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Last Gasp of a Dying Blog

2010-05-19T13:57:00.000-07:00

Hey!

If you got here from one of my Moo Cards handed out at WebVisions, welcome! This blog kinda died around the time...no make that exactly the time I started school at the Art Institute of Portland in the fall of 2008.

I plan to rise like a phoenix from the ashes next month with a new blog/portfolio site on Wordpress. In the meantime, you should follow me on twitter, as 140 character chunks is all my brain has to give for the time being. Be sure to introduce yourself so I can follow you back!

I'm also looking for a web development internship this summer. I'm into front-end development with a particular interest in learning Wordpress, Drupal and other content management systems, sharpening up my JQuery and generally soaking up all your wisdom.

Contact me if you think we might be a match.

Another Country

2010-02-27T16:17:00.001-08:00

Jess and I are in beautiful Boulder, CO for a long weekend, visiting her good friends from when she lived in DC. Carrie & Denis have two adorable boys Alex(4) and Colin (16 months). I actually first met them about three years ago when I helped drive my sister to D.C. to start law school.

We flew in Thursday afternoon and caught up with Denis, who picked us up from the airport. When we got to the house, Alex, who of course remembered neither of us, only played shy for about 2 minutes. Within the hour, he had taken to excitedly calling Jessica over to see his latest bristol block creation or Star Wars action figure.

Carrie put the final touches on some soup, carrying Colin on her hip almost the whole time. She said he was going through his mamma-separation-anxiety phase. She finally was able to put him down for a few minutes, and I took the opportunity to make my move. It’s my habit to scoop up cute babies whenever possible.

To my surprise, he didn’t freak out, just stared at me with adorable big brown eyes as if he was measuring my soul. I even got in some quick samples of baby cheek, one of my favorite delicacies. Later I got to help with bedtime, working through a short screaming fit (I sympathized—I hated bedtime as a kid too), to put on the nighttime diaper and jammies before handing him over to Carrie for his bedtime ~~scoobie~~ booby snack.

Carrie warned us that they’re early risers, so the pounding of little feet over our heads around 6am the next morning was no surprise. Luckily sleeping is one of my super powers, so I wasn’t bothered. I got to ‘sleep in’ till 8:00 and then it was up for a quick breakfast so we could all pile into the mini van to drop Alex off for a couple of hours of preschool, and Denis at a quick work meeting.

With our party down three adults and one kid, we headed to nearby Chautauqua park in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains to hike a little. Thursday’s dusting of snow gleamed off the fields and the trail while the almost ever-present Colorado sun beamed welcome vitamin D into our skin.

We made it about half a mile with a cranky Colin being carried by his mom before Carrie decided he wasn’t going to calm down. She offered to take him back to the car and hang out, while we hiked on a ways and enjoyed the woods.

The sudden silence was palpable after the half mile of constant crying, which lead to a conversation about parenthood, and how different the lifestyle of parents can be from ours. Of course, everyone does it differently, but Carrie & Denis have a fairly traditional structure in which he works and she mostly stays home with the kids. The night before she had detailed the workings of her mom’s group for us.

The group is has about 150 members, and requires a small fee for yearly dues. They ask each member to contribute on a regular basis, be it helping with events, trading child care or being on the board. Yes, I said the board. Clearly this was not our mother’s mom’s group! Everything is organized electronically, so non tech-savvy mom’s have a hard time unless they’re willing to learn. Carrie told us she gets about thirty Evites per month and sifts through them to decide what events they’ll attend. And the childcare trade? You get a certain number of ‘tokens’ per hour of watching others’ kids, which you can then trade for some kid-free time of your own for a night out.

I tried to imagine such a formal structuring of the ‘takes-a'-village’ concept in Portland and couldn’t really see it happening. Maybe there is something like that and I just don’t know about it—why would I? But I suspect, that Portland culture is a little too laid back for a mommy Board of Directors.

Alex and Colin are terribly sweet boys for the most part, with the usual tantrums and exuberance of course, both adorable in their own ways. Colin with those big eyes and super cute expressions and Alex with his polite manners and obviously sharp mind. He loves playing Uno and at four, he’s a pretty fierce competitor. He can’t hold his cards in his hand yet, so he puts them in neat rows face down on the table, quickly shuffling through to find draw-two or wild card that will ruin all your well laid plans.

So far, we’re having a lovely visit, though we learned the hard way that we violate Colin’s nap schedule at our peril. Aside from enjoying the different weather (sun!) of Boulder, the constant breath taking vista of the Rockies to the west (does that ever get old? I hope not)—It feels to me like we’re visiting another country—the country of Parenthood. We’ve adapted ourselves pretty well to the customs of this new place, getting out of bed at earlier hours (for me anyway), riding the occasional tantrum wave and grooving to superhero soundtracks in the car while joining in the local custom of playing Blues Clues to make long drives go by quicker.

Like most trips away from home, I’m enjoying the local flavor and taking in all the joys of this new lifestyle—but this peek into parenthood, also reconfirms my decision that I wouldn’t want to live their permanently. We barely have the energy to herd our three rambunctious cats. I have nothing but mad respect for Carrie, Denis and good parents everywhere (especially mine) for shepherding little lives until they can bloom into adulthood.

Sonnets

2009-11-02T21:33:00.000-08:00

This week's creative writing assignment was to write a sonnet. I'd never written a sonnet before but having learned the basic rules, it's not hard to see why. The are a lot of rules! I don't write much poetry to begin with so trying to conform to all those rules was a challenge.

While I was trying to write my first sonnet, a second one rudely interrupted and insisted on coming out first. So here they are, in order of their birth (but reverse order of conception).

Sonnet Lament

These sonnet rules do cause the mind to rage
Time ticks away, the deadline doth approach
Though inspiration shines upon the page
The lines resist all efforts to be coached
into neat rhythms tied up with a bow
encased in fourteen lines measured in fives
There must be well kept tricks that I don't know
which give eternity to poet's lives
That Shakespeare makes a student's life pure hell
Examples lofty in their faultless prime
Just three more lines before the sounding bell
At least I'll fin'lly turn one in on time!
In time and hist'rys dimming light shall fade
This poem and (a hopef'lly) passing grade

For Jess

My restless youth was full of lonely years.
Love's sweet caress was ever far from shore.
Watched friends aglow but hid my bitter tears,
that fell atop a barren desert floor.
Through modern web I cast my spid'ry eye,
you lured through the promise of like minds.
At rink's edge did I see you standing by,*
and rolled into your arms through fate's designs.
Like parted souls rejoined we made our vow,
through sickness, health, in happy and in sad,
Long wait forgotten in the here and now,
your presence wipes away all but the glad.
Though in the law, we be not legal wives,
Your best friend I remain, for all our lives.

*Yes, we met online and then at roller skating rink

Fight Cancer, Win an Ipod Touch

2009-10-23T16:47:00.001-07:00

This day has been mostly a waste, but it’s not over yet, so I thought I’d do something that’s been on my mind for a while. Taking a page from Fatty’s book, I’m giving away my brand new, still-in-the-box-with-the-plastic around it 8 GB Ipod Touch to some lucky person who heads over to my Livestrong page and donates any multiple of $5 to the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

If you’re a Fat Cyclist reader, I’m sure you’re probably used to bigger and better prizes. So sorry I don’t have a bike or a fabulous trip to give away. But---fighting cancer is about everyone doing what they can. I’ve got this toy sitting around I don’t need, doing my part to kick cancer in the nuts is more useful than making a few bucks off Ebay.

So, even though I’ve just broken every good rule of blogging by posting to my ghost-town of a blog, on a Friday afternoon, I’m hoping you’ll help make sure my day isn’t a total bust, by going over to my page and dropping a fiver or three or four and telling your friends. Those of you who knew my mom, who we lost to Cancer in 2007, know I come by this procrastination honestly. She was late to her own funeral you know. (I made sure of it—consistency is important).

This contest will last until Midnight PST on Monday Oct 26th. Tuesday, I’ll announce the winner. For the price of a crappy Starbucks latte, you could have yourself a cool new toy. Regardless, you’ll be fighting cancer—and that’s always a good way to spend the day.

For mom. Miss you.

Mountain Bike Bliss at Hagg Lake

2009-10-17T14:01:00.001-07:00

Going to school during the summer had many nasty side effects, one of which was that I didn’t ride my mountain bike on one single trail for the entire summer. The closest I got was doing a few short track races at PIR, which, being 10 minutes by bike from home is pretty convenient. Still, last summer, I did both Mountain Bike Oregon Weekends and even managed to run off to Bend with my girlfriend. I couldn’t stomach the idea that my poor steed wouldn’t touch a trail in 09.

Luckily when I sent out a desperate call for a last minute riding buddy, Zan replied. She shuffled a few meetings around and suddenly we had a whole Friday to search out and ride that sweetest of mountain biker drugs—singletrack.

I perused my stack of little-used guide books and we narrowed the choices to either Post Canyon in Hoodriver, or Hagg Lake, just an hour west of Portland. Since we were looking for something a little more cross country, than freeride oriented, we chose Hagg Lake, and to say we weren’t disappointed would be an understatement.

As Zan was loading my bike onto her car rack, I heard her yelling out the name of a mutual friend who was just riding up to my neighbor’s house to go on a road ride with them. When we mentioned our chosen destination, her look was not very approving. “Is the trail bad,” we asked, concerned.

“No, it was just a little buggy.”

Since fall was well underway, we figured that wouldn’t be a problem.

We parked near the dam and entered the trail having no idea what we would find. The weather was as perfect as we could ask for—a picturesque fall day with full sun and a light breeze. The trail started out mellow, winding gently through a tunnel of trees. For about 90 seconds I found myself thinking, “This is nice…I could even bring Jess out here*.” Then things got interesting.

The trail started to dish out surprises—going from smooth and flowy in one second to sudden turns revealing small, but lung/leg-busting little hills that would leave you walking if you weren’t geared down and ready for them. I become more alert and more excited. My smile got bigger. Dragonflies darted in and out of my path but there wasn’t a mosquito to be found.

About 15 minutes in, we made a hard right turn into a sharpe, longish off-camber incline with enough exposure to make me rethink my attempt to ride it. It was one of the many sections we encountered that I thought might be rideable on a second pass. But such is the fun of exploring a new trail. You don’t know what’s coming so you just have to stay focused and try to react without letting your brain get in the way. When we started, I felt like I didn’t even remember how to ride over bumps, but after a little while, I started to loosen up.

The biggest surprise of the day was finding out pretty quickly that I’m a more advanced MTB rider than Zan. Zan is an Ironman and a regular racer with our team and could easily hand me my ass on the road, without even breathing heavy (which is good since she has asthma). In fact the one road ride that Jess and I took with Zan a couple of summers ago, she was recovering from a bad cold and her lungs were still pretty weak, which was the only reason we managed any semblance of keeping up.

Mountain biking seems to require just the kinds of sudden hard efforts that asthma probably doesn’t like—and hills are more challenging because you’re also navigating obstacles. We quickly fell into a routine, with me riding in front so I could keep my rhythm going and just stopping every few minutes to wait. It gave me a chance to enjoy the scenery and stop and smell—well if not the roses, then the trees.

The nice thing about riding around a lake, is that you don’t have to do a lot of way finding. For the most part when we encountered forks in the trail, we just kept turning right. We did take a few wrong turns, which ended us either at a cliff overlooking the water or in one case, a disc golf course ‘hole.’ We just counted it all as part of the adventure.

It’s a good thing there weren’t many bugs because they might have ended up in my teeth. The smiling was pretty constant and I kept suppressing the urge to shout for no reason—and sometimes I didn’t bother. I felt like Hiro after he teleported to NY for the first time.

Zan and I couldn’t figure out why no one had ever mentioned how extremely awesome the Hagg Lake trail is. Even Danielle hadn’t said anything that morning. Maybe the bugs were so bad, she had blocked out the good memories.

There seemed to be a bit of everything to be had. As we worked our way around, skinny tunnels through trees gave way to wider bits of double track along open fields, which turned into literal singe-track—divets through high grasses just big enough for our fat tires.

About two thirds of the way around, we got going after a photo stop and I got into a particularly good groove. The trail was throwing some challenging hills, but I went into the zone and powered up them. Then there would be the descent and some flowing curves. I was killing it, and I could hear Zan right behind me, which kept me motivated to go faster.

Finally the trail opened up again and I pulled to one side of a double track section, and a guy I didn’t know whooshed past, yelling “Wow, you’re in really good shape!” as he went by.

Oh crap! All that time I thought it was Zan! “I thought you were my friend!” I yelled as he pedaled away. It wasn’t long before the real Zan came pedaling up. She had heard him coming in pretty hot and pulled over right away. It’s kind of hard to look over your shoulder on the trail. It’s a good way to run into a tree. No harm done and we continued on our way.

All too soon, we could see the dam and the road going over it that meant our perfect trail was near it’s end. A short pavement stint took as back to the parking lot where we sat on a picnic bench and ate snacks. Zan introduced me to something called Primal Strips that look and taste like jerky but are vegan. You can pick gluten free or ones made without soy. They were pretty tasty and I couldn’t wait to try them out on Jess.

Two fishermen wandered over looking every inch the part except for one guy with an incongruous Livestrong bracelet. He inquired whether we had ridden around the lake, the distance and how long it took. “That’s longer than I need to ride,” was his conclusion. He saw us struggling to open up our Primal strips and kindly offered up his friend’s pocket knife, which he promised hadn’t been used on any fish. Since the knife was about 2 inches long, I figured he was telling the truth.

He was inspired to tell us about his son, who did a triathlon nearby and how he talked his girlfriend—who had never run before in her life—into doing a half-ironman. “It was a big race—they had real Ironmen from Hawaii and everything.”

Zan was quiet, and by the greatest effort of will, I refrained from bragging for her about her Ironman status. She had just showed me her new tattoo of her Ironman Canada number before we started the ride. But Zan’s not one for showing off, so I kept my mouth shut.

“Did she break up with him?” I asked the fisherman, about the girlfriend. Jess wasn’t happy with me for taking her on a 65 mile ride of all hills in the coast range. I could just imagine the reaction of someone who had never run trying to do a triathlon with little no training.

He laughed. “Well, things were tense for a while and I don’t think there was a lot of lovin’ going on.” He didn’t quite have an accent, but he drawled in a way particular to people who’s lives are slower-paced than city dwellers.

We we quiet then, going back to our respective enjoyment of what would turn out to be one of the last gorgeous days of fall.

On the drive back, we hit the inevitable traffic snarl on Hwy 26, and Zan had the brilliant idea of getting of at Sylvan and taking Skyline to Germantown Rd and over the St John’s bridge. It’s a road she’s ridden dozens of times, but had never driven. After we’d passed a few cyclist on the narrow road with more than it’s share of blind corners, she wondered aloud how they ever survived riding up there!

Of course we hit another parking lot on the road as we got to the bottom of Germantown, but it didn’t take too long to inch our way onto the bridge entrance. Zan pulled over to let a tailgating guy in an 80’s red Prelude pass by before he smashed up the bikes on the rear rack.

The whole day made me simultaneously glad I’d managed at least one MTB ride and kicking myself for not somehow squeezing in more of them over the summer. I’ll be holding onto the memory of smooth flowing trail under a bright blue sky to see me through a long winter of gray.

Road Map to Distraction

2009-05-23T00:17:00.001-07:00

...because knowing is half the battle.

1. OK, I'm getting to work. See me study web site design. Now where was that tutorial I was going to check out? Hmm, I will search for it.

2. Ah, here it is! But what's this? Looks interesting. I should go check it out.

3. (30 min later...) wow, this site is full of great stuff. So helpful and interesting. I think I'll check out the examples of good design next.

4. (Clicks on example page). Wow, this guy not only has a good site, he is hysterical and totally twisted. Better sign up for the RSS feed so I can read more later.

5. (RSS sign up takes me to Bloglines) OK, that's done. Oh look, Fat Cyclist has a new post. (Click)

6. Fatty: "Be sure to take a look at my sister’s blog post today. In one day, she’s went from $0 to $755 for her LiveStrong Challenge." I hate cancer. (Click).

7. Wow, that's so cool. Maybe I should sign up for a Livestrong ride and raise some money...

8. What was I doing?

And so on...

The problem with working 'on the web' is you have to be on the web to do it. Must work on Save vs OHLOOKBRIGHTSHINYINTERNETOBJECT!

Do You Want Apps With That?

2009-04-17T01:08:00.001-07:00

In marketing parlance, I'm what's known as a laggard. I don't rush out to buy the next big thing as soon as it hits the market. Especially when it comes to technology. It's a given that it's going to be over priced (known as market skimming) and full of bugs. So I wait, sometimes years, and let the dust settle. Back when I was still a PC owner, I went straight from Windows98 to XP if that gives you any idea.

When Apple came out with Intel Macs, I went into interview mode and talked to everyone I saw in coffee shops. The honeymoon lasted about five weeks, and then the bugs started to crawl out into the open. I waited about a year, and then I caught the tail end of the caboose and upgraded, mostly so I could have my Mac and eat Windows too. In fact, I'm typing this in Windows right now.

For the past two years, I've managed to maintain a comfortable indifference to the iPhone. I wasn't a hater (except of AT&T), but I wasn't pining for it either. In fact, I've been remarkably anti smart phone since they came into wide spread use. I never succumbed to the lure of the 'Crackberry' because I never felt the lure. As a jobless student, and before that a typical paycheck to paycheck American, I couldn't really justify it. Plus, I didn't like the idea of having so much stuff in one place.

I like my phone to work as a phone thankyouverymuch, a fact I confirmed after a brief stint with Verizon's TV phone, which may have let me watch ER, but couldn't allow me to understand someone on the other end of the phone line. If my phone gets lost or damaged, I still have my camera and my iPod because they're separate devices, which do what they do quite well. As technologies get smaller, creators get more and more mashup fever, which I don't think is necessarily a good thing.

But, a few weeks ago, Jess noted that my contract expire date is coming up in a few months and started casually mentioning the iPhone. As the weeks went by, the hints become more like hammers: "If you had an iPhone, you wouldn't need to print those directions." I promised her that I would add 'research iPhone' to my growing spring break to-do list.

Financially, I was surprised to find that the monthly cost wouldn't be much more than we're paying now--thanks to Jess's discount through work and our paltry need of minutes (aren't phones really just for texting now?). We both started asking everyone we saw with iPhones how they liked them. The answers were mostly the same: people are by and large completely pwned by their new best friends.

"Do you like your iPhone?" I asked a classmate last week.

"Yes and no."

"What's the no part?" I asked.

"I'm addicted to it."

Other answers are variations on the theme.

"Does it drop calls?"

"Yes. But I LOVE it."

People admit to being antisocial. They no longer need books in waiting rooms. They hate AT&T but they can't live without the iPhone.

Finally, on a sunny day when we were riding bikes around town, we went to the Apple store and kicked the tires a bit, sent each other text messages, made calls and pestered the sales person with questions. What I heard about the upcoming software upgrade made me feel better. The whole 'not sending pictures with text messages' thing seems so very basic, and it's finally going to be fixed. Not having that feature was one of the main things that helped me keep my ' yeah, I don't really need that' cool.

The next night, Jess found a movie of the March presentation from Apple about the new 3.0 features and we sat up watching way past our bed time, riveted by all the new possibilities and Apps. A geek from Harvard with strong music foo demonstrated his Leaf Trombone app, playing a duet of Phantom of the Opera with his colleague by blowing into the microphone and sliding their fingers up and down the screen.

About the only thing they didn't show was a hologram of Princess Leia, begging Obi-Wan to help her. Maybe next year, and you know the light saber app won't be far behind.

So now I've gone from my carefully cultivated calm indifference, to gotta-have-it-now impatience. As of this writing, I have 88 days left on my Verizon contract. Jess is already free and clear, and threatening to phone divorce me, so she won't have to wait.

I actually looked at the Verizon web site to see what the penalty would be for breaking my contract--and then reminded myself that I really should wait for the new version of the phone to come out. It's not really early adoption if it's the third version of the phone, right?

Since the test drive, I've reconciled the fact that I'm about to sell my soul to the devil for at least two years. We've heard rumors that Apple might one day escape from the clutches of AT&T, but we're not willing to wait. I'll miss my nice clear calls (the few that I made anyway) on Verizon, but I'll console myself by viewing bike routes for camping trips with GPS maps and playing bluetooth connected backgammon with strangers on the train.

Oh, Jess and I said we'd look into comparable smart phones of the fruitier variety, but we never did. The writing is on the wall, and I decided that if I'm going to drink the Kool-Aid, I'm not going to complain about the after taste.

When the time comes, I'll sound a hearty little "Baaaaaaaaah!" as I sign on the dotted line, and then we'll go home and hang photos on our walls using the iPhone to make sure they're level--cause there's an App for that.

Cherry Blossom Classic

2009-04-12T00:15:00.001-07:00

As the date of this bicycle race, cosponsored by my team Sorella Forte, got closer, I started grumbling more. What was I thinking, agreeing to spend my last weekend of an already too-short spring break--and I use the word 'break' loosely-- standing around the side of the road in The Dalles, OR?

But it was too late to back out. At the least, I figured I'd get far enough east to get a little sun. So, after spending most of the day Friday putting the last touches on our newly painted office, I packed (I used the word 'packed' loosely) up too much and not enough stuff and headed east. I took my Cross Check, figuring that any riding I might have a chance to do would be more commute style than recreational road riding. My poor roadie definitely needs some love though.

