MyDogParty

if your legs fell off, you'd be all butt

2010-01-02T18:40:00.001-08:00

Today, I rode my first official ride of 2010. Yesterday, I snail-trailed up one tiny canyon in my neighborhood and pedaled without real purpose, solo, for no more than 1.5 hours. I can hardly call that a ride. So, today's sufferfest was the official first ride, and I will confess straight up that there were moments during it in which I wanted to quit.

I met Herb at The Hub...sound familiar? Yup, my first ride was with the usual suspect, who coincidentally is also the last person I rode with (in CA) in 2009. Only today, we were not meeting to ride a century but to tackle Stough Canyon, a climb up a mountain dirt trail to some towers. I've ridden there and have described those rides on here, so this is nothing new and it should have been nowhere as daunting a ride as it turned out to be...for me.

Herb rode just fine although, clearly, he'd not made a New Year's resolution to stop frickin' sandbagging. From the moment I arrived at his driveway, he was grumbling about how tired his legs were from riding Big Tujunga with the boys yesterday. I'd skipped joining them, although Herb had urged me to, as I feared I was in no shape to complete that ride. In hindsight, I made the right decision. But Herb should have saved his breath when bemoaning the state of his fatigued legs today. He beat me up every climb (on bike too) and, as I told him throughout, he could have done it one-legged.

We parked and took off from our usual spot on Stough Canyon, heading toward the trail head, both of us a tad concerned with how warm it had already become by 9:15am. As much as I had whined about the recent cold weather I was out riding in (Fried Chicken Land), I was wishing for an arctic breeze this morning. I hate climbing in heat and I already knew that my shape was not as fit as I'd like. I said as much to Herb, adding, "I'm so fat Herb. See this?" I gathered my belly fat and shook it at him. "This is what I've got to lose."

"Oh, puhleeze," came his usual reply.

"No, seriously, Herb. As my friend, you don't need to worry about hurting my feelings. I'm not in denial. I'm fat. I'm out of shape and this is pathetic...and it's not going to last." I then went on and on about how I'm not drinking alcohol (I'm not), cutting out most sugar and salt from my diet (when possible) and whipping my sorry butt back into stellar shape (I will).

There was a slight pause after I had finished my diatribe. "Okay. You're pleasantly plump."

"Fat! So much so, you can even make fun of my fatness all you want." I said this with true conviction and without real consideration of exactly what permission I was granting Herb. I will have to remember this in the future.

As we took off onto the dirt and began the first very steep climb, I stalled out within minutes. My legs were not only uncooperative, they were apparently MIA. All I had were stumps of blubber to work with, and those don't fair well on steep inclines. It wasn't helping that my heartbeat was insanely high and my eyes burned from wayward drops of sweat. I discovered later that my bandanna had soaked through within minutes of beginning the ride.

Last but not least, I was wheezing with every exhale. Asthma has been my Achilles' heel of late, more so than usual, and I'm not sure why. Regardless, I've been waking in the middle of the night coughing and fumbling for my Albuterol inhaler. Last night was no exception, and this morning, my crack pipe (Foradil) did nothing to clear the cobwebs from my bronchial tubes. This meant my gasping as I attempted in the heat, sweating and swearing, to climb Stough Canyon to the Towers (Herb's and my destination).

This also meant my walking my bike...a lot...and swearing loudly each time I did so. Walking one's bike when out mountain biking just calls for excessive swearing. You can get away with walking, in fact, if you swear like someone has just spit in your milkshake. That a way, those riding with you, who have to wait for you as you push your 30 lb bike up the hill, will fully believe that you were committed to riding your bike and hate like hell that you're having to walk it, thus making them wait.

Herb wasn't buying it, though, even when I panted and hollered, "I'm getting to the towers if I have to walk my f*cking bike up there!" He just hollered back, "move it, maggot!" and "move that fat butt!" Yes, he did too use the word "fat," and then he would chuckle with an evil glee so very (not) surprising. I created a monster when I told him to make fun of me this morning, and that monster had a swell ol' time of torturing me all the way up and down the mountain today.

Truthfully, I'm glad he did. That very same tiny but shrill voice in my head that tells me to HTFU normally was screaming at me to quit today. It was hot, I was wheezing, my heartbeat sporadic, and worst of all, my legs were nothing but noodles. You try pedaling with noodles...it ain't easy. They were sore, too, cause (ding, ding, ding) I haven't been riding or working out like I should be. I'm not sure when it was in the ride that this fact dawned on me - I've not ridden a hard ride for over a month. A month! Yes, I've been active, but for the most part, when I was in Fried Chicken Land, I didn't work out nearly as hard/long/efficiently as I am accustomed to even on my 'taking it easy' days here in LA. Add to that the two weeks in December when I didn't work out due to work, stress and other bullsh*t excuses, and you have one out-of-shape, sorry-sack cyclist. That would be me.

So, this morning, while suffering and wanting to just flat out turn around (I did stop and rest several times up the mountain), I had to talk myself out of doing so. Basically, I had to tell my tiny inner voice that I normally obey to STFU. I was not going to quit as there really was no reason for it. Suffering is not a reason, not when it comes to cycling. Real pain that could lead to injury is another story. But let's face it; most of us rarely work out to that point. So anything other than injury or death is worth pushing through to accomplish what you've set out to do. At least...that is what I kept telling myself today on that dirt trail.

By the time Herb and I reached the Towers (finally!), I had to dismount and drag Nellie up the paved hill to the overlook. My legs buzzed with tiny needles, almost as if the muscles itched. My neck hurt and my arms quivered (from pulling up as I was climbing, I suppose), but I wasn't entirely defeated. The amazing, clear views of the valley below caught my labored breath in the back of my throat and soothed my imagination. Oh, how I love this city and in particular the mountains where, on a clear day, you can see to and through downtown all the way out to the ocean and down the coastline. I sat next to my friend on that landing, and as I rolled my eyes at his 10th fat joke for the day, I felt giddy and rewarded for the suffering I withstood to get to where I was at that precise moment.

After our break (and with our stomachs growling), it was one long, gorgeous, rewarding descent on which I had to slow my speed a tad. I was fatigued by that point and didn't want to make any mistakes that would cost me some skin. Instead, I feathered the brakes and just enjoyed every delicious second I had coming down off that mountain.

Herb? Well, even with all his sandbagging, he was way ahead of me on both the climbs and the descent which just gave him more time to think of fat jokes. His best ones?

"I couldn't tell your seat was too low, because your butt was swallowing the seat post."

"Here let me give you a hand as I think you made need some help getting that fat up."

"If your legs fell off, you'd be all butt. We could then just attach skates to you so that you could roll down the hill on your butt. Or better yet, you could just slide down the mountain on that thing. Come to think of it, we both could."

Sigh.

I got even, trust me. At lunch, I kept going on and on about how fattening his possible order choices were. I told him I'm back committed to being the "Food Nazi," and that if I have to suffer to lose weight, so does he. He tried to act like this didn't matter to him, but my guilt-trip worked. He ended up ordering what I did which was a chicken breast plate with salad and black beans (no rice). We both had a few tortilla chips, but even those were not entirely consumed (or fought over, like usual). So, I had an effect.

As for my fat butt, I worked it out today for sure. Like I told Herb, it's going to take about two weeks to get my fitness back (with daily workouts; cardio and weights!) and then all bets are off. The very first ride I want to do when I'm back in riding shape is Mt. Baldy. This year is going to be all about that mountain for me, as I hope to climb it as many times as I can. I'll also be looking for more dirt trails to explore. I can't wait. In the meantime...I'm going to go soak my tired, blubber legs in a warm shower.

effect some positive changes

2010-01-01T07:19:00.000-08:00

I arrived back into LA last night later than expected. Flying on New Year's Eve has its advantages except when bad weather is delaying flights. Although the airport was mostly a ghost town, both my original flight out of Nashville and the connecting flight in Phoenix were booked solid due to passengers from canceled/delayed flights jumping aboard. I do not enjoy being packed like a sardine into the fuselage of a B737, but I was thrilled with how empty the airports were (except right up at the departure gates, anyway). And folks were pretty mellow mostly. The only looks of worry I saw were on the faces of those I suspect had New Year's Eve plans to get to. I had none as I'd made none. All I wanted to do was to get back to my place, see my little Dragon and go to bed, with the hopes of waking up in 2010 refreshed and ready to go.

I wish airports were like this always

On the flight home, I finally gave some consideration to what my New Year's resolutions would be. I generally don't make any as I rarely remember them, let alone keep them over the course of a year. In fact, I don't even recall if I made any last year at all other than, "I will ride my bike." That's been my ongoing motto ever since I accomplished the arduous goal of Triple Crown. I worked my tail off training for the the double centuries needed to earn that accolade, but by the time I'd ridden all four (only needed three for Triple Crown, but I threw a fourth one in for fun), the actual achievement no longer moved me to tears. Instead, I felt nothing and rarely bragged about it except to say I did it. I still, to this day, haven't even bought a Triple Crown jersey, something I really should do. After all, I earned it.

I ditched the crappy, celeb gossip mag and bought this one...great articles in it

This makes me curious about my own nature. I'm kind of a sour-puss when it comes to goals and resolutions. I will make them but I'm not big on enjoying the obtainment or on exercising bragging rights once I've accomplished them. Take weight loss for example. I told myself four years ago that I would shed weight, down to a size 4. I did just that, slipping into size 4 dresses with ease (the size 4 pants were a tad snug as I have a booty, but I was still able to get them on!) within six months. Then, instead of celebrating the fact that I had accomplished my goal and working to mantain it, I wasn't satisfied and found other physical flaws on which to focus. My arms have always carried weight and even when I'm thin, they are a problem area. In lieu of enjoying my then flat abs and shapely, lean thighs, I instead obsessed over my upper arms not being twig thin. Whenever anyone would congratulate my weight loss, I'd reply, "thank you, but I'm still working on it...see these blubber arms I got on me?" I'd then squeeze the fat on my upper arm into a puffy ball as proof. Now, however, I'd happily live with my fat arms if I could only get those abs and thighs back!

As for making other less superficial resolutions, I can't come up with any that I honestly think I'll focus on keeping. Sure, I could resolve to learn a new language, complete more crossword puzzles, read more, watch more films, visit museums, volunteer more, take yoga, meditate more, be kinder/calmer/more patient/more generous and a better listener. But, come on now, do I really need to make 'overall improvement' a resolution?

out my plane window, heading west...glorious

No. I decided on the plane that I wasn't going to make those kinds of resolutions and instead just commit to changing my life a teeny tiny bit to effect some positive changes. I've been sitting in a neutral gear for awhile after going in reverse for over a year and a half. It's time I kick it into drive, and I don't mean overdrive. So, for 2010, here is what I've decided.

I'm not...

1) continuing to do what I've been doing and expect change
2) ignoring myself or others
3) creating/facing any unnecessary conflict
4) checking out, hiding, denying or giving up/in
5) drinking (promised JT that I will not have a single glass of wine until I shed at least 30 lbs.)

I will...

1) seek to find and maintain balance in my life
2) seek health and healthy options (I'm buying some organic, raw honey today!)
3) lose weight (but with no specific goal in mind, just lose it!), exercise, get sleep, drink water
4) buy a Triple Crown jersey
5) ride my bike

my last day in Fried Chicken Land

2009-12-30T06:52:00.000-08:00

One more day and I fly back home and return to my normal routine. At this point, Mom and Dad are sick and tired of me. I can't blame them for wanting their house back without me around to complain, anymore than I can blame myself for wanting to get back to my apartment with my pet and my piece and quiet. At heart, I'm a loner and I need my space. My parents need theirs. And really, how many adults go and stay with their parents for two weeks straight? But that's how it is done here in Fried Chicken Land and, fortunately, this visit (like the last one) was a good one with little to no arguing. JT told me yesterday that she's proud of me for how 'good' I've been. I'm not entirely sure what she means, but I accepted her compliment.

As for my time here, I've mostly enjoyed myself, and I do love my parents (very much so). In fact, Mom just let me rummage through her jewelry boxes where I scored two silver rings and a silver necklace. She would not, however, let me nab the black pearl necklace Dad gave her a few years back. "You can have that when I'm dead," she said. Lovely.

As for Dad, he's sleeping at present since he had to work last night. Luckily, we got another ride in yesterday. Actually, he shocked me when he suggested it, given our less than enjoyable experience from the day before. I guess with the sun out, he just couldn't resist the urge to pedal, commenting, "riding outdoors is far more enjoyable than riding on that trainer I got sitting down there in the basement." I hear that - that's my Dad! - and eagerly agreed. We were again bundled up and multi-layered when we stepped out into the sunshine and took off on a route Dad rides regularly. He calls it his "hood ride" or the "The Hickory Loop." It's a ride from the house out to some back country roads and around up behind our neighborhood. I like his route as it only puts him out on Highway 12 for just a few short miles. Otherwise, he is out riding on quiet streets with little traffic.

The only real threat Dad faces on any route here is the Redneck dogs that run out into the street to chase his back wheel. I counted (and dodged) five of them yesterday: a large, spotted, ferocious mutt, an even larger black Boxer with a tiny white mutt sidekick, and two little yapper dogs who ran out as a pair, kind of like a front-wheel-back-wheel tag team with teeth. I slowed to a stop each time those dogs took off after me which basically took the fun out of the chase for them, and they backed off. It isn't worth it to me to be taken down by a Redneck dog. Dad just kept pedaling full steam ahead when he was being chased, and at least two of those dogs got dangerously close to his wheels. I worry for him that his method of trying to out pedal them is going to cost him the other side of his collarbone (the side he didn't break when he crashed earlier this year), but he didn't seem all that concerned.

Redneck Dog

And another, Redneck Dog

Redneck Dog Tag Team

As for the temps? Well, it was as if we were riding in a heat wave (34 degrees) compared to the day before (28 degrees), and the sun certainly cheered us up. I like riding with Dad, although he got snapped at when he asked me, "you okay back there?" You see, I was yet again way back behind him on the climbs. As I've already reported on here ad nauseam, I'm fat. I'm not going to deny it or downplay it. My riding (climbing in particular) is crap because of it, which is all the more reason why I need to get home and back on schedule. I'm suppose to ride with Herb this weekend, but I may bail and just go ride solo. I don't feel good about myself and not due to appearance but performance. It's going to take a few weeks of riding and regular (scheduled and disciplined) workouts to get back into good shape again.

Nothing like a new year to get everyone focused anyway. Next week, I'm back to work and I have to admit that I dread it a little. Where I work is going to be insanely busy and I'm going to have to stay focused, get lots of rest, eat right, exercise and cope. In fact, this will be the case for a good month or two. I'm up for the challenge, but at the same time, I wish my dream of winning the lottery and running off to live a simple and car-free life in Copenhagen with my slightly older, equally bike-crazed Danish lover (yes, that is my dream) would come true. Of course, I'm lucky to have a job and to have one I like (with folks I like). Honestly, this is the first time in my life where I'm not dreading the thought of dealing with my boss on Monday. The one I have now is a nice one and will only expect me to roll my sleeves up to help him in the new year. That I can do.

As for my last day in Fried Chicken Land? I'm going to the gym (it's back to overcast and freezing outside again), packing everything up, going to lunch at the local Japanese buffet (yup, another buff-it!) with Mom/JT/Dad and then running around with JT to either see another movie or shop. She and I saw Avatar last night with one of her friends. I was so moved by that movie, I actually dreamt about it last night. It's an outstanding film with such beautiful images. JT and I may even go back and see it again today, that's how fantastic an experience it was.

Then, tomorrow, I fly home. I simply cannot wait to see Boo. I miss my little cold-blooded, scaly pet. I miss my bed too. New Years Day, I'm going to get up, go mountain biking and then come home to get everything in order for next week. This weekend I want freed up to ride and just relax. Oh, and lots of walk-abouts are planned for Boo. I'm not sure how long 2 weeks is in dragon time, but I hope she hasn't forgotten me. My neighbor who is watching her says she's just fine, eating her collard greens and everything. That's a sign that she isn't stressed in the least which is a relief - and it means that she'll be good zen for me to come home too.

I hate being fat

2009-12-28T17:29:00.000-08:00

One thing that drives me the maddest at home with my parents is when they deliberately try and change time on me. Look. I'm reasonable. And to hell with those who say I'm not. I am. And I'm kind. And...I love my parents. But for some damn reason, we play out the same bored, tired, irritating dynamics that we play every single frickin' time I'm home.

Last night, I said to Dad, "How about we ride to Cheatam Dam like we did two years ago; you know? 40 miles or so. Up for that?"

"Why, sure," he replies.

Today, however, he decides that he's got to take care of an important issue on the phone for over 1.5 hours. I'd told him last night that I would not be up until 9am, and we'd not clip in and pedal off from the house until 10am. That's plenty of time for him to handle what he's got to handle (he and Mom were up since 6:00 according to Mom) but oh, nooooo....he's got to wait until 10 minutes (according to Mom) before I get up to call the company he has to call and from there it's another 1.5 hours.

Now, mind you, in CA, if anyone (I do mean anyone) pulled this sh*t with me, I'd leave him/her. Anyone else who had to deal with me if I did that would leave me, as he/she should. But with Dad? Hmmmm. Well, I let 10am go by. I 'twittered' and watched TV and...fumed. I wanted just ONE frickin' day to ride with my ol' man (i.e. Dad) but he never ever ever ever ever is ready when I suggest. I was so mad, I was ready to ride off without him. I promised and threatened that I would. But I never do. Even two summers ago when I took off on my bike without him and left him....I waited for him. Maybe I should make good on my promises?

