since we took on the CAM challenge, we have designated one another riding partner. You don't leave your riding partner, certainly not when he/she is hurting. So, Herb stayed and we began our snail's climb up Baldy.



As I continued on with the burn of swallowed bile lining my throat, I knew what my options were. I could climb slowly on up to the lodge (assuming I could make it), turn around and admit defeat or puke. Well, puking is not an option, ever, on a ride. Once you puke, your electrolytes will be shot to hell. Given that I now had only one bottle of hot water to drink and over 8 miles to ride to the village, all of it climbing in 90+ degree weather, I realized how dangerous my situation could become. I've overheated on very few rides and only twice have I experienced nausea. There is nothing worse, take my word for it. And heat stroke can kill you very quickly, so I don't take this stuff too lightly.



On top of all of this, Herb was hurting too. He hates Baldy, if truth be known. Mt. Baldy to him is like Big Tujunga Canyon (Big T) for me. He's had more than a couple of bad rides out there, and those memories ride with him every time he attempts to make it to the lodge (which he's only gotten to twice). I've had very bad experiences out on Big T myself and dread that ride (although, like Herb, I will still go out there and go up it). Today, Herb's legs were not with him and he was struggling. He'd already asked me if I'd consider turning around by this point and silently suffered my temper ("NO!"). But as I stood on the side of the road with my head down over my handlebars, swallowing more bile and looking at my sweet friend patiently (and with concern) waiting for me up ahead, I knew I had to choose. We had crawled another mile and a half with me stopping every 100 feet or so. It would take us another hour and a half (or two!) to get up to the lodge at that pace, and it was only getting hotter, not cooler, on that mountain road.

I had the sense God gave a lemon, ignored my ego's nagging insistence and made a decision (the right one). "Herb?!"

"Yeah?" He had his hand on his hip, the way he does when he's fed up with something.

"I'm going back." (translated: "we're going back.")

I could swear I witnessed his entire body relax with relief as he stood in the ridiculous heat. "Yeah, me too."

As we turned around, two riders approached. I asked them if they knew how hot it was. The woman rider looked down at her thermometer. "It's 104 according to this, which means it's in the 90's, and hotter in the sun."

Oh, well, look at that. Here we were standing in the sun. That was all I needed to hear. I barreled back down the section we'd climbed and sludged up the few hills we had to ascend to get back, but by the time I began the long descent down off Big GMR, I was flying, free-fall style, cutting the curves with perfect ease. Herb would later compliment me on my descending today, surprised at exactly how fast I got down off GMR. Like I told him, I have the skills to descend very fast but normally choose not to. I know riders personally who have crashed on GMR (and other mountains) due to speed and not seeing one wayward rock or patch of gravel. I never want to end up sliding down GMR on my backside, if I can help it! But today, I'll admit that I threw caution to the wind, and descended at a very high speed. I wanted a cold coke and a sweet patch of shade to recover in, and all I had between me and that was one long, winding mountain road.


Back at the car, we both hung our heads. Not only were we hot but both doubted our own abilities. Silly, really. I know that had it not been hot today, Herb and I would have climbed that mountain at a very respectable speed (by my standards). I'm still fat, but the six pounds I've dropped are noticeably gone on the climbs, and I had the legs today to carry me up all 5,800 feet of Baldy. As it is, we still ended up with 50.4 miles and 4,400 feet of climbing. Enough, certainly, for most riders, but Herb and I are similar creatures in that we expect more of ourselves. I reassured Herb that he would have gotten to the lodge had I not been the big, fat noose around his neck, dragging him back down the mountain prematurely. Herb just shrugged his shoulders.