I left after 7:00pm, late enough to miss rush hour traffic. My energy was good and so was my iPod mix and the drive out was not bad, as drives go, until I got into town and mis-read the directions. I turned left off the exit, which took me straight into Washington. Not good. I turned around and stopped at the gas station to get directions, turning off a song that might get me shot before getting out of the car. The guy in the gas station was very nice and gave me a free map. A few more missed turns in the dark and I finally arrived at my host house, home of Tara, her daughter Leanna and their incredibly cute dog, Milo. Milo unfortunately stays in an outdoor kennel all the time or I would have been happy to sleep with him.

The back door was open with a welcoming note to come in and make ourselves at home. Leanna was the only one home, sharing her mom's room for the weekend and allowing one of us volunteers to take over her (very pink) room. Jen's bag was already stashed in there, so I took the 'designated teen room' with a much more sleep-compatible color palatte.

I took the sign at it's word and settled in the living room to catch the end of Dollhouse. Tara came home shortly after that though so we ended up chatting instead. I could tell instantly that she was very sweet (she was letting a bunch of strangers invade her home after all) and very involved in the community. She told me about her work with Haven, a shelter for domestic violence victims. I got a tour of the kitchen and she'd bought all kinds of muffins, fruit trays, juice and coffee for us.

Jen came home a bit later and we had a chance to talk some too. The best part of the weekend was definitely spending time and actually having conversations with my team mates. Since I don't race and don't show up to the group rides (thanks in part to the school black hole I'm in for at least another two years), I rarely get to see them, and have a terrible time remembering names when I do. Jen is doing some really interesting work with her consulting firm so we geeked out about web stuff for a while. Then she wisely went to bed, while I unwisely stayed up way too late reading Ghost Trails.

In the morning I reported to the defunct Petersburg school and checked in with Shari. She sent me to join Deb and Maureen at the turn off to the parking lot at the school and direct folks to the start line, two miles further up the road. I drove back down and parked next to Deb, but they warned that the property owner might be a little crotchety about having more than one car there. So I took the opportunity to go back to the school and ride my bike the half mile back to our spot. Whoo hoo, I used my bike, yay!

There we proceeded to talk and shiver in the sunny, but 35 degree morning air. Even with the cold, time flew by until they both left for a nature break and ended up going on errands for Shari for an hour. And me with no book to read. And despite packing everything under the sun, I had left my mittens at home, which I was sorely regretting. So I did jumping jacks in between directing riders on high end, funny looking time trial bikes to turn left to get to the start. It was funny when I told them it was two miles up the road and some of them reacted with a look that clearly said, that far? To which I replied, "You're a racer, you can make it!"

Eventually my companions returned and we resumed gossiping about everything from the common tax bracket of most racers (those bikes are pricey, and the crashes inevitable), to the sexual orientation of the racing community at large (overwhelmingly straight among men, in fact the three of us couldn't think of one gay male racer). This confounded Mo's sheltered coworker, who assumed that any sport with that much spandex must be crawling with homos.

The temperature eventually rose to more pleasant levels and a coffee fairy came by with Starbucks *and* condiments.

The time trial was over at 11am, at which point we were released from duty for a few hours, until the afternoon criterium. As I drove back toward Tara's, I crested a hill and was literally stunned by the majestic view of a snowy Mt Hood, framed by a cloudless blue sky.

We met up at Tara's, where Maureen would be taking over the pink room that night. Then we went into town for some lunch. When we asked locals about food places, the choices read like a who's who of fast food joints: McDonalds, Subway, Carl's Jr, Burgerville...and Taco Del Mar. Deb decided on TDM. It was actually the nicest location I'd been to and they had free wifi. Who says you can't get modern conveniences in small towns?

When we showed up downtown later, we were put on corner marshal duty for the criterium. Our job was to keep people from crossing the street in front of the racers. It's amazing how easy it is to control a crowd when there's no actual crowd. It was a pretty chill assignment and of course, the racing provided great entertainment. And did I mention the sun was out? My corner mate Connie, a resident of The Dalles, even traded corners with me so I could shelter behind a building and out of the ever present wind.

Towards the end of the women's 1/2/3 race, my team mate Sage came over to visit. As a mountain bike racer, Sage was out of her element, but had decided to dip her toe just once in the road racing pool. I left her to guard my post for a few minutes while I found the loo and when I came back, all hell had broken loose. There was a nasty crash as the women came out of the turn on the last corner of the race. I heard talk of broken ribs, femurs, concussions. I was kind of glad I didn't see the crash. I think those things are much more bearable to watch on TV. In the end, four riders went away in three ambulances and the men's race was shortened by fifteen minutes because of the delay.

The men's pro race went off without any mishaps and all the exciting race tactics you'd expect from a pro race. It's amazing how they make the beginning riders look like they're out for a sunday stroll. There's an audible whoosh when they go by. It's pretty cool.

When the racing was over, we worked well into the evening breaking down all the equipment, including the scafolding over the finish line. The weekend definitely made me appreciate all the work that goes into pulling off a successful bike race. The owner of the pizza shop came out when we were nearly finished and offered the nectar of the gods--FREE BEER! Everyone become very excited except for me of course. I managed to get a free juice instead and we all hung out and talked of bikes and racing and sun, sweet sweet vitamin-D-giving sun, till the owner brought out a mop and kicked us out.

When I got 'home' Lorraine, a new team member, also joined us at the house. Lorraine is in nursing school and I have plenty of experience listening to nurses bitch about work, so I listened while she told me about some evil biddy who's making her clinical training extra challenging. I could tell from the way she handled the situation that she has zero tolerance for B.S. and she's going to be a fantastic nurse.

My phone service said 'extended' from the moment I arrived in town, so instead of calling Jess each night, we used Google voice chat, which worked quite well. Her laptop doesn't have video but hearing her voice was better than texting. I once again stayed up too late with Jill's Ghosts, and then slept poorly on top of it, thanks to a second TDM burrito brought around for free to the course marshalls. Yeah, burrito for lunch and dinner with no Beano wasn't really a great plan.

The next morning it was off to the Gorge Discovery Center for the start of the final stage of the race. This was a road race on a 28 mile loop course featuring several evil climbs. When you turn onto a road that's named Seven Mile Hill Rd, there really can't be any good in store. The cat 4 women only had to do one loop, but everyone else did 2-3 turns around the course. My station was at the turn off to Seven Mile Hill Rd, and my job was just to make sure the racers turned onto the right road on the three way fork.

The races went off three at a time with about 10 minutes in between. On the first lap, the peloton was still all together with the lead car in front, so I really wasn't necessary, but I waved the blue pom pom Shari had given me and said encouraging things to all the racers. It was a gorgeous day, sunny, just shy of warm and not too much wind, at least for the Gorge. Once the cat 4 women came by, I had about an hour before the next wave. I drove back down the hill to hit the loo at the gas station and stock up on zoos zoos and wham whams as mom used to call them--junk food to everyone else. Then it was back to my station, where I read my book until Betty radio'd to look out for the next wave.

This time it was all strung out, as riders who had been popped off the back in the climb struggled through their own personal time trials. Sometimes they were lucky enough to find a small group to work with, but it was a good 30 minute spread between the first rider and the last. The cat 3 men who came through first were feeling good enough to joke around with me: "Hey, aren't you supposed to have our beer?"

"Its at the top of this hill," I promised.

Betty gave me a heads up when the DFL rider went through. Once I waved him on (but that road doesn't look as steep, he said wistfully of the alternate fork), I grabbed my bike again and decided to see a little of what the racers were dealing with.

There was an Ironclad racer stopped just after the turn, and he talked for a long time to someone in a support car. Then (reluctantly it seemed), he started pedaling again, just as I started up the hill. Although he'd been racing for hundreds of miles over the past three days and was obviously tired, I couldn't keep up with him even for a few minutes. The road curved gently enough that I kept him in tantalizing sight for a little while, giving me great fodder for imagining what a real race might be like. In a real race, I most surely would be spit out of the peloton in short order, and chasing to keep up with whoever I could, so it wasn't too far off the mark. I surmised that if I'd had my road bike, a big breakfast and a warm up, I maybe could have kept pace with him for a mile or so, before the road turn more sharply upward.

Once he dissappeared, I turned my attention toward the spectacular scenery. I was squarely in the middle of farm country, winding through rolling hills covered in trees still barren from winter, that looked like figures from Lord of the Rings--frozen in mid-stride by some evil force, just waiting to be set free. Rusted out trucks and farm equipment gave splashes of red to the greens and grays of the grass and rocks. And the road, at least what little of it I had time to ride in fifteen minutes, didn't seem that steep, even on my steel tank of a cross check. I decided I really need to return sometime with Jess and our road bikes and make a proper tour of it.

But time was running out and I had racers to shepherd. There was still time before the start of the final days races at noon so I went down to the start to see if I could figure out who was replacing me. I had let Shari know that I needed to leave at noon. On my last official day of spring break, I needed to get home to take care of a few things and get the car back to Jess in time for her scheduled massage.

I got on the race radio and was told that Alana would take over for me. But first I had to go give Lorraine a desperately needed potty break. She was only a half mile from the finish line, at the entrance to a golf club, closing the road when the peloton came barrelling into the last 500k of the race. I rode my bike down to her spot and she grabbed her bike from her van and took off towards the finish line and the porta-potties.

I only had to stop a few cars, but the old white guys coming out of the club weren't too keen on obeying my orders. Things that make you go hmm....as Arsenio would say. But they didn't run me over, and the racers got to sprint to the line in peace--or as much peace as you can have when your lungs are about to burst from your chest.

I cheered everyone who came by and was amused by the retort of one of the Ironclad riders who grumpily proclaimed, "This is the worst thing I've ever done!"

"But you finished!" I shouted to his quickly receding form.

When Lorraine came back, I went off to find Alana and found out she had gone back to the Sorella host house to pack up her stuff. All the racers, lead and follow cars were gathering for the start of the men's pro race and my corner marshall spot was empty. So I got back in the car and squeezed into the line behind the Landrover/Orbea support car as they rolled out. It was quite a sight to see the colorful sea of riders moving smoothly down the road. Although it felt slow as a driver, I realized were doing 20mph and the race was still neutralized while we got out of town. When we reached my corner, I pulled off to wait for the cat 3 men and pro women to come by. In the meantime, I hunted down Alana's phone number and we straightened out the hand off. I left once the last of the first wave came by, but Alana had about an hour before the men would come around again, so it all worked out.

As annoyed as I was before the start of the weekend, I had a really good time and was glad to get to know a few of my teammates better. Heck, I may even remember their names next time I see them. Hope springs eternal. The race seemed to go off without too many hitches, especially considering it was the inaugural event. And the town seemed to welcome the event too.

I hope to make it back out there sometime this summer and explore some of those open roads the proper way--on two wheels.

Love at First Sight

2009-04-11T02:13:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago, I got a text message from Jess while she was at work:

"I have a new boyfriend!"

Turned out she'd been talking to another nurse that she sees during her rounds and on impulse, she asked for his number so they could get together outside of work.

When it comes to friends, Jess is all about quality, not quantity. While I seem to collect people like cat hairs on a sweater, Jess prefers a few close friends to a ever widening ripple of acquaintances. If chatting with this guy for a few minutes between hectic work tasks had prompted her to reach out, I was certain he must be pretty darn cool.

After much back and forth to work out a time for four busy adults with non-traditional schedules to get together, we found a night that worked for everyone and were invited us to have dinner with him and his wife at their home just a couple of miles away from us.

The day also happened to be my first day of school and my first day back on the 8:00am class schedule. I stayed up too late as usual, slept like hell, and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed for the entire day. Not really the best frame of mind to meet new people in, but I was determined to buck up. I met Jess at Ristretto Coffee near the hospital after work and we rode the mile or so to their house.

Casey and Chillidog met us on the front steps, one of them barking at us in challenge/greeting. They escorted us through the yard so we could stash our bikes in the back. I immediately noticed a small covered area full of vegetable starts and behind it, two nice sized raised garden beds. Inside, we met Brenda and Chillidog calmed down enough for proper petting to ensue.

Later we got a tour of the larger garden in the vacant lot across the street. Their neighbors bought the land, but were happy to share the space. A circle of shared plots were punctuated by a big area full of hay bales covering fifteen pounds of potato seeds. The women who own the land are working on using some of the rest of the space to build a play area for the neighborhood kids. On the front edge of their yard, C & B have build a rock bench as public space. The day after it went in, two of their neighbors--and old man and a young boy--met on the bench to chat--just like they hoped.

Over the next four hours we proceeded to have a date as nice as any first date I've ever had. I learned a long time ago that it doesn't matter if it's a new friend or a potential lover, the euphoric feeling of meeting someone new who you just click with is the same. I had never experienced that feeling as a couple before, but if anything, the feeling is twice or perhaps, four times the fun.

There's usually a moment that happens not too long after we meet a new couple where we figure out how we match up--sort of like if you were to be cast in the part of one of the roles, which would it be? Brenda told Casey that the lentil pie needed to be cut, so he jumped up to do it. "You don't have to do it right now," she amended. He sat back down, causing me to blurt out, "I'm him." Casey and I are also both glass-half full types who like to keep things in perspective in trying situations. On the other hand, Brenda and I bonded over the agony of watching our partners (Virgo and Libra) try to make decisions. At one point I remarked that we must have been separated at couple birth.

I don't think any of us wanted the evening to end, but both Jess and I had early schedules the next day. On the ride home, Jess and I were already thinking about what we should make when we have them over for dinner--which I hope happens sooner than later.

It's official--we have a new crush--and I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Here's to new friends.

Alright, Stop Tagging Me Already! Here's Your 25 Things (or so)

2009-02-02T01:01:00.001-08:00

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you.

(FB instructions: Go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

1.When I was about 10, I took great delight in trying to scare my mom by hiding around corners, jumping out and yelling 'boo' when she walked by. Her room was at the top of the creakiest wooden stairs ever built, and she always heard me coming. Until one day, I spent 45 minutes climbing those stairs like Grasshopper on the rice paper and got her good. She said I probably scared a year off her life—which is somehow not as funny as it used to be. But it's still a great memory.

2.I have an obsessive personality. I've gone through periods of interest in Mt Everest, Xena Warrior Princess, Star Trek: TNG. Sometimes conventions were involved.

3.I've been bungee jumping three times and sky diving once. Both were fantastic and I would do it again. I would love to add hang gliding to the list.

4.When I was in college, I wrote a list of 23 qualities I wanted in a girlfriend. Jess has 22 of them.

5.I once serenaded a woman in front of two thousand people.

6.I am totally, seriously, dangerously addicted to The Dog Whisperer. It's on 3-5 times/day and I watch or tape most of them. I guess you could say I'm Cesar's bitch. If I were 20 and single, I would probably run away to LA to be his apprentice. Sadly, I have no dog of my own to practice all this new knowledge on. But when I do get a dog, it will be the most perfect puppy ever.

7.I'm pretty sure I've become lactose intolerant in my old age. But I'm still in deep denial about it.

8.Movies I have seen multiple times in the theatre: Bring It On (4.5), Fried Green Tomatoes (9), Truth or Dare (7), Terminator 2 (10), Titanic (4) (Shut up), Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2)

9.I hate smokers. I hated smokers before my mom died from smoking-related causes and now I REALLY REALLY REALLY hate smokers. If I walk by them, I have to squash the urge to say, “My mom died from that and I think you're stupid.” Both neighbors to either side of us smoke, and the ones on the left leave copious piles of butts all over their porch and front yard despite being told by the landlords before they moved in that the rental was non-smoking. I hate them.

10.I've always been much more focused on relationships and enjoying life than on work and careers. I guess that's why I have 192 Facebook friends (I only friend people I actually know), and only figured out 'what to be when I grow up' in the last two years.

11.During my junior year of high school, I was in a theatre group called Teens and Company. We co-wrote and performed educational theatre about 'teen issues' like drugs, sex, birth control, communication etc. We toured in various high school and middle schools and also filmed a TV version of our show that aired throughout Oregon. I was recognized out and about for it, for about six months afterwards.

12.I have developed a method of stalking that is so pleasant for the stalkee, that I can usually end up befriending them, or at least having a few fun interactions (see #5). I think that Lara could back me up on this one.

13.I make really really good omelets.

14.Church of Waffles, our infamous, formerly weekly and now monthly brunch, got started when I got dumped by the girl before Jess (note to self: send thank you note—close call!). I wanted something to do besides mope, so I hosted brunch almost every Sunday for the whole winter. Not long after, I found a fabulous girlfriend and wanted my Sundays back, so we've now gone to a once a month schedule.

15.I don't drink alcohol, never have really. A couple of wine coolers in college and then I got drunk for the first time in my twenties by accident when I ate a bunch of latkes made of rum-soaked apples. The first thing I did after my paranoid five block walk home was drunk-dial my mom. She found this very amusing. I've been drunk two other times (on purpose), both from Jimmy Mak's margarita's which were quite good. I made a complete idiot of myself both times. I can see why people like it and also, why I will probably only do it once or twice a year, if that.

16.The first DVD I rented after getting a DVD player was Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. It took me six hours to watch the movie plus all the features and extras that were included. Naturally, I thought that all DVD's had extras that thorough. It didn't take long to learn the disappointing truth.

17.My friends laughed at me in college because I started buying CD's before I had a CD player. But I felt it would be much more pathetic to have a CD player and no CD's. My birthday was coming up and mom didn't let me down. My first CD's were lots of Madonna and Boz Scaggs (Shut up!).

18.I had very long, very thick hair until I was 19. I was constantly told by family, friends and strangers, “Your hair is so pretty—don't ever cut it!” to the point where I got kind of a complex about it. Mom dropped me off in Eugene for my second year at the U of O and I finally got fed up, went to the nearest Supercuts and got it hacked off. Mom didn't believe I'd done it (this was pre-internet/phone pic days) until I opened the door of my dorm room and held up the phone as my dorm mates saw me for the first time and freaked out. I celebrated by putting bits if hair into envelopes with no note and mailing them off to lots of my relatives, causing a family wide kerfluffle.

19.I have what seems to be uncommonly good self esteem. I was baffled by the notion of peer pressure in high school (the Nancy Reagan years), not understanding why you would care what a bunch of random people thought of you, to the point of doing things you didn't want to do. I have no problem taking compliments or help from others.

20.I'm terrible at budgeting and other matters of money. I had absolutely no instruction about such matters from my parents. I'm trying to do better.

21.In spite of number 20, it's my goal to someday comfortably afford weekly professional massages.

22. This product changed my life. Seriously. If you're a woman, you should click that link and get one ASAP. If you're a man, you should click that link and send it to all the women you know. I dare you.

23.One of my goals is to become more focused and efficient. I often wish that I'd found one thing to focus on when I was younger, like music or dance, and become really good at it.

24.I would like to travel much more in the remaining years of my life. I have a goal to ride my bike across the country in the next ten years.

25.I have five bikes. But really, if you know me, you should know that by now. You can see them here.

26.One of my mottos is, 'If you don't ask, the answer is always no.' I put it into practice for my 34th birthday when I asked the lovely and talented Stephanie Schneiderman, if I could sit in for a song during her show at the Imbibe on my birthday. She said yes, even though I'm not a professional musician and she had never heard me sing. I had a big party at the restaurant and got to sing with a band, on stage in front of a huge crowd, my friends and my mom. It is by far the best birthday I've had so far.

27.Two years ago at an Ani Difranco concert, Ani forgot the words to one of her more obscure songs which just happens to be my favorite, and asked for help from the crowd. With some prodding from Jess, I climbed onstage at the Aladdin and sang most of the first verse (before my brain exploded and I forgot the rest of the verse). Another rock star moment FTW.

28. If I were to really do this for everyone who tagged me, I would have to come up with at least 300 random facts, which is why I feel perfectly justified in going over.

29. Our officially family (as in me, mom and Traci) cake is lemon with cream cheese frosting. Not from scratch, the box mix please. Thank you.

30. I finally learned to snowboard last year, at age 37, after wanting to learn for many years. If I had it to do over again, I would leave Jess at home.

31. One of my best summer memories is when Mom, Traci and I read the entire Spencer series by Robert B. Parker. We bickered over who's turn it was to go find missing items from our collection and who would get to read what next. We went to restaurants and read until our food came, pausing to share whatever passage we were giggling over. My only regret from that summer is not writing down all the recipes in the books.

32. I have greatly enjoyed reading everyone else's 25 things.

33. I think I am the second to last person in the Internet to finally do this thing so I won't be tagging anyone except Jess. Your turn honey!

When A Sheep strays from the Herd

2009-01-29T11:26:00.001-08:00

I'm not usually an advocate of skipping classes, but when Jess told me that Lindsay Mac was finally coming back to Portland--and then seconds later broke the bad news that it was happening on a Wed night, at the same time as my marketing class--I only hesitated for about 0.2 nanoseconds. Luckily it's early in the term, and my professor has this extremely helpful habit of posting her lecture notes.

It was kind of a weird show, happening during happy hour, before the regular open mic. But a little Lindsay is so much better than no Lindsay at all. I made a little card using a project from my photoshop class last term, and had it sent over to Copy Pilot to be printed. When I rushed into pick it up, I found one of my old Finkos coworkers with my print in hand. My card was spur of the moment and of course I couldn't help making a few requests. I rode my Cross Check faster than I have in a long time over to 9th and Alberta. I needn't have worried. When I walked in, the music side was still closed for sound check and the bar was practically empty.