Anyway, five minutes before I was to brave the cold on bike without him, he began dressing and fretting and looking for all the the various items he couldn't find for his bike ride.

"He does this all the time," Mom said, suppressing a giggle. She loves this sh*t, lives for it.

"And that should move me how, Mom?" I shot back. I'm so over this, I can't even tell you.

"Well, he is your Dad, you know?" Yeah, he is. Painfully so. Sigh.

I waited. I tapped my foot. I took my time putting my gloves on and feigning loss of items (I knew where everything was). Still, he wasn't ready. Nope. He was in the kitchen filling water bottles.

"Where are mine?" I asked.

"Well, these are," he said, pointing to the two filled water bottles on the counter. Damnit.

"Thanks," I said as gruff as I could. I was so mad at him but yet wanted him to move his a** so we could ride. The sun was out this morning, but that didn't mean a thing as it was still freezing.

"I'm ready," he said. No, he wasn't. He didn't have padded shorts on.

"Dad? Your shorts?"

"Oh, hell," he realized his predicament. "I'll go change."

By the time we took off it was 11am, and it was cold; so cold, I could barely draw a breath. Gawddim asthma! I was wheezing without effort as the chill in the air was so pronounced. I gasped a few times, pedaled, gasped some more. I mostly snot-blew and wheezed my way down Highway 12.

Dad told me to turn at Macacree Creek Road (or something like that). It was just before a bridge that I turned. I was so cold and so fat that my base layer kept riding up (over my ample-padded hips), my breathing labored and, truth be known, I was miserable.

"How's it going back there?" Dad yelled behind him as he passed me (easily) and crested a small but steep hill.

I was wheezing and shivering and cursing him. "FINE!" I said in a tone close to harsh. The anger I'd had for him earlier when he was stalling on the ride had now risen to fever pitch over his passing me on a hill I should have climbed with ease.

I hate being fat.

"Well, me too!" he said, oblivious to my umbrage at that moment (that or he didn't care).

I pedaled harder and tried to breath. Oh, good Lord...it was so cold. Dad said the high for the day would be 40 degrees or so, which sounded like summer if you asked me. But the temp was nowhere near that when we were riding. I would breath out and see the fog in my breath.

We kept pedaling, and I was hopeful for as many miles as I could get, but as I rolled forward in the frigid winter air, my thoughts turned to warmth. Look it. I can HTFU with the best of them, but when I'm so cold my teeth are chattering, I can't feel my fingertips or knees and my cheeks burn (yes, burn) in the wind to where talking is difficult...well, it's time to call it quits.

I pulled over on the side of the road beside the first horse sighting of the day....I was stalling.

"Hey, Dad, stop. I'm going to pet the horse."

My fingers burned too at this point, but I pet the gorgeous white horse before me. He/she didn't seem all that friendly, but still, it was a break from the freezing wind. I really wanted to cycle on, but...

We then took off again with Dad in front of me, his exposed ears purple. Sheesh.

We came to a four-way stop, and I asked which way to turn, my tongue practically stuck to my gums. Dad said to go straight, and I asked if it would be 'shorter' (to the house) to go right. He said, "Of course it would!" Yet, he'd never admit to it if I'd not asked! What is wrong with him? Okay, mind you, I threatened to a) leave him and ride alone earlier in the day; and b) ride 40 miles when he suggested just 20, but still? When we are both shivering and miserable (and he knows it...he could barely walk when off the bike), why not pick the easiest and fastest route home?

It was here (at the fork in the road) that we met the sweetest woman who had a Basset Hound, a Corgi and a six-month old colt. A perfect opportunity to stop and pet all three. Highlight of the day, I must admit. The woman was so sweet, she even invited us in to warm up by the fire, true southern hospitality.

We didn't do so, but instead, we thanked her and took off pedaling our way back out to Highway 12 and home. Dad was grinning widely when he yelled, "We have a beast of a climb up ahead, so enjoy the long descent now!" He's just not right, I tell ya...not right (...in the head).

I stopped my bike and demanded he stop. It was nasty freezing at this point (the sun had disappeared entirely behind clouds), I couldn't feel my toes, fingers, nose, cheeks, lips, ears, thighs or knees. "I'm going to call Mom," I yelled.

We then stepped into a Phillips 66 station (so warm inside!) and waited until Mom drove her Honda up to gather us, shivering and joking with the employee there, who was shaking his head in disbelief. I think he and the others inside thought us completely crazy. They'd be right, of course. We were (and are).

Oh, and the guy there told us the temperature at 1:00pm - 28 degrees with a wind chill factor of 14. Who the hell rides when it's that cold?

End of story...except, well...rest of the day was buffet (pronounced buff-it) and dog (frickin') drama.

Beam me up!!!!!!!!! Oh, and I love my family....really I do. I just need to get back to where I can ride my bike without fear of a limb or digit freezing and breaking off.

beam me up, please

2009-12-23T17:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, I'm over the south now, so beam me up, please. Sigh. I knew this would be how I would feel at present (six days stuck in the deep fryer) but I flew home as early as I did and am staying as long as I am since I got a "cheaper" ticket to fly ($500 compared to $850). With a rental car, I'm still looking at a grand or more for my trip. And, if I have to pack and head to a motel (like normal adults do), I'll be out more money. So far, I've not lost my temper enough to check into Days Inn. I just leave the house either by bike or car for awhile, and that seems to help.

I'd be happy to never see another Golden Corral again!

Today, I left by both bike and car, first riding for a couple of hours and then driving to watch The Blindside with JT. I would have ridden longer today but it was so ugly outside (I took hardly any pics since there was nothing to look at); gray, brown and blah. Still, I loved being on the bike, pushing through the wind, sweating. I needed it and if not for the raindrops suddenly pelting my sunglasses, I'd have ridden all day. I was forced to come back to the house where I wanted to just sit in peace, but I had Dad laughing at and sharing descriptions from the peopleofwalmart.com. I don't find that website funny. You see, I may call the folks of the south (and Midwest) 'rednecks' but I don't photograph them secretly and make fun of them. In my opinion, those who do that are far more white trash than the folks they are photographing, but Dad found it funny and wanted to share...every.single.entry.

JT at the opening of Dunbar Cave

Instead of losing my cool, I left the house with JT in tow. We drove off with Dad standing on the porch asking, "where ya'll going?" He wasn't invited, nor was Mom. I figured it was a good idea they have peace and quiet while JT and I had time away. Typical family crap, I suppose.

Dunbar Cave from a distance

Lots of these swimming around

JT loves me being home. She and I are very close and rarely fight. We drove down to the Cumberland River last night to walk through the Christmas on the Cumberland light show. As much as I hate Christmas, I'll go look at lights any day. Besides, I love being down by the river at night; it's eerie and has always fascinated me.

Today's outing and movie wasn't as energized but equally enjoyable. I really liked The Blindside and was bummed when it ended. It meant having to drive home where for the last 1/2 hour it's been the f*cking dog drama, yet again. I'm so tempted to drive to a motel and check in (like a normal adult), but I'm holding off for when I really can't stand it. Tomorrow we drive to Missouri to visit my Dad's side of the family (Grammy, yeah!) and Mom's side.

Christmas on the Cumberland light show

I'm looking forward to seeing my loved ones but I hate the trip. Main reason? So few green vegetables. I know that's kinda odd, but when I can't get to fresh veggies, I get creeped out. The hodunk, hicksville towns we're driving to have restaurants that only serve iceberg lettuce or boiled green beans (with ham hock and butter) as 'green' vegetable sides. For three days, I'm going to feel even more blubbery than I already do. I think next week, I'm just going to drink protein drinks and eat steamed broccoli to recover from this week. Ugh.

Oh, and there was just more drama in the house...JT's pants are too long for her (so she has nothing to wear to nowhere), and Mom just stormed out of the room as I told her that I can't stand her demon dog snarling at me for, oh, just sitting here across the room from him and Mom. Well, that and I told Mom that I was going to check into a motel (like a normal adult), and this, for what reason I don't know, is the ultimate insult. Seriously, beam me up, please!!!

I hope I can ride tomorrow before we depart. That's about the only thing that keeps me sane in Fried Chicken Land.

it's dogs, dogs, dogs

2009-12-21T06:59:00.001-08:00

Today is my mother's birthday. She turns 71 years old, and she just said, "don't tell anybody." I'm not. I'm just writing it in my blog. I want it recorded that I'm actually home on her birthday when typically I'm not. Most years, I call to serenade her with a ridiculous, off-key version of Happy Birthday to You in which I stutter and squeak it out over the phone line. Lucky her, she gets it live and in surround sound today.

We're going out to eat somewhere, probably Red Lobster. Mom loves that place and since it's her birthday, she gets to choose. I'm just happy to go out. I can go out on my own, but since I'm here to visit with my family, I'm trying to tough it out here in the house. The issue I'm having is that it's dogs, dogs, dogs all damn day. My mother has always had her little demon dog, but Tippy has been upstaged in the last couple of years by the dog my dad got, a Vizsla that my parents keep locked up in a large kennel right smack in front of everyone in the den.

Her name is Belle and she's the sweetest dog, but I suspect her breed is better off kept in a large yard and not in the house. Plus, Dad refuses to get her back into a proper discipline class (she "flunked out" of the first one). Thus, she jumps all over everything and everyone any chance she gets, knocks things over and just causes all kinds of mayhem if allowed out of the kennel. When in the kennel, she whines to be let out. I don't know if my parents just love the drama or what, but there is constant commotion - whining, opening the kennel cage doors, talk about the dog, taking the dog out, feeding the dog with great production and discussion, etc. I love my parents, but I hate how they just ignore the fact that this is annoying and unpleasant. Well, that or they just don't care.

I know, this is their house and they can do as they please, but then they wonder why I don't want to visit for long. If they were to visit me in CA, I wouldn't let Boo jump all over them or dominate the day. Of course, Boo wouldn't be an issue, anyway. She doesn't whine to be let out of her terrarium or knock things over or stink. Lizards rule as pets, by the way.

Today is a prettier day outdoors than yesterday in that the sun is out. There is frost on the ground so it's possibly colder out there today than yesterday when it never warmed above 34 degrees. I know how cold this is, too, cause I rode in it. Dad and I both did. We bundled up and took off on a ride down to the Cumberland River and back.

I love that route. I discovered it a couple of years ago when I decided to go exploring on the back country roads here and then introduced my dad to it. He now rides out there all the time. The roads are fairly car-free and the pavement is butter smooth. Plus there are cows, goats, roosters and horses to keep a person company.

We only rode 16 miles (I got about 20 as I rode a bit before dad joined me) and believe it or not, I was tired afterward. I think it was the bitter wind chill factor that wore me out. Even though I had on fleece tights and a fleece jacket (my dad's and it's way too big on me), gloves, wool socks and a full head cover, I could barely keep my core warm when rolling through the wind. The chill hurt, my gums even ached and my toes went numb! I can understand why folks who live in these kinds of climates don't ride in the winter and just stick to indoor trainers. It's mentally difficult to motivate in these temps when sitting around drinking rum totties is so tempting.

Dad did well, though. He's use to the winters here, riding in the colder temps, and was having a better time of it than I was. He even "yippeed" at one point. I wasn't as enthusiastic but I can't say I didn't love pedaling. Plus, it was so pretty along the back roads and down by the river. I know the photos aren't awe-inspiring, but trust me, if you were out there, you'd see the beauty, even in the wintertime. Dad commented that it was kind of nice not having leaves on the trees obscuring our view and pointed out that there were houses up on a hill I assumed was nothing more than woods when I rode out there this past summer. The Cumberland is always pretty to see, and when kissed by some rare and fleeting afternoon sunlight, the river's surface appears as smooth as glass. My teeth chattered as I snapped photos, and I thought of how Herb and the others were riding in 80 degree weather back in CA. I was envious for the warmth but, hey, I had Dad, cows and even one lone rooster (just walking on the side of the road) to entertain me, so I was content.

The rest of the day was...well, more dogs...and now? Tippy is yapping out on the front porch which woke Dad up and my mother is panicking, "Oh, my God, how long did I leave my little dog out there?!" Sigh.

Still, it's (so far) been a good visit.

I paid my $7 too

2009-12-19T06:38:00.000-08:00

One day into my Fried Chicken Land visit, and the crappy weather has hit. It isn't snowing, although that is expected at some point next week, but it is raining. And it's gray. I really dislike the gray given that there are no leaves on the trees and it's muddy. This renders the normally lush landscapes here hues more brown and gray than green and blue. Yes, I realize this is winter and not summer, spring or fall, but I can still complain, can't I? (that's a rhetorical question, of course)

I got one little ride in yesterday before the drizzle began, and I rode the mtn bike I've now named Tammy Whynet. Tammy is a better name, cause unlike Dolly Pardon, the name I was going to give the bike, it is more fitting. Tammy had been around the block quite a few times more than Dolly ever has - and this bike is certainly worn! I told Dad that it really just needs a very good tune up, but I'm not willing to take it in to the local bike shop given how little I'll be riding it. As for yesterday, I just rode it a total of about 12 miles, a little over an hour's worth.

Dad didn't go with me, he needed to exercise his dog, and I wasn't interested in riding with him around my parents' huge backyard on a mountain bike while an overactive Vizsla chased us. That's what he does, rides his mtn bike around the yard with her just right off his back wheel. I saw disaster written all over that if I were to join, so I hightailed it out of there and rode Tammy, creaking and crackling, down to Old Gratton Road and back.

Tammy...my new (used and abused) mtn bike...it's a bike so it's all good

Dad in his pajamas showing me his new mtn bike...isn't he cute?

It felt so good to ride! I haven't done squat for a week and a half, and my legs were so grateful to be moving. It was a hard workout too, given that I was on a whole new, heavy bike. I kept futzing with the sticky, stubborn chain which meant my having to climb most hills by using sheer brute leg force and not the easier gearing that bike should offer me. I was breathing in cold air that felt like a soft, clean washcloth across my lungs (except when the rednecks driving pickups and trailer tractors passed me), and the wind was chilling to the bone. I found myself panting on any incline but never wheezing. I did (finally) get a good sweat going and I heated up enough to enjoy the ride, which then improved my funk-of-late mood. Cycling is Prozac!!!!

Gray, brown and blah along the country roads in the winter

Finally, I worked up a good sweat! It was like 46 degrees at the time I took this photo.

However, in the south where the rednecks breed, you got the dumbest folks allowing their huge dogs to just run free. Those dogs don't stay in their yards and prefer to chase anyone or anything on two wheels. One particularly large canine took off after me right near the end of my ride. I was scared it was going to knock me off my bike and bite me (I was on a slight uphill and couldn't out pedal it!) or it would be struck by some oncoming car. So, I began weaving back and forth across the road. What did one of the drivers who saw me but was far enough back to slow down do? Honk at me. Yeah, as if I didn't see his bigass pickup truck barreling down that narrow, two-lane road! I finally stopped the bike and screamed at the very large (but friendly as all get out) dog to back off as the motorist drove by with a disapproving look on his face. Oh, well, sorry...forgive me for trying to get your attention so that you wouldn't hit me or the dog...REDNECK!

Look real close and you'll see the dog just taking off after me...sigh

The rest of the day was spent on typical holiday family outings. Lunch with Dad and JT at Ruby Tuesdays (we stuffed our cheeks full of salad) and a movie with JT. She and I wanted to see Precious and what little we did see of it, we truly enjoyed. The rest we'll have to go back to finish, as we walked out of the movie theatre 20 minutes into the film. As luck (our pitiful luck, anyway) would have it, two mothers walked in, both with babies in their arms, to watch a film where every other word uttered by the actors on the screen is "motherf*cker," "f*ck," and "crack-skank-ho-c*nt-tw*t-b*tch" - seriously...who brings children to these kinds of films?

One of the babies looked to be about two years old, and like a typical two year old, he didn't want to be in a dark theatre watching a film about a 16 year-old abuse survivor, living in Harlem around crack addicts and prostitutes, learning how to read and trying to better her life. Can you blame the child? He yelled "no!" over and over again, jumped up and down and eventually took off running up and down every row of seats he could find, including the one in front of where JT and I were sitting, while his mother chased (meandered) after him but never accomplished much more than disrupting the movie further by yelling herself ("come back here! I said to stop it! I said...!"). I shushed her many times with hot anger rising in me like lava, to which she cracked, "I paid my $7 too."

JT and me out on the town...and before we stormed out of the theatre

But even if she and the child had sat down and shut-up, by that point, the film had been ruined. I stormed out to the lobby and insisted that a theatre manager come remove her and the two year-old immediately. There were two managers, a very large (tall and wide) male and a very small, rather timid-looking female. Somehow, it made sense to them that the female would be the one to solve this dilemma (rock-paper-scissors, perhaps?). She tiptoed into the dark theatre and asked the at-a-minimum, 250-pound mother to please leave. The mother did exit the theatre with the then screaming, kicking baby being dragged behind her with one hand. But I think she misunderstood the theatre manager entirely and thought that "leave" meant "go out and then return in a few minutes so that your child may start the ruckus all over again - cause, after all, you paid your $7 too."