"You waited and rode back with me last week when I was hurting. I waited and rode back this week with you." He said this in a way that needed no reply. Yup. That's our agreement, though we've never shook on it, and I have to say, today I'm so glad he kept his end of the bargain. Nothing like having a good friend there to console you when you have to quit Baldy early.

porn star

I have noticed something at the gym (now that I go kinda regularly). There is a 'gym crew' that sorta hangs out there during the week. Yup. A full cast of characters that just do their thing (lift weights) all week long, all day long, or so it seems. Granted, I've not gotten my lazy arse out of bed and to the gym before 10:00 am since being unemployed, so perhaps these characters don't show up at the crack of dawn and stay until all hours of the night. But they most certainly are there between 10am and 5pm most days. I will spare you descriptions of each one as, really, they are all very pleasant to deal with, and I don't mind them there one bit. I saw each and every one of them today, as a matter of fact.

However, there is one character I just find so amusing, I have to share. She's someone a neighbor (who also frequents my gym) and I joke about all the time. We call her 'Porn Star.' She's the most...um...colorful of the bunch, and definitely the most under dressed. For one thing, she has the largest honking boobies I think I've ever seen on a petite Asian-mixed chick. They have to be triple Ds or Es or maybe even Fs (???). Seriously. She must have paid half the price of what a modest home (2 bedrooms, 1 & 1/2 baths) in California would cost for them, cause it most certainly took 60 pounds of saline/silicon alone to create them. They don't move, by the way, and I do mean 'they don't move.' She performs all sorts of weight lifting exercises that would cause the average breast to at least bend or slide slightly, even when encased in a sports bra. Oh, no, not Porn Star's breasts. They are 'rocks of Gilbraltar,' let me tell ya, and she is so proud of them, she displays them like basketballs bound in duct tape.

I can't take photos of folks at the gym as it's against the rules, which saddens me as I'd really love to photograph her and post it here. Not to make fun, but for you to see exactly what I must avoid staring at every single frickin' day I report to the gym. For sheerly informative purposes, I'll describe what she looks like, or better yet, how she's dressed.

Since I have no pic, this was as close to what she looks like -
only with her eyes open (with heavy makeup), standing and...um...at the gym

She's about 5' 3" or 5' 4" (I guess - shorter than me but not the size of a child) and a unique mix of color and features, all very pleasant; not classically beautiful, but certainly eye-catching with puffy red lips, heavy brown eyes and a flat, perfectly chiseled nose. She wears dark, smokey eye makeup (which is very in style at present), lots of jewelry and a little black and green colored workout outfit (a bikini top with boy shorts four sizes too small for her). She occasionally wears black and lavender, same style. The top is like a bra that, honestly, would barely cover my itty-bitty B sized breasts, but somehow (she must have help) those size triple D breasts get shoved all up in there, and I've yet to see one pop out (if I do, I swear I'm running for my camera even if the gym expels me for good). Her cleavage starts at her chin, but she doesn't seem to mind. Personally, I feel she should make better use of those hooters and try tucking the barbells she walks around with in between them. Lord knows, the barbells would be supported just fine, and then she'd have full use of both hands (which end in long, colored nails).

As for the belly rings...(s) plural...I can't imagine her doing sit-ups as I would think there would be some risk of those snagging on something. I'm betting the belly rings are 14K gold, so she's got some money invested there, but I just don't know how she works out with those sticking out like that. They match the hoop earrings she's wearing, so there is that, but still... Oh, and did I mention the way-too-small boy shorts? I feel I really should tell her that her butt cheeks, albeit flat, are sticking about two inches out from under those shorts, but I'm concerned I'll hurt her feelings. Besides, she is very considerate about putting a towel down between the bench seats and her ass; so no harm, no foul.

Oh, and she has the prettiest, bright-white smile. I've seen it when she flashes at the few men who dare to approach her, let alone look at her. Can't blame the poor men in the gym. I mean, really, whether she means to be or not, she is literally a walking, wet vagina, the way she's dressed. Maybe I'll mention that to her next time I'm there.

Or maybe not.