Two women I suspected to be a couple had walked in just before me. I heard them get kicked out of the entertainment side of the bar so I stopped to dig out my card before going in. The guy doing sound check was just inside, but he didn't immediately notice me so I peeked around the corner to see Lindsay sitting at the bar working on the set list. I went over to greet her and she totally remembered me. Sort of. "Hey! It's Jess, right?"

Believe it or not, that made me happier than if she'd remembered my name. It's a common problem that when Jess is out and about without me, a lot of people don't always recognize her until she identifies herself as 'Kronda's girlfriend.' So I was thrilled to have things reversed (so to speak) for once and couldn't wait to text Jess about it.

Lindsay invited me to claim seats so I took a table close to the stage. While I was deciding, Mona, the percussionist for the band, started pressuring her to finish up the set list. Perfect. "Um, read my card, it might help," I said. She picked up and scanned the list. After that retreated to bar to scrounge for food.

I had felt, more than heard the couple who preceded me, have an unpleasant interaction with the bar tender, so I wasn't at all surprised when she turned out to be the rudest person ever. It wasn't just the condescending way she said, "bowl size" while rollling her eyes when I asked about the soup sizes, or the snotty tone she used when she informed me that, "you have to buy a drink if you want the happy hour price," Everything about her just shouted, I hate you and I have so many other things I could be doing right now. It was all I could not to ask if she gets any tips. She certainly didn't get one from me.

After I ordered, I went and made friends with the couple, who turned out to be Sally and Melinda. We started a little support group for victims of rude servers and made small talk while we waited.

In due time, Jess arrived with Lisa and Sally, who was very concerned about getting good seats, noticed they were letting folks in on the other side. So much for Rude Woman's assurances that she would announce when the doors opened. Sally and I scooted over to the line. I got in first, and saved a couple of extra seats for them.

T also showed up just then, so our gang was complete. Jess and LIsa both suffered through ordering food and then had to interact with her again to tell her we were switching sides. Thankfully that was the last unpleasantness of the evening. I saw Lindsay standing near the door and took Jess over to say hi. We officially met the band, Mona and Jason (also co-producer on Lindsay's latest CD), both doing double duty or more in the instruments department. Mona was, how shall I put it--really smokin' hot. She plays Cajón drum (otherwise known as a box), which just enhanced the effect. It was probably good that we were Lisa's ride, so we could make sure she got home to Spike OK. For that matter, it was probably good I had skipped class so I could make sure Jess got home to me OK...

Mona was fascinated by the fact that Portland holds some kind of record for number of strip clubs per capita, which was a running joke throughout the show. Afterwards I told her that coincidentally, we had just opened a strip club in our living room, but sadly, could not get her to come home with us.

Since time was tight, they played one long set and many songs from my request list made it in. Our seats were perfect and even the inevitable tall guy in front of us had immediately assured me that he would shift however he needed so that we could see. The sound was amazing and hearing Lindsay with a full (non-cello) band was extraordinary. The house (which was packed within minutes of opening) was completely mesmerized. Lindsay was charming, funny, and told just the right amount of stories while ~~torturing~~ tuning her cello in ways that were never meant to happen. About halfway through the show, she proclaimed that she feels like she belongs in Portland. I don't think our attempts to convince her to move here are having much effect (she's from Boston), but hopefully she'll visit often.

Wanderlust

2009-01-22T19:19:00.001-08:00

I'm faithful to my girlfriend and happily so, but when it comes to everything else, all bets are off. We were talking shopping in my marketing class last week and the teacher asked if I have a favorite bike shop. I said I had about ten. Yeah, when it comes to buying things, I'm kind of a ho. I admit it.

Which might explain why I have an ever growing team of body workers for every occasion. I've got acupuncturists, chiropractors, and the list of LMT's in my virtual rolodex reads like--well the little black book of someone really slutty. But each person has their own distinct style--it's like listening to great music that's all in the same genre, but the artists are distinct. My friend Colleen, whom I've known since grade school (grade school!) recently got her massage license. So when she encouraged me to sample the goods, how could I say no?

This morning I left early enough so I wouldn't have to rush and rode out to her office in St Johns. The building had an industrial feel that was immediately forgotten as I walked into her office. The low light, soft music, warm temperature and decorative fabrics hanging on the walls put me into a state of calm I hadn't felt in weeks. Yeah, this was a good idea.

We discussed my current issues and she asked me to stand against the wall while she looked at my posture. Her head tilted left and then right--and then she said something about my illium being out of wack. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the tone was familiar. It's the tone Carrie gets before she sticks acupuncture needles in my back--the one that says, 'man, we got a lot of work to do, better get started...'

I opted for a combination of deep tissue and Swedish massage so we could work on my problem areas, but I could also 'bliss out' as Colleen likes to say. So in the first half of the hour, I learned about points of origin, as she dug in to certain areas and held them until the muscles grudgingly released a bit. I also got a firm lecture to communicate if the pressure got too intense. Colleen is not of the 'no pain no gain' school of thinking, for which I was grateful. She asked about my stretching habits (non-existent since I quit yoga) and my water intake (sporadic). I felt like I'd come to class without doing my homework and resolved to do better.

After she smoothed my thighs into something more like muscles and less like tanned leather, she switched to Swedish style. Mere relaxation turned to bliss and I sunk lower into the heated table. I did *not* drool into the face cradle--but it was a near thing.

When all was said and done, I felt amazing--and stupid for once again letting so much time go by without a good massage. It feels like an indulgent treat, but really it's more like a physical/mental necessary reset. I need to find a way to integrate it more regularly into my life.

If you're feeling stressed out and need a little relief, I highly recommend dropping her a line: colleen [at] ruhanibodyworks [dot] com or contact me for her number.

What Would Spenser Do?

2009-01-13T21:13:00.001-08:00

I'd had a good first day of school. It was close to 9pm and I was on my way home, riding the Big Dummy, my favorite bike. The night felt warm at fifty degrees, especially considering the recent snowpacalypse, as everyone referred to the impressive snow storm that shut down the city over the holidays. For once it wasn't raining, and the wind was even calm.

I hadn't been thrilled about having to take night classes this term, but as I glided through the still air with hardly any cars in sight, I decided there might be a few perks to traveling home in the quieter hours.

I swept around a 270 degree loop that took me under the bridge I'd just crossed and headed north up Interstate. As I came into the industrial section, the peace of my ride was shattered as a nondescript dark sedan passed me and the driver yelled "HEY!" loudly through the open passenger window.

Several things happened at once: My brain shot a massive jolt of adrenaline through my entire body at roughly the speed of light. Even as I marveled at my body's survival instincts, my brain decided that neither fight nor flight was necessary, as the car kept on driving by. My bike wobbled briefly as I startled, but I recovered my line pretty quickly and stared in bewilderment. I knew what had happened, I just will never understand it. Some yahoo, definitely male, probably young, had decided it would be fun to play scare the biker.

All this went through my mind in the space of two pedal strokes and then I got really pissed. I hate stupid people and stupid mean people are the worst. Another two pedal stokes and the Universe decided to smile on me. The light turned red at Tillamook St, just 50 ft ahead.

I didn't hurry. I wanted to enjoy this. As I coasted to a stop, I reached down to the spot where my water bottle would have been. My disc brakes let out a customary squeak as I pulled up to the light and rested my left foot on the curb. The noise caused the driver to turn and look out of his still-open passenger window, so he got a good look as I reached down and lifted the 357 Magnum revolver out of the holster strapped to my down tube and pointed it carefully at his head.

"What is your problem?" I asked. My voice was light, conversational, but the look I gave him was probably very similar to the one my mom had when she pulled a knife on her ex boyfriend when I was nine. The gun was heavy, so I shifted my body sideways on the bike to face him more squarely and put my left hand up to steady it. I watched with satisfaction as his mischievous grin turned to an 'O' of surprise and whatever smart-ass remark he was about to utter died on his lips.

"Are you a dog?" I continued, keeping my voice light. I've been watching a lot of Dog Whisperer lately, do you watch that show? Lot of good dogs will get territorial in cars, did you know that? Perfectly calm till someone gets close to the window and then they just start barking their fool heads off. It can scare the heck out of somebody, especially if they didn't know the dog was in there."

He didn't say anything in response. There was just enough light from the MAX station lamps for me to see his knuckles whitening as they gripped the steering wheel.

The light turned green and I flicked my eyes down long enough to see his leg twitch.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." I said. His leg steadied on the brake. The street was deserted, no cars coming in either direction.

I resumed my train of thought. "I was thinking about it as I pulled up to the corner and the only way I could make sense of what you did back there is if you were a dog. Except now I pull up and you look pretty human to me. So now I'm thinking maybe you just think it's funny to scare bikers who are just minding their own business trying to get home after a long day of class."

"If you were a dog, Cesar--that's the Dog Whisperer--would probably say you just need a good pack leader with some calm, assertive energy. That's what he does, he just uses his pack leader mojo and in a few minutes those dogs settle right down. It's the darndest thing to watch. I never get tired of it."

But you're not a dog. You're obviously a dick who's mother never taught him the golden rule. What if I'd run off the road and hurt myself just now from being startled? Ah, but I guess you're not really the type to think of others are you? Well, here's something for you to think about and it involves you, so it should be easy for you. Ready?"

He was still as death and didn't say anything.

"I'm going to go home and post a description of your car and license plate on every bike forum I can find. And if I ever see any complaints about you--or someone with a car the same color as yours--I'm going to hunt you down and shoot you in the belly with this gun so you die slowly. Nod if you understand."

He nodded and a little spit slid down the left corner of his still-open mouth.

"Excellent!" I said. "Wow, that didn't take long at all. I think I beat Cesar's record. Maybe I should have my own show, what do you think?"

He blinked.

"Why don't you move along now and drive slowly and courteously to your destination."

It took a moment, but he slowly turned his head forward while still glancing nervously in my direction. He pressed gently on the gas pedal and moved forward through the light, which had cycled through to red and then green again while we chatted.

I watched him till he was past the next light and headed up the hill. I put the gun back in the holder and snapped it shut, then rubbed my right shoulder with my left hand for a moment. Man, that gun was heavy. But it came in handy on occasion.

I grabbed my water bottle off my seat tube and took a long swig before I started pedaling again. I took my time going up the hill and relished the peace of a quiet night ride home after a good first day of school.

Baby Steps

2009-01-02T23:05:00.001-08:00

Dear blog,

It's been 33 days since my last post. I though once school was done, I'd come back to you and we'd you know, catch up and reminisce about the good times. (Whoa I spelled reminisce on the first try!).

But somehow things just keep coming up. First I just wanted to sleep for three days (didn't happen). Then there was a big storm and there seemed to always be something to do. Feed someone's cat, shove a pill, shovel some snow, try out the new studded bike tires in the snow, break out the cross country skis, stay up all night changing towels to control water leakage in the house--you know how it is.

Finally we had a couple of days to just relax but I just wasn't motivated to write. There was season three Dexter to finish, Netflix movies to watch, lemon cakes to make and eat, and my 'holiday letter' DVD which is still in progress. I'm having a great time going through all the footage from the past year. We had a pretty fun year, broken bones not withstanding. That stupid snowboarding trip continues to haunt us--if there's one thing I could take back about 2008, it would definitely be that. Oh the hindsight! I wonder how the year would have been different, had I just bought an extra pair of wrist guards. But I promised myself I wasn't going to dwell on that anymore.

But rest assured blog, that I think of you often, and even though I say this every year, I really think this is the year that I'll relate to you more consistently. It's all about learning to sum things up, but not so quickly that I just end up tweeting about everything. It's a delicate balance, but I'm taking the first step.

Speaking of brevity, I'm going to end there for now. Next time, we'll look back on my first term of school, and report on the first few days of the new year. The weekend is pretty packed with socializing though, so don't expect me back hear before Monday.

See you soon, blog.

These lies come from somewhere

2008-11-25T00:54:00.001-08:00

Never have I watched so much CNN in my life. It started with the election, but now that the prospect of hearing the (future) president speak doesn't fill me with the same emotion as nails on chalkboard, I've been tuning in on a more regular basis.

I like the reporters a lot--they seem to have personality and aren't afraid to show it on air, be it airing their views as Republicans or Democrats or weighing in on what kind of puppy the Obama girls should get.

One thing I don't like is the tendency to have 25 'coming up next' previews before actually showing the story. Yeah, I know all news channels do this, but CNN seems to have raised it to a high art of annoyance.

Tonight the big delayed story was all about Michelle and how she's single handedly going to remake the image of black women in America. Funny thing is, they spent one part of the story playing every clip they could find from any movie where Eddie Murphy or Tyler Perry ever put on a dress and a fat suit, decrying the "stereotype of black women as overweight and loud," (which frankly, just reminded me of most family holidays I've ever had, but I'm not supposed to say that out loud...).

Then, right after the break, they had Faye Wattleton on talking about how Michelle works out and keeps herself together, without looking scarily and unattainably thin--which will be a great example for black women because (insert statistic about the huge percentage of black women who are overweight--no comment on whether they're loud too).

CNN, I say to you, MAKE UP YOUR MIND ALREADY!! Are these pernicious rumors about the supposed obesity of black women (which by the way, we certainly don't have a monopoly on), vicious stereotypes or unfortunate statistics?

I suspect, as usual in these cases, it's a little of both. In any case, it couldn't hurt if Michelle inspires a few folks of whatever race, size or genders, to move a little more.

This morning I was on my way to school and I pulled up behind a black woman on a bicycle at the stoplight. She was riding an old rigid mountain bike and rocking some red shorts over blue tights, super-hero style. She had a helmet,which was a nice change from a lot of the neophyte cyclists I see every day.

Not surprisingly, when she looked back and saw me, she asked, "What's your name?" I assumed that meant we'd met before, which it turned out we had. She came to a beginner bike clinic for black women that a friend of mine put on. I went and gave a few tips on commuting, riding in traffic, maintenance, etc. And now, here she was taking to the streets. Considering how many people I talk to who give lip service to wanting or wishing they could bike more, I was pretty thrilled. (The credit goes to Deborah for organizing the workshop!).

See, it's started already.

All About Art

2008-11-24T04:46:00.000-08:00

I have an art quiz later today so I'm going to do a post all about art. Who says blogging can't be productive?

Part 1: Basic Elements

1. Line: The distance between two points, or the pathway of a moving point. Line can have endless characteristics such as thin, thick, wavy, broken, implied (-- --- --- --- --- ---), psychic (line of sight), contour (the edge of a shape), calligraphic, etc.

2. Shape: A flat, 2-dimensional enclosed line. Possessing width and height.

3. Form: Round, 3-dimensional figure, possessing width, height and depth.

4. Value: Amount of lights and darks. The upper left corner is high value, minor contrast. Top right is intermediate value, minor contrast. Bottom left is low-minor and bottom right is high-major.

5. Texture: The surface character of a material that can be experienced through touch or the illusion of touch. Tactile texture is stuff you can touch. Simulated texture is a convincing copy or translation of an object's surface in any medium. For this assignment, we spent time in class drawing invented textures on an outline of our hands. Then we took various rubbings of surfaces around school and then had to use a certain number of each type of texture to create a composition. I used bubbly, prickly, scaley, smooth invented finger textures as well as the sole of a shoe and some other things.

6. Space: Flat, shallow or deep. Positive space is occupied space; objects and most dominant areas. Negative space is less dominant, unoccupied space. One of the innovations of cubism, invented by Picasso and George Braque, was to portray more than one perspective of an object at the same time. For our assignment, we made five different viewpoint drawings of a small, interesting object on trace paper. Then the drawings were layered and we drew a whole new shape from the intersecting drawings. This was done three times, one a line drawing, one shaded in black and white for a flat design and one shaded to look three dimensional and give depth. Any guesses as to what my original object was?

Part 2: Principles of Design

1. Balance: A sense of visual equilibrium achieved through implied weight, attention or attraction, by manipulating the elements in a composition.

Symmetrical Balance is the exact duplication of appearances in mirror-like repetition on either side of an imaginary line down the center of the composition.

Asymmetrical: A composition which is visually balanced, but does not have the same exact elements on each side.

Approximate Symmetry: The use of similar imagery on either side of a central axis.

Radial: Parts of a design seem to emanate toward or away from a central point.

This week's homework on balance was to take three differently balanced designs and distill the basic shapes into a non-objective design which obscures the original reference. New design did not have to have the same type of balance as the original.

2. Proportion: The relationship in scale between one element and another or between a whole and one of it's parts. Proportion refers to a comparison of sizes or parts of a whole (Is the head in proportion to the body?). Scale is established when associations of size are measured relative to human dimensions. Monumental, miniature, life-sized, exaggerated and idealized.

3. Repetition/Pattern: The use of the same visual effect a number of times in the same composition.

4. Unity/Harmony: The quality of one-ness, of individual elements relating to the whole in a composition. Assignment: Make three unified designs using ONLY three circles and two lines.

5. Rhythm: A flow or sense of movement achieved by repetition of regulated visual units. Rhthym results from the perception of intervals between repeated elements.

6. Dominance/Focal point: The perceived focus of interest. Visual emphasis in a work of art is a way of calling our attention to a particular area. Dominance--making one element the strongest (brightest color, unique shape). Focal point: An isolated element, larger or smaller in size, contrast, having lines or paths that come together.

7. Variety: Differences achieved by the use of unexpected, opposing, contrasting, changing or diversifying elements to add interest.

Holidazed

2008-11-22T11:05:00.001-08:00

I just dropped Jess off at the airport. She's flying to Santa Fe to visit her dad for a few days. She asked me to get her a Furkey (fake turkey) this weekend before they run out, so I stopped at the Arbor Lodge New Seasons before things got crazy. I may have gotten a few bachelorette food items as well. Shopping before breakfast...

It was already getting busy when I left the store at 9:45AM. Scary.

We've been pondering all week what we're going to do for Thanksgiving. I was not a big fan of the holidays before, and my distaste for the latter third of the year has only grown now that I'm mom-less. Before, I didn't have think about it--I just went where mom went, ate myself silly, and took a nap.

I still have plenty of family in town, but it's complicated by the fact that, although we've been together for almost three years now, I can't take Jess to a meal with my relatives unless we bring our own vegetarian food. Oddly, it's worse at holiday meals than just smaller get-togethers. I've gotten used to a different style of cooking and eating since being with Jess, and even before we met, I didn't do a lot of 'traditional' black/southern style cooking.

Even the vegetables have meat in them; ham in the collard greens, turkey stock in the dressing, bacon in the green beans... For me, TG with the family is a nice opportunity to eat a bunch of foods that remind me of childhood (and having a mom). For Jess, it's a frustrating exercise in the opposite of what a holiday meal should be like.

Our friends all have plans and I was leaning towards staying home most of the day, making a dinner of dead mom favorites and having a quiet day. Then J's friend Therese invited us up to Seattle for dinner with two friends of hers who we love. They've been wanting her to bring us up to visit and we were thinking about it, but didn't really want to pay for a hotel. Peg & Anne-Marie figured this out and have arranged to borrow an RV from a friend. That pretty much fixed my only reservation about the trip, so it looks like we'll be headed north. They might even sleep in the RV and let us have their room--they like to travel and camp, and think it sounds fun. More power to 'em. Usually Jess doesn't have enough days off around a holiday to travel, but she's off for a minimum of three weeks because of her wrist surgery so this will be a nice change.

Gimpy Rides Again

2008-11-19T00:49:00.001-08:00

I know it's bad when my grandmother complains that I haven't updated the blog. But things have been pretty boring around here. Doing homework. Still doing homework. More homework.

I managed a couple of cross races and wanted to do at least one more--one that would be good and muddy in the true cross tradition. But I was swamped with midterm projects, tests to study for etc. I made the right choice, if grades are any indication. Racing pretty much took up the entire day when I did it, and that was when the weather was good. Lately the team mailing list is all about how to get the particularly nasty mud from Hillsboro to wash out.

Aside from the time issue, there are definite risks that come with cross racing with Jess scheduled to have surgery today, I couldn't afford to get hurt.

So yeah, another go around with the wrist. She's had a cyst that's just over a tendon running from thumb to wrist and it wasn't going away on it's own. She was scheduled for 2:30 check in today with surgery at 3:30. When we settled into the short stay ward, the new time was 4:30. When the Dr came around to see us, the new time was 5:30. About the only good thing I can say about spending six hours in the hospital where my mom died, is that the surgery is so minor and this time I got the patient home alive. A big one for the plus side.

Also on the plus side, the staff was really nice. Every single person we dealt with. Jess had the good sense to ask straight away for an IV nurse to put in her line. She doesn't have the best veins at the best of times and since she wasn't allowed to drink since the night before, they were really shriveled. At first the nurse was offended, but then Jess let them know that she was a hard stick AND an IV nurse herself. They were happy to let someone on the IV team draw the short straw after that. And of course the nurse we got knew Jess--everyone knows everyone at all the hospitals. She was friendly and chatty while she worked and got in on the second try.

Our pre-op nurse, Christy, was awesome. She and Jess bonded over the trials and tribulations of floor nursing, spurred on by the constant unpleasant attitude of the guy in the next bed. We heard he was having his colon removed though, so it's not like he didn't have reason to complain.