Sometimes, I think people are just beyond ignorant and rarely do I think anyone should breed. I would have loved to have told that woman that. However, instead of getting into a major altercation with her (cause, let's face it, it would have escalated), I decided to let the manager(s) of the theatre have it. I stormed out into the lobby a second time and yelled at them instead, insisting that 1) they should have asked both mothers to leave the premises and 2) they really shouldn't allow children under 5 into any film, even if the parents are accompanying them. Children under 5 should never be allowed into any movie theatre in my opinion...keep your little trolls at home where they belong!

JT and I took my Dad's delicious sugar free, whole wheat, low fat cookies for a treat!

Now, just so you know. I did not curse or cause a scene. I simply demanded my money back. Instead, the manager gave me 4 free tickets that are good for any film, even Avatar (which apparently costs more to see). I was pleased with this offer and marched back into the theatre where I had left my skinny sister sitting in her seat fearing that those two mothers were going to come up and beat her senseless in retaliation for my complaining about them to the managers. I gathered her and my belongings, and we left - not without my first saying to the one mother still standing in the middle of an isle with her two-year old baby wailing, "Thanks a lot for ruining the movie." The mother, whom I expected to say a few choice words back at me (after all, she had no respect for anyone in the movie theatre, why would I expect her to keep her mouth shut at that moment), said nothing. I have no idea if the diminutive female manager was successful in getting her and that baby duly removed from the theatre after that, but I sure hope so for the sakes of the other moviegoers!

Now, JT and I will have to go back to watch the film, but we basically got free tickets to see Avatar! I'm looking forward to that one too. We didn't stick around last night to take in a movie as it had started pouring rain, and we wanted to get home. We swung by (Super) Walmarts where I bought a pair of jeans, two sweaters, panties, socks, sterling silver hoop earrings and some tops and panties for my sister - all under $80! I love Walmarts here. Today we're headed to Target and Park Belks for a couple more items (I never pack clothes when I come home). We're also heading to the gym this morning (soon) as it's way too yucky outside to ride a bike (sigh).

At least I got a ride in yesterday, and it's supposed to stop raining and get kind of nice outside before it snows, so hopefully Dad and I will get at least one good ride in. We haven't decided if we'll go on slicks or knobbies but it's kind of nice having both to choose from!

that little grunt is getting to me

2009-12-18T08:46:00.000-08:00

"Knock it off, Tippy. That little grunt is getting to me, and I'm going to have to whack you with the newspaper." Those are the words my mother just spoke while sitting on the couch. Oh, and she just whacked Tippy with a newspaper on the top of his head to which he omitted a small 'you-hurt-my-feelings' whine.

A rare moment when Tippy isn't trying to eat my face off

Tippy is my mother's demon dog who tries to eat my face off every time I come home, where I currently am as I type this. It's cold here but not nearly as cold as I thought it would be. There are birds, multicolored all over the bird feeder just out the back porch door, three Red Robins actually (that my mother calls 'nature's Christmas tree ornaments') and one Bluebird bully (chases the other, smaller birds off). That's about all the excitement we got going on at present...well, that and the Tippy newspaper whacking drama.

I flew home yesterday miserable. For what reason I don't know, I had an asthma attack yesterday morning, a serious one. It started with a sudden sensation of cobwebs in my throat (fairly normal) and that blossomed into a coughing fit where I feared I would blow my lungs on out my nostrils (not so normal). Breathing was an issue for a good 30 seconds or so, and I considered driving myself to the emergency room. However, I had already called a cab to come get me for the airport. Soooo...I figured I'd just HTFU, somehow breath (hack, cough, breath, hack, cough) and get on the plane home. I sucked off my Albuterol inhaler all the way to the airport, and by the time I arrived, I was back to breathing through cobwebs again. This continued on the flight(s) home.

One bright moment, however, is when I met Diggity Dave on my first flight to Vegas. I thought he was Adam Lambert when he stepped on the plan and darted down the isle, so I asked the fight attendant if he was, as I wanted to take a pic with him for my sister. She told me he wasn't Adam Lambert but that he was so nice, he'd likely pose with me. Well, turns out it was Diggity Dave from MTV's Pimp My Ride. I couldn't believe it. No, I don't watch that show (I don't watch much of any TV) but I do know of it. I was thrilled and he did agree to take a photo with me (I'm not posting it, sorry...and you don't have to believe me, but I think that's tacky, it's going to my sister only).

A pic of Diggity Dave from MTV Pimp My Ride

Dave is the nicest guy and, good Lord, he is good looking. His picture does not do him justice. The flight attendants and I took turns taking pictures with him. I wish all celebs were like that. Now, I'm a fan and I'm going to have to find a way to watch that show!

As for now, Tippy's snoring (the little b*stard growls and then just falls asleep...he's gotten really old). I'm about to get up, dressed and downstairs to check out the mtn bike Dad picked up for me last week. I'm going for a ride! Not a long one, as I'm feeling pretty yucky from yesterday's asthma hell, but I need a little exercise. It's not so pretty out, really grey and wintry, but I don't care. I'm so happy to be home!

JT and I are going to see the movie Precious this evening. I read the book (Push by Sapphire) on the plane home. It was very moving and disturbing, but definitely worth the read. I then gave it to the flight attendant who said she wanted to read it too. She gave me two drink coupons in return (I love Southwest), but I didn't use them. I'm giving my liver a rest for the next two weeks, and if I have a drink, it will be with Dad (he did buy some Blue Moon for us to drink after we ride our bikes). I want to detox my system, and being around my skinny sister is incentive!

it's really in everyone's best interest that I sweat

2009-12-15T21:08:00.000-08:00

It's a good thing I'm not violent. I'm so stressed out right now (from lack of exercise) that I'm a ticking time bomb. Add to that a stupid f*cking pharmacy that should go out of business, CVS, and I'm just about ready to go postal...well, except for that violent part. Although, I can understand why people snap, I really can.

Long story short: I go to pick up my 'crack pipe' and rescue inhaler prescriptions last night (ones I called in this past Saturday), and the employee behind the counter tells me that it's been filled at another CVS Pharmacy, one they "transferred it to per your request" (her words). I did not request any such transfer, told her so and said I couldn't wait 20 minutes for a pharmacist to fill them. I then left, called them (CVS) again this morning and was told for sure, without a doubt, as God was their witness, Jesus was in their hearts and all dogs go to heaven...that I could pick up my prescriptions tonight.

Oh, come on, now...guess? Guess what happened when I showed up a that stupid f*cking CVS Pharmacy this evening...

I yelled. I admit it. I lost my cool. No 'f' bombs were dropped and for that I feel rather classy. However, if I'd had a flame blower, several employees would be missing body hair at present. Nearly an hour after arriving, I finally got my prescriptions only to throw (yes, I threw it) one of them back at them (those inept employees on the other side of the counter). You see, I just signed up with Healthnet, so they changed my insurance info. My rescue inhaler, ProAir, is now $35 and not a $20 copay. It should be a $20 copay but I'm sure there is some glitch given that I'm new to Healthnet and all (I hate insurance companies). Did CVS Pharmacy, the worst, most stupid f*cking pharmacy that exists, offer to fill it with a generic brand?

Guess?

(deep breath...exhale)

I won't be able to exercise tomorrow anymore than I have had the opportunity at any other time this week (unless I really do want to get up at 3:45am to do so...sorry, I have my limits). My gym on the West Side is only open from 9am - 5:45am (holiday hours and just for this week) and my gym in the Valley is inconvenient to where I work (which means a farther drive). I have to be to work way too early tomorrow and then take Boo over to Herb & Ellen's tomorrow night. I'm still not packed for my trip to Fried Chicken Land and I fly on Thursday morning. There goes my bike ride I was planning before I board a plane. Likely, I'll not be exercising until Friday. I'm ready to burst at the seams and hate everyone, everything and my life.

Yeah...this is exactly why I exercise. Cause if I don't? I'm a stressed out, depressed, near postal individual. It's really in everyone's best interest that I sweat all this out of me. Will someone please get me through the next couple of days until I can ride my bike again?

denied

2009-12-13T16:30:00.000-08:00

My apartment is still not 100% together (as in tidy, neat and company-ready). It's near completion minus some more straightening, putting four loads of laundry away and mopping...but I wasted time today driving to a well-known bike shop (urban and more for the hipsters) to look at what I'd hoped would be my new (used) commuter bike. I realize that thinking my first trip to scope out a commuter bike would be a success was my first mistake. This shop, who advertised the bike as "a real steal" (as in a great deal, that or they meant it's "hot" as in stolen), tried to sell me a P.O.S. bike that was a) too small for me....way too small (I am not a prepubescent girl!); and b) total crap. The damn thing didn't even have proper working front breaks on it! I was most definitely denied.

Prior to this trip, I drove to my hairdresser, Jo-Jo, and got my long locks chopped off. No, my hair is not short. It is still past my shoulders but a good two inches shorter than the last time I had two inches chopped off -that's four inches in less than two months! But I'm sick of it and I'm sick of the time it takes to dry it in the mornings. Now, it's just below shoulders (yes, I can still put it in a ponytail that will hang out from under my bike helmet) and in many layers. I hate the way Jo-Jo styled it after he cut it (always hate the way any hairdresser does), but he did a good job. He just curled it. Eww...I only curl my hair when I'm feeling southern-redneck-WT, if you get my meaning. Not that I feel that others who curl their hair are southern-redneck-WT, it's just that since I grew up in the south and so very often curled my hair, I can't stomach it much anymore.

At present, it's pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, so I don't really have any good pics of it, but since I have a bizarre sense of humor, I posted a new pic of myself with it curled on Facebook. And I guess that means that I just have to post it here too. Heh heh

See? I shouldn't really curl my hair. Oh, and that was taken in my car. None of the photos came out anything other than kind of fuzzy (I had it on some stupid setting other than automatic), but you get the idea. I'm getting where I'm wanting shorter and shorter hair and I'm not sure why. I look awful with hair above my chin, so that will never happen, but I have worn a Bob cut well in the past.

Anyway, enough about hair and back to bikes. I did not buy the P.O.S. commuter bike and left thinking this process is going to be a future project, as in the new year kind of project, one I'll not focus on now. I'm not going to be riding a commuter bike until it warms up/lightens up a bit more out here anyway, so I'm thinking it won't be until February that I'll even need to worry about it. But once I get something in my head, I just have to have it right then and there. Sigh.

Oh, I did pick up Nellie. Herb was going to do it for me, but it turns out that our LBS is open on Sundays through Christmas. I can't ask him to do something I can do myself, so I swung by Budget Bicycles to retrieve her after I had left the other bike shop. She's all clean and lubed. Too bad I couldn't get home in time to ride her. I'm going to try to do so next Thursday before I head to the airport for my flight home. Then, I'll be riding my new (used) mtn bike that Dad and Mom picked up for me today in Hicksville (Old Hickory, TN). Dad sounded pleased as punch on the phone when he described it to me; guess I did a good job picking out another Craigslist find! I'm looking forward to hitting the woodsy trails on it with Dad while I'm home, at which time I will name it. Likely, the name will be Dolly as it's another Women's Specific bike, and since I already have Lyle Luvit (my Lemond), it just seems necessary to have a Dolly Pardon. Get it? (yeah, I know...I know...)

Okay, Sunday almost over, three days of many packed hours, gym workouts, new start on Weight Watchers (which I already started today, kind of) and then I'm headed to Fried Chicken Land. I won't return until the eve of the final day of this year. Weird to think that I'll be both in TN and LA on that day and then...2010 begins.

just my dragon and an apartment to clean

2009-12-12T11:48:00.000-08:00

In less than a week, I board a plane bound for Fried Chicken Land. Yup, going home for Christmas and never, ever have I been as excited and genuinely happy to go. See, in the past, going home for Christmas meant Tennessee Williams type drama - much of which I helped create. I'm lucky the parents I have love me the way they do as I've taken out past grievances on them over the many years since I moved to Los Angeles. It's complicated as all family scenarios tend to be and nothing worth going into, but needless to say, this Christmas, the last one I'll celebrate in my thirties, I have a whole different perspective about my going home.

I think the last year is what did it. I was reminded of what's important to me and what matters and how fragile this life I lead truly is. I'm serious too, this isn't some holiday-season emotional musing. Remember, I hate Christmas...or at least, the superficial trappings the season brings, I should say. But I will not hate sitting around with my family sipping eggnog and appreciating their mere presence this year. I know I'm lucky to have them. Bring on the deep fryer! (and let me note here - I'm joking about all the fried stuff since I'm heading to the south; however, my parents don't sit around eating fried food!)

So, with that said, today is being spent not on a bike but at home with just my dragon and an apartment to clean; also packing (very little and mostly bike stuff) and getting ready for the week ahead. I work for three days, Monday through Wednesday, and it's going to be a whirlwind week given that my offices will be closed for two weeks over the holidays (how awesome is that!), and I'm taking an additional two days, next Thursday and Friday, as well. I'll basically be on holiday for 18 days! That's over half a month! But lots must be done before I and all other coworkers can take off for the month. The week will not be easy. So, I pack, clean and prepare since I need to be ready for the airport by Wednesday night.

Boo was not at all happy about me taking her out in the rain this morning

she did, however, like watching it from inside a dry apartment

Then, of course, there is Boo. In case you were wondering what in the world my little dragon is going to do for the 15 days I'm gone, she will be rocking around the Christmas tree with Herb and Ellen. They agreed to take care of her which really just involves them throwing some worms and fresh water in her terrarium. Otherwise, her light is on a timer. She likely won't even eat as she is going to be stressed out. She hated it when I took her to 'cricket camp' back in July, and I'm hoping that being in a quiet house will be better than at the pet shop where I bought her. (Ashley, the woman who runs the shop, told me that a breeder offered big bucks for Boo to breed her! Yuck...I told Ashley I'd have hunted that breeder down if so much as tried to pet Boo.) I've offered Herb $100 cash to do this. He says he won't take it but he will. $100 is a bargain for my piece of mind knowing that Boo, although not happy about it, will be in a calmer environment.

Boo really is just a miniature dinosaur with feelings, you know?

This means, I have to clean, pack, prepare and drive Boo over to The Hub on Wednesday evening. I've been spending all day today taking her out of her terrarium, petting her, letting her walk-about (which really just means she heads for a dark corner and curls into a ball to sleep) and taking her out in the rain. She was not happy about that. Yeah, well, she can get in line. I don't care for this rain either although we need it. Also, in a way, it's keeping me from wanting to go ride my bike. But at the same time, I wanted to ride for at least an hour or two!

Okay, enough rain; bring back the sun filled So Cal skies!

I've been so lazy lately. Ever since I rode my last CAM, actually, and that was last Saturday. I have not exercised (other than walking) for a week. I did this in 2007 at the end of CAM as well. I was just worn down, feeling as if I was catching a cold and needed a full break. I go back to the gym on Monday and plan to exercise for every day the rest of this month. I also joined Weight Watchers again. I know! - how many frickin' times am I going to start that diet, fall off, get fatter and start it again? I'm like the anti-poster child for WW. They should bar me from rejoining. Oh, and when I entered my current weight online this past Thursday, a message flashed on the screen with a little smiley face...not smiling. It wasn't frowning necessarily but it was just a straight line where the smile should be...like it was disappointed or something. How mean is that? Look it, at least I rejoined!

yup...he's back - I start full force on Monday!

I really did it cause I'm about to see my skinny sister, JT. She's been on WW now for 3 years and has kept the weight off. She truly supports me and I figure I'll just do WW with her while I'm home. Plus, I'll be riding my bike(s) with Dad. Bike(s) plural cause Dad is driving today to pick up a mtn bike I found on Craigslist. It's a cheap bike but I don't care. I got a great deal on it and it will suffice for my riding with Dad on some easier trails. I also have Lyle Luvit to ride (my steel Lemond), so I should be in good shape! Then there is the gym that JT and I will visit and I guess I'm going to take a Karate class. We'll see about that cause I got this thing about bare feet being around me. I know that's odd but I don't like other people's feet near me when they are bare. This is one of the reasons I don't take yoga as well.

I was somewhat virtuous: the Hollandaise sauce was on the side & I had fruit, not potatoes!

Anyway, that's it. Now, I have to get back to straightening my pad. I've only been out today to eat breakfast and it was so wet out! I was going to head up to pick up Nellie from my LBS and then to buy my commuter bike (one I found on Craigslist, as well). I'm putting the commuter bike purchase off until tomorrow, and Herb's agreed to pick Nellie up for me while I'm out of town. He's so sweet. I wouldn't ask him to do it but my LBS is his LBS, so it's not really out the way for him. I just can't fathom driving to Glendale in the rain and putting Nellie in it to drive home. I know, I won't melt or anything, but I'm spoiled. Bring back the regular CA weather, please!

I dream of handlebars and open roads

2009-12-08T19:47:00.001-08:00

I moved to LA in my early 20s and my 'uphill in the snow for 3 miles' story (or as I like to say, 'my uphill in the sand for 3 miles story' given the location) is that I arrived with nothing more than 2 suitcases, two very angry aunts, $300 cash (no credit cards!) and the determination to stay. I had 2 weeks to find a job and a place to live. I had no car, so the very first day I woke up in a friend's mother's apartment (one of the sweetest women in the world, Carolyn, who has since passed on), I planned my day by bus schedule, the Santa Monica Blue Bus to be exact. I'll never forget that first ride and being nervous I'd miss my stop. I didn't miss it, got signed up with a temp agency, got a job, found a place to live - yup, in less than two weeks - and the rest is history.