The rest of my day involved no breasts, vaginae or porn stars, just job-searching and (fingers crossed) a possible interview at the beginning of next week. In the meantime, I'm super-stoked for tomorrow (Baldy!!!!) and the weekend. Plans, every day and night...I'm going to be plume worn out by Monday. Just the way I like it.

he won't be coming after my bike

Today was a mix mash of all sorts of stuff, and between talking to a new recruiter (and being submitted for a position) and washing four loads of laundry, I was a busy girl. I had intended to ride to fetch crickets for Boo, but due to poor planning, that got scratched (she still has worms, so she won't starve anytime soon). I wasn't worried about it since I knew I had my night ride to look forward to this evening. Most of the men went off to do some insane hill-hazing kind of ride in the hills above Burbank, but Herb and I wanted a mellower kind of evening. After all, we've got Mt. Baldy to tackle on Friday. So, we decided to just do our normal Griffith Park Observatory ride.




I arrived at The Hub just before 6pm and was ready to roll a few minutes after (I only got away with being tardy since it was just Herbie and me). We took a relaxed pace to the park and headed straight for Trash Truck Hill. Just as we began that long, painful climb, a police car (er...truck) came flying down. The police officer behind the wheel used a PA system to inform us that we would not be allowed to use the road. I immediately turned around. Herb toyed with continuing but got scolded by me. Did he want to be arrested? Anyway, we headed in the direction we had come from on Zoo Drive and as we passed the officer, I asked him if we could climb the other side to the observatory.

"No, sorry. Road is closed all the way through and up to the observatory. We are searching for a man we believe stole a vehicle."

That was all I needed to hear. I convinced Herb to follow me (which I was surprised he did), and we pedaled fast around the park, past the zoo and toward Los Feliz. Herb again toyed with trying to climb (sneak) up past the golf course to Mt. Hollywood (the back side of Trash Truck).

"Um, no, Herb!" I reprimanded. "I don't want to get shot by some criminal looking to steal a bike for a get-a-way."

"Well, I was planning to push you in front of me if that happened," he joked back.

"He won't be coming after my bike. He'll want yours," I chided.

"Maybe he's really little and will want a girl's bike." Herb smiled at this as if he was picturing some small midget criminal. "He won't want my bike."

Oh, good grief. "We'll climb up into the neighborhood!" With that, we headed to Los Feliz, hopped on the sidewalk and began climbing the steep streets in Los Feliz. Herb asked me if I wanted to go the 'easy' way or the 'hard' way. He should never ask those kinds of questions on evenings where I clearly have attitude. "Hard way!" I hollered and took off.











We then both hit a wall of 12-14% grade and eeked it out in our grannies. It felt great (although, after yesterday's weight routine and plyometrics, my legs are noodles now). Herb fake-grumbled, but I could tell he dug it. It was quiet (mostly) up there and a nice change from our usual route. Once on the other side, we did take the 'easy' route back to Riverside (we basically did a loop) and down to Fletcher, where we hopped on the LA River bike path. It was so gorgeous out with the setting sun.





I then convinced Herb that we should take a new route back to The Hub. Again, he agreed (he must have been tired today or something and didn't want to deal with my antics). We took an easy pace back and arrived before sundown. There I drank a light beer (64 calories! I didn't even know they made them that light) while sitting Indian style on the driveway. I told Herb that the beer only cost me one point with WW. I then bossed him around about what he was to eat for dinner (I'm the food nazi now, remember?) and puffed my tummy out (it's already out so puffing it further wasn't difficult in the least). I poked it several times and told him that I'm a weeble-wobble. However, with that said, I've lost 6 pounds thus far. Once I hit 15 pounds down, I'll start to feel good, but for now, The Pudge is still sucker punching the hell out of me. Sigh.





Now, I'm exhausted and can't wait to crawl into my fantastic bed (I love my mattress). My bedroom is uber clean and everything is in its proper place. I have zen again. Now, I just have to keep it that way!