Once all the fluids were dripping, vitals taken and forms signed, everyone left. Cranky guy had gone up to his surgery and there were no other patients in the ward. I studied, snacked (not in front of Jess, since she was starving), ran to the pharmacy for the pain meds and studied some more. Finally at 5:30, a nurse came to get her.

We parted ways and I went to my favorite NW restaurant, Ling Garden, for my usual fried rice and egg flour soup. I got it to go, which was a good thing because I was only back for about 15 minutes before the Dr came out to talk to me. Yup, the whole day was about 9 parts, waiting and 1 part actual surgery. He said that everything went well, the only surprise being that her tendon was actually torn underneath the cyst. He put a stitch in it and said it should heal up fine.

So Jess is back to being a one-armed wonder for a few weeks and I'm back to doing all the chores and keeping us fed. Ten days with the cast, then a brace for another 5-6 weeks. We spent the weekend cleaning the house and our fridge is literally fuller than it's ever been with leftovers, so I shouldn't start feeling the strain till late next week. Since this was a more controlled procedure, the pain is also a lot less. Jess has a pretty high pain tolerance, so I'm betting the one pill she took tonight at the hospital will probably be all she needs.

Saturday she's flying off to Santa Fe to visit her dad for a few days, so I should have plenty of opportunity for ~~wild parties and drinking~~ catching up on my homework.

What He Said

2008-11-11T09:51:00.000-08:00

Election Day

2008-11-08T00:26:00.001-08:00

I really wanted to title this post, "Bill Clinton Stole My Virginity," but I decided against it. I'll get to that in a bit.

A bitter sweet night on Tuesday as we finally get over ourselves enough to elect the first person of color to the highest office in the land--but three states agree that *somebody's* gotta be the n****r and it may as well be queers. You would think we could figure out by now that the old 'seperate but equal' argument is just a sham.

I think the phrase that best sums up my election season is 'mixed emotions.' My first time voting in a presidential election was for Bill Clinton in 1992. I had a mad crush on him, politically speaking, and I was totally excited to have come of age in time for vote for him. I've never been a very political person but I don't think 'giddy' is too strong a word to describe my feelings about Bill. I was old enough to hate Bush the first, and welcomed the possibility of Democrats taking back the White House.

Then, practically the first thing he does in office is implement the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy--after boldly courting gay voters with promises of actually treating us like people. I was pissed. It was like sleeping with my first boyfriend and having him turn right around and cheat on me (something Bill turned out to excel at in reality as well as metaphor).

So, while there's no denying the unbelievable relief I feel about the outcome of the election, I have never been quite as excited as it feels like I should be. Obama talks a good game and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hopeful and excited, not just about what his election represents for progress in this country, but also the fact that he actually seems to have a brain and is willing to use it to try to solve some pretty serious problems. But after the Clinton fiasco(s), I've got a few trust issues that I just can't stuff back into the box. I'll be watching to see how much of Obama's campaign was saying what he had to say to get elected, and if any of his real views come out, now that the job is his.

So that's my pessimistic, cynical, cheated on side. But there was another aspect to this day, and on Tuesday, I finally gave in to the Kool-Aid. During the campaign, I kept thinking I should go volunteer--but the thought of canvassing or making phone calls is pretty cringe-worthy. Instead I sent what sheckles I could to the campaign via MoveOn.org and their relentless, mafia-like demands for more money.

On Tuesdays I have a class about WDIM (Web Design & Interactive Media). Last week, Dan, our teacher had said we basically had a free pass to skip, if we volunteered on election day. It was just the small catalyst I needed. When I looked back on the day, regardless of the outcome, I'd rather think to myself I should've volunteered sooner rather than, why didn't I do anything?"

The campaign office was a madhouse of excitement, hope, activity and most impressively, organization. In less than 10 minutes, I had a neighborhood to canvas (turned out to be mine actually), a list of people who hadn't yet turned in their ballots, and instructions on what to say to them. I had ridden Fezzik to the office but another volunteer who couldn't do much walking had offered to drive us over. Then I spotted my friend Bria, who was also doing some last-minute, first-time volunteering. A staffer suggested if we knew each other we should go out together. So I ended up riding with Bria in her borrowed Prius over to the Mississippi neighborhood.

We spent the next two hours knocking on doors and talking to people. Everyone we actually contacted said they had turned in their ballot. Everyone was friendly. The sun was even shining when we started, though we got sprinkled on and the temperature dropped as our shift went on. When we got back to the office, we ran into yet another friend and spent some time catching up. She was contributing by holding a big sign and cheering.

As I was about to leave, a guy walked in with a big box of fried chicken. I'm pretty sure it was home made and it was hot and delicious. I haven't had chicken that good since my mom died. Finally I tore myself away and holed up in a coffee shop for the next several hours to work on a paper that was due the next day.

I'm taking a writing and argumentation class and the whole term is discussions about democracy and what consitutes the perfect society. In the last few weeks, we've read the Declaration of Independence, Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech and a couple of short pieces about different ideas of utopia. The reading has been great, but the timing of this paper couldn't have been worse.

"Where were you when the first black president was elected?"

"Um, writing a paper about utopia."

Yeah, it didn't sound right to me either. I compromised by working until Jess got off work. But after dinner we headed over to the Bus Project election party at Grand Central Bowling. We had to stand in line for about twenty minutes to get in, which was maddening. I didn't have an iPhone or anything, so all we had were the rumors floating around in line. People were saying it was over, that McCain had conceded, but I couldn't quite bring myself to believe it. Jess went to the pizza place half a block down to try to hear one of the news casts, while I kept our place in line. While chatting with the family in line behind me, the dad, who clearly hadn't read this article said to me, "Let me ask you something," causing all my spider senses to tingle.

"What's that?" I said, dreading the answer.

"Do you think that now Obama will go to "black" instead of saying "African American?"

I was quite proud of myself for managing to answer him civilly and without sarcasm, when what I really wanted to say was something like, "Wait, let me tap into the Great Black Hive Mind and see!"

Someone let me know that the sound was being piped outside the bowling alley. I called Jess back and we stood in the rain and watched McCain's concession speech on three big screens through the huge windows. Halfway through, we got to the head of the line and finished watching inside. It seemed to be the first time McCain actually behaved with any kind of dignity. Too bad he didn't campaign that way. There are a ton of reasons why I'm glad he didn't win, not the least of which is that I won't have to listen to his voice anymore. It's a toss up as to which resembled nails on chalkboard more, McCain or Bush.

It was great to be in a room full of ecstatic people when Obama finally came out to give his speech. I doubt there was a dry eye in the place, including mine. When my little cynical voice tried to speak, I squashed it. Now wasn't the time. Now was a time for a big schmaltzy celebration. A time to celebrate the fact that maybe now we can begin to repair our world image, as well as our devastated country.

So, in the spirit of unbridled sentimentality, I made a little video of highlights from the day, with some music that seems strangely appropriate:

Election Day from Kronda Adair on Vimeo.

American Stories, American Solutions

2008-10-29T23:32:00.001-07:00

Two. Many. Bikes!

2008-10-25T00:56:00.001-07:00

Seems like every few months, we spent most of a day organizing our garage, only to have it overflow with stuff again in what seems like no time. I accept 95% responsibility for this. The other 5% I blame on the recession, since it seems our two perfectly lovely commuter bikes aren't going to find a new home for a while.

So, with the help of Rubbermaid, we set out to once again hack a path through the middle. I'd say we were fairly successful:

While we were in a groove, we went through several boxes and drawers full of bike stuff, and a box of goodies will be making it's way to Goodwill or the Community Cycling Center in the near future.

Then there's the stuff, we're still hoping to get a little cash for. So if you're in the market for:

Columbia winter boots
Specialized bike shoes
women's bike saddle
Apple Mighty Mouse (the computer kind, not the super hero)
Surly Cross Check Fork

...by all means, click on through. I also have a bunch of old Star Trek comics I'd love to see get a good home (not so attached to the cash). Something about dealing with all my mom's stuff has given me a strong urge to de-clutter my life. It's an ongoing project.

But for now, I'm going to pat myself on the back (and Jess too) and maybe wander back out to the garage before bed so I can revel in the orderliness of it all:

Hot Crossed Buns

2008-10-20T11:03:00.001-07:00

DSC_5400
Originally uploaded by Anne and Tim Photos

Survived and thrived at cross race number two today, out at Rainer High School. I managed to get my act together (so I thought) and head out around 11:00am. As I was driving up I-5, I ticked off the list in my head: keys, wallet, phone, check. Helmet and shoes, check. Front wheel... ? crap! This is the downside and the nightmare I have about a roof rack that requires taking off the front wheel. Luckily, I hadn't yet crossed into Washington, so it was a simple matter to take the Jantzen Beach exit and retrace my steps, making my effective departure time 11:30.

I guess I should've worn lighter shoes because coming off I-5 onto the 432 expressway, I had a little too much momentum and got caught in a speed trap. Yet another reason I hate driving. On my bike, I can sprint as fast as I want, and not worry about stupid cops. He wasn't even bothering with sirens, just had his speed gun out and was pointing and waving at folks to pull over. He got me and another car with two cross bikes on top, obviously in a hurry to get to the race as well.

He had some mercy and only wrote the ticket for 5mph over the limit, but that's still a big ol' $93.00 ouch. So much for saving money by buying cross race passes...

I reached the high school without further incident. Registering as a returning rider was as easy as signing my name on a sheet and handing over my pass. The sun had been working it's way out on the drive out and now it was a bonafied gorgeous fall day. I went back and got my race gear on, but my warm up was pretty lazy at best, punctuated by chatting with other team members and fiddling with strange noises on my bike.

Oh well, warm ups are for sissies I thought. I decided not to pre-ride either, though I probably could have followed the course around just outside the cones. But we came out last year to watch this race, so I had a good idea where the tough spots were. I also talked to a guy who was already done and asked him for tips. He said there was a lone barrier on the back side, and I should gear down before I get to it because the remount would be bumpy. It turned out to be a really good tip.

Last week, the women seemed to start lining up 45 mintues before the race. This week, no one went near the start line until the call for staging actually came. That's because this week, starting positions were determined by who had the most series points, and then by number lottery. I don't really care much about my starting position but I ended up in the second row, which was pretty good.

I didn't have any of the nerves of last week, so I was pretty relaxed right up until the whistle blew. Then we were off. As we reached the end of the starting chute, I counted and determined I was probably in the top ten. That quickly altered as we took a right turn and headed up what I would come to think of as the hill of pain. Of course, I find just about all hills painful. But this one was special.

My cross check is the first bike I've had with a double ring up front. Usually all my road bikes have had triples up front because I love my granny gears. But since was going to be an around town bike mostly, I went for a compact double instead. Until today, I hadn't yet bottomed out of my gears and wished for more, but that all changed on the first hill. Still, it wasn't too bad, and most of my panic subsided once I warmed up a little. I wasn't exactly spinning the next time I hit that hill, but I made it up alright, especially with people ringing cowbells in my ear and Bruce yelling at me to "PUSH IT!"

This course was a lot less technical than last week, but at the same time, much harder because of all the climbing. And there were seven barriers total, six of them all together in a pack, and the one lonely one that the guy had warned me about. Let me just say that as a vertically challenged person, six packs of barriers suck like a black hole. I got over them without tripping and that's all that can be said. As for the rest of the course, it just never seemed to end. On the first lap, I just kept thinking: we're still on the first lap. Man, we're still on the first lap? Geez, this lap is long. When is this lap going to end?

Finally, it did end--with the aformentioned hill of pain. In the regular course, it starts with gravel and standing up to pedal put me at risk for spinning out my back wheel. So it was a sit and grind. Then once you've made it up that, there's still a pavement hill to kill any will you had to live before you cross the finish line.

Now that I'm a cross veteran, with two whole races behind me, I think I've figured out that I'm one of those people who gets better as the race goes on. Once the first lap was done, I was pretty well warmed up, and I knew what to expect. In addition to the climbing, there were some super fun, really fast descents as well, and I hung loose on every one of them. In lap two I started to pull back some of those jack rabbits who got away at the start. One woman in my category passed me, but then immediately lost all her juice and I passed her back and made it stick. I caught a few other people on the few technical sections--steep short climbs, barriers and tight turns.

Of course, I was also getting passed by the A and B women right and left. It wasn't till lap three that things settled down a little. There was one particular narrow spot that was gravel road going over a pipe that carried water underneath. Twice when I went over it, I heard women barreling down on me, screaming, "On your left!" I wanted to reply, "I got nowhere to go, just wait a damn second!" But I didn't, and they went barreling by and it's a wonder I didn't end up in the ditch. But that's racing.

Jess is working this weekend, so I didn't have a crew (or a personal photographer, but pics are bound to turn up on Flickr and elsewhere), but I did have a few pockets of cheering sections. Zan showed up right before the start. Mostly I couldn't tell who was cheering when I went by, but I just want to say that no matter what look I may have directed your way, I really did appreciate the support.

I came up the hill at the end of lap three, really hoping I might see a big zero on the lap counter, but alas, I rode too fast and still had one to go. "It's your last lap, make it a good one!" yelled Zan. I decided that was good advice. I resolved to try not to let anyone in my category catch me, and I think I managed to pick off a couple of more before it was all over.

Results were posted right away and I was astonished and pleased to see that I got sixteenth, nine places better than last week. Who knows what would happen if I kept at it?

After the race, (and the required time spent collapsed over my bike heaving, though my recovery was much faster this week, and some guy who should be raised to sainthood offered me water), I did the smart thing I and went straight back to the car to change clothes. I stopped by the concessions tent, but they had been cleaned out by hungry riders and spectators before me. Luckily I came up with a better post-race food plane than the Costco samples I had last week. I grabbed my post race cookies and went to the hill to watch the men suffer. I ended up next to Bernard, whom I met at the Oregon Manifest Handmade Bike show a few weeks ago. Bernard brings the count to three, of black folks crazy enough to do cross--and we have to import him from Seattle. The other one is a member of team Ironclad, or The Real Team Beer, as I like to think of them. I gave Bernard one of my recovery cookies.

My dear teammate Sage is devastated that I'm not planning to fully explore my cross potential. She missed her calling as a crack dealer--she offered to sell me one of her race passes for $5, and insists that there's no way I'll be able to walk away. However, future weekends will be devoted to study. Because I can stop any time I want. And this amazing weather is bound to turn soon.

For photos of the race, check out these prompt flickr posters:

Anne & Tim's Flickr Page (Photos by Tim) (Thanks for making me look WAY cooler than I am :)

Ironclad's Flickr Page

A Rvr ov Knawlege is Floin' en Mi Hed

2008-10-18T23:30:00.001-07:00

I survived my first two weeks of school. My cold lasted three weeks, that would be up until a few days ago. Monday is my long day with Logical Thought and Programming in the morning and Principles of Visual Design (PVC) in the afternoon.

Going from Laurie, who is very calm, logical and good at explaining things slowly, to Amy, who talks as fast as that one girl from the Cosby show and has the psychic energy to match, was a shock to my system, to say the least. I seriously explored the option of dropping the class or switching to a different teacher. But the other section I wanted was full and reports were that Amy is a good teacher if you can handle her. Week two I was better prepared mentally, so I decided to stick it out.

My other classes are WDIM 101, which is basically an exploration of the field of web design and interactive media. Sort of a 'what the heck am I getting into,' class for new students so you don't take a related class the two terms before graduation and realize you've been in the wrong major for three years. (True story).

There's also writing and argumentation. That teacher seems to really know her history and says a lot of interesting things in class. As a mainly fiction reader (or at least I used to be when I had time to read books, which I seem have fallen out of for the past two years), this class will be good for me to catch up on some 'classic' stuff I haven't gotten around to--and wouldn't without a class to force me into it. The downers are that the actual tone of her voice is slightly irritating--but more annoying is that ninety percent of the class seems to be mute. There are about four of us who talk and this week's class was like a bad Ferris Bueller nightmare. When I said something after class, the teacher said her classes are usually much more engaged. Just my luck. Hopefully some of them will warm up in a week or two.

Thursdays I have off. Those are art days, since all my art homework takes me forever to do.

Fridays is my Image Manipulation class (think Photoshop fun). That started out slow but ramped up quickly this week. Fortunately, Phil is insistent that we tell him if he's going too fast. I took him at his word and made him repeat several sequences. I have taken a Photoshop class, but the muscled are out of shape. Our first assignment is a collage based on a song, which should be both fun and frustrating, as I try to make real images match what's in my head. I'm thinking of using one of Stephanie's new songs and doing something kind of sexy and haunted. She loves the tortured love songs, that one.

So far I'm actually enjoying my classes. Even all the books are good. Last week, I was geeking out about the Declaration of Independence. I really need to see the second movie...

Could be just the honeymoon phase, but I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Psycho Cross Crusade

2008-10-14T00:52:00.001-07:00

My First Cyclo Cross Race from Kronda Adair on Vimeo.

Ever since the first hint of chill in the air, all my racer friends have had cross on the brain. No conversation was ever completed until they had asked, "you gonna race cross?" with that special gleam in their eye. I never experienced peer pressure this heavy handed, even in high school.

With my new Surly Cross Check finally built, I no longer had the excuse of not having a bike. Besides, people do cross on all sorts of crazy rigs, including unicycles!

I bought two discount passes through my team, which forced me to admit that I was actually thinking of trying this crazy thing. And it had to be soon, before the weather gets too cold and yucky, even though for many people, mud is the whole point of cross.

The first weekend of Cross Crusade came and went without me. I was busy getting ready for my first day of school and I was still hacking up phlegm from the cold I've had for two weeks.

This weekend, the sun was slated to shine, my homework was pretty under control so I went for it. In just under two hours, I turned my mild mannered commuter into a lean mean, racing machine.

I even had a crew; Jess was off for the weekend and her friend T decided to join us. They carried my stuff, held my water bottle while I raced and of course cheered me on. It was awesome.

My training and preparation for the race consisted solely of hauling loads on Fezzik and watching a series of Bike Hugger videos with cross tips. The episode on remounting was particular helpful. I practiced a few times in front of my house and called it good.

We got there in time for me to do the registration shuffle and then take a few loops around the nearby streets to warm up. It was a weird venue, in the middle of a suburban housing development, with appropriately enough, a mental hospital nearby. One team mate posited that the race was just bait and that fences would go up before we could leave, so they could put us into little rooms and try to figure out why anyone would participate in such a crazy activity.

When I went to line up at the start about 30 minutes before race time, I saw lots of teammates further up in the ranks. Our start was somewhat delayed, and the waiting was the worst part. I tried to distract myself by ogling the cool bikes and asking my neighbor (also a beginner) for tips on dismounting. One woman had a jersey that said Alaska and with a home made sign on the back that said Palin with a line through it.

Finally a whistle blew and the women's A race was on! That's when the nerves really hit. Too late to turn back though. We had to wait some more while the B's started, then Masters 35+, Masters 45+ and finally it was our turn.

Did I mention I didn't get to pre-ride the course? Yeah, that would've been handy. But the race schedule is fast and furious. I talked to a team mate who said she never gets there in time to pre-ride so she just rides the first lap kinda slow. Well, that would probably be true of all my laps, so that worked out fine. There was nothing I could do about it, so I quit worrying. Jess and Therese had walked around a bit and Jess told me a few spots to watch out for.

The first lap, I took it nice and easy. The course had been described as 'super fun!' when I asked a few other racers about it. They failed to mention the back side, which was bumpy as all hell. It was like riding over a giant washboard. My back was rattling and I started wishing I'd brought my dual suspension mountain bike instead. Things smoothed out eventually, and after some tight technical turns on gravel, there were some pavement and grass sections where you could really open up.

Cross spectators are notoriously supportive and I enjoyed lots of personal cheers from friends and acquaintances along the course. There were a couple of guys taking themselves a bit too seriously and I'd hear them say things to racers behind me, like, "Come on, you can catch that Sorella, she's done." Whatever dude. I'm hear to have some fun and go home in one piece.

Then came the make or break obstacle-- my first run up. I dismounted ridiculously early just to make sure my foot wouldn't get stuck. The run up was crazy steep, but had some natural pockets to step in. I shuddered to think if it had actually been raining and the hill was just a mud slide. At any rate, I made it up without incident and my remount went smoother than I really had any right to expect.

A short, fast straight-away, a tight turn and it was on to my first set of barriers. It wasn't the most graceful ever, but I didn't trip--another goal checked off the list. After the barriers, there was just a few feet in which to get your act together before going down a crazy steep hill. The first lap was pretty jammed up, so the approach was even more awkward. I was actually glad I hadn't pre-ridden because then I have time to think about it and get all freaked out. Since the race was on, I just saw what was ahead and dealt with it. There's really no place for thinking in cross.

The rest of the race was lather, rinse, repeat. I definitely felt I improved with each lap, as I got to know what was coming up and got better at dealing with some of the technical stuff. Also, the field finally spread out in lap two, so I was mostly on my own, with the occasional polite, "on your left" from a high grade woman lapping me. I got kudos from fellow Sorellas who went by and even a literal pat on the back from Sarah. Luckily, I don't startle easily, and I was glad to see her. She went on to get 4th in the B race and Kim took no prisoners and took second in the Masters 35+ When she passed me, I couldn't believe how fast she was riding over the washboards. Ouch.

Oh yes--it wouldn't be cross without at least one fall--but luckily it was a totally minor spill into a nice soft mound of dirt.