As for that bus ride...it wasn't my last. I ended up commuting by bus (Blue Bus and, more so, Metro Orange Line) for a year and a half until I saved up enough money to buy my first used, P.O.S. Toyota Tercel. I loved that car even with all its problems (and it had many) as it was my first car that I ever bought myself and I worked hard for that money too, let me tell ya. No, not as a hooker, but as a cook for an elderly lady. The lady I loved but she had dementia and that was challenging. She has since passed on too, but her granddaughter still remains one of my most loved friends to this day.

Now, back to the bus riding. I hated it. I dreaded it and fantasized all the time about driving a car. Funny to look back at those times since I couldn't be farther from that girl who dreamed of a steering wheel before her. Now? I dream of handle bars and open roads, me pedaling my way to my next destination. Unfortunately, I live in a town not so bike friendly, so commuting on two wheels has yet to work out for me (since I took up cycling in 2004, that is). I've been driving to work for the last 18 years, only commuting by bus on rare occasions when my car(s) has(have) given me grief. In fact, that is the very reason I rode the bus to work recently, car trouble.

Well, now all I want to do is commute by bus (or bike, preferably) and never drive my stupid car over the hill again! Funny what 18 years does to the memory...er....perception. See, I got it easy. I work just 7.6 miles from my home, only I have to travel over a mountain to get there. It isn't hard and driving isn't all the annoying...until you add up costs. I pay $63/month for parking and the gas adds up! In order to save, the bus is the way to go, and that's exactly what I've been doing.

Now, I'm not on here to talk so much about the bus, but more about my sudden discovered chance to ride my bike in all of this. Not my road or mountain bike either, but a new bike, a commuter bike - one I've yet to purchase. But the thought of it has me giggling. See, I can buy a beat up cruiser, ride it to the bus stop for the Commuter Express (not the Metro), load it on the Express, go over the hill and ride the bike up a very short hill to my office. At night, I'd repeat. I love it! Kind of sexy (to me, anyway) to commute like that. I just have to first buy the bike and then figure out the system.

I wouldn't do this every day as I have a Metro Rapid bus literally within 2 blocks of where I live. I dig it. It's so fast, cheap and easy...but I'm nervous about putting a bike on that bus. The Metro drivers aren't as bike-friendly as the Commuter Express is, so likely when I commute by Metro, I'll just walk and forgo the bike. Haven't decided yet and there is lots to explore, but it's all new and exciting to me. For all the years I worked (miserably) at my last job, I could never figure out a way to commute by bike or bus for that matter! Now, I have options...fun options to consider.

What a difference a day makes! Yesterday...

...and today

Anyway, yesterday I rode the metro in the rain to work. It was such a treat to just sit back and relax over the hill without having to deal with stupid motorists who can't drive in rain worth crap. I was calm and daydreamed while the bus driver did all the fretting. So, if you can ride by bus (or even better, by bike! - or combination thereof) conveniently (no more than 1 bus and no more than 1/2 hour commute), I'd suggest you try it. Like me, you may not want to go back to driving!

the mother of all hike-a-bikes

2009-12-06T06:39:00.000-08:00

Before I get to writing about CAM 12, Herb's and my final century ride in a year of monthly centuries, I wanted to comment on why I haven't been on here for a week (gasp!)...lack of time. Last week was one of the busiest (yet non-stressful) weeks I've had at my new job. I really like where I work, can't say that enough. It is a very busy department with many bright folks who like to keep things moving. I've been challenged in ways I haven't been before in the line of work I do, and all of the challenges have been fruitful ones, not typical office BS. So, I'm not complaining!

But add to these new challenges my attempts to commute by bus to work, and my time has been spent less at home than before when all I did was jump in my automobile and go. (I'll be writing an entry on the commuting in the next couple of days) Also, my exercise has gone up exponentially. I've been walking upwards of 1.5 miles a day (on the average 2-3) on top of my gym workouts, of which I completed two solid upper body and one lower body routines last week. By the time I get home at night, I'm ready for bed! Eventually, this routine will be second nature and no big deal, but the first week of it combined with a hectic week in the office, and I'm not exactly sure how I pulled it together enough to ride the final CAM century of the year yesterday. But I did.

Which leads me to the ride report on the last century, the coldest century, the century I least wanted to ride, of the year. Look, here's the thing with CAM. It forces you to ride even in the months you'd rather sit around eating peppermint bark and drinking rum-laced eggnog - and let's face it, now-a-days, the months for this kind of sitting and eating starts in October, the same month all the stores start piping that gawddim Christmas music through their PA systems. The last thing anyone (me) wants to do is throw on spandex, gear up and ride 100 miles. 50? Maybe. 100? Not so much.

Herb bundled up, ready to complete CAM 2009

But I've been Herb's riding partner (oh, lucky Herb) all year. I couldn't bail on him now. So, yesterday morning while in deep slumber, my stupid alarm clock sent its shrill command right down my spine at 4:30am. I think I may have groaned aloud in complete protest, but this did not stop me from rising, dressing and somehow heading off into the BAC (that's butt-ass-cold) morning to meet Herb at The Hub, the starting point (again) for CAM 12.

We'd agreed to start as early as possible, right at twilight...err...sunrise, somewhere in there. As long as we could see the road ahead of us, anyway, we were hopeful to get to rolling. Did I mention? ...it was ridiculously cold, 41 degrees in Burbank to be exaxt. This is Los Angeles, and we don't see those kinds of temps on a regular basis, so for those of us with thinned-out blood, this might as well be 32 degrees or below. I admit, I've become a cold wienie even though I'm originally from Fried Chicken Land, where temps dip well below zero some winters.

so early, so cold

Herb was bundled up more than I was. All I had on were fleece tights, a base layer, fleece pullover, arm warmers, a bandanna, wool socks and short-fingered gloves. I'd checked weather on Weather.com (never correct, and I should know better) and read that it was to be upwards of 66 degrees in the day, mostly cloudy. Let me translate what that means: highs of 56, cloudy all day, strong gusts of arctic wind with small patches of sunlight. Stupid Weather.com. I should have worn a jacket and I should have worn long-fingered gloves. But as we rolled away from Herb's driveway, my teeth chattering, I somehow convinced myself that it would get warmer throughout the day and not colder. I should never take that gamble.

The streets were mostly quiet at that time of morning, except for Glenoaks Blvd., my least favorite road to ride on. I was cold and grumpy, my legs unmotivated, and the last thing I wanted was a crappy road to ride. I complained to Herb, while trying not to be too snippy. This was our last CAM, after all, and I wanted the day to be fun. He reassured me that we'd only be on Glenoaks for a few miles as we headed west out over the valley. See, our destination was from Burbank to the western tip of SFV, which is Malibu. Our turn-around spot was Sierra Creek Market (my favorite) on Mulholland. The only way to get there is to ride west, either in the northern part of the valley or southern. We'd taken the northern and far superior route...except for Glenoaks, which becomes industrial, stinky and dirty the farther west you go.

In case you wondered where your stolen bike went...

I survived the bumpy roads and air that smelled like burnt rubber, and once we turned off of Glenoaks and worked our way toward Nordoff, my spirits began to lift. The light outside was increasing as well, although I cannot say the sun was coming out...or if it was, it was completely obscured by a thick curtain of gray clouds. Yuck. These kinds of overcast days are welcomed in the summer when they cool things down, but in the winter, they just make the air cooler and more ominous. Regardless, it was warming a tad, and I could again feel my numb-from-the-cold fingers. My face, however, was so frozen, my attempts at smiling felt more like grimaces.

How I got him to do this, I just don't know

Herb and I commented on the cold, but mostly rode in silence. It was just so early, and I believe he could sense my lack of enthusiasm. Like I've told him many times, it takes a good 30 miles on a century for me to really warm up...and to really warm to the idea of being in the saddle all day. Yesterday's cold and dark skies were not helping this process any.

As we headed down a street parallel to Plummer, Herb suddenly cursed (something he normally doesn't do).

"What?" I asked. Then I saw it. Our road was blocked by signs and huge road equipment. "Can't we just take another street?"

"No. Damn," Herb gets really worked up over sudden obstacles in any route he's mapped. "There isn't any way to get around it."

On a 100 mile ride, one never desires a detour. Even adding so much as two to three miles to the distance is injustice. We had to find a way to just get to the other side (a full two blocks) from where all the road-fuss was located.

"Let's just walk it, Herb," I suggested. "You know? Hike-a-bike?" Then it hit me and I started laughing hysterically. "Oh, my God!!! Another Herb's hike-a-bike!"

Here's the history: Herb has planned many a ride along the San Gabriel River Trail and invited riders. Typically, on those rides (I mean as in every time), all of us have had to dismount, pick up our bikes and hike across something - broken sections of pavement, downed electrical wires (no joke), puddles of water, snake pits, you name it. Thus, Herb is known for his 'hike-a-bikes' as a kind of inside joke.

Herb was not as amused as I was but he agreed, especially considering we didn't have a choice. We pulled up to the construction crew, who were clearly surprised to see us in our funny spandex outfits. I tried to look as fetching as I could and asked sweetly, "May we please walk across?" I was referring to railroad tracks that were filled with huge pieces of gravel, ankle thick in depth. There was also a gigantic piece of very loud equipment rolling inch-by-inch along the tracks poking holes through the gravel. What this was accomplishing, I couldn't tell ya, but the machine was rather scary looking and was being driven by some hidden human (or ape) I assumed. It was a scene to behold at 8:00am on a Saturday morning.

Priceless

I must have looked perfectly pitiful, as the men relented. I snickered while I took photos of Herb hiking his bike across the tracks. I then carried mine, all while hollering out at Herb, "this has to be the mother of all hike-a-bikes, you know!" Sometimes the silliest things amuse the hell out of me, and this one oddball moment in the ride tilted the rest of the day in Herb's favor. My mood had lightened, my attitude changed. I was now fully on board with the day's ride, excited to be out there with my sweet friend.

Unfortunately, my attitude was all that was fully on board. My legs, however, were anything but, especially my climbing legs. On the flats, I could motor along, willing the pedals to rotate. On the hills, I was screwed - no better way to describe it. I found this out the hard way when we hit our first real climb of the day on Mulholland. It's a hill folks call the "cardiac hill" or so Herb keeps telling me. I've never heard anyone but Herb call it that, but okay. I prefer to call it *$%#-@#* Hill myself (read that as you please). It just isn't pleasant in anyway imaginable cause it just goes up and gets steeper and steeper for no good reason. There's nothing at the top all that interesting really except maybe a little relief and a chance to catch your breath.

On this hill, I threw my gears into granny and attempted spinning. I swear gremlins have messed with my gears. I feel I'm always stuck in my big ring no matter how far down I throw the chain. There is no spin to my spin, it's now all 'mash.' If it is me, and my stupid legs, since when did this happen? I mean, last week I suffered on the climb up Chantry, but I thought that a fluke. Apparently not. Which leads me to wonder if my legs have gone on holiday and I just didn't get the memo. Regardless, I suffered. I suffered so much on that (fairly short and normally not so daunting) hill that I even stopped at one point and put my foot down. I wasn't out of breath. I just couldn't get my legs to move! That moment was when I wanted to cry yesterday, out of sheer frustration. Instead, I hyperventilated for a few seconds, reclipped back into my pedals and finished cresting "Cardiac Hill" at 3mph.

Simi Valley Riders hammering!

By the way, this climbing ordeal was compounded by the cold drama Herb and I both were experiencing. The day never warmed yesterday and, instead, got colder and colder. The sun was reluctant to appear even in small patches, leaving us wondering if we'd be rained on at any moment. The clouds were just boorish the farther west we rode, dark and menacing. Herb, who again was far better dressed than I was, complained of how cold he was. I was too cold to complain back, wishing for a stack of newspapers to appear along the side of the road so that I could stuff my jersey with them to block the bitter winds on the descents. What kept us going (especially me, who really wanted to bail at that point) was the thought of Sierra Creek Market and their glorious fire place just out on their patio.

As we neared Sierra Creek, we hit one of the longest, fastest descents of the day on Mulholland. Herb, who is always faster than me on the descents (and much faster on the climbs yesterday) flew ahead, tucked down into ball with his butt way up in the air. I decided against that kind of positioning myself, mainly cause I was too cold to maneuver it. Lucky thing I didn't! As I was descending at a speed well above 30 mph, I hit something on the road that I didn't even see was there. That something was likely part of a headlight off a car. Regardless it was huge and when it was met by my front tire, it splintered and went flying up and over my wheel right smack into my shin. The pain that shot up my leg was so intense, I damn near wet my britches.

"Herb!" I screamed into the wind. "Herb!" Herb, by the way, is almost deaf (he listens to music way too loud), but somehow he heard me. I pulled to the side of the road and just stood there, my shin throbbing, my lip quivering. I pulled my tights up and saw the bruising that had already begun to spread in a full circle on the front of my shin. But boy was I lucky. Had my shin not taken the hit, that piece of road debris (whatever it was) could have taken me down, and at the speed I was cruising, this would have meant a really bad day for me. Phew! Disaster avoided.

To say I was relieved to arrive at Sierra Creek Market would be an understatement. Herb and I parked our bikes and were dismayed to see a woman sitting in front of the fireplace on the patio smoking a cigarette. Smokers suck, and little do they realize that nowhere is a good place for them to blow out their gaseous smoky breaths. I could feel the anger rising in me, but decided to focus on getting a warm beverage instead.

Well, the smoke-free Gods must have heard my thoughts, cause by the time I had my warm cup of joe (lots of sugar and milk) in hand, the smoker was gone. I claimed two seats in front of that deliciously warm fire. Herb joined me and we sat leisurely munching on fries and a split chicken breast sandwich. And although my shin still smarted from its encounter with a wayward road object, the rest of me warmed to a state of near enjoyment.

Best fireplace ever

This was at mile 53, however, and we had just a tad under half the ride left to cover. My climbing legs had remained absent throughout, and my pitiful speed on the hills was slowing our pace considerably. I worried that we'd not make it home before dark! As we pulled out from Sierra Creek Market, Herb commented on the road ahead, Kanan. He'd never ridden it before but he promised me it would be downhill to our next turn, Agoura Hills Road. It isn't like Herb to break a promise, but every once in awhile...

Kanan Road - not downhill

As we turned onto Kanan, what laid before us wasn't a wonderful, swift descent, but a climb up what looked to be a rather long canyon pass. Oh, good grief! I was full of french-fries and coffee, not expecting this immediate need to pedal harder. It was back to granny gear and suffering, way behind Herb. About halfway up, he stopped and looked back behind at me. I could see by his posturing and the way he wiped his brow that he was scared of my assumed reaction. He doesn't like my temper. See, Herb and I are very good friends, so he knows my moods well, having seen me at my best and worst. My worst is all bark and never carries any real bite, but it isn't anything anyone wants to deal with on a long, cold ride like yesterday's. I know he was worried I'd be mad at him for this unexpected climb.

Rare moments of a little sun and pretty skies

"I'm really sorry," He said as I pulled up beside him and unclipped. "I just didn't know this would be this kind of climb. It's killing me." Herb was going up the hill just fine but I think he hoped that if I thought he was suffering too, I might go easy on him. "You want to keep climbing this...it looks like it gets tougher...or do you want to turn around, ride back to Mulholland and climb that?"

"It's not that bad," I said, somewhat sweetly, or...well...as sweetly as he was going to get at that precise moment, anyway. "I'm not about to turn around. I'm committed now. Let's just climb it." I then forced a smile-like grimace. I could see the relief wash over Herb. See? Sometimes, I'm not such meanie after all.

We continued that climb to the top and turned onto Agoura Hills Road without incident and began our trek back toward Calabasas. The only real climbing we had left was Murietta Road (I think that's the name). It's a b*tch, too, let me tell ya. It just seems to go on forever and right at the time when you'd really rather not have to climb at all. It was on this road that I threw my left gear into the granny and ripped my fingernail off in the process. The good news about this? I forgot all about my still-aching shin. Sigh.

Oh well...didn't need that fingernail, anyway

In Calabasas, we pulled into Corner Bakery for a quick bathroom break and a chance for me to put a Bandaid on my now bleeding finger. I told Herb to hurry as the day suddenly seemed darker and far less forgiving. I could hear a 'tick, tick, tick' in the back of my mind, like that of a stop-watch. I hated that we ended right at dark on our last century ride (Cam 11) and didn't want a repeat. It's just so dangerous at sundown with the motorists rushing from shopping malls to their Saturday night plans. I wanted to be done by 4pm at the latest. As we pulled out from the Commons, we pushed the pace a tad, mostly due to my urging.

It was around this time that we received a text message from the other men (Jason, Mark, Vic and Brian) who were also riding CAM 12, only they started at 8am (an hour and 10 minutes after Herb and I had started the ride) and they climbed Stunt Canyon, something I did not want to do (and not sure I could have done with my legs as crappy as they were yesterday). This doesn't mean that we had an easier ride, but instead, our climbing was more spread out than theirs. Jason asked Herb where we were, and Herb texted back, "Fallbrook." We received no such reply from Jason as to their whereabouts. I found this odd.

"I bet we're too far ahead of them for them to catch us," I said, grinning evil-like. "And therefore, they aren't going to tell us where they are. Just like a bunch of men!"

"No, way! They are way faster than us." Herb wasn't convinced that we could still be in the lead, even with the hour head start. We're always back behind those guys a good 45 minutes to an hour, and we figured they would have caught us by then...and dropped us.

When we pulled into Northridge University for our final potty stop of the day, I asked Herb to check the time. I was convinced that it was 3:30pm, and that an hour home was going to be hard to accomplish given that we had 25 more miles to cover.

"2:20pm," Herb replied.

What??!! I was floored. I'd climbed so slowly all day, and we'd taken a long(ish) lunch break. How could that be? Of course, on the flats, we'd ridden a strong pace, and really, other than lunch, our stops/breaks had been very brief. We were both excited. We knew that we'd easily be done by 4pm (bar any real mechanical issue). We pulled off from CSUN with a renewed energy in our pedal strokes. I was tired and reaching that point in the century ride where I begin to crave that first sip of post-ride beer, but I knew we had it in the bag. We were going to complete CAM 2009!

As we neared the Colonel's street, Herb brought up our final route home, which, according to his map, meant climbing on Kenneth to Sonora. I was perplexed. The temps had now dipped back down to around 50 degrees, it was very windy, and I was near miserable again. I wanted warmth...and that beer.

"Why don't we just take Glenoaks to Senora?" I suggested. "There has to be less climbing on it!" I then began making whining sounds, like a small puppy in a kennel would.

"Okay," Herb agreed, not too reluctantly might I add. I don't think he was looking forward to anymore climbing either. So, Glenoaks it was! And instead of less climbing than Kenneth, it had NO climbing. It was mostly downhill. Yippee!!!

As we sailed into Burbank, with the sun making a brief, diva-like appearance in the late afternoon, my endorphins finally overcame me. I was smiling ear to ear, and no longer like that of a frozen jack-o-lantern. I could smell the barn! Herb wanted to take a short cut, Alameda, but I feared this would get us under the mileage we needed.

"Won't that be too few miles?" I asked. Herb just shrugged. "We are not riding around your block three times like we did on the last century. So help me, God, if we have to do that, I will plummel you within an inch of your life with my tire pump." I have my own unique way of motivating others.

"We'll just ride to my house, and the mileage is what it is," Herb grumbled back. He, too, was tired of being on the bike.

"Oh, no you don't, mister! This is the final CAM and you are not cheating!" I'm the voice of reason in these instances and I was determined.

Herb mumbled something under his breath, and we continued on to Senora and down toward Burbank. At Victory Blvd., we turned right. Just as we turned left on Verdugo Ave., we hit mile 98, which is the minimum mileage required for a CAM century. We'd done it!!!! CAM was completed. Herb pulled over and gave me a quick hug. I could see the sense of accomplishment on his face and congratulated him. He truly earned it.

Herb finishes CAM 2009 good and proper!

It was then a mile back to The Hub. I pedaled listlessly with tears in my eyes. My whole body hurt, I was cold, miserable, my shin still faintly throbbing (no kidding), my fingertip throbbing (no kidding), my shoulders hunched....and my spirits soaring. Done. Done. Done. Challenge met. Now give me my beer!!!

Oh, and the other men were a good 45 minutes behind us. I worried about them as they got back just shy of darkness, but all were safe and sound. Now, that's a good riding day, one I certainly won't forget. Am I doing CAM next year? Yeah...not on your life. However, I may ride a century in January. Why? Well, cause I can, so why not? It's these kinds of rides that provide the most memorable miles, the very kind I crave even when I'm so ready to be off my bike at the end of the day. Just makes that first sip of beer taste all that much better.

I did not, however, walk my bike

2009-11-29T06:32:00.000-08:00

After Friday's big ol' mistake of hammering on knobbies for 18 miles to the bike shop to pick up my road bike, I'm not so sure how I thought I'd be able to comfortably ride near 60 miles with 4,000 feet of climbing yesterday. I just don't think sometimes or plan ahead, and that's been an issue of mine for too long to remember. Maybe my real issue is senility...I just can't recall. Regardless, yesterday was a day of suffering and tremendous frustration on many levels, only of which one I will describe on here.

What was perfect about yesterday was the weather, the kind I love to ride in - stunning, tumultuous skies that never calmed. This meant cold temps with an oddly shy sun just peeking through large, puffy, dramatic clouds. The air was uncharacteristically clear and easy on the lungs. The rare 'feel of fall' is finally here, and doubtfully will it last. This desert we live in is all too fickle and loves to slap us with a heatwave any chance it gets. So, I savored the kind of ride day we had as if we'd never get another one like it.

With cooler temps, the trick is never get too wet or too cold. You have to layer and not be too shy to strip. I had on a base layer, fleece tights, jersey, vest, arm warmers, long-fingered gloves and wool socks. At times, I was too warm and was peeling most of it off. But then, I'd be bundled up with my vest zipped to my chin on the descents, my teeth chattering. I loved it. My back didn't, and I felt those familiar spasms I get on rides where I push too hard in an exhausted state. From the moment I clipped in at The Hub yesterday morning, I knew I was in trouble. I must say...I'm getting so tired of these kinds of ride days where I inevitably suffer.

The plan for the day was for Herb, Jason, Mark, Ron and I to ride from The Hub out to Chantry Flats and back. Chantry Flats is a climb, close to 5 miles in length, and although not brutal, is nothing to sneeze at. I haven't climbed it all year except one failed attempt (in 95 degree weather). I was determined to ride out and climb up it yesterday. However, I should have saved my climbing legs and not hammered on the mountain bike on Friday. When will I learn?

As we took off from Burbank, my legs were tight and unforgiving. They no longer humor me and just cry mutiny from the get go. I pedaled hard to stay on the back of the men's wheels, my heart pounding and my fingers overheating in my gloves. Herb had originally mapped the route and I thought we were going the way we went just a few short weeks ago on our century, but this was not the case. The Colonel had tinkered with what Herb mapped and made it a tad harder. Lovely. I was puzzled as to why Mark handed me a route slip before take off in the morning. I soon learned why.

As we approached Glendale and our turn on Glenoaks Blvd., I assumed (without looking at the route slip) that we'd be going straight up to Kenneth and over Mountain, our usual romp. Instead, Jason, who was ahead, turned right. I hollered out, "Do we turn right on Glenoaks?"

"No!" was the reply I got from The Colonel.

I hit my brakes and came to a full stop as the light before us was red. Within inches of me, The Colonel swung a right and mumbled something to the effect of "hey, what are you doing?" I had damn near taken him down. My pulse shot up as I hate near calls, certainly when I'm involved.

"You told me we weren't taking Glenoaks!" I yelled ahead to him. "You said, 'no,' when I asked!"

"I said, 'no,' to you stopping in front of me," was the reply I got from The Colonel.

Then there was a heated back and forth exchange of Herb telling me (while looking right at Mark's route slip) that Mark was now not following his own route, me asking why Mark had made the route slip to begin with when Herb had mapped it, and Mark telling the both of us that we were wrong. The only lighthearted voice in all of this was Jason's.

"We are one big family," he began to sing-song, to which I called him Greg Brady.

This was how the morning began, and pretty much how the day went. Only as the miles passed by, I got more and more tired and less jovial. I was pitiful on any climb...any. Riding up Verdugo was suffer-fest number one. I simply had no climbing legs to speak of, and what muscle I did have was refusing to cooperate. I'm sure this is what led to back pain later in the ride since I alternated mashing with spinning and often pushed too hard.

I told the men to just go on, but of course, they refused. I don't understand why, cause when I tell men that I can do something on my own, guess what? I can. Therefore, when I tell men to ride ahead, I mean it. You will never hear me say that on a remote ride like Mt. Baldy or Big T, etc. I'd never tell a man to leave me in those circumstances cause that isn't safe (for anyone really, man or woman). But when on roads I know that are Urban, I'm perfectly capable of riding on my own, changing my own tire, calling a cab, etc. Honestly.

The men did not leave me, and at the top, I wanted to turn around and head straight home. Suffering up Verdugo is a terrible sign on a ride to climb Chantry Flats. But keeping with the theme of 'never listening to myself,' I kept going. For awhile on Foothill as we descended and rode the flats, I fared much better. Still, I worried about the five mile climb that lay ahead and I was by far the slowest person in the group. I again told the men not to wait for me up the climb.

"We'll wait at the top," was the reply I got from The Colonel.

"Don't do that," I said. "I may have to walk my bike up it, and you'll be waiting a long time. Where we eating lunch, by the way?"

"At the top of Chantry Flats," was the reply I got from The Colonel.

Sigh.

"I challenge you guys, especially you, Jason, to do repeats on Chantry while I'm climbing. Jason, you should ride all the way to the top, back down here to the bottom and up again before I reach the top. If you can't do that, you are no real man," I teased.

Jason just laughed. "I guess I'm no real man."

Then I watched them depart. Herb hung back a bit and pulled up beside me as we began the steepest grade on Santa Anita up Chantry. "I'm not so sure I can do this," he quipped.

"Yeah, well, I'm making it to the top if I have to walk my bike," I confirmed. After all, I have to start climbing Baldy soon (as in next month), so if I can't make it up Chantry, I'll never make it up Baldy.

From that point forward, I suffered up five miles of absolute beauty. Big Santa Anita Canyon is stunning on all sides and offers views far across the city and beyond. I'd say that I was mesmerized, captivated and the like except that I was too delirious and cranky to really enjoy it. My legs hurt so badly, as did my back, as did my arms, neck and knees.

Since when was climbing Chantry so hard? Of course, I'd blown my legs out the day before. I knew that. I knew that my pushing it was going to cost me later, but I was determined to get up the mountain. I bit the inside of my lip, I stopped three times (and considered quitting when I did) and thought to myself, "left, right, left, right, left, right..." as I pedaled - anything to keep going! I did not, however, walk my bike...nor did I quit.

At the top, the men applauded me. Although they were being sweet and supportive, it angered me. Not at them, but at myself. Since when do I get applauded for climbing Chantry? Mt. Baldy ski lifts, perhaps, but not frickin' Chantry!! All I could think on the freezing descent down off that canyon was how much I am not staying in the shape I'm in. Enough is enough.

After the climb, we had lunch at a local Cuban bakery and then headed back. I was still hurting even after a fairly long break and some excellent carbs in my stomach. I pedaled without enthusiasm and thought through the love-hate relationship I have with this sport. I love it when I start, I love it when it's over, but the in-between is a bitch, especially on days like yesterday - days I've had too many of this year.

Mark and Jason dropped Herb and me. I encouraged Herb to drop me too. He didn't. Instead, we rode to the Rose Bowl and climbed Lida. Oh, yay! I didn't want anymore climbing at that point, but given my level of misery, climbing one more canyon seemed downright funny. I went up in my granny at no more than 4 mph. I was too tired to curse and too tired to 'snot blow.' This meant a congested and quiet climb. Herb was far ahead of me, there was little traffic and it dawned on me that I actually liked this climb up and out of the Rose Bowl over the easier but longer climb out of Descanso. Go figure.

At the top, I soaked in the final views of the day. It's that one spot on Lida Canyon, looking back just before you descend down past the Art school that is the loveliest - mountains, sky and freeway mesh in an odd but pleasing way. I snapped a few more pics before Herb and I descended Lida to Chevy Chase and back into the city proper. Our final few miles home rendered me numb. I told Herb that I was out of gas just 2 miles from The Hub. I wasn't kidding and basically coasted all the way back.

The rest of my day? Nothing. I ran one errand, got home, had dinner and went to bed, almost too tired to sleep. I'm still tired today and I'm not riding my bike. Instead, I'm heading down to Irvine to see my friends Peter and Alba. Peter is the fella who suffered a horrible bike accident this year when his carbon bike disintegrated beneath him on a century ride. It will be so nice to see him and his wife. Such lovely folks. At some point, he'll be riding again and suffering with the rest of us. He can't wait. See? This sport just does that to a person, no real explanation as to why.

I rode my mtn bike to pick up my road bike

2009-11-28T06:33:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday night, my car had issues, the same issues it had on Tuesday when my neighbor & friend dropped it off at the dealership (where I bought it) for me while I commuted to work by bus. I picked it up on Tuesday night thinking it had been fixed, but this was not the case. So, I again needed to take it back to the dealership for a second go-around.

My intent yesterday morning was to take the car back into the shop and scream the service guys into submission. After all, my not having a working automobile on Wednesday night meant my having to pay $30 for a cab ride home from a dinner party on Thursday, Thanksgiving, a day my Dealership was closed. And I had already shelled out $168 for a new battery that was suppose to have fixed the problem on Tuesday when I picked it up the first time. Therefore, some screaming was in order. However, I never so much as raised my voice due to two very understanding employees, one a different Service Manager than the jerk I dealt with on Tuesday, and the other, the Service Director, one position away from General Manager for the Dealer (who was next on the list if my problem wasn't solved). They sympathized, agreed that they (Nissan) had dropped the ball, and promised to get it right this time.

Of course, I had to leave the car there all day, and as luck would have it, my road bike was in the shop cause I had taken it there last Saturday and had been unable (due to the car issue) to pick it up since. I did, however, have Nellie to ride. So, I figured that the only way I was going to get Patsy back was to ride Nellie from my neighborhood to Glendale, drop Nellie off for a mini-maintenance (which she needs desperately), pick up Patsy and ride home. Is this making sense? Simply put, I rode my mtn bike to pick up my road bike yesterday. And that was a trip, I can tell you.

My plan was to dress in road riding attire (something I don't care to do on my mountain bike), wear my trail SPDs to ride Nellie and carry a backpack with my road SIDIs in it to change into at the shop. This meant riding Patsy home with a backpack on my back, so very Fred-like. Given that I never care much how I look on a bike, this was not out of character for me in the least, and really, who cares? But riding a road bike with a backpack isn't exactly the most comfortable thing, so the ride itself was a challenge, both legs of it.

At the Dealership, I called Herb who had planned to meet me in Burbank and ride with me to the shop. Why he wanted to join, I didn't know, nor did I ask. I like company and as long as he was cool with my being on a mountain bike (thus, slower), he could join. We thought one other friend might join too, but he wanted to meet us at the shop and with the timing, we never saw him. When Herb answered the phone, I was quick to tell him that I was running late due to my rather long conversation with the Service Director at the Dealer.

"That's okay. We'll meet you along the way here."

"We?" I asked.

"Yeah, Mark, Jason and Andy are here," he explained. "They said they want to ride too and that they'd join."

"Did you explain to them that I'm on a mountain bike and that I'm riding to the shop to pick up Patsy?" I couldn't believe that any of them would like that idea.

"Yup. They want to come too." Herb sometimes has a way of saying things as if he is defending the rights of those who've suffered some terrible injustice. 'I mean, really, if they want to join, what's the problem?' - that kind of tone.

"Fine by me," I replied. "But I can only ride so fast with my knobbies on pavement."

"Yeah, well. Get to moving!" was his only reply.

Sigh.

I then took off from the Dealer like a bat out of hell...a big, thick bat flying through felt curtains. Seriously, mountain bikes are heavier than road bikes and the position is upright. Not picking on the mountain biking, I love it. But I love it when it's on mountains, in dirt. On pavement, it's harder to push those thick tires and trying to 'bust a move' is daunting. By the time I'd passed through Studio City into Burbank, my legs were screaming at me and I was soaked with sweat. It was here that Herb called me.

"Where you at?" he asked. And before I could reply, "We just passed Tujunga and are heading your direction."

I caught my breath enough to say, "I'm at Tujunga."

"Oh. You did good timing. We'll turn around and meet you there."

Ha! Yes, I did do good timing on my 30 pound bike wearing a backpack and at least five more extra pounds of post-Thanksgiving bloat. I'd also worn myself out already, something the men neither considered or wanted to hear any whining about. After they caught up to me at Tujunga, we all as a pack (me being the one odd-looking dork on a mtn bike) took off on a steady pace to the shop. I kept up pretty well except whenever there was even a slight incline. The men waited a couple of times when I got caught at stoplights behind them, but, overall, we rode together to my LBS.

There, I dismounted Nellie and made the switch to Patsy. I was thrilled to get her back cleaner than she's been in a long time. The Colonel teased me, of course, since he is the King of Squeaky Clean Bike Chains. I never get my bike as clean as he can, and I think my shop might have almost impressed him with the job they did.

After leaving Glendale, we rode back a different route to Los Feliz, onto the bike path and back to The Hub. Mark, Jason and Andy dropped Herb and me and took off super fast to get home for "honey do" lists. Herb and I had lunch, met up with Ellen, drove to Costco (she and I had one item each that we hoped to find there, neither of which Costco had) and then I took off back to the Dealership to pick up my car.

The problem with the car? Alternator; something they said was fine this last Tuesday. It cost me $250 to fix it, but they waved the labor charges and took off $40 from the original quote of $290 for the part (to cover my cab fees on Thanksgiving). I thanked them, drove home and went to bed very early. I was completely knackered after my split ride yesterday. I kind of dug it actually and may do that again in the future, only next time, I think I'll skip the hammering to meet and stay up with a pack of slicks-riding men! I mean, why suffer?