I had absolutely no idea what my actual place was in the race. I definitely got passed by a lot of people, and didn't feel like I'd passed that many people. I did my best passing on technical sections and remounts, only to (mostly) get passed again on straightaways. But I didn't really care. I was having a grand time, in between hocking up loogies. Yeah, that cold isn't quite gone yet.

On the last lap, I had a couple of women in sight going down the last big hill before the finish line. I went ahead and reeled them in, just in case they might be in my category. I remembered not to sit up after the finish line, so the video camera could catch my number.

After the race, I spent a few minutes bent over heaving and trying to get air. I wasn't quite in my right mind (but that could be said of even showing up for the race I suppose), so I didn't see that Jess and T had come over to the finish to meet me. I went wandering off for a good 10 minutes, desperate to find them so I could get some water. It finally occurred to me to go back to the start line where we met up and I sucked on my water bottle like I'd just crossed the desert.

Before the race, someone told me that cross is really fun about thirty minutes after it's over. As the race got further into the past, I found I completely agreed with that statement. It was great to be done, and have survived. And I know it's not at all productive, but given my 'preparation' for the race, I was kind of ridiculously pleased with my remounts, which went swimmingly for the entire race. I think next time I need to shoulder the bike for barriers though, due to a certain lack of tallness.

As we walked back toward the car, I stopped to pet a cute black lab, who happened to be attached to a team mate I'd only met a few times. "How'd your race go?" she wanted to know.

"Good," I said. "It was my first time."

"Did you race A's" she asked.

"Um, no beginner. Did I mention it's my first time?"

"Oh, your first race ever!? Cool. But you're a mountain biker right?"

"Well, since May..."

She looked surprised at that.

"I'm really just a poser. I'm here to make the uniform look good." I joked, and she and her friends all laughed.

It's true though. I doubt I'll ever have the time or inclination to train enough to be really competitive. But it's definitely fun to go out and ride and get a great work out. Results are in already and I placed way better than I thought--25th out of 68 beginner women. Not too shabby for no training, practice or experience.

Everyone kept saying that once you do one race, "you'll be hooked!" I don't know if I'm hooked--but I guess I'll go ahead and use that second race pass. For now, I'm going to maintain that I can stop any time I want.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

The End and the Beginning

2008-10-05T23:07:00.000-07:00

Summer is over. It hits me hard every year. Temperatures are still pretty warm, but the rain is relentless and the gray is oppressive. Only four days and I can barely remember riding home at night in a t-shirt just last week.

I spent the weekend getting ready for school and 'winterizing' the house. Saturday, I pulled one of my surprise house projects--we've had a piece of wood sitting in the garage for almost a year that was supposed to turn into a shelf at some point. With more bikes arriving daily, it was getting kind of urgent to clear up some more floor space in the garage.

I calculated the amount of time and swearing it would take to do the job ourselves, and then I called my friend Geahk, who is an artist and a carpenter and can build anything. He was happy to come over and do in a few hours, what would have taken us all weekend:

After Jess came home and I collected my girlfriend points, we spent some time picking the last of the tomatoes and bringing the grill and deck furniture into the garage for the winter, putting away the fans and sticking the sandals in the upstairs closet to make room for the winter boots close to the door. Depressing, but it is nice not to have to squeeze past the air conditioner to get into bed.

Sunday I got up early and spent the first half of the day taking back control of my office from the random scattered paper monster. Then I went out into the steady rain for four hours and ran a bunch of errands, starting with a trip to a Walgreens in Vancouver for more Sudafed. I got to try out my new rain legs, which worked pretty well. They seem perfect for a warm rain where you don't want to get soaked, but rain pants would be too sweaty. The only downside, is that if I actually care about keeping whatever pants I'm wearing looking nice, then I'll still need the full coverage of rain pants.

The rest of the evening was spent making dinner and lunch, packing up and getting ready for the first day of the end of my free time. School, here I come!

The Orient

2008-10-03T00:59:00.001-07:00

Today was orientation day, which means I got to go down to my new school and sit for hours and listen to people talk about things I mostly could have read on my own. I've been sick since Sunday and I'm well into the sinus drainage and evil headaches part of the process, which made today extra fun. Not.

Aside from being miserable and high on Sudafed (the real stuff, not that over the counter crap), I did actually get some good information from the session. I wasn't exactly in the mood to network either, but I made a point to meet a few of my nearest seat-neighbors.

We were still waiting to get started in the morning and the main MC came on to let us know that there was Rock Band set up in the back. It took about 45 seconds for three guys to form a band and start jamming out to Eye of the Tiger, which I have now had stuck in my head all day. It was cool to finally see the game I hear so much about from Wil Wheaton. I have yet to actually play Guitar Hero or Rock Band, and I didn't want my debut to be in a room full of 300 people. Though I probably would be OK singing, as long as I knew the song.

While we sat in hard plastic chairs through hours of talking, I tried to make good use of the time by reading the student handbook and putting a bunch of school numbers in my phone. At lunch time, it paid to be sitting in the back, as we were closest to the sandwich buffet. I got third in line in front of a bunch of hungry 20-something guys. Not bad. I used the extra time to run over to Powells and pick up some of my books.

After lunch we had break out sessions with different workshops to choose from. I was tempted by digital cameras 101, but I already took some photography classes this spring so I went to the non-traditional students meeting instead. That turned out to be a total dud. I came in on the tail end of introductions and then the facilitators said they wanted the meeting to be whatever *we* wanted--which translated mostly to sitting around in awkward silence. There was no one there from my department (which if you're wondering is Web Design & Interactive Media or WDIM).

For the next session I went to scholarships, which was much more useful. Dawn, the scholarship coordinator had some specific helpful tips for getting scholarships and invited us to schedule a follow up meeting with her so she can help search out specific scholarship matches.

Then it was back to the big room, where they went over resources--library, the cage where you can check out equipment, AKA the AV nerd's dream playhouse, how to use the computer labs and the student online services site for registering etc.

Just when I thought my head was about to explode, they let us go for our last session, which was an hour long meeting with our department head. For some reason the schedule listed the WDIM's and the Video heads together in the same room. It was packed. Then Chris, my department head came in and cleared up the confusion. "Everyone in the video department go to room 360." Three quarters of the room got up and left. As the last students were filing out, Chris added, "And everyone who's going to make money, stay here."

We laughed, but it turns out he wasn't kidding. He checked the career placement data today and our department graduates have an average entry level salary of $50k, $14,000 higher than the second place major (game designers), with a 100% job placement rate. He mentioned several times that we should not worry about getting jobs out of school. He's got more jobs than he has grads to fill them. Comforting knowledge in the face of the mess that is the economy right now.

He talked for the full time, but for the first time all day, I wasn't bored to tears. He seems to be approachable, tough but fair and a tad gay. There are eight people starting this term in my department. We didn't do introductions, but I'm sure I'll get to know them soon enough. There's one other woman and everyone is at least two years out of high school and most seem to be at least in their mid-twenties. We also got to meet Dan, the one full time instructor in the department. He was dressed in slightly ripped jeans, t-shirt and flip flops. Chris was in jeans, polo shirt and white tennis shoes. He said he's the only department head who doesn't wear suits because he wants to represent the industry and jeans is what all the geeks are wearing these days. I think I've found my people. I wonder if I could get away with doing interviews with out my monkey suit? I'll have to look into that.

I was thrilled to be done at 4:30 instead of 6:30 like I thought. Most people still had to stand in a long line to pick up their supply kits, hefty little portfolio bags filled with all the mandatory supplies. Since I have some stuff from my spring drawing class, I opted to just buy other needed supplies ala carte. The one thing that I anticipate might be a huge pain is no lockers on campus. but I talked to the president and he said they're actually working on that.

Jess was downtown for an unsupervised trip to REI and a workout at 24 Hour fitness. When I got outside, I found her bike locked up to mine and she was stalking me, waiting across the street. So nice to be the stalk-ee for once. Since I was done early, I talked her into going over to Seven Corners with me, where I got to pick up my new Cross Check! It's not as hot and sexy as hers--just black bar tape with no fancy accents. But it rides like butter and it felt like floating after riding the Dummy for the past month. Jess left her bike in the shop for some tune ups, and rode the Dummy as far as Dalo's Kitchen, where I was meeting up with a friend for dinner. Since I have no rack yet, she had to carry all the stuff, which was a nice change for me.

I had a nice time catching up with Aiden, although finger food probably wasn't the best choice, considering how germy I am. Hopefully I'm well past the contagious period.

Now I have a cross bike and two passes for the Cross Crusade series, and cross tires...so I guess that means I'll be doing a cross race sometime soon. I had planned to be at Alpenrose this Sunday but unless I'm feeling significantly better, I might have to postpone. But I definitely want to get out there before the weather gets too nasty. I know, I know, that's the whole point of cross--but I really don't like being cold and miserable. I haven't trained a lick, but I've watched several videos about cross tips on Bike Hugger, so I should be fine, right? Right?

Locked Memories

2008-10-01T15:14:00.001-07:00

2008_1001_videotape
Originally uploaded by ephany

I would love to have access to these videos of a 1997 trip to Hawaii with my mom. If you have access to equipment that can turn this tape into a digital file, please get in touch. Thanks.

Quintessential Portland

2008-09-29T22:42:00.001-07:00

It doesn't get any more P-town than this. I started the day by volunteering a couple of hours putting together boxes of goodies for the up-coming bike and walk to school day.

Then it was off to Trader Joes to do a little shopping. I brought my own bags of course, and loaded them up on Fezzik. On the way home, I made a quick stop at Starbucks to pick up grounds for our new compost bin.

While I was in the store, a woman sitting by the door said hello and asked how I was doing. She said she'd heard about my mom a while after the fact. I had no idea who she was. Running into someone who knows me, but I don't remember? Check.

I couldn't chat long though, 'cause I had frozen goods to get home. Next I loaded the Tikit into Jess's car and dropped the car off at the body shop for repairs. I'd forgotten a key ingredient for the soup I'm making this week so I rode up to New Seasons and just threw the Tikit into a shopping basket. That got lots of stares and comments.

I stopped on the way home at Revolver Bike shop to pick up a few parts for this week's mechanic class. They were busy working on building up a couple of new Yuba Mondo cargo bikes to sell. The Yuba is a tank of a bike. It can handle loads up to 400 lbs--more than I'd care to, or probably could pedal--and it's pretty affordable at sub $1000.

I also stopped to love up a couple of adorable little kittens hanging out on the sidewalk. The smaller one seemed quite prepared to let me hold her until the cows came home, or the mysteries of the universe were revealed, whichever came first.

When I got home, I picked all the ripe tomatoes, and some basil from the garden and made spaghetti sauce from scratch. It was delicious. While the sauce was cooking, I went and added the grounds to the compost and gave it a good stir.

We have the Jones's in our sights--all we need is a few chickens and we'll be set. I guess nature--growing up in Portland--has truly made it's mark on me.

The Last Days of Summer

2008-09-28T22:54:00.001-07:00

It's all coming to an end. But at least we have this last gasp of 80+ degree weather (where were you in August???). Jess and I have been enjoying a mellower pace this weekend as the frantic travel of the past three months winds down.

One of Jess's friends was recently diagnosed with a metastatic return of her breast cancer. (Have I mentioned how much I hate cancer? I hate you cancer!). Friday we spent a few hours visiting with her, cleaning and playing with baby Sam. I made another batch of quinoa stuffed peppers and we took it over as well. All the stuff people came out of the woodwork to do for us when mom was sick. I was so happy to do it and so pissed that it needed doing.

After we left, we headed to Seven Corners again, to drop off some parts for my cross check frame, which is finally in and should be built up in time for me to do an actual cross race next weekend. I've agreed to 'try it out' once, but I don't expect to get hooked on a sport who's main features involve cold, wet and mud.

We watched the debate at Lisa's house where we were distracted by Essex and his latest cute ploys. He's a hairs breath away from walking, and then, look out!

Saturday, after the River City women's ride, I was wiped out. Jess suggested I pull out her outdoor lounge chair and take a nap in the sun, so I did exactly that, while she cleaned her road bike in the back yard. Jess has free movie tickets, so after my nap I looked for a theatre movie to go to, but everything looked really stupid. We opted for our Netflick, 13 Going on 30. This was the third DVD we'd ordered, and none of them will play in our DVD player. We finally made this one work on a laptop, so that's how we watched it. Jess tends to fall asleep during movies at home, so they usually end up being two (or more) parters.

This morning we watched the last of the movie and then spent a very mellow day doing house organizing chores. I have one more week before school starts and I'm trying to wrap my head about the idea of getting up early, deadlines, and being broke.

In preparation for the end of my term as a full time house wife, we're trying to get in the habit of extreme meal planning--so when we both come home exhausted, we can just heat up some leftovers and be done with it. We've tried this before, but I'm hoping this time it will stick. I spent several hours finding new recipes and making a spreadsheet with lists of ingredients for our favorite meals, for quick shopping lists. I think in order to keep going, we'll definitely need to add some more quick prep meals, ala Rachel Ray--but less annoying.

At least I didn't have to cook today because my friend Edith invited us over for dinner--and when her son came down with a cold, she offered to bring the food to us instead. So we had delicious pesto pasta, made with basil and tomatoes from her garden, and didn't even have to travel. Life is good, and sometimes, life is really good. After dinner, and good conversation, I took her out on the Dummy before she went home.

Ironically, despite Edith's lovely offer to spare us germs, I find myself with a tell tale tickle in my throat and downing my second cup of throat coat tea tonight. I hope it blows over quickly 'cause I really don't want to spend my last week of freedom hacking up phlegm.

Is it live or is it Memorex?

2008-09-28T20:25:00.001-07:00

Group Ride

2008-09-27T19:08:00.001-07:00

Jess did her first lead of a group ride today and she did an awesome job. Her report is on her blog. We wish you would read it.

I See White People

2008-09-25T16:15:00.001-07:00

A few months ago I went through another phase where I was sick of white people. This might shock you, dear readers, but being a black gay girl in a state where black folks are less than 2% of the population (But wait! That's a whopping 6% in Portland!) isn't all it's cracked up to be.

This latest funk was precipitated by what I've taken to calling, the R______ incident. Much like when you buy something and then see it everywhere, this incident focused my attention on just how many clueless white people are out there--and, as if I'd suddenly become a CWP magnet, I started noticing them everywhere. It really made me want to stay home.

But I'm a social creature at heart, so against my better judgement, I headed out one summer evening to a backyard fete given by a well known Portland bike transportation geek for the attendees of the Car-free conference going on that week.

All was going well, until I wandered over to the fruit trays, where I struck up conversation with Christopher Larsen, a local judge who created the Share the Road diversion class that you can now opt for instead of paying a hefty fine if you get a ticket on your bike (or in your car). At first I confused him with Christopher Heaps, a lawyer who's done a lot of work with citizen initiated citations for drivers who hit cyclists ('cause the cops sure won't hand out any consequences--oh yeah, unless the cyclist you hit is a cop too).

Surprisingly, Judge Chris hadn't heard about lawyer Chris, so I started to fill him in on the drama that was the first time lawyer Chris tried to use the citizen citation process--and he completely shut me down. Oh it wasn't outright rudeness per se--just polite, flat out denial that anything I was saying might be remotely possible because, as he said, "the process is really quite simple--it's all in Ray Thomas's legal guide for cyclists. Red tape in the legal system? Crazy talk! He held his misguided ground, despite my insistence that lawyer Chris wrote a whole article on Bikeportland on how fubar it was just to get the paperwork accepted.

Sadly, there was no computer handy so I could Google the article. After a brief second wondering if I was in fact, crazy, I started silently fuming. I realized that what we had here was a textbook example of White Male Privilege at work. I marveled at how he could completely invalidate everything I was saying without even blinking. I'm sure he thought nothing of it, and I'd be astonished if he bothered to google lawyer Chris's article as I suggested. In any case, there was nothing to do at that point but remove myself from the conversation before I said something rude.

It's incidents like these that add up to making me crazy, sometimes for months on end. I called an emergency meeting of the WBP, so I could vent about that and other stupid crap, like the funny looks I got from kids on our bike camping trip to Champoeg Park--as if they'd never seen a black person before (and, if they're from a small community in Oregon, it's quite likely that they hadn't).

The likelihood that I will ever move away from Oregon is pretty darn slim, so I learn to get through these periods of rage--and read lots of Tim Wise articles, because he gives me hope for the human race.

Even Clueless White People.

How to Spoil Your Girlfriend on Her Birthday

2008-09-25T15:07:00.001-07:00

1. Start^[1] the night before with a gourmet dinner of yellow peppers stuffed with quinoa, fresh corn and feta

2. Wake her up with a nice birthday card (with appropriately mushy sentiments) and a little present (in this case, an air horn for her new bike).

3. Take her out to the Little Red Bike Cafe for coffee on the back of the Big Dummy.

4. Be home by noon, for the next present: a two hour massage, courtesy of the other Jessica we love, Jessica Sims, LMT. (She can make you feel good too, hit me up in comments for her contact info).

5. Spend the afternoon soaking up the sun on your back deck.

6. Make her a home made vegan chocolate cake with home made vegan-optional (she picked non) cream cheese frosting.^[2]

7. Load up girlfriend and cake on the dummy and haul them both to a lovely dinner with friends at Screen Door restaurant. Have your server bring the cake out after dinner with all two blazing candles (yes, I was kind this year).

8. Haul girlfriend and remaining cake home and put her to bed nice and early^[3] so she gets a good nights sleep for work the next morning.

Notes:

[1] Actually, start weeks before hand by doing a butt-load of leg work so she can have the custom bike she should have gotten in the first place.

[2] Delicious Vegan Chocolate Cake:

3 c. flour
2 c. sugar
5 tbsp cocoa
1 tsp salt
2 tsp soda

add:

2 tbsp vinegar
2 tsp vanilla
3/4 c. oil
~mix~

add 2 cups water
~mix~
bake at 350 for 30-35 mins.

Frosting:

1/2 c margarine
1/2 c cocoa
1/4 c soy (or rice) milk
1 lb. powdered sugar
pinch of salt
~mix together (mixer works best)

Non-dairy cream cheese frosting:

Follow directions on C & H Powdered sugar box for cream cheese frosting, but use Toffutti Better Than Cream Cheese & Canola Butter (white tub, green lid). Experiment with ingredients for desired thickness.

[3] Or not. :)

Pedal Potluck Picnic

2008-09-23T14:03:00.001-07:00

Periodically Jess gets bored with food. It's not easy finding new things to eat when you're a vegetarian who can't eat tofu, and doesn't like mushrooms. When that happens, she usually gets out the big three ring binder of recipes. I get overwhelmed trying to plan new meals that she'll like so we've worked out an arrangement where she picks out recipes (with some input from me) and I cook them. The stuff we tend to like is usually pretty labor intensive, requiring at least two hours in the kitchen. But the results are definitely worth it.

The first of our newest culinary adventures was black bean burgers with lime-jalapeno mayo. If you'd told me a few years ago that I'd be willingly cooking with jalapeno, I would have said, "What you talkin' 'bout Willis?" But as long as I ditch the seeds and don't go over board, I find I like the spice.

On the day I planned to make the burgers, I happened to check the Shift list and see that there was a pedal potluck picnic that evening. Always looking for an excuse to drag out the summer, I decided to make the patties and then go mobile with the whole dinner. I loaded Fezzik (yup, I think that's the name I'm sticking with and extra points if you get the reference :) with a camp table, two chairs, two-burner Coleman stove, and a cooler with the bean patties and a Mediterranean carrot salad to share.

We met at the Alberta Coop. Shawn of the Urban Adventure League usually leads the rides, but he was out of town so we had a substitute ride leader. My spider sense started tingling when the first thing she did was ask everyone if they wanted to vote on the destination. Half the fun of the PPP is not knowing where you're headed. But I also didn't want to go too far south if I could help it, so I voted to vote. Her suggestion was to go see the Chapman swifts. I was kind of hoping for that destination so I was happy.

We got a bit of a late start and the leader was from SE and didn't know the area too well so the route choice was a bit lacking. We found ourselves crossing MLK not at a light and when Jess suggested taking the sidewalk to a cross walk, she was shut down. When we got to the school the show was well underway and there was a huge crowd and not many spaces left. Suddenly the ride leader turned to me. "Do you want to pick out a spot for us?"

I was surprised and a little confused. She seemed to be pretty reluctant to make any decisions--despite that being the job of the ride leader. I declined to take over responsibility, but after following her up a steep hill that didn't lead anywhere, I decided to just go around the block to the flat part of the lawn where there was plenty of space. Everyone else followed.

We usually have a good time on the PPP, but this time I found the lack of leadership irritating, and there wasn't the comradery that we've experienced on other rides. It was a pretty small group, but no one really introduced themselves until well into the meal. On the bright side, the food was every bit as good as we've come to expect. Shawn has really done a great job of raising the standards of mobile potluck food. The black bean burgers came out great (even though I was rushing and screwed up some of the directions) and I had fun hauling all the stuff.

We left shortly after the ride leader started talking about how she'd quit running and started smoking. The other woman in our group shared that her dad died of lung cancer, but it hadn't really affected her decision to keep smoking either. You know what they say, 'if you don't have anything nice to say...' so we left, and had a lovely ride home.

After torturing my Flickr buddies with food pics, I promised Monkeykun the recipe, so here you go:

Black Bean Burgers with Lime-Jalapeno Mayonnaise:
Makes 4 Servings

Lime-Jalapeno Mayo:
1/2 C mayonnaise of vegannaise
1 1/2 t fresh lime juice
1/8 to 1/4 t minced fresh jalapeno chile
1 T chopped fresh cilantro
Salt and pepper

Burgers
1 15 oz can black beans rinsed and drained
2 green onions (white and green parts), finely chopped
1/3 C finely diced red bell pepper
1 T chopped fresh cilantro
3/4 C dried plain bread crumbs
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 T mild or medium salsa (I used Trader Joes peach salsa)
1 T fresh lime juice
Salt and pepper
1/4 t ground cumin
1/4 C finely ground cornmeal
2 T vegetable oil (divided)
Toasted whole wheat buns

To make mayonnaise: In a small bowl, combine all mayo ingredients, salt and pepper to taste; mix well. Refrigerate if not serving soon.

To make burgers: Measure 1/2 cup black beans and set aside. Place remaining drained black beans in the bowl of a food processor and process until pureed. Add the green onions, bell pepper, cilantro, bread crumbs, garlic, salsa, lime juice, and salt and pepper to taste; process until well-combined. Remove to a medium bowl and stir in the reserved black beans. Taste and adjust seasonings. Form into 4 patties.

In a shallow bowl, mix together the cumin and cornmeal. Dredge the patties in the mixture. Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a large skillet and saute the burgers, two at a time, until golden and slightly crispy. Repeat with remaining burgers using the last tablespoon oil.

To serve: Spread the lime-jalapeno mayo on toasted buns, add burgers and serve.

Notes: I used half mayo and half sour cream, 'cause Jess hates mayo. Turned out great. I also used orange peppers. Don't skip the mayo, it's delicious!

If you make these, leave a comment and let me know how it went!

Need a Break from Scary McCain videos?

2008-09-22T23:32:00.001-07:00

Aimless in Seattle

2008-09-20T17:15:00.001-07:00

My mom's best friend's daughter is getting married today. Although I don't like weddings, of course I wasn't going to miss it. As luck would have it, Traci has interviews in Seattle this weekend in the ongoing search for her summer internship which will hopefully become her job after law school.

She flew in Thursday night and drove up to Seattle Friday evening. Despite getting on the road at the peak of rush hour, we practically sailed over the I-5 bridge and into our northern journey. It was eery.

We're staying at a hotel in Bellevue so when I got up to take her to her interviews at a downtown law firm, I put the Tikit in the trunk, my laptop in my backpack and prepared to find a good hang out spot to write and surf.

I had breakfast at Bacco's Bistro, which has been added to my list of automatic Seattle stops. Their hungry jack croissant breakfast sandwich with sausage is delicious. Since it's raining here (of course), I took the occasion to make my first use of my built in cover to make the Tikit a little more incognito. That was ruined somewhat when one of the waiters said loudly, "Is that your *bike*? as I shoved it under my table. But they were totally cool with it.

This was my second time actually getting to dine in and when I asked for the restroom, I found the secret lower level where they have a whole other section of the cafe. While passing through, I saw and said hi to my favorite waitress who has helped me all the other times I've eaten here.

A guy who seemed like a manager walked by my table while I was sipping tea. He picked up on my expression and said, "What do you need?"

I told him I needed a comfy, free wifi coffee shop to hang out in for a few hours. He sent me to Cherry Street Coffee House just up the street. What it lacked in back support it made up for in pillows and I was able to settle in for a couple of hours, again with the (uncovered) Tikit under my table. The only comments I got were from other customers and passers, usually as I was folding or unfolding during my travels. Cherry St was a little cold and I had to sit with my oompa loompa hood pulled up most of the time. Another shaved headed woman came in wearing a loose, open neck sweater with nothing on her head. I just barely resisted asking, "Isn't your head cold?" since apparently it wasn't. Besides, I noted lots of Seattle-ites in shorts, flip-flops and other summer wear, despite the fact that it's 60 degrees and has been raining steadily harder all day, making me wish for rain pants, or at least RainLegs.

Traci called and said she had scored extra interviews and wouldn't be done until 4:00--three extra hours. I didn't want to pay to park downtown all day, so I went and got Beechers Flagship mac n cheese for lunch and the required mini donuts from Pike Place before heading out of downtown. If the parking wasn't incentive enough, the ridiculous crowds at Pike Place would have steered me to other parts of town. I did stay to watch one fish get thrown.

From there I headed to Beacon Hill. Last time I was in Seattle was for the Seattle Century and I was too busy to stop and see Bikeworks, the Seattle version of the Community Cycling Center, with similar programs and missions, so I decided to stop by.

When I walked in, Kent was busy working, but he saw me and said, "What are you doing up here?" We first met in person at the Car-free conference in Portland, at which he and his wife gave a presentation. He let me ride his little Dahon folding bike around, which crystalized my decision to get a folder of my own. I've been reading his most excellent blog for quite a while too.

I told him I was up for a wedding. Then his face lit up. "Are you going back to Portland?" Yes. "Can you deliver something for me?" Of course. He gave me two of their newly minted Bikeworks caps to deliver to Beth and Michael Rassmuson at Citybikes. When I mentioned River City, Kent's coworker brightened up too. "Do you know people there? Want to ask them if they want to consign this bike?" Whereby he lifted bike down from two ceiling hooks that probably could have been hung using spider webbing, it was so light. The frame is all carbon, and looks like one complete piece with no joinings. Even I could tell it was probably a 7k+ bike.

"No one who comes into our shop is going to buy this bike," said Kent, and I couldn't help but agree. I was only in the shop for a few minutes, but by the time I left, I had two used cross tires (don't start with the peer pressure! It's just in case....my cross bike ever actually gets built--but that is another story), a couple of Seattle maps, a secret surprise for Jess and one of Kent's newly produced home-made key chains made of an old spoke.

My last stop was the Grown Folks Coffee House. I was pleased to find it's a black-owned coffee house and it had two huge recliners in front of a fire place. There was a guy in one of the chairs leaned back like he planned to spend the night. The upright seating wasn't nearly so comfortable, but the chairs were cushioned and the outlets plentiful. It was a nice place to while away the rest of my alone time in the city.

Cargo Bike Gang

2008-09-20T10:57:00.001-07:00

Thursday night, 5:23pm: My phone rings and it's Jess.

"Where are you?"

"Where are *you*?" I reply.

"You're outside stalking me, aren't you."

"No of course not. That's totally beneath me."

But of course I was lying. I kidnapped her after work and we headed down to the Lucky Lab for the 2nd meeting of the Long Tail Cargo Bike club* Since I got the Dummy I've started getting more followers on Twitter, one of whom is Crunchy Sue. She PM'd me earlier in the day to see if I was going, so when my sis canceled her visit, I decided to run down, even though I'm pretty tired of going to SE every day (but that's another story).

We had a fun time checking out all the different configurations of hauling machines. I thought I was small to have a Dummy, but Sue is even shorter. She has 24" wheels to lower the bike and it seems to work great for her. In the last batch of BD frames that came out, there were seventeen 16" frames made. Corey said he got the email on Friday that they were available to order, and when he called on Saturday morning, there were five left. I wonder who the other sixteen people are who got the other frames. I was surprised the number was so small. I guess maybe they think not a lot of tiny people want to haul stuff.

We got a little distracted from our group because we ran into Janis (of PDOT fame) and spent some time hanging out and catching up with her. She and her bf both have Long Haul Truckers, though not in the same color. Janis has a pink accessory theme going that includes fenders, helmet and even pink Ortliebs. It was totally hot.

Jess and I always feel better when we meet other couples with matching bikes. The fact that we are selling our old commuter bikes and getting new ones and they're *still* going to match is a little bit...something. I've long since stopped caring though and I'm constantly encouraging her to 'embrace the dorkness.' She also has a hot color theme going; blue fenders, bar tape, CK headset and bottle cages. It won't be long before her red Ortliebs are replaced with blue ones. Anyone have a set they'd like to trade? I don't think she's ready to ride around on a 'red, white and blue' bike--even if the election comes out like we so desperately need it to (but that's another post).

Also in Janis's party was our little friend Benjamin, whom we met at a party Janis put on a few weeks ago. He'd grown so much since then, we hardly recognized him. He's four months old, and getting cuter by the minute. His cheeks are just about ripe for the plucking.

After bike-geeking, baby ogling and photo ops, we headed back to NoPo for grub and rest. The next day, I was surprised (though I shouldn't have been) to see a front page feature on our little group on Bike Portland. Pretty soon I'm sure the right-wing/oil industry/anti-bike pinheads will be getting together to figure out what to do about the threat of the 'Xtracycle Agenda.' Or the Gay Agenda of lesbians who ride Xtracycles. Or something like that.

Save Bitch

2008-09-18T08:27:00.000-07:00

In a world without Bitch--Sarah Palin could end up President. We've already lost Don Lafontaine, this time we can prevent disaster.

Click on over and donate.

UPDATE: Bitch is saved! (for now). Wow, that didnt' take long. :) You can still click on over to donate. Does this mean we'll win the election?

No Excuses

2008-09-14T21:44:00.001-07:00

Pac Designs Ultimate OS "Big Load"
Originally uploaded by gyeswho

I love it when people tell me all the reasons they can't possibly bike commute--because for everyone of those people there is someone carrying around a bike in a box on their back, in a bag. LOVE. IT.

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

2008-09-11T16:57:00.001-07:00

As I left the Mac Store on 7th & Multnomah, I was congratulating myself on staying out of SE, when I got a sudden urge for sour cream pancakes from Tabor Hill cafe. I was only about 15 minutes away so I caved, and headed south.

As I was locking up my bike, I heard someone shouting "HEY!!! HEY!" from across the street. I didn't know if he was yelling at me, but the last time I stopped for some guy yelling hey at me, a skeevy drunk guy tried to climb onto the back of my bike, so I was disinclined to look up.

The rider, for it was a rider, eventually crossed the street and he was in fact yelling at me. And when I turned around, I saw why:

Matthew has had his Big Dummy, which he named Lucy (I definitely need to find a name!), for two months. As soon as she was built up, he headed out of Seattle and hasn't looked back. He said he's been staying with 'redneck' relatives in Newburg and this morning he ran away in search of an apartment in Portland, where he has determined he should make his home. Duh.

In a quick bike check, we discovered we have the same bars and saddle. I meant to ask him about his brakes, which sported a monstrous rotor. I also found out that he built his wheels himself, which gives him +20 on me in bike geekdom. We compared tires (his Schwalbe Marathon to my Big Apples) and commiserated about the hassles of getting them properly seated on the rim. But he did confirm my suspicion that the Marathon's were pretty much bomb-proof in his ride down from Seattle. He asked about putting the Dummy on the bus (don't bother trying), and spoke with glee about stopping at a light, and having fifteen cyclists stack up behind him.

As he got ready to leave, a guy passed us and stopped to ask about the bikes. "This one's all yours," Matt said, and I got the feeling he's had lots of these conversations. I gave the standard answers and suggested he go test ride at River City Bikes. As of yesterday they had one built up on the floor. I'll be curious to see how long it lasts.

Matt, if you're reading, good luck with your apartment hunting, and be sure to check out Bikeportland and Shift. See you on the road.

I lost 3500 lbs, Ask Me How

2008-09-09T21:30:00.001-07:00

From 2000 Toyota Camry

I put the craigslist ad up yesterday and today the car is gone. Before I went to bed, I had no less than five people all up in my grill.

"Please call."

"I'll be out your way in an hour."

Whoa, easy folks, I have socializing to do!

But today was just another trip to deep SE land to deliver more bike parts, with quick detour to REI to pick up yet another online order. Yes, I know we have a problem.

Anyway, the first guy called and said he'd be over at 3:00. He was a nice older guy who's car got totaled and he's a home health care worker, so he needs wheels, like pronto. I liked him. There was of course, part of me that wanted the car to 'find a good home.' It was, after all, mom's car.

The second guy had a thick Spanish accent and couldn't say my name to save his life. He showed up with his friend or cousin or someone in tow, and was much more particular about the cosmetic defects and showed me how to tell that the hood had been replaced, as if I cared.

In each case there was the awkward moment when they ask if I'm married. I say yes, to simplify things. "What does your husband do?" they ask.

"Partner," I say, out of habit.

"Boyfriend?"

"Something like that."

Accent guy says he asks because his cousin needs a good woman to help him out.

Greaaaaat.

When we get back from our test drive around the block, he wastes no time starting to haggle. I'm calm though because the part of me that wants the car to go to a go to a good home is perfectly willing to send him on his way and hope the nice home care worker calls back. He senses this and in the end, he gives me my price. He shakes my hand, turns to his henchman and says, "Count the money."

Now I truly feel like I'm in an episode of NY Undercover.

So just like that, my four wheels are gone. Thanks for the ride to MBO.

No doubt, there's a sand storm on my bookshelf right now. Mom always hated the thought of me riding around at night, or in the winter, or in the winter at night. Cheer up mom--Jess still has a car, and really, I'm much happier on the Dummy.

Speaking of, I really need a name for the Dummy. LFoAB has El Dumbino (bummer about their delayed move to PDX btw). Bike Hugger has Bettie. I need something less generic, but inspiration hasn't hit yet. I'm open to suggestions. And I've been looking at my stats, so I know there's someone reading this. Don't be shy, chime in!

If I Should Die Before I Wake

2008-09-08T23:50:00.001-07:00

We went over to T's house tonight for a lovely evening of dinner and conversation. She has a kitten lurking outside her house, who came in and made himself at home, the moment opportunity presented itself.

The weather is the kind of true summer evening I've been waiting for since last August--the kind where it's still short-sleeve weather at 9:30pm. The sky was Denver-like in it's clarity with a half moon watching over us. Jess and I sprinted like racers up a hill to be the first ones to call out two slug bugs we knew were parked in the next block (she won).

Halfway home we stopped at Freddie's to load up the Dummy with cat litter and ice cream and then continued on our way. There was hardly any traffic and a stunning view of west Portland from the bluff on Willamette Blvd, as we cruised along at 17 mph. It was a perfect night that made me feel lucky to be alive.

And then it was all shattered by yet another impatient, rude driver who almost ran us down.

As we approached our turn off Willamette, we took the lane and signaled. We turned left onto Bryant and I started to make the immediate second left onto Wabash when I heard Jess yell "WHOA WHOA WHOA!!!" Simultaneously, I heard the roar of a big engine and instinctively aborted my turn and pulled hard to the right, just as a huge pick-up truck roared through the intersection.

Had I made the turn, it would no doubt have smashed right into me. There's no way he didn't know we were there because he was behind us when we took the lane on Willamette to make our turn. Jess stayed in to the middle of the road after the turn in preparation for the second left and only moved over to avoid being run down, as he didn't show any signs of slowing or stopping for a mere cyclist.

Instead of basking in the glow of a nice evening spent with friends, I got home shaking, angry, and sad. What is so hard about sharing the road? What destination could possibly be so urgent that you need to kill or injure someone to get there five seconds faster? I will never understand.

It seems we just can't make a trip this summer without encountering some variation on this theme. On the way to T's house, we had just crossed Richmond St, which ends the 'busy' part of Willamette Blvd and we were riding side by side. I heard a car behind us so I dropped back behind Jess. As the car drove past, the driver yelled "Find a bike lane!"

Apparently, even on a street that probably sees two cars in an hour, we're expected to huddle on the sides like second class citizens, just so Mr Entitlement won't have to wait an extra .03 second to get by.

It's nice that bikes are getting lots of attention these days and all the people too broke to pay $4 are finally getting a clue--but the backlash effect is getting really old.

Can't we all just get home alive?

Greener Grass

2008-09-08T17:04:00.000-07:00

Just when you think you have the bike of your dreams, something new comes along.

Burning man bicycle arch

2008-09-08T16:32:00.001-07:00

Burning man bicycle arch
Originally uploaded by deadchick420

Now that's what I'm talkin' about!

$375 to a Good Home

2008-09-07T23:18:00.000-07:00

Before I subject myself to the low-ballers and flakes of craigslist, I thought I'd post here and see if any friends or friends of friends or strangers who read this blog would like to give a good home to my trusty commuter Scott Sportster P4.

After commuting on a mountain bike for many years, I finally decided I needed something a little more versatile for carrying things around--but I didn't want to give up on the idea that I 'could go off-road at any time.' Enter the Sportster. Of course it was Jess who found it first (she is selling hers too--get a matched set!) but naturally I had to have one eventually.

It's got 700cc wheels for zippy travel around town. A suspension fork to smooth out pot-holes or the trail. Braze-ons to securely mount a rack and full fenders (rack not included, fenders included on one bike only). An easy-to-adjust stem height for upright comfort or more aerodynamic positioning. Good components for smooth, crisp shifting. For detailed specs on the bike, go here. You can also find a couple of reviews here.

This bike has seen me through two years of commuting, bike camping trips and even some real live mountain biking trails in Sisters and Bend. It really is the perfect do everything bike. As you know if you read this blog regularly, it took something pretty amazing to make me give it up. But the garage is only so big.

If you'd like to give it a test ride, leave a comment or email me with your number, if I don't already have it. The bike is a size medium frame and could possibly fit riders 5'3-5'6.

If it does sell to someone I know (or within one degree), who is a new bike commuter, I will throw in two hours of bike tips--this could be in the form of route planning, maintenance tips, gear advice, flat changing demo or even a full on escort of your home-to-work or route of your choice commute. Part of my mission for the summer is to bike-buddy more new commuters, and this is officially Bike Commute Challenge month so if you know someone who's at the tipping point, pass the word.

Put the Fun Between Your Legs

2008-09-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

Reason #5398 why my girlfriend is perfect for me:

Asks to borrow the Dummy to give her coworker a ride to work. Lilia has made some noise about wanting to bike, but doesn't currently own one. Jess took the opportunity to show her what she's missing. I got up at the butt crack of dawn to record the event (and, I admit it, I had to trade bikes when they were all done. Couldn't bare the thought of the BD sitting in a cage all day, when I could be taking my own advice--see title :).

Bike Pooling from Kronda Adair on Vimeo.

Racer Singles Bar

2008-09-06T23:12:00.001-07:00

Meet the Team Ride from Kronda Adair on Vimeo.

This morning I represented Sorella at the women's meet the team ride. This is basically an opportunity for unattached racers looking for a team to check out different teams so they can find a good fit. When we rolled out, we had a group of about twenty or so riders, made up for 2-3 reps from each team and the unattached riders.

We spent some time doing introductions and talking briefly about our team. Sarah Tisdale was the other Sorella at the ride. She was quite modest about mention the fact that she's an Ironman now, but I took the liberty of bringing it up at every opportunity. One really should brag about doing something so ridiculously hard, even if it does prove you're insane...

We got going south on the Springwater and I sidled up to Jenn, (The second 'n' is silent- not JenN or Je-en), one of the freelancers. "How *you* doin'" I was smooth. I put all my best moves on her but she was pretty coy. Can't tell if she's really going to call.

Later when we went through Milwaukie, I picked a new target. I started to chat her up, but then the road turned uphill and she rode away from me like I was standing still. Hopefully I made a good impression on the descent.

I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. After leading the beginner women on bikes ride on Thursday, this was just what the Dr ordered. The point of the ride was to maintain a 'social' and 'conversational' pace, which, since I haven't been on a road ride in three months, meant it was just slow enough for me to keep up, but I'd pay for it later.

When we crossed the bridge in Oregon City and headed back north (and uphill) via Lake Oswego, I spent a lot of time trying stay in the upper half of the pack, but not look like I was killing myself to do it. But it was crystal clear to me that just about anyone there could have ridden away from me at any time. Makes me want to spend the winter doing intervals on the Dummy. But alas, some people climb and some crawl their way up hills so they can descend. I know which camp I'm in.

We passed a couple of groups of runners who were impressed with our style and numbers. A group of women running a trail along Hwy 43 hooted and hollered as we went by, so we hollered back. Later we passed a group of teenage guy runners who started mock racing us down the road.

The ride went pretty smoothly over all, except for a couple of tip overs when one woman didn't unclip soon enough after a missed turn. There was another crash at a red light on State St, but I didn't see who it was. It was great to have a huge group and just take over the lanes on State St and the Sellwood bridge.

When we got back, I rewarded myself with an egg and cheese bagel from Kettleman's, and then went on my daily trip to Seven Corners to check on the state of Jess's Cross Check. It's not done yet, but the rims and the spokes were out...

Summer is Not Over

2008-09-05T23:06:00.001-07:00

I spent yesterday in the car, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that each time I drive it, could be the last. I went to the car wash on Broadway and got the absolute works. The car was pretty filthy all summer, but I refused to wash it till after my two road trips.

Then it was next door to Oil Can Henry's for some lube 'n' love. One of my worries about taking cars to the shop is their tendency to be alarmist about the condition of your vehicle, in an attempt to sell you more services. This time my experience was the opposite. "Wow, your air filter looks great! Your oil level looks pretty good...PVC's look fine, I wouldn't worry about them for another ____ miles.

I don't have a clue what PVC's are, but that's just another indication that I'm probably not meant to own a car. I've always gotten by driving other people's cars when I need one, and I don't see why that should stop now. All those mystery parts are in such great shape because I drive about once a week or less, except for the couple of road trips I took to Mt Bike Oregon.

I should know by now that if I start out they day with three errands, it's going to take all day. By the time I got out of OCH, it was after 3:00, and I'd promised to walk a friend's dog so I went to do that.