I'm very lucky and very thankful

2009-11-26T13:22:00.000-08:00

The weather in Los Angeles could not be more un-Thanksgiving like and I couldn't be happier about that. Today is gorgeous-gorgeous, the kind with sky to ocean blues, a sun high above and warmer than usual temps kept cooler by soft breezes. Today's weather was just begging for folks to come out to play, and we obliged. By we, I mean Joannie and me.

She picked me up this morning since my stupid, frickin' P.O.S. Nissan Dealer did not fix the Sentra they sold me over seven years ago, the one that is now giving me grief. Instead, they had my car all day Tuesday, shoved a new battery into it (for $168) and sent me on my way. Guess what? The car is doing exactly the same thing I took it into the shop for - console lights flash then dim and then my headlights dim. I'm scared to drive it and the only way (and reason) I'm getting to my Thanksgiving Day (evening) plans at a friend's house in Bel Air is because she found me a ride over the hill. Otherwise, I'd be sitting at home with Boo tonight eating a frozen dinner. My Dealer is getting their asses handed to them tomorrow.

Back to Thanksgiving, however, and all that I'm thankful for this year. Joannie is high up on the list! She agreed to a last minute ride on dirt Mulholland out to The Ruins and back. We, of course, started from our usual spot, top of Reseda Blvd. Even out the truck at a quarter of eight, it was warmer than expected. I took my base layer off and just wore my t-shirt & shorts. Joannie went in full tights but never complained or removed them during the ride.

The first two hills on Reseda always annoy me. They are, after all, right in the very beginning of the ride, and they are always butt burners. I got halfway up the first one and stalled out...right smack in front of Joannie. Poor thing. She'd had made it up if my hefty butt hadn't pedaled over in front of her. No problem, she just clipped back in and finished the hill with ease. I tried to clip back in, twice, mumbled some things I won't repeat here, gave up and just walked the bike up. I did, however, make it up the second hill. I mean really now....how lazy-lard-ass can I be?

My mood in the beginning was far from dark, but like I told Joannie, I was in a deep funk last week. Not sure why and really, I have little tolerance for my own pathetic sad-sack act. I wasted a week that I could have been disciplined and working out. Instead, I'm more bloated and blubbery than I've been in the last four months! I'm thankful to Joannie for joining me today. Without her, I'd have doubtfully ridden as far as I did.

After the first two hills, the only other butt-burner is the hill up to The Hub. I was surprised at how quickly I went up it. I had Joannie there, and our conversation was, as usual, interesting and ongoing - kind of keeps your mind off the pain! At The Hub, there was a table with Gatorade manned by volunteers for the annual Turkey Trot, a run up on those Santa Monica trails. Lots of runners out there too, as well as mountain bikers, and so many hot men. I told Joannie that I had no idea those trails were where the real drumsticks were on Thanksgiving and how I'd like to take a few home with me to nibble on later. That's as racy as the conversation got.

After The Hub, it's a undulating trek out to The Ruins, including one fairly easy single track. At the top of The Ruins, we tossed our bikes down and joined some other folks in surveying the outrageous views before us. It was so clear, we could see all the way down the coast and even to the Long Beach port! It has never been that clear and beautiful up there than like it was today. We must have sat there for a good 20 minutes we were so mesmerized.

Reluctantly, we returned, laughing all the way over private jokes and such. Our endorphin fix had been met, and we both were so happy and thankful to have each other and to be out on such a scenic southern California day. I love Joannie and having her warm presence next to me on a bike this morning was more than I could have ever wished for on Thanksgiving.

After our ride, we split a Lox sandwich and sipped dark coffee with lots of milk. We wanted to linger longer but she needed to get salad fixings and I needed to get green beans.

I'm making the simplest of dishes for tonight's Thanksgiving dinner and party - Green Beans Almondine! Basically, it's steamed green beans, butter, garlic, almonds and a pinch of salt. I'm making six pounds of it as there will be 31 folks at the dinner. Everyone brings a side dish and the host (my friend) has the meats and cocktails catered. I can't wait to see all the usual characters I see every year I am fortunate enough to attend. I'm very lucky and very thankful.

Well, that's it. I wish you and your family a wonderful, safe Thanksgiving as well. So much to be grateful for even in a difficult year like this one. Maybe even more so...

it is time "I give"

2009-11-24T19:34:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, on the way to work, I was listening to The Kevin & Bean Show. They had a guest on who talked about 'adopting a family' for the holidays. I've heard of this before and thought it a great idea and then went on to just focus on my holiday, only to forget all about it. But this time, I really paid attention. Sure, folks need help all year long, but at the holidays, it can be particularly rough for families, especially those with small children.

Adopt-a-Family is a great way to give in the non-superficial-BS-Christmas (as in "ho-ho-ho" Santa) kind of way. "Huh?" you ask. How can it not be the Santa Claus gift giving if a person buys gifts for families at Christmas time? Well, cause, you see, most of these families aren't asking for stupid gifts - they are asking for gift cards to buy food and/or clothes and necessities for their families, items they can't afford on their own. Luxuries for them. Everyday standard items for the rest of us fat, lucky folks (okay, the fat comment was really only directed at myself and no one else!)

So, when I arrived at work, I looked it up online. There are tons of these "Adopt a Family" projects going on all over the country, even one affiliated with where I work. You just need to do your homework to ensure the organization is reputable and then sign up (never send cash!). With all my musings of late on what "I want," I realized it is time "I give," and I signed up immediately to adopt two families.

Both families consist of single women with one child and both women are very ill. When I read the form describing these families and listing what they are hoping for from a sponsor, neither woman requested gifts for her child, instead asking for gift cards just for food (no, not for alcohol as the cards don't allow for that). These requests for simple basics in life broke my heart. No one should be hungry and, certainly, no one should be hungry and ill with a small child at home.

I bring this up on here for those of you who may like this idea and consider sponsoring a family (or two) yourself. The suggested donation is $50/family unless you can afford and would like to give more. I plan to. I haven't broken it to my family yet (not that they expect gifts nor will they be unhappy about my decision), but I'm not spending a dime on them and, instead, I'm giving generously to these two families.

I have a job and my health; now it's time that I give up something else, and that would be some money and a little of my time. I can't wait to hand deliver the gifts and meet these two women. You get the choice, by the way, to personally deliver the gifts or mail them. Mailing gifts to me is just outright tacky unless you live over 50 miles away. No, I want to meet these two families, look them in the eye, and wish for them a better year in 2010 and many blessings to come. You simply can't do that in a card like you can in person.

Here are some Adopt-a-family links for anyone interested:

Adoptafamily.org
Salvation Army Adopt a Family
Volunteers of America Adopt a Family

On another topic, I took the bus to work today. My car gave me grief last night and it turned out that it needed a new battery. Cost me $168, but in the long run, I'm going to make money off of this repair. How? Well, I've decided that I'm giving up my $$/month parking pass and $$/month gas fees to ride the bus to and from work. Commuting by bicycle is too dangerous, especially during the winter months when it's darker and people are rushed due to the holidays. So, bus it is. Surprisingly (well, not really), the bus is fast(er) and stress free - just a tad less convenient. Once I get a routine down pat, it will save me $140/month and the headache of driving! Not to mention that I'll get more exercise walking. I walked 1.5 miles today commuting by bus. The more exercise I get, the better!

I want

2009-11-21T07:36:00.000-08:00

You know how when I was unemployed and all, I said that I didn't need much and wasn't all that concerned with material items? Yeah, well, I lied...cause there are things I want. And now that I'm employed, I'm itching to run out and buy them. I will not.

But I am making a laundry list of what I want so that perhaps over the next year or so, I can save and buy a few of the items I lust for at present. I am not putting these items (certainly not the big ticket ones) on a credit card, so I will have to earn the money first before I spend it, and since I like having a healthy savings account, I will not be dipping into that either.

Oh, and one last thing, I won't be sponging off my dear 'ol dad. In fact (Dad), if he tries to buy me a single item on the list below (well, okay, he can spring for the most expensive item if he really wants to...heh heh), I will send it back, get the money, put it into a money order and mail it to him. (This is being written for only one person's benefit, and we know who he is.)

So, without further ado, here is my list:

A new Camelback backpack for long(er) hikes and possible an overnight backpack/camping kind of trip. I'm not going to become a backpacker as I'm too scared of bears, mountain lions and having to poop in the woods, but I wouldn't mind an over-nighter at some designated campgrounds (with porta-potties, hopefully).

An emergency (for real) kit to put in my new backpack. Not this one in particular, but one similar yet maybe a tad smaller. Mainly, I need to dig all my emergency blankets, first aid items and head lamps out and then add to that. You never, ever want to be caught out in the wilderness without these items, and a day hike can turn into a lesson in survival in a matter of hours.

New Years Eve day, 2006, my friend, Nancy, and I found that out the hard way when we went for just a two-three hour hike in an area that had been recently burned. It suddenly, without warning or being forecasted, began raining hard. We found ourselves in a situation where it was getting late in the day, water was getting deep around us (up to our knees in spots) and we were lost - with NO emergency supplies (neither of us, and we both knew better!). We got out finally (our three hour tour turned into nearly six!), but I will never do something like that again.

New road shorts and some mountain skorts - I want a few nice pairs that don't rub it all raw. Chafing is over-rated and I'm tired of the cheapo shorts I squeeze my buttage into. Speaking of, I'd like to have a body like the one modeling the shorts and skorts above as well. Maybe I should add "bootcamp and fatcamp" to my list of I Want? Anyway, for anyone laughing at the skorts, those are damn cute on us girls, let me tell you. I know a super badass gal named Dionne who sports those skorts on mountain bike rides. I'm convinced I can be badass and girly too - bring on the skorts!

A new black cycling jacket. My old one still fits me (barely) but it's getting worn. This one looks warm, streamlined (i.e. thinning) and comfy.

A new odometer with heart rate monitor and one with two bike mounts so that I can move it from Patsy to Nellie with ease. I hated that stupid Garmin I had (over-priced POS), so I'm thinking something simple. I don't really care how much elevation I've climbed. That info never did anything for me except to ask "Oh, really? We climbed that much?" Just tell me what my miles are so I know how many miles are left to food, civilization, beer...things like that.

Okay, this is a HUGE want right here. SIDI mtn bike shoes (drool). The mtn bike shoes I wear at present are as cheap as they come and work just fine. I don't need these over-priced shoes to ride dirt. I just ...want...them. (grin)

A new couch. Back in 1998, when Stephen passed away, his mother, my aunt, offered me his couch (along with many other items, including a trunk, some tables, a dresser, etc.). It's the couch I own today, and one I'd have bitten your ear off about if you'd suggested getting rid of it just two years ago. I remember the very day Stephen had the couch delivered to his apartment. He had invited me over for dinner, and when I walked through his front door, he was smiling ear-to-ear, so excited over his new purchase. It's a great couch, too, blue, big and so very comfy. It's also worn and faded, beginning to sag. Having it reupholstered would cost more than it did brand new (I've looked into it). And, truthfully, the last thing Stephen would have ever wanted was for me to hang onto his now worn blue couch that he'd have likely already replaced were he alive today. Personally, I wish he was alive and that I had never had his blue couch at all. It's time I replace it. I can keep the memory though (how could I forget?), and when I get a new couch, think of how happy he'd be for me.

I want, I want, I want...so badly. Yet, I'm so disciplined. I promised myself back in 2002 when I bought a brand new Nissan Sentra (for a very well-haggled price mind you) that I would drive it into the ground before I ever bought another car. I am not breaking that promise. However, my car is now almost eight years old and has near 100,000 miles on it. It might last to 200,000 as I get oil changes, etc., but once it starts to go (and the repairs add up), I'm going to be looking for one of these babies - a Honda CRV. Why a CRV? Cause it gets very good gas mileage, Hondas are one of the highest quality cars with the best resell value and I can put my bike in it. I plan, when I buy, to buy a used CRV, like maybe a year or two old if possible. I'm not so sure I ever want to buy a brand new car again - seems like a huge waste of money just to say, "I'm the only one who owned it." After all, you can get a brand new 'lemon' you know?

Last but not least, my biggest want of all (yup, even over the car) - new bike - custom built titanium one. I'm not putting a link to this bike cause it isn't the exact one I want, just a photo. But that near $2,500 is about the price I'm looking at to get the frame built and all the components put on. I love Patsy, she has served me well (and will continue to do so), but she's got a hell of a lot of miles on her as well as scratches and dings. I've had her now for 3.5 years. In the next two years, I hope to retire her and mount a ti-bike that I'm going to name "Road Chickie" with a decal at the top reading "MErider." Yes, seeing Herb's custom built ti bike got my mind set on one, especially knowing that I can have it custom built to my exact requirements (women specific!). Drool, pant, drool...one of these days.

Okay, that's it (for now). That sums up the majority of my materialistic cravings. There are other items along the way as well, but this should hold me over for awhile.

like I always say...nothing better

2009-11-22T19:46:00.001-08:00

I wish I'd had more "get-up" in my "go" in the morning, but nothing could be farther from the truth. This melancholy, depressed state of mine (especially when it comes to fitness) is so old, it's beginning to smell...like rotten tomatoes or burnt human hair. Where the hell did my fitness mojo go? And it hasn't just been this year, either. This is has been an ongoing saga for me.

The ridiculous (and puzzling) aspect to my lull in discipline/enthusiasm/determination is that it is in direct opposition to my insane and genuine passion for cycling. I really do think so very often about my next ride and get giddy. But that anticipation doesn't translate into die-hard dedication to all things fitness and weight loss related. Instead, I'm a walking (and jiggling while I walk) oxymoron. I should be lean, mean and ready for action at all times and not this person I've become, someone slow to rise, reluctant to dress and resistant to moving.

Well, today I did ride, dress and move by way of knobbies on a not-too-challenging but certainly worthy trail in Cheseboro, a very well-known series of dirt trails out here. I rode with The Pink (you know, the gal who weighs about as much as just one of my legs does?) and she took me on almost the same route we rode last time, when Herb was along as well. Only this time, we took a different route back, down Sheep Corral, a rather technical (in spots) single/double track that I found thrilling, even in the (very few) sections I dismounted and walked.

The weather was perfect for mountain biking but, as usual, warmed just a smidgen above the temperature I'd have preferred on some of our very exposed climbs. Glorious sunlight does more than just warm the skin, though - it manipulates the vista hues on our often brown mountainous regions out here to something beyond...well...just brown. I found beauty along the sections of the trail that had little shrubbery just as much as I did throughout the tree-lined parts - both of which Cheseboro offers.

There were lots of other riders out and horses and hikers and little bunny rabbits and prairie dogs darting here and there. It took me a good hour into the ride to truly warm to the idea of being on my bike and then it was a mere two hours later that I reluctantly had to get off of it. So glad I went, suffered up the climbs (only walked once, and that was on the 'wall' climb), hung out with my friend and just enjoyed the morning on two wheels. Like I always say...nothing better.

Tomorrow I rise at 4:45am and go to the gym. I repeat...I go to the gym tomorrow. And Tuesday and Wednesday - Thursday, I ride. That's Thanksgiving, of course (ugh). The holidays (which I despise) are here. Might as well suck it up, belly up and then ride it off yet another year.

you're gonna pay for that later

2009-11-21T12:01:00.000-08:00

I didn't ride this morning and opted instead to take Patsy into my local bike shop. While riding on road of late, I've felt she hasn't performed well, and pedaling her seems more laborious than necessary; plus there is this "click, click, click" noise for which I cannot identify the source. I've been told (repeatedly) that my bottom bracket could be the culprit and that it might need replacing or more grease packed in it. Yeah...told this not by my bike mechanic, might I add.

But seeing as how Patsy hasn't had a full maintenance session (or salon day, as I like to call it), it was time to do so. I chose today since I hate driving in rush hour traffic from the west side to my LBS in Glendale during the week. In fact, I hate to drive northeast at all on weekday evenings. Thus, I would rather give up a road ride day once in a blue moon to get to my LBS with relative ease. I will still ride today (in a few minutes, in fact), but just around my hood on Nellie. I have a mtn bike ride tomorrow, so I don't need to knock out hard miles today, anyway.

Back to the LBS visit...

I drove Patsy over and dragged her in unceremoniously (remember, I'm lusting over the idea of having a new titanium bike custom-built just for me) and asked to see Oscar.

"Hi, Mary," Oscar said, stepping out from the back with his usual smile.

"Howdy. Pats needs her annual maintenance; you know? The 65.00 dollar one?" I smiled back.

"69.00," he reminded me.

I chuckled and slapped him playfully on his upper arm (which I'm sure he'd rather I didn't do). "Right, $70. Anyway, she needs a full maintenance and that noise I brought her in for last time is still happening. Do you think it's the bottom bracket? Does it need to be packed with grease?"

By this time Fernando, a new, very friendly mechanic at the shop, appeared. "Let's check it to see," he suggested. He and Oscar then fiddled with the round area on the bottom of my crank beneath the pedals, both putting their ears to the bike.

"No, your bottom bracket moves fine, isn't loose and doesn't feel rough or worn to me," Oscar said, with Fernando nodding in agreement.

"Do you think it needs to be packed with grease?" I asked (cause I was told it might need to be).

"No, Mary," Oscar said, repressing what I think may have been a very large sigh. "It's ceramic and cannot be adjusted. But it definitely does not need to be replaced. I thought we talked about this the last time you were here."