When I got home, Jess was making dinner and I just had time to get our poor neglected road bikes ready and stuff some food in my face before we headed over to Laurelhurst park to help out with the Women on Bikes ride.

Jess hasn't ridden her roadie in about a year, and I haven't ridden mine since early this summer. After all my load hauling recently, it was a revelation to ride something so light and fast. Add a little tailwind and our 20 mph cruise down Ainsworth seemed effortless. I practically floated up the hill to the park.

Part of the reason it had been so long was that the saddles we had on the road bikes were, let's say, less than friendly to the girl parts. Getting on them was torture within minutes. The search for a good saddle has been going on for years. We have a saddle graveyard in our garage of all our rejected prospects.

Lately I've been really liking the WTB Pure saddle I have on both my MTB and the Dummy. Based on that, and lots of recommendations from bike shop folks, we're now trying out the Deva saddle, also from WTB. Based on our first short ride, I'm cautiously optimistic.

Because we were so smokin' fast, we actually arrived on time to the ride. There was a good group of twelve or so women gathered, but the leader never showed up. These rides are usually lead by our friend Janis of PDOT, but she is in Seattle this week for the Pro Walk/Bike conference. Since the sub didn't show, we agreed to lead the ride, to the relief of all the ladies in attendance. We took a nice cruise over to Lincoln, arguably the best bike blvd in Portland, down through Ladd's Addition and over the Hawthorne bridge for a loop around the Willamette via Waterfront Park and the Eastbank Esplanade. There were varying degrees of riding experience, so we took it pretty easy. For one woman, it was her first time crossing a bridge on her bike. The award for best style definitely went to the woman in pink:

As we were going down Clay St, approaching the Esplanade, we were passed by three truck fulls of lesbians who hollered at us, in a good way. "Whoo hoo, lesbians on bikes! Looking good ladies!" Most of the group was pretty amused--one woman said she'd have be sure to tell her boyfriend about it--but I think a couple of people were a little miffed. Of course, the women were right on at least two counts...

I was glad we were there to help out, but I confirmed that I would make a horrible full time ride leader. I missed being able to talk to Jess, who was bringing up the rear of the group. Also, our average speed was 7 mph, which was particularly torturous on my road bike. In novice groups, in order for them to learn good etiquette, there's pretty much of a constant stream of yelling out every. little. obstacle. "Car back! Car up! Car left!"

I prefer a group ride with a larger element of personal responsibility where the cues are a bit more subtle. Despite the frustrating elements, I do like to help convert newbies into excited, responsible bikers, so in that sense, I had a great time. And once we had delivered everyone safely back to the park, we got to motor over to Pizza-A-Go-Go for second dinner.

Live to Ride Another Day

2008-09-04T02:37:00.001-07:00

Bike on Bike Love from Kronda Adair on Vimeo.

Today was the summer day I've been wishing for and just needed the weather to cooperate. I was scheduled to take my MTB in to River City for it's routine maintenance check up, which gave me the perfect opportunity to break out my TrayBien and perpetrate some more bike on bike love. I continue to be amazed at how smoothly the BD handles everything I can throw at it, though I really shouldn't be. Before I actually had mine, I spent plenty of time reading BD blogs and viewing BD porn on Flickr and they all pretty much said the same thing.

I cruised over to the dentist's office, where Jess was just finishing up. Aaron, the dentist, told her that she is one of the few people that he would gladly trade teeth with, making her officially, the dentist's pet. She's quite proud, as well she should be. Check out those pearly whites! Aaron is also an avid cyclist and sometime bike racer, so he came out to ogle my new and old toy.

From there we embarked on a little circle of bike shopping that we would eventually reverse. It started with a call to someone from the OBRA racing list who might have a drop bar that would work for Jess's new Cross Check that she's building up. He happened to live about a mile from Aaron's office and he was home, so we headed over. After procuring the bar, it was off to Seven Corners to see Corey and drop off more bike parts.

If I spend any more time in that shop, I'm hoping to take home a paycheck. Oddly, when I go in there, I usually have a bunch of things to work on, and as soon as I go in, 80 other people walk through the door, and I spend three hours there. Jess waited about five minutes and then had Corey's undivided attention--at least between handfuls of chocolate covered peanuts, which he even shared. The shop was like a ghost town for at least forty five minutes.

During that time, Jess gave him measurements for setting up her bike and made a tough decision about which shade of blue bar tape would best go with her navy blue Chris King headset, sending Corey into fits of uncontrollable giggles. But supportive giggles.

From there we had lunch at the Clinton Corner Cafe. We sat outside and had a whole 20 minutes of fresh air before someone at the next table started smoking. But that's a rant for another day. The food was good and we watched people ogle the Dummy as they walked by, and we ogled all the bikes of the commuters riding by.

Clinton street could be considered the heart of bikey Portland and there were a lot of hot bikes to watch, including a TON of Surlys. It seems lately as if Surly might be taking over the world. Corey told us that 7-Corners is the third largest Surly dealer in the U.S. which maybe explains it. We even saw another Big Dummy ride by and I couldn't stop myself from shouting "Dummy!" at the guy. He looked over at us, but he was plugged into his Ipod, moving fast and my Dummy was hidden behind a parked car so I'm sure he didn't see it. I was sad I wasn't riding when I saw him so we could compare notes. But with all the folks at shops who said they were in the process of building one up, I'm sure I'll be seeing more of my fellow Dumb riders on the road soon.

After that it was off to River City to exchange some parts and pick up some others. In addition to dropping off my MTB for service, I had notice that the seat bag I bought in June was already ripping at the seams. That got replaced with no problems, and returning our seat posts was equally smooth. We bought straight when we needed set back. They didn't have any in stock, so we'll probably be making the rounds at some more shops tomorrow.

The small hitch came when I tried to exchange an old River City long sleeve wool jersey. I got it as a gift and I've had a long time, but haven't worn it much because it's shown a disturbing tendency to fall apart. I pulled it on the other day and discovered *five* new holes. Fresh from my success exchanging my three year old Keens that were literally falling apart at the seems for shiny new ones at REI, I was hoping for similar luck here.

Mark, the manager came out to talk with me while he seemed receptive and willing to accommodate at first, he ultimately decided the holes were from moths and instead offered to sell me a new one at a discount. "That's OK, I've given you guys enough of my money," I said, and it's true. I've probably spent close to $4k in dead mom money in the past two years just at RC. I'm trying to ease out of the rampant shopping mode in preparation for school. I hung up the new shirt I'd been holding up to see if it would fit and held out my hand. He could tell I was pissed and wouldn't give me the old shirt at first. "Can I have my shirt back?"

"Yeah, you can have it." But it was another few seconds before he handed it over. I could almost see him trying to figure out how to save the situation. I wasn't pissed that he said no, so much as that he said yes first, and then backed out. Either have a policy and stick to it, or make a decision and stick to it. I thought it was really poor form. I went back to find Jess and told her, "Well Dorothy, we're not at REI anymore." I like River City, and generally have good or great experiences there, but I also make sure I buy things I don't think I'll need to return. As a small shop, they tend to be a little stricter about such things. The jersey swap was a long shot to begin with, but I didn't like being given false hope.

Corey had mentioned concerns that Jess's used drop bar might be a little narrow, so she spent quite a bit of time looking at other sizes and talking to Brandon, our favorite mechanic (and the manager of the dept). He helped us for over an hour when we went in to buy the bulk of the parts for our bikes and was super patient and nice. He offered to let Jess bring her bike in and try the bars she thought she wanted but I gently suggested maybe she should just buy them and have them installed in the first place.

"She's ready to strangle me," Jess told Brandon. Not exactly true, but I could already envision the frustration of getting a new bike that didn't quite fit, coming into RC to maybe find they didn't have what she needed in stock--let's just say her luck is not that great in general, and I thought it best to get while the getting was good.

Where does the day go? Suddenly it was 5:45 and we had 15 minutes to pay for the bars and hustle them back over to Corey's, which we did. As the public relations manager of the relationship, I got to call the OBRA guy and see if he would take the bars back and return our funds, which he promptly agreed to do. Classy guy. And that brought us full circle on our shopping journey.

On the way home, we stopped to see Lisa, Spike and Essex. Because of my cold, which is not quite gone, I couldn't touch the baby and it was pretty much torture. But he was still fun to watch. I tried to give my leftover snuggles to Otis the dog, but he was laying down some farts that had to be smelled to be believed. We were were relieved when Spike decided to take him on a walk.

When we left, we headed through the Mississippi neighborhood and north on Interstate to stop at New Seasons on our way home. Just before Killingsworth, we were almost mowed down by a huge semi that passed us with inches to spare, although there was an entire empty left turn lane he could have used to pass us safely. Jess screamed and nearly had a heart attack. I was calmer in the moment, and veered onto the sidewalk at the first opportunity. Then we both sprinted to the corner, where the lethal trucker was sitting at a red light. His windows were closed, but I'm sure he knew why we were both screaming at him.

"Too close!" yelled Jess.

"You almost killed us!" I added.

His reply was to rev his engine a couple of times and give us a look that said plainly that he really didn't give a sh*t if he killed us. As long as I live, I will always fail the Save vs Comprehend-idiots-who-have-no-regard-for-others throw. (Blame Wil for the D&D reference). We stayed on the side walk until he was well past, and I waited till we were safely parked at New Seasons to get the shakes. That was definitely my closest call of the summer. I sure would hate to die when things are going so well.

But we're both fine and we'll live to ride another day. And despite the occasional jerk off, I'll still take two wheels over C/offins/ars any day. Amazing that over 40,000 people die per year due to car crashes and we're so ingrained in car culture as a country that we largely accept it as a given.

Speaking of cars, anyone interested in buying a 2000 Toyota Camry? In great shape, hardly driven.

Life with Dummy

2008-09-03T01:24:00.001-07:00

It's been a really nice labor day weekend, except for the totally crappy, October-like weather. Our plans for Shakespeare in the park were dashed by cold and rain. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Saturday, I took Jess out for her first ride on the back of the Dummy. We went to the Little Red Bike Cafe, 1 mile from our house, for coffee. When we pulled up, a couple I had met a few weeks ago were sitting outside with their little boy who is about three and totally adorable. I introduced Jess and they wanted to know about the bike of course.

Then while we were sipping our java, another couple came up and locked their bikes up to the pole next to us. Of course I was checking out their bikes--it's a good thing my wandering eye runs to bicycles and puppies. They were both road bikes and one was a Scott, which I've been seeing more and more of lately. We struck up a conversation and it turned out they had just moved her from Utah, in part because of our great bike culture. (Probably the other part was just to escape Utah, not exactly known as a lesbian haven, but I didn't ask). We talked bike stuff, locking tips and I turned them on to a few resources. I seem to be meeting a lot of people lately who are moving here for the biking, which I love.

After coffee, it was my turn to ride on the back of the BD. It was super fun and I'll have to see if I can talk Jess into pulling me around more. Back home, we switched bikes--Jess on the Tikit and me back on my Scott--and rode over to NE to pick up a Zip truck for a few hours so we could pick up some more rocks for our yard path project. The ticket went into the truck cab and the Scott was locked up by our parking spot so I could return the truck later and ride home.

We were careful not to say that we were 'done' one we had our load, which was good because we had to go back immediately and get more stepping stones. Jess spent the evening working in the yard, while I cleaned up inside and then we watched one of our Netflix movies and Jess stayed awake for the whole thing!

Sunday, as we got ready for Shakespeare in the park, we realized it was misting. A few minutes later it was raining in earnest. We hoped it might clear up by the time we got over to SE, so I still packed up our camp chairs and blanket on the BD. I busted out the Bob trailer drysaks I was hoping to keep stored a little longer. They work perfectly on the BD, allowing you to load a massive amount of stuff and still keep it all dry--essential for hauling through a rainy Portland winter.

We rode to T & L's house and the rain was still coming down off and on. So we went to plan B, which was having lunch and visiting with them at their house. We stayed a few hours and enjoyed a delicious lunch that included a sandwich bar, watermelon, peaches, banana bread and americanos from T's new espresso machine. The only bummer was how cold I felt the whole time, even sitting inside.

When we left, we put on all our rain gear, which depressed me no end. While I waited for Jess outside Trader Joes, I watched people come and go in their flip flops and t-shirts, in defiance of the weather or maybe they just don't have any sense. I never was one of those people than can just run around in skimpy clothes when it's 50 degrees and raining.

Jess came out of TJ's with a 30 lb grocery bag and a watermelon for me to carry. She helped out by taking the bag of lettuce. Gee, thanks. :) The load was fine though, the BD takes it all in stride. By the time we got home, the little tickle in the back of my throat had become a full fledged cold. My plan to help in the yard was foiled and I spent the night shivering, despite wearing three shirts, a hat and wool socks.

The biggest bummer about getting sick, was not being able to visit Lisa and Essex on Monday, but I did get in a coffee date with Eris. I rode the Tikit over to Blend Coffee Lounge and it sat folded up next to me while I drank tea and wrote on my laptop. So quintessential Portland I can hardly stand myself. When I left, a guy followed me outside. "I'm so curious to see this!" I think he had never seen a folding bike before or knew they existed. I gave him a demo, and told him about the Bike Friday web site. It's a good thing I'm a very social person. It's kind of cool having bikes that are such conversation pieced. Though truth be told, I can have a good conversation about any bike.

The weather seems to be on the upswing for at least a week or so, and my cold seems to be running it's course fairly quickly. Jess has the next two days off and we actually have NOTHING PLANNED! It's a miracle. I'm hoping to get some boring stuff crossed off my to-do list and I've got tons of catch up to do on this blog. Stay tuned.

Big Dummy Comes Home

2008-08-30T10:47:00.001-07:00

I've been waiting (impatiently) stressing and bugging the crap out of Corey, Clint and Rick over at Seven Corners and yesterday, my bike was finally ready! I didn't make good on my threat to show up at 10:01am, but I did get over there, after running a few other errands on the Tikit, also turning out to be a fun ride. I spent a few hours at the shop, getting the finishing touches like grips, bar-tape, fenders and water bottle cages, but finally I was ready to roll. Here's how it went down:

Portland Century

2008-08-26T10:32:00.001-07:00

I hauled myself out of bed at 4:15 Sunday morning and trekked on down to the PSU start line of the Portland Century. It was still dark outside, so I took a head lamp, which got me lots of points with the other volunteers. My first task was making a run back to base for some forgotten items. After that, things got eerily smooth. It was a far cry from the first year when Jess and I registered and rode the event. Thanks to over 900 day-of registrations for the then, first time event, the organizers were swamped. I ended up leaving Jess to wait in line and volunteering at registration until she got to the head of the line, just to try to make things go faster. Which is maybe why they ended up hiring me for future events.

Jensi and I reminisced about those olden days while we practically stood around twiddling our thumbs behind the registration table. The volunteers were on top of it, the lines were short, thanks to a pre-reg party the day before, and there weren't even that many unusual issues. It was almost *too* easy and we agreed it was kind of weird.

I hung out behind the reg table, pretending to be a t-shirt runner (handing shirts to the reg volunteers to give to riders). Another volunteer, Patrice was also working t-shirts and mostly she was far too quick for me, so I spent most of my time chatting with her between her mad dashes for cotton. She was totally charming and sweet and very new to biking, which I could tell when she rolled her Magna bike over and parked it nearby. Turns out she got back into riding a couple of months ago, telling herself firmly, "No more excuses!" Part of her reason for volunteering was to get involved with the bike community, learn more about what's out there and meet other cyclists.

She said, when she finally got back on her bike and went for a ride, she came back with a huge perma-grin on her face and from what I saw, it hasn't gone away. She asked me lots of questions and I did my best to answer, and pointed out random things about the vast variety of bikes, how they were different, why they were wearing those funny shoes and why that woman on the cruiser with the big pannier was dreaming when she signed up for the full century.

It turns out Patrice is also pretty close to my size, so she might even end up buying my Scott that I've been commuting on for the last few years. It's great bike and I hate to get rid of it, but with my crazy rampage of bike buying, and our not-very-large garage, something has to go. My Cross check will be my new fast commuter and who knows, I might even ride it in an actual cross race someday.

At 8:20, I headed out to my rest stop at Maywood Park, the only rest stop for the 25 mile riders. I had a Honda Element Zip car to pack up and return my supplies when I was done. I'd never driven one before and I found it to be fun and zippy (no pun intended), and the seat fold up feature is pretty handy.

Tom arrived with the Penske to drop off my supplies. Maywood park is a pretty spot and the grass is lush and green and perfect--and also sits atop what seems to be a permanent mud bog. The skinny legs of the rented tables sunk deep into the mud and had to be shored up with scrap cardboard. And the more feet came through, the messier it got. Since I'd worked this rest stop last year, I at least remembered to change out of my sandals and into my tennis shoes.

Tom left me with my pile of food to organize. It was 9:45, 15 minutes before the official opening of the rest stop. My volunteers, scheduled to arrive at 9:30, were nowhere to be seen. All three of them flaked completely and didn't even bother to call.

Despite that, this rest stop session was one of the most organized and relaxed I've had. A few riders came early, while there were still boxes everywhere, but they knew they were ahead of schedule and were chill about waiting. One claimed she was just going to get water and move on, but she changed her tune quickly once the shortcakes were prepared and the whip cream on the table.

For the next few hours, I had no trouble keeping up with demand, keeping everything stocked and chatting with the riders. I fixed another helmet that was strapped so loosely, I hesitate to even use the word. People were generally happy when they came through, even the ones who got lost on the detour from the 205 bike path. I literally heard not one complaint, and the biggest injury was a scrape from a run in with a car that I think was parked. I also had mechanic support from the Bike Gallery, who showed up just minutes after the first person asked me for a pump.

My rest stop closed at one and the last riders came through at 12:45, a woman riding with her 7 year old son. The most challenging part of the day was wondering if I could really fit all my supplies into the Element, but my UPS training came to the fore, and with help from the BG mechanic, I shoved it all in there and then dropped it off at the Smith and Bybee rest stop so they could incorporate my leftover food into their stop. The whole ride was short of volunteers (not just my flaky ones) and there were only two women working the Smith stop and they had to cut up watermelon. Also they were the last rest stop before the finish so both the century and 50 mile riders came through. Things were hopping. I unloaded all the stuff and we made a little self-serve shortcake station so it wouldn't be any extra work for the volunteers. I would have stayed to help, but I had a short window in which to finally pick up my Bike Friday.

After that, I headed to the finish line for some grub. I limited myself to one sample of my rest stop short cake and I was starving. It was nice, after Seattle, to get there when the food was still fresh and warm (although the Seattle dinner was great, even cold). I saw a few people I knew who had finished successfully and Patrice was looking good after her 25 mile ride--probably her longest yet.

Things still seemed to be going in that eerily stress free fashion, so after I ate, I headed out to return my Zip Car. But first I went home and put my Tikit back together (only took 30 minutes, even without instructions). I folded it up, stuck it in the back of the car, and headed back to the parking space across from PCC. After I parked, I noticed a brand new coffee shop on the corner of Killingsworth and Albina. Too bad they didn't open while I was still attending at that campus, but it looked pretty nice inside and there were a couple of people inside with their laptops. I went in for a minute to chat with the woman working and said I'd be back. Then I grabbed my Tikit from it's spot just inside the door, whipped it open and rode home in a drizzly rain.

As I was heading north on Willamette, approaching Rosa Parks Way, I saw a group of five soggy bikers on road bikes. As I got closer, I saw a tell tale red jersey. "Are you guys on the Portland Century?" I asked. It was about 6:30 by this and the finish line closed at 6:00pm.

"Yes, we're team 'got lost'" said one of the women. Despite being on mile 100 (with their detours) of the ride, being soaked and probably hungry, they were in remarkably good spirits. In fact, they were posing for pictures, so I offered to take one of their whole group and they accepted. Afterward I told them the quickest way to get back to the finish line.

When I got home, I called Jensi and let her know the stragglers were on their way. Hopefully, they saved them some food.

How Not to Get Your Bike Stolen

2008-08-26T10:02:00.001-07:00

If you own a bike and ride it and occasionally stop places, then you should go read this right now.

Yes, We Have No Bananas

2008-08-24T04:51:00.001-07:00

I was 0 for 2 on bike pick ups yesterday. The Dummy wasn't ready (though the hand built wheels are gorgeous!). I'm hoping against hope that Corey can pull off a miracle and finish it today because I *NEED* to have it for bike camping on Tue and the shop is closed tomorrow. Please send helpful bike building vibes his way!

A few blocks over, at Coventry Cycles, the Tikit was all shiny and ready to go. Jeff spent some time adjusting the brakes and shifters to my preferred position--the saddle was already perfect. I took it on a prolonged spin and was amazed again what a great ride it has for such a small wheeled bike! I even found a little gravel and it rolled just fine. And the internal hub is way cool.

Back at the shop, I was turned over to Tom. Tom said, "You're going to pack it into the case and I'll talk you through it." I was relieved, because I know it's a pretty involved process the first time. Even with his help, it took us an hour and fifteen minutes to turn this:

into this:

By the time we finished, I didn't have time to take the bus home with the case, which was my back up plan, since the Dummy wasn't ready. I was really looking forward to carrying two bikes home on another bike--but I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunity for that.

I will definitely go pick up the Tikit in the Zip Car today after my Portland Century rest stop duties are over--and hopefully (crosses fingers) the Dummy as well.