Now, this is the man who has sold me all three of my bikes and who stands to make more money off of me by simply saying, "sure, we'll replace it." I wouldn't know the difference and would pay to have it done even if not necessary. I trust he knows what he's talking about. So, the notion that I need a new bottom bracket or have a bracket in need of a good grease packing is now a moot one, for sure, final, to infinite and back.

"Well, why then do I feel so sluggish when I ride my bike lately?" I asked Oscar.

There was a long pause before Oscar answered. "Well...some days when I ride, I just have a bad day, I climb slower than other people and they pass me, too." Again, what appeared to be a repressed sigh passed over his otherwise cheerful features.

"You're describing my normal ride experience, Oscar. I'm asking you what else could be causing such sluggish rides,"

Oscar said nothing.

"Oh," I said and smirked. "It would be my ample ass, I suppose. Lovely."

With that I left Patsy to be groomed for $70 and will pick her up on Tuesday night. I'm going to ride the hell out of her next week, every chance I get during the four day weekend. If it is my ass (which let's get real here, it is), I'm the only one who can fix the problem. I admitted to Dad last night that I didn't exercise once this last week and have been mopey and depressed. Like Dad said to me, "you're gonna pay for that later." Sigh.

Oh, and one last thing on the topic of material items - I saw this at the shop. $2,600 and change, but oh, how I do want it...

I did the unthinkable

2009-11-01T14:45:00.000-08:00

This weekend did not work as I had planned. That is not to say I'm upset, just a tad perplexed. Also, I watched Paranormal Activity last night. I was more freaked out by it than scared - but either it was the images from that movie (affecting my sleep) or the time change, but I'm all kerfunked today (not sure that is the right spelling or really, the right word). Before I get ahead of myself, I'm going to rewind and start the weekend from the beginning and work up to now (as I sit on my butt on the couch without a coffee table). After all, beginning to end is the only way to describe it!

Yesterday

Woke up ready to ride dirt. Not sure what's up with me lately, but dirt is infinitely more interesting than road these days. Besides the obvious (no cars), it makes me madder than hell. Really, it does - it's challenging in ways riding on paved roads isn't. Mainly cause I suck at it. Do you understand that? It's kinda like when you're really good at softball and can play it without much effort and do really well. Then, someone asks you to play a round or two of tennis. Same thing, really - hitting a ball and running, right? Well, no, it's not, and you really suck at it. Your breathing is off, you run sluggish, you struggle and eventually you throw your tennis racket in a sudden, uncontrollable fit of anger...only to do it all over again with glee when someone invites you onto the tennis courts again.

That's what mountain biking is like for me. Only, I don't throw my bike (puh-lease, I'm not that bad). But I do routinely throw temper tantrums that go something like this: pedal, pedal harder, puff, struggle, try to power through, stall out on a hill, try to get clipped back in, can't, and after catching breath, yell, "God d@%#&*! You m*^&$#%{@%&@#*, piece of s@%^!" at ear splitting levels. Those who ride with me ignore me. Good thing they do.

Anyway, yesterday was a mountain biking kind of day, and it was just Herbie and me. We decided to ride Malibu Creek State Park. He's never been and I've been craving those single tracks and such ever since I rode there with The Pink a month or so ago. So, when Herb picked me up at 7:45am to head out there, I had a plan in mind. We'd ride from Lost Hills Road into the park (on the single track Karen showed me), over to both the lake and the Dam and then up Bulldog Trail to the abandoned house and back (thus, not fully finishing Bulldog which is roughly 4.3 miles up). I had plans in the evening and needed to be home earlier rather than later. 18 miles with 2,000 feet of climbing was really all I needed.

When we arrived at the the park and jumped out of Herb's truck, we were stuck by the cold air in the canyon. Malibu is chilly in the early AM and then warms up to a toasty, almost unbearable heat just before noon. It's maddening in a way, cause no matter how you plan, you are never prepared for that kind of temperature jump in a matter of three hours. Herb and I sure weren't even though we knew it was inevitable (after all, we've ridden the roads out there plenty and it's the same on pavement as it is on dirt!) We threw on our arm warmers and without too much delay, took off on the dirt path out of the park, the long single track that cuts through the hills and into Malibu Creek Park from the side.

On this first part of the ride, you're treated not only sections of single track, but wide fire roads with steep, rutted climbs as well - all with stunning views of the hills before you. In the early morning, riding out along those trails with an overabundant sun in your eyes and only the rolling, grassy hills to soften the glare, it is truly a sight to behold. I catch my breath in awe several times along that trail, and that's saying a lot since I've seen a lot. But Malibu's beauty is unique albeit lazy. It's up to you to discover it, as it won't make any effort to draw your eye. Go out there to ride, and you'll get my exact meaning here.

Herb had never been to Malibu Creek State Park, and I was thrilled to be leading him there. I like to "deflower" cyclists on routes (sorry, my crude way of putting it!). It's fun to watch the enjoyment and discovery they experience as it brings me back to my own first time on any ride I've completed. Malibu Creek State Park holds a special place in my heart since I've not only ridden there, I've hiked it (many times in the few years just prior to my taking up cycling). I love those trails, and I suspect even more hidden paths are to be found within that park for anyone willing to explore. I was curious to see if Herb would find as much beauty there as I do and if the "rock garden" would challenge him.

The "rock garden" is a literal creek bed filled with rocks of all sizes as well as boulders that seem impossible to ride over. Let me just intersect here - a group of shockingly fit mountain biking men rode past us through the "rock garden" as if it was smooth rode (we pulled up onto the side to let them pass us). I was floored at their skills and hope that's me someday! Herb rode most of the garden himself and, although frustrated with having to unclip at times, impressed me. I rode some of it, but mostly I kept only one foot clipped in and then rolled the rest with my other foot pushing off from various boulders.

Once past the "rock garden," we arrived at the old M*A*S*H Set (what's left of it). I thought Herb would be thrilled, but I don't think he was a M*A*S*H fan or simply not interested in memorabilia - he would not let me take a pic of him on one of the rusted jeeps! Oh, well. I dragged him to the lake and second Dam too -neither really thrilled him. I then decided that the only thing left to do was to make him suffer. I then got us started on Bulldog.

Bulldog is a trail that winds it's way up, getting steeper and steeper toward the top, for about 4.3 miles. I'm not sure what's up there, but there use to be, halfway up, an abandoned brick house. It was a favorite among hikers and bikers alike. It was a mile-marker and object of much debate, myth and intrigue. I was so looking forward to dragging Herb up the hill in the then excessive, over-exposed heat to this abandoned house, hoping it would interest him. Well, as luck would have it (as we finally arrived at where the house should have been), it is no longer abandoned...but demolished. Crap. There went the cool stone house on the hill.

We decided to turn around there anyway. I was fatiguing in the heat and, another crap, I'd rammed my calf into my pedal just prior to our turn-around spot. It was at that point that Herb whipped out his "first aid baggy" full of very old first aid supplies. I made fun of him mercilessly since really all he could do to stop the bleeding was...nothing. I shouldn't poke fun here as, after all, I don't even carry a first aid kit!!

At that point with my leg bleeding, my head beginning to hurt (due to heat, I'm sure) and my stomach growling, it was time to go back. I got no resistance from Herb, and down we went (covering all the climbing we did!), back to the "rock garden", over to the side trail out of the park, along the single track and to the truck. Phew!

Great ride for sure. I love that trail and want to do it again and again and again - only next time, all the way to the top of Bulldog! I just didn't have time as I had plans in the evening (for Halloween). And, speaking of, Joannie and I had dinner, a libation (or two, but who's counting) and watched the movie I describe as freaky. Ghost/demon stories freak me out but slasher/torture films disgust me. It was a relief watching a film without any gore! And, as usual, hanging out with my sweet, charismatic, exuberant friend was the real treat.

Today

I woke up this morning sore and tired. Not sure why. I mean, the ride yesterday was tough but I've ridden tougher. I think it's still just a combo of schedule, new workouts, etc. that are adding to my lethargy. I did not feel like riding and certainly not a challenging mountain bike ride with The Pink. I decided to opt out (or give her an option to do so, which she took). I just couldn't imagine being out in the sun all morning trying to keep up with her when I had zero leg strength.

I made the right decision, too. I found this out just riding over to my local farmer's market and having breakfast. I was slow, heavy on the saddle and in no mood to be social. The farmer's market didn't help since there were so many parents with babies in strollers crowding the produce isles and raising the tempers of those of us already heated by the midday sun. I got nothing against your baby, but please watch where you're rolling that stroller and be considerate of others! It is shocking to me how many parents just use their child in a stroller as an excuse to pay no attention to others, as if they are given some inalienable right I'm not allowed as a single, childless woman since they are rolling a "mini-me" around in front of them. It took a great deal of patience not to pick (and win) a fight with a couple of those rude parents, I can promise you.

As it was, in my hurry to depart the stroller-toe-crushing mayhem, I bought three cookies, skipped the produce crowd fiasco and high-tailed it out of there. Three cookies is not a healthy breakfast! (albeit delicious) Nor is riding all of two miles back home a comparable workout to burn off the calories gained from eating those cookies, but there you have it. I just didn't feel like riding any farther, and my quads were in full agreement.

It was then "putz" around my place all day, find a spot for Stephen's trunk (that I'm never parting with willingly) and head out to Urban Home in the Sherman Oaks Galleria. I found a coffee table there last night while out with Joannie (after the movie - a little late night shopping). It is on sale and offers ample storage (with sliding doors on top). I slept on it (so, no impulse buy!) and decided today that I couldn't resist. I need more storage here and I already know what will go inside the unit. I called Mom, and the little sweetheart encouraged me to get it (I love my mom) - she knows I've been looking for something that doesn't cost an arm and a leg but offers more storage space. Plus, it is very cute and will go perfectly in my apartment! I pick it up next Thursday.

Now...my last report on this weekend, and one I'd rather not give. I did the unthinkable today and stepped on Boo. Yes, you heard me correctly. I.Stepped.On.My.Dragon. She survived but it was a drama, let me tell ya! I let Boo out today, setting her on the carpet to wander around. She just stayed put where I put her (she does that sometimes to my surprise). I was then moving stuff around and figuring out where the trunk would go and how it all would all look, when I backed up and stepped down...onto something squishy. I immediately threw my weight onto my other foot and almost fell over myself. I knew instantly what was beneath my foot! I then rushed to get down beside her and check her out, completely panicked.

After much examining and watching her all afternoon (including in her bath), she's physically fine (although her feelings have been terribly hurt). No broken anything or problems that I can tell, and she moves just as fast, with ease, etc. But for a good 20 minutes, her beard was pitch, pitch, pitch black. She stared at me in an accusatory way as if to say, "You swore you'd never hurt me." I balled like a baby and pet her profusely (I'm sure that made it worse), all while cooing to her. I would have never stepped on her on purpose, of course, and was very angry with myself. She can't cry out so, really, I have to watch where I step and be mindful - stupid, stupid! Poor little thing. It seems to be forgotten at present as she is all snuggled up into her blankie next to me on the couch, but I can never allow that to happen again. I'd be inconsolable if I ever truly harmed my little Boo. Sigh.

Well...that's my weekend. Another work week ahead and then next Saturday- another 100 miles (to complete CAM 11). I'd better get lots of rest this week and keep my diet clean. I would really like to enjoy the next century ride and not suffer like I did on the last one!

cue "Theme from Rocky" here

2009-11-16T19:31:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what it is about this time of year, but I turn sour, lethargic and most unwilling to commit to much of anything. Even in my leaner, more fit years, this has been the case. This year just happens to be more noticeable since my rather ample ass is more...er...defined these days. And by defined, I don't mean rock-solid and formidable. I mean sagging, like my spirits.

I can't blame CAM either. No, it's something more to do with the shorter days and stupid Holiday crap that gets to me. I am not a Christmas kind of gal. Never have been. I cringe every time I enter a store and hear some stupid Christmas carol over the sound system. Can we please have some pumpkin pie and 'gobble-gobble' before the gawddim "ho, ho, hoing" starts? And every year, I get a little more Grinch like...just like my dad, only he's the Scrooge (sorry, Dad, but even Mom says so). I'm more the Grinch, as I would personally like to take all the trappings of the holiday (tinsel, trees, presents, etc.), bundle them up on some over-sized sled and send them flying over some cliff ledge. Only, I wouldn't send Boo, with reindeer antlers on her head, over the ledge as well (you know? - the little dog that the Grinch ties to the sled?)

If I could fast forward through the holiday-fueled, drunk/pie fests to January, I'd be a happy girl. January holds new promises, if not the stomach-gripping appreciation/realization that we are all still alive/getting older. We make new plans, resolutions and promises to both lose, gain and just 'be better' for yet another year to come...until, another Holiday season pops up to remind us that very few of those goals/resolutions were ever even part way met. "Where did the year go?" we ask ourselves. I know where mine went (in 2009), and I'm a happier if not fatter person for it.

Which leads me to why the hell I'm on here blabbering away - I want, NOW, to set my goals (not resolutions, mind you) for next year...at least, when it comes to cycling/fitness. And, I've been giving this a lot of thought. Over the last six years, I've accomplished several goals I set out to conquer: riding a double century, Triple Crown (riding 3 double centuries in one year), 6,000 miles in a year, CAM and "ride my bike." So, now what?'

This is what I've come up with:

1. Get back into 'Baldy shape' - this means, riding to the top of Mt. Baldy a minimum of once a month (what I've coined as BAM - Baldy a Month challenge). Baldy is my all-time favorite ride and it's epic. Cyclists who ride up there on a regular basis are in great shape. I use to be one of them. I now will be one of them. Bring it on!

2. More mountain biking. Seriously - I want to explore and push myself to get stronger on dirt. Mountain biking kicks my ass - it's now time to kick some ass right back at it (or something along those lines - cue "Theme from Rocky" here).

3. At least 6 centuries and preferably ones I've never ridden. I need not only new trails to discover but some new roads, cause (yawn), I've not been inspired of late!

4. A strenuous hike a month. Yup, this does too have to do with cycling. It's called cross-training, and Lord knows, I need it. Plus, I love to hike just about as much as I love to ride (look out! 2011 may be a year where I hike all month and ride only once...get it?)

5. Balance, balance, balance...another goal so very cycling-related: I'm taking off from riding/hiking/anything one Sunday a month to accomplish all things chore-like, including cleaning my stupid, frickin' pigsty. Without this 'time out' I can't get it all done. I also can't live like that anymore. Balance will be restored, or I won't ride at all.

There you have it. My goals. They may change between now and January 1st (doubt it) or more may be added (likely), but that's the first layer of brick in the 2010 foundation (pronounced 'twenty ten foundation'). I know one thing I am not doing for sure - CAM! That's a goal I can now certainly mark off my list. I haven't ruled out something ridiculous (like another double century or even triple crown) in the future, but not in 2010. I want to have fun riding, push myself a little harder, and, most importantly, find new roads/trails to travel before I take on another round of punishing goal setting. 2010 will be more about discovery and regaining fitness. That, I can live with...

end with our butts sunk down into sofa cusions

2009-11-15T14:14:00.000-08:00

Sheesh...I need new legs, folks. Seriously, mine are failing me. Doesn't help that for all my smack talk about lifting weights, I didn't do squat (as in, not even one) at the gym last week. I'm blubbering out in my size (not saying) pants these days. Next week, next week...back at it, I promise (just talking to myself here).

This morning, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed with the sheet wrapped too tight all up in my crack or something. I was annoyed, heavy and not wanting to move all that quickly. No, I didn't drink last night and, really, I got to bed in plenty of time for a solid eight hours of shut eye. Maybe it's the weather? My hormones? Whatever - it can go away anytime now. As is it, I pushed my 8:30am mountain bike ride back 1/2 hour (Herb is so flexible that way!). I then puttered around, not accomplishing much (although, I did get my blog up on here about yesterday's ride that I actually wrote last night).

Herb arrived on time, yet I was still scrambling, trying to get my laundry in the dryer. I then went off on this ridiculous tirade about how I have no balance in my life, no time, blah blah blah. It's a wonder that Herb didn't shove my ass in the dryer and turn it on. Instead, he does what he always does when he arrives to find me in these cantankerous moods - shrugged and walked away to load up his bike.

Once the laundry was drying, and I was on the bike, I felt better. My legs, however, didn't get the message this morning that they needed to perform. Instead, there was quad and calf mutiny, a kind of strike if you will, and no amount of "woo-hooing" and BSing Herb that I was so "happy to be on my bike, and oh, how pretty it is out here today" would motivate them into submission. I therefore pedaled as if in deep sand all the way up Sepulveda Blvd. to Mulholland, over to Dirt Mulholland, complaining the whole way.

Our big (and aborted) plan was to ride to the Nike Missile Site, down Mandeville Canyon, back up Sullivan Canyon, over to Reseda and back. Yeah, right. We made it to the missile site (Herb well ahead of me on every climb) and sat in the warm sun with the freezing wind ruining our enjoyment of it, completely defeated. Herb's back was killing him, and my legs at that point were quivering their absolute resolute to fail me. Stupid legs, stupid ride..."blehhhhhhhhhh!" Like I told Herb - from now on whenever he (or I) are complaining or being negative, we can no longer use words. We just have to go "blehhhhhhhhhh!" with our tongues out and down to our chins. This makes it simple for everyone around us to realize what losers we are being.

Aside from all this, there was lots of beauty out there today, if it hadn't been so damn cold with the winds kicking up around us. Oh, and lots of doggies everywhere, very well behaved even when not on leashes. And there was one darling little puppy that I would have stolen if he'd had fit in my backpack. The hikers and other bikers out were friendly too, and really, this should have been an epic ride day. But after considering our options, we voted for the easiest - back the way we came.

So, back along dirt Mulholland we pedaled, down paved Mulholland to Woodcliff and into my neighborhood. We then split a sandwich and cupcake (shhhh) with coffee and cocoa at a local cafe. There were couches there where we sunk deep down into one and just accepted our patheticness. Hey, they can't all be balls-to-the-walls kinds of rides, you know? Sometimes, they need to be brief and end with our butts sunk down into sofa cushions.

Now, as I write this, I'm procrastinating from cleaning up my place which has become (can you guess? and will you be surprised?) a pigsty again. No, I will not get a cleaning lady. If I can't keep my one bedroom apartment clean on my own, I got real issues. Oh, wait...maybe I shouldn't admit that on here, cause, clearly, I can't keep my one bedroom apartment clean on my own.

Sigh. Guess I'll get over to the hardware store. I need to buy a lamp and get glass cut-outs for my coffee table. Good way to keep the procrastination going.

there were signs that said, 'do not feed the animals'

2009-11-14T20:25:00.000-08:00

After last weekend's century and this last week's bout of food poisoning, I wasn't in the mood to go and knock another hard ride out yesterday. In fact, I wanted a flat, easy ride, or if that was not granted, a mountain bike ride (where walking up a hill isn't considered so wussy). I even considered going hiking (to the Bridge to Nowhere) but backed out knowing that I'm not up to that particular hike's hiking shape these days. Therefore, with Herb pestering me about what ride and where, I came up with an old standby, one I've not ridden in over a year - Rio Hondo.

Rio Hondo is a bike path in LA that connects to another bike path (sort of), SGRT, and is near the Long Beach bike path. They can all be found out in Azusa/Duarte area, and are typically accessed (sort of) by SGRT. This means starting at Encanto Park, riding over to the SGRT entrance and following it's winding and, at times, confusing path to the 'Four Corners.' Trying to explain what that is would be impossible, so just envision a fork in the road. One can continue riding straight or bear left. Left takes you to Seal Beach. Staying straight takes you to a busy road, over which you cross twice to get to the other side and into the entrance of Rio Hondo. From there, you pedal about five miles or so to a little park, where tinkling and snacking are usually in order by the time you arrive. Hope all this makes sense and you can somehow imagine what I'm describing.

From Encanto and back, this route is roughly 45 miles. However, today we got close to 50, due to a little excursion to Leg Lake. But before I get to that, the 'we' I refer to was yours truly, Herb and Tom. After I'd decided on this route last minute, I sent an email out to several folks inviting them to join, last minute. Only Tom could swing it. Herb was already on board, of course, and he digs that route (having ridden it many times before). Tom's ridden it too, so no one was going to get lost yesterday (sometimes a concern on that path as it really can confuse a first time rider).

We took off at 9:00am, wanting to take advantage of the cooler weather. Cool it was, breezy too. But the skies were powder blue with the puffy-clouds-thing, and air crisp. I was smiling ear to ear, happy to be riding, happy to be riding the ride I wanted to ride, and happy to have the company. Although, Herb and I were picking at each other from push off. I think Tom could have done without the teasing, bickering and name calling Herb and I put each other through (in jest...mostly), but we're not going to stop. After all, we've ridden way, way, way, way, way too much together this year with CAM and all, and I think this has led to each others' nerves wearing thin. At the end of the day, Herb and I are very good friends, so truly...it.is.just.joking.

Anyway, we pedaled the first 22 miles with ease (and at a relaxed pace) arriving at the park in no time. I was tired from the week, feeling like a slug and not really wanting to ride back. I suggested taking an easier route back to the cars. You see, Rio Hondo forms a kind of U shape and ends near where the ride begins in Encanto (well, by a few miles west, anyway). One can skip the 22+ miles back by jogging over on busy, trafficked streets to the Santa Fe Dam. We chose not to do that after Herb looked downright puckered at my suggestion. Fine...it was take the 22 miles back then, and boy was I glad I did.

As we arrived at the 'Four Corners' again, Tom suggested that we head out to Legg Lake to check out the ducks ("really mean ducks if I recall," was Herb's input on this). Why not? I'd never been. I can tell you that it's worth the excursion! It's a lovely little lake and, yes, the ducks are there, along with geese and many other types of birds. I squealed upon spying them, put my bike to the side and ran over to feed them part of a rice krispie bar that I had barely nibbled on at the park. Herb rode up to the edge of the trail and sulked.

Tom joined me, and in no time, I was surrounded by hundreds of birds and ducks. Herb is wrong. The ducks are not mean. The geese, however, were downright menacing. I feared for my life had I not had a rice krispie treat to pick pieces off of and throw at them. Finally, after about five minutes of this feeding frenzy, Tom said, "This is turning a little to 'Alfred Hitchcock' for me. I'm leaving. Plus, I don't think we should leave Herb sulking for too much longer." I agreed and backed out and away from the ducks carefully. As I took off and rolled up next to Herb, he informed me, "There were signs that said 'do not feed the animals.'" Great, now he tells me!

From there, we headed back out to SGRT and took off on a strong pace back until, doh!, Tom got a flat. At this point, my stomach growling with hunger, I just watched him and Herb suffer with changing it, while Herb gave instructions on tire seating techniques ("away from the stem.")

Once the flat was fixed, we were finally on our way to the cars and lunch. Our only climb for the day was the Dam, and I slugged up it. Never gets any easier for some reason.

At the cars, we quickly changed and headed to Green Onion for lunch. Nothing better than chicken tortilla soup and fruit with lime and chili!

Herb had a Tostada, but had to spend five minutes picking all the olives off of the top. Like I said to Herb, "How anyone can not like olives is beyond me."

"Well, aren't there things you don't like to eat?" Tom asked me in a teasing tone.

"Yes there is. Cheesecake. I don't like it, can't stand it, won't eat it. Yuck."

"How anyone cannot like cheesecake is beyond me," Herb chimed in. "That's just un-American."

That was my Saturday. Good one, good ride, and last night I was completely knackered. I slept nine and a half hours last night. I needed it. Now, I have a mountain bike to prepare for, and amazing weather to look forward to riding in. Yippee!

the sad-sack...act is over

2009-11-11T08:11:00.000-08:00

Recently, I whined on here about having to ride another century...another one. My 11th for the year (not counting that one little bonus century, which really brings it to 12, but whose counting?) and the 11th in the Century-a-Month Challenge that I took on again this year so that my friend, Herb, would have a reliable riding partner (so far, I've not let him down). By the 10th (last month), I was over it, challenge or no challenge. So, I grumbled and moaned about having to ride another one, sad little me. I think the word 'pathetic' is never more fitting than in my case. After all, there are some folks in this world who can't ride 1 mile let alone 100 for reasons beyond their control, and I should be grateful I can. Therefore, the sad-sack, whoa-is-me, gotta-do-it act is over. I look forward to riding CAM 12, can't wait, woo-hoo!!! And, yes...I.Do.To.Mean.It.

Now, about that CAM 11...

Herb mapped it out that we'd start at The Hub (his driveway), ride up to the Montrose area (a regular route), out to Encanto Park in Duarte, up Highway 39 to East Fork, over to Camp Wilson Cafe (what I always just call 'East Fork Cafe') and back. Our plan was to start at 7:00am since the days turn darker an hour or so sooner. I was not happy with this plan, but I managed to waddle my buttage out of bed in time to dress, grab the bike, pet the dragon and arrive at Herb's just 10 minutes shy of departure time. I think we actually departed around 7:15am, but neither of us looked at our watches. Since it was just the two us, no one complained.

As we clipped in and pushed off, we were both grateful for our leg warmers, arm warmers, base layers and vests. It was cold! - coldest morning I've ridden in this year. It was also invigorating. I didn't sleep well the night before (never do) and was a little stiff in the beginning. The leg warmers helped, although it still took the climb up Verdugo to get me warmed up. It was on the climb that I realized what I'd be plagued with all day - crappy climbing legs. I hate when that happens. No matter how hard I pedaled, I just couldn't go very fast, and Herb easily dropped me. I mashed, I spun, and swore - no use, I simply couldn't get up the hill at a speed greater than 'too-slow.'

At the top, we swung by Herb's office and dropped our leg warmers there. The sun had shown her full face by this time, warming the air and us considerably. We still needed arm warmers and vests as we continued on our descent down Foothill Blvd. into Pasadena. This section of the route is fairly straight forward and rarely eventful (thank goodness). Saturday morning traffic was light (to be expected) and our pace steady. My legs were fine if not stellar on the flats and descents (duh) but failed me miserably even on the tiniest roller. I didn't let it bother me as I wasn't that far back from Herb on the climbs, and he didn't need to wait much more than a few seconds for me to crest any hill.

By the time we arrived at Encanto Park, a break was welcomed. We'd ridden 30 miles by then and were well warmed. I munched on Shot-blocks while Herb ate his banana (always has at least one banana on a ride). The Park was packed, and we saw many cars with bike racks. Must have been a Baldy run taking place, and I imagined the Adobos were out killing the hills in style. We didn't stay long enough to find out, and geared up to leave.

As I tried filling my water bottles at the Park, I noticed a milky white residue in the water. Eww! I showed Herb, and he agreed that I couldn't drink that. I had no water and 15 miles, most of it climbing, to cover before the next water stop. I told him that I thought I'd be fine and would sip off some of his water. Neither of us were convinced of this but took off in the direction of Hwy 39 anyway. We took the SGRT bike path over from Encanto and at the northern end where it meets Hwy 39 is a Forest Ranger Station. It use to just be a little shack, but not now. They've built it up very nicely and have included bathrooms and a water fountain! The water there was crystal clear, and I filled both my bottles before taking off on the climb up the scenic highway that stretched out before us.

Some folks don't like Highway 39. They think it too trafficked and dangerous. My friend, and uber-endurance rider, Francis, was struck by a car and left unconscious years ago on 39. But I've never had an issue or even felt threatened. I've had more close calls right here in my neighborhood by cars pulling out of their driveways not bothering to look for cyclists (or cars for that matter). I also find 39 beautiful as it runs up through the section of the San Gabriels that connects Angeles Crest to Mt. Baldy.

My friend, Bob, would laugh at that description as it's just so silly (they don't really connect except in my weird, cyclist mentality). But that's how I see it - one big playground of mountain roads and canyons leading way to adventures and epic rides. Of course, Angeles Crest was ravaged with fire this year, so following Hwy 39 to Hwy 2 and around is no longer an option (not that I'm in the shape right now to accomplish that ride, anyway). The only way to use Hwy 39 at present is to head in the direction of Baldy, which means turning right at East Fork Road.

On Saturday, the beauty of Highway 39 that I always describe to others was there in abundance, only it had been scarred by the recent fires. You don't see the damage until you are halfway up the canyon, and given that you are too distracted by the beauty of the San Gabriel Dam on your right, it takes a few minutes to focus on the destruction to your left, up into the canyon hillsides.

The path the fire took is evident and only does it stop at the river's damp edges. In place of what was once thick brush are now blackened sticks, standing testaments to the power of nature. Oddly, after the initial shock of seeing this beautiful canyon burnt, I still found a dramatic beauty in these areas, as if some tragic story had been told in whispers of hot flame and through which, I was only a passing tourist. Most encouraging, I saw many outbursts of new brush spotting the burnt ground - Mother Nature already healing her many injuries.

On the climb up, my legs again nothing but thick, useless logs, I watched Herb go on ahead. Why I was climbing so slowly was beyond me, but I just kept pedaling. There were breezes keeping the warmth at bay as the day had turned toasty. Southern California is known for these types of temperature jumps, and they can wreak havoc on the back, especially a back like mine (bulging disc in L5). I kept getting overheated and then chilled on the downhills, but mostly I was fine with it. I'm not sure what was going on, but even with heavy climbing legs, I still felt strong and happy to be on my bike. The endorphins had set in by this point, my mood was lifting and the day's ride improving.

At East Fork, it was just a few more miles until we were treated with a huge basket of deep fried goodness. Both Herb's and my eyes were bigger than our stomachs, and we ordered onion rings alongside our french fries, and two cokes! We didn't eat it all, but laughed at our gluttony. Those fries were so good if not a little greasy, and with ample salt and ketchup, I could feel my blood sugar rise with each bite. We didn't stay too long (although this was our longest break of the day), as we had more climbing to tackle on the way back down 39 in the form of rollers; nothing too daunting but the day was creeping by.

As we got back on our bikes and out onto 39, we'd cooled considerably. My legs were now stiff and the slow-climbing-thing was getting to me. I stopped my bike and hollered to Herb to stop.

"Herb! Come help me," I cried, while making a 'pucker-face' for dramatic emphasis.

"What? A flat tire?" Herb was off digging in his saddle bag even before I could reply.

"No, I think it's my back brakes. They have to be rubbing. Remember how on the last CAM they were rubbing and we realized that was what was slowing me down all day?"

Herb didn't reply and just got busy with some tool, loosening/adjusting my back brakes. I teased him with, "don't break them!" and "are you sure they'll work and not kill me trying to brake?" before he finally finished tinkering. It was then back on the bike and off of East Fork onto Hwy 39. Now, it could have been psychological, but lo and behold, it was so much easier to pedal! Sheesh...I really need to take Patsy in for an overall tune up so that I don't have these issues.

As we continued along 39, we struggled. The canyon is known for its afternoon headwinds, and we were struck hard by them. The winds were relentless and even on sections where we should have sailed down the hills, we were creeping along under 30 mph. We hadn't expected this (although we should have, tsk tsk), and I knew we were losing precious time. At Encanto Park, we took a quick potty break and agreed that we'd skip the Cuban Bakery where we initially planned to take another food break. Instead, we swung by a small market in Monrovia, grabbed drinks and a snack (dill pickle & Beetlejuice, for the win!) and took off again. This meant very few breaks for the day and heavy pedaling for a good 30 miles (up hills on 39 and back down in headwinds). It had taken its toll! Both of us were fatiguing, and worse still, the day had turned chilly.

As we slogged along Orange Grove, my legs still deadwood, I thought of how great a beer would taste, I thought of warm clothes, a hot shower and a taco. I was getting grumpy and the endorphins were beginning to fade. Damn! Luckily, we didn't have far to go before hitting a long descent into the final stretch of the ride. I knew I could HTFU and make it. Herb was standing a lot and stretching on the bike, which meant his back hurt. We needed another break, but our daylight was waning. I told Herb we should pull over even if for 5 minutes and stretch, and he agreed. We did just that in the Pasadena neighborhood above the Rose Bowl - just pulled on over into someone's driveway and I sat on the curb, stretching my legs out before me while Herb did some painful looking leg-bendy-things.

I looked at Herb who was grimacing as he bent and stretched one long leg to the side of him, "Here is the time in the ride where I say, 'when the going gets tough...' and you say...?"

"Quit." Herb was not in the mood.

I had to laugh. "That was not the right answer, mister," I replied. Although, I was right there with him.

We did not quit, however. No, we got back on our bikes and, at mile 80, climbed the last small (but, oh so painful) hill out of Descanso Gardens to Foothill. From there it was a glorious, five mile descent to Glenoaks and over to Senora, and then....Doh!

"Oh, crap," Herb said suddenly.

"What?" I was not in the mood to hear an 'oh, crap' at this point. I could already taste that post ride victory beer.

"We're just barely at mile 90. Map-my-Ride was off on mileage. We've got to add at least 8 miles." See, Herb and I agreed at the beginning of the year that a century ride would be 98 miles to 108 miles in length. Anything less was not a century, anything more than 108 was a double metric. If you are reading this and disagree, too bad, those are our rules and we're sticking to them. Although, I would like it noted here that I feel anything 97 miles to 120 miles is a century, but Herb refused those parameters.

Having to add 8 miles when you're tired, cold and craving beer is miserable. I speak from experience. Oh, and to add injury to insult, it was getting dark, as in 'cars had their headlights on' dark. Not ideal conditions to be riding in on a Saturday, near-evening. It was now 4:30pm - and Herb got a flat tire that had to be fixed! - and our only option was to pedal like crazy through Griffith Park, along Forest Lawn and back to get the full 98 miles. It was downright cold by that time, and the sun was leaving us for good. As we neared Herb's neighborhood, I asked him, "Where we at?" (I still don't ride with an odometer for no other reason than laziness.)

"We're shy a mile and a half. I say we just ride around the block, and it is what it is." Herb was as miserable as I was, and being so close to home was messing with his head.

"OH, NO YOU DON'T," I snapped in a tone that got his attention. "You've spent all year giving me crap about how it has to be 98 miles on the dot or it's not considered a century, and you're not changing the rules now just cause you're tired." Believe me, Herb will thank me for this later, but at the time I said it, I think he honestly wanted to beat me senseless.

He grumbled something under his breath and relented. We then rode up and down the streets by his house (including his street) until we got to 98.5 miles. Phew! I was so happy to dismount. It was now 5:00pm on the nose and dark! But we did it. Yippee!!! Cam 11 in the books.