Check out the little tour I took of the Bike Friday headquarters on my way to Mt Bike Oregon in July:

Update: Clearly, I should have watched this video first:

Bad Day on the Bike

2008-08-16T23:47:00.000-07:00

Today was only fun in retrospect.

I decided to do the Alpine/Tire Mountain combo trail because I'd heard good things about the awesome descents amid really cool old growth forests. I knew there would be twice as much climbing as the Alpine trail alone, so I wanted to do it on day one, before I got tired.

I slept most of the way on the shuttle ride up, which should have been a clue as to how the day would go. Last month, when the shuttle reached the trail head, the groups for the different routes would split up and have their riders meeting. I had just gotten my bike and had time to pee when I heard the call for Tire riders to 'meet over here.' I saw a few straggling riders heading around the corner and hastily followed.

I was soon dropped and riding alone on the road. It turned out that, 'meet over here' actually meant a mile up the road at the actual trail head. I started getting nervous that maybe they'd already left and I would miss the trail head and have to go back and ride with the other group. I even started yelling “Hello!!!” but got no answer.

Finally I saw the group, bunched up at Kate's cut in, the start of the trail. By the time I pulled up, I was feeling cranky, rushed and pissed off. Not a good start to the day. My legs already felt like lead, and my seat was way too low for the mile of climbing I knew we would do to start. I dug around in my seat bag and fished out my tool to raise the seat. By this time, the meeting had ended and the guides were shouting “let's go!” The whole group headed up the steep dusty cut-in and soon it was just me and the two sweep guides. To make things worse, the Alpine only group came up behind us.

“Come on Kronda, hurry up!” said Paul, a guide I had liked last month, but hated at that moment.

“Dammit, I'm just trying to get my shit together!” I shouted, most frustrated than ever. I stowed my tool, with my seat still too low and headed up the trail. The first section is steep and incredibly loose and dusty. Though I knew what to expect and had geared down accordingly, I still didn't make it. I got off and walked the 30 feet to where the grade became more reasonable and kept going.

I felt like I'd already ridden ten miles uphill. My knees hurt from climbing with a saddle that was too low and I was already panting and out of breath. But with the sweep guides breathing down my neck, I didn't feel like I could stop and rest. To make matters worse, Paul was riding a single speed and I know from reading several people's blogs that climbing on a single speed with someone slow in front of you is pretty much torture, if not impossible. Because you only have one gear, you can't just go slower.

Paul apologized and tried to explain that he was just kidding around about rushing me but the damage was done. I felt incredibly bitchy for pretty much the entire ride, and it was hard work not to snap when anyone said anything to me. I probably didn't entirely succeed.

Bitchiness aside, there were some gorgeous descents that improved my mood slightly, but generally speaking, my head was not in the game. I kept thinking how if I'd done the Alpine trail, I could have spent a lot more time going downhill. And I did a. lot. of. Walking. When we got to the clover patch section of the trail, there are several steep switch backs that I had no chance of making in my condition. I finally quite bothering to get on my bike between them, knowing I'd be off again in a few yards. The rest of the 'slow group' was waiting at the top where the trail turned to double track. I heard Paul's radio crackle.

“Are you guys OK?”

“Yeah, we're coming.”

A few minutes later. “Paul, put it in the big ring.”

“I'm riding the gear I have.”

And again, “I'm not trying to put pressure on you, I'm just trying to get you to hurry up.”

Any shreds of good mood I may have gained from the descent evaporated at that point. I wanted to take the radio and tell the other guide to fuck off. But I just kept walking. Eventually, we caught the group, and then, after all that rushing, he deigned to wait a few minutes for me to catch my breath.

The riding got a bit easier for a little while, and then everyone was off their bikes while we traversed a gravel road section with a lot of downed trees from a recent storm. From there, we started going down again, and I fared slightly better. At least I didn't have any falls and I didn't go off into any of the poison oak that grows rampant on the side of the trail. I made sure to have someone point it out to me so I would know what it looked like.

I made it down the whole trail but instead of feeling stoked on the ride, I mostly just felt tired and afraid. I'm normally OK with some exposed trails (trails that have a steep drop off to one or both sides) but today I was just done. I was sick of feeling inches away from death (most an over-dramatization of the actual risk) and sick being afraid of the trail. I counted the miles until we finished the single track and was actually glad to get to the gravel road that signaled the start of the 17 mile ride back to camp. Although I couldn't relax too much on that either, because Davey, the lead guide warned us about loose sections where we could easily skid out if we didn't control our speed.

When we got to the bottom of the road, the sight of the shuttle waiting for us was about the most welcome thing I've ever seen. We had been told in the morning that there might be a shuttle available to save us from the 12 mile pavement ride back to camp, but not to hold our breath. But Paul had called ahead and they were waiting for us. There wasn't room for everyone, but three people were willing to ride back to town. I didn't care, as long as I got a seat.

On the way back to camp, Davey started talking about maybe going to the top of the Larison Rock trail—a quick 20 minute decent that ends right in camp. Surprisingly, I found myself willing to go along with this plan. As long as there was no climbing, I figured I'd be OK. Plus that would put us back at camp right before showers opened up.
Larison Rock turned out to be a lot like (the grossly misnamed) Flat Creek trail—unrelenting downhill with just enough technical spots to get you in trouble. Despite being warned about some spots where the trail gets really narrow because of people wiping out there and washing out the trail, I couldn't avoid the trap. Just as I recognized that I was probably going a little too fast, I saw the trail get very tiny and a big pile of super fine, loose dust to the left side. I looked at the dust, and it was all over. A stupid, newbie mistake. I slide into the dust and landed on my right side, just like I was sliding into home plate on a baseball field. I was annoyed, but the damage was limited to a tiny patch of road rash on my elbow. I got up and kept going and made it down the rest of the trail unscathed.

At the bottom of the trail, I rode directly to the bank of the river, shed my camelbak and walked in without even taking off my bike shoes. The water was definitely warmer than last month. That combined with the hundred degree temperature, made the dip more on the refreshing side and less a torture session for my own good. There were several dogs playing in the water, including Sierra, the adorable German Short hair Pointer.

After a few minutes in the river to cool down, I went to the kitchen and ran into Lauren, one of the GSP organizers. She asked about my day of course, and I responded in my now usual grumpy manner. “Well, would this mocha frappucino make you feel better?” she asked.

I actually perked up at that. “It definitely couldn't hurt.”

I took the big cup she handed me and it was chocolaty and sweet. Things were starting to look up. From there I headed to the shower van. When we got dropped off, my team mate was just coming out of the showers and solemnly warned me that the showers were 'boiling hot.' And that the coolest one was on the far left. I didn't bother telling her that a hot shower was just fine with me. It opens up the pores.

Being clean after two days, plus the chocolate coffee goodness made me feel for the first time as though I might actually get through the day without killing someone. Soon after I got back to camp, I got in the dinner line. It was pizza again, which I hated last month (it doesn't survive the 40 minute trip from Eugene so well), but a few seconds in the microwave made it much more palatable.

The rest of the night I spent in limited socializing and trying in vain to rehydrate myself. I did OK drinking during the ride, emptying my 100oz camelbak plus water bottle but then made the mistake of not drinking for a couple of hours back in camp. I got a headache and never did shake it. I went to bed at a fairly decent hour, hoping to sleep it off and in general, have a much better day tomorrow.

Mt Bike Oregon Pt 2, Day 1

2008-08-14T22:31:00.000-07:00

I'm very stinky. It's the hottest weekend of the year and I'm down in Oakridge for another exciting edition of Mountain Bike Oregon. Although I over packed by a ridiculous amount, I still seem to have forgotten a few crucial things—like bug juice. And Perpetuem (liquid food) which would be really good to have since I'm doing a big ride tomorrow with a long ride back on the road. But at least there's electrolyte tablets in our goody bags.

The drive down was so so, but I just learned that a bunch of fires near I-5 closed down a lot of the highway yesterday, so I suppose I should be grateful that I had no delays and arrived in one piece. But my iPod shuffle, which is usually so good to me, positively sucked the whole way down. And I don't like to fiddle around with trying to find specific songs unless I have a co-pilot, so I spent a lot of time just skipping songs.

Things got even less fun when a state trooper started following me about eight miles from Oakridge. I had actually seen a bunch of troopers on I-5 and lots of people got pulled over—but I was hoping things would calm down once I turned off the main highway. No such luck. I would've felt better if they'd just happened to catch up to me, but in fact, I caught up to them (going 60 mph, 5 miles over the speed limit) and then they pulled off the road specifically to get behind me. That set my spider sense tingling that perhaps they were just waiting for the opportunity to ticket me for D.W.B. I kept my speed firmly between 50-53mph in a 55 zone. I'm surprised they didn't pull me over for going too slow. They finally turned off once we hit Oakridge city limits.

Ayleen kindly offered to let me shower in her hotel room (there's no services till tomorrow, and even then, a hot shower is unlikely unless I get there within the first 30 minutes). She also invited me to dinner with the gang (staff and guides). As usually happens in this crowd, I could barely get anyone to leave so I could come to bed. I didn't want to push my luck by pressing the shower issue, though it would be REALLY nice right now. But the night is pretty cool and my tent is well ventilated.

Speaking of tents, J and I bought a new tent on REI Outlet and it came just in the nick of time for me to pick it up on my way out of town and test it out. It took me a while to set it up, as it's much different than my old tent, but now that I've done it, I'll be a lot faster next time. The tent is a bit smaller than the gigantic four-person that I could almost stand up in. This one is a three person and a different shape, but so far, I totally dig it. And it weighs less than half what the other tent does, so it will work for bike camping, which we're doing in a couple of weeks (with the Dummy, which should be ready by then, SQUEE!).

The tent has vestibules, which I've never had before. In theory, I like the idea of keeping stuff outside the tent and having it stay dry—but in practice, I don't like how I trip over the guy lines every time I step anywhere near the tent. I'm sure it's just a matter of retraining myself.

Once I got everything set up, I decided to go for a little ride, to get my 'sea legs' so to speak, and remember what this off road thing is all about. I did the Salmon Creek 'fitness trail' which is basically a way of saying, it's really easy and you can pedal a lot. It was actually a really fun trail. It's pretty smooth, as trails go, and especially heading back, it's slightly downhill which makes for a lot of fun swooping fast turns. On the way back I stopped at the river damn, where two people had wisely taken camp chairs to the middle of the river and were watching the sunset. I had been told that the water at this swimming hole was not nearly as cold as the river next to Green Waters park where we're camping and the rumor proved to be true. I waded in with no problems and it was the perfect refreshing temperature.

Another nice thing about the trail is that near the beginning/end, it's just lousy with more blackberries than I could ever hope to find in one place. They're still not quite sweet, but I ate a bunch anyway.

Crow: The new French Delicacy

2008-08-11T00:22:00.001-07:00

After being quoted in the press saying the french 4 x 100 relay team would "smash the Americans," French swimmer Alain Bernard is having crow for dinner tonight, followed by a big piece of humble pie for dessert. The Dude says, "Don't let your mouth write a check that your body can't cash," and now we see why. I wouldn't be surprised to see this picture of Bernard's face following the race as the new screensaver on the US relay members' computers.

There's so many great ripples from that race, not the least of which is Gold for Cullen Jones, only the second African American swimmer to achieve that feat. My friend Jenny is making an amazing documentary about African Americans in swimming called Parting the Waters. You should all go and bookmark her website and friend her on Facebook RIGHT NOW, and count the days till it comes out.

I can't wait. Today was her last day of shooting (with 7 camera crews around the world!). What finale.

I love the Olympics.

Counting Bikes

2008-08-10T19:02:00.001-07:00

A month or so ago, we signed up to count bikes for PDOT so they can update their traffic information and tell the purse string holders how many more people are riding bikes this year than last, so we can have more trails, bike blvds n stuff.

Our first mission was at the corner of Russell and Williams, quite the hot commuting spot. We set up at 3:50pm and from 4:00-6:00 we kept track of who went where, men vs women and helmets vs no helmets. It was definitely a two person job.

In two hours, we counted 531 cyclists. About 20% were without helmets and about 38% were women. One of the cyclists was an ex of mine, who stopped to chat, during the busiest stream of the time period. I actually enjoyed the challenge of keeping up conversation while trying to keep track of all the bikes. We have another intersection to count out near U of P that probably won't see quite as much traffic, but I'll be interested to see the numbers.

Mt Bike Oregon

2008-08-06T15:25:00.001-07:00

As I settled into my tent at Greenwaters Park in Oakridge, OR, it suddenly occurred to me that this was the first real vacation I've taken alone since my month-long, five city, two country tour in 1997. I took a moment to relish my new found freedom. The dynamic of going 'alone' to a group event suits me well. There are tons of people around if I feel like socializing--but I have no obligations to anyone and can retreat to my tent for some alone time whenever I want. Perfect.

Once my temporary home sweet home was set up, I got my bike and headed the mile into town for dinner at the new Chinese restaurant. I heard from several people that the owner used to be Jackie Chan's personal chef. The chicken fried rice I had for dinner didn't seem particularly star-quality to me, but it wasn't bad either. While I ate, I read We Might As Well Win by Johan Bruyneel. We went to his reading at Powell's last week, and I picked it up on the way out of town, thinking it'd be a nice bike-related read for the weekend. (Reading during dinner--another perk of temporary bachelorette-hood).

Back at camp, it was getting chilly, but I had my four-person tent to myself, and I discovered that Jess's lounger camp chair with foot rest, fit nicely inside the tent with all my other stuff. I read until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore (and the guys next to me had turned off their music) and went to bed.

Friday morning, I was up at 6:30 and hit the breakfast line just after it opened at 7:00. The MBO organizers have had four years to dial in this event and it shows. The breakfast menu included ham, sausage, yogurt, granola, biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, pancakes, OJ and coffee from Nossa Familia. All the food was cooked up fresh by volunteers from the local Rotary club right in front of us. I loaded up, knowing I had a big ride day ahead.

At 9:00am, our bikes were covered with blankets and loaded into a big Penske truck, while the humans loaded into a genuine yellow school bus. A lot of the tall guys found their knees getting squished in the kiddie-sized seats. I was glad I'd brought a magazine to read on the drive up because looking out of the side window to the steep drop-off next to the narrow gravel road, as we headed to the start of the Alpine trail was a little harrowing. In mountain biking, when you're on a narrow single track trail only a couple of feet wide with a big drop-off below, you look at where you want to go, NOT down at the drop. Illogically, I felt the same way about riding the bus. I kept my eyes on the road ahead or buried in my magazine. We only stopped once, to let a hen and her chicks get across the road.

When we reached our drop off point, everyone piled out. The guys of course, immediately all lined up on the side of the road to pee off the side of the mountain. I followed a few other women to the 'ladies room' a little ways up the road.

The view was breath-taking, and included five mountains: Three Sisters, Broken Top and one other mountain I couldn't identify. The guides called everyone together for a group meeting, where we split up according to which trail we were riding (there were two leading from our start point, Alpine and Tire Mountain), and how fast we wanted to go. The Tire Mountain group left first and the rest of us waited around to avoid bunching up on the trail. Finally it was time to go.

We entered the trail at a spot called Kate's cut in--presumably named for the woman who found/built it. The road turned up sharply, and almost immediately, I found myself walking. I suck at climbing at the best of times, and I'm definitely not in the best shape at the moment. The grade eased up after a few feet and became rideable. From there it was a mile or so of climbing. We stopped in the middle of a field of bear grass to regroup before the first big downhill section.

The descent down Alpine represented my longest time on a real single track trail and my longest sustained descent (road or mountain) ever. It was indescribably fun. One of the things I love about MTB is the absolute focus required if you want to keep your skin whole. You're flying down a tiny little trail maybe four or five feet wide at best. Roots, rocks, dips and turns are coming at you, and you have, depending on your speed, 1-3 seconds to register obstacles and pick the best line around them. It's a focus I wish more people would bring to the driver's seat. My top speed going down Alpine was 21 mph. There's a section called "Jedi" because riding through it feels kinda like this, with narrow routes through fallen trees, a huge trail dip and other delights. It was definitely the highlight of the trail.

Jedi dumps back out onto a section of forest service road, where we regrouped for snacks. I saw a guide wearing a Bike Friday jersey and started chatting with him. His name is Ian, and it turned out that he used to work at BF, but now runs his own business making and selling bike trailers and hitches. In fact, it turned out that the trailer conversion kit I bought just before I left came from him! Not only that, but he trained Hugh, the BF sales rep I worked with while ordering my bike. How's that for a small world?

Despite being in a guided group of about 45 people, I was surprised to find that I was 'alone' for long sections of the trail throughout the day. It was awesome not being able to see or hear anyone in front of in back of me and having the feeling of being alone on the trail, while at the same time knowing there were people around to help if anything went really wrong. The first time I caught up to some one, it was a father and son who'd been just ahead of me. The dad had tried to grab air and a free apparently jumped onto the trail and hit him. His son, riding behind him, had no choice but to bail. They were both OK, and the son was laughing hysterically about the whole thing. I kept riding.

The next section started out bumpy as I promptly engaged in bad shifting technique and dropped my chain as a result. I couldn't clip out fast enough so I did a classic tumble onto my right side with my foot clipped into the pedal. Luckily, a rock broke my fall, and only Nick, the sweep guide for our group, was around to see it. I fixed my chain and got started again, only to promptly get a stick lodged deep into my spokes. I stopped before any damage occurred and fished it out. From then on, it was smooth sailing down another loooooooong descent. So long in fact, that I felt the burn start in my quads from hanging off the back of my bike. Luckily, all those awkward poses in yoga have paid off! Nick found me later that evening in camp and complimented my descending. He said he had waited a few minutes before starting after me, thinking I might hold him up, but he never caught me.

The trail ended at neat and well kept rest stop near a covered bridge. It was here that I had my closest call of the weekend. I'd been feeling fine all day, but suddenly, the Chinese food from the night before took vengeance on my intestines like I have seldom experienced before. I spent a fair amount of time on the porcelain throne, thanking any deity I could think of that this little episode hadn't happened on the trail.

By the time I came out of the bathroom, everyone had left to ride back to town. Just one guy was sitting at the picnic table, next to his broken bike. A bolt on his crank had striped on the trail and the entire left crank and pedal had come off his bike. He rode the last 2/3 of Alpine with one pedal! Now that's hard core. "They just took off, and I saw them go up the hill over there," he told me. "You can probably catch them if you start cranking."

But there would be no more cranking for me that day. I gingerly mounted my bike and limped off down the road, averaging about 3-5 mph for the three miles of uphill road back to town. As I went up the first incline--too short and gentle to even legitimately be called a hill--I passed two women hanging out in the front yard of a little house. We exchanged greetings and then one of them said, "As long as I've lived here, I've never been able to ride up that hill." Yeah, she was talking about the baby incline I'd just crawled up with my intestines turned inside out. I've had driveways steeper than that. It makes me sad that so many people have lost the will/ability/habit of moving around under their own power--to the point that they can't ride up a tiny little hill.

It took me about an hour to crawl the five miles back to camp. The road finally turned down at mile three or so, which sped things up considerably. Once back to Oakridge, a nice guy getting out of his car pointed me back towards the park. I had hoped to spend the afternoon doing the easy Salmon Creek trail that runs through camp, but as it was, all I could do was crawl into my tent to die.

Fortunately, a nap did me wonders. After a couple of hours, I was still weak, but I was able to get up and head over to Nick's (different Nick) yoga/stretching session in the beer garden. I met Nick at a Dirty Martini show in June and when he found out I was headed to MBO, he was stoked to car-pool. He eventually decided he needed some alone time instead, but he was still stoked to see me, and invited me to come sit with him and his friends at dinner. Someone took a picture of him in the middle of a yoga pose, drinking a free beer, which I think pretty much sums up his personality. One minute, he's encouraging us through a silent/still meditation, with admonitions to use the serenity of the trails to work through and really experience our emotions. An hour later, he comes back to to the dinner table and someone asked, "Hey Nick, what'd you ride today?"

"Your mom," he replied smoothly.

Despite being somewhat of a dude-fest, the atmosphere at MBO is one of the friendliest I've ever experienced in a group made up of mostly total strangers. The demographic is overwhelmingly male and white--there were maybe 20-30 women (some non-riders) and a bare handful of non-whites, and I was once again the TBG of the group. But everyone is just so stoked to ride that it pretty much over-rides the petty barriers of race/class/gender that might come up in a different environment. A routine conversation would go something like this:

(Morning): What are you riding today? Oh that's a sweet trail, you'll like it. Where you from? Cool. Have you been here before? How long have you been riding? What is ____ trail like?

(Afternoon/Evening): Where'd you ride today? How was it? (insert morning questions if it's a new person).

It's so textbook in fact, that when I go back to MBO August next month, I may just start volunteering answers to the standard questions to see how people react. I hung out in the beer garden in the evenings, not drinking beer and chatting with whoever was close by. I sort of adopted two families including a married couple and their son who looked to be in his early twenties, and a women and her older teen daughter. We traded trail stories and plotted our adventures for the next day. If only I could remember any of their names, but alas, it was not to be. Perhaps I'll suggest name tags as an improvement to the event. I met lots of great people and remember maybe two names and probably couldn't attach them to the right people if I saw them again.

Since I had two more days of riding, I decided it would be a good idea to try to ice-bathe my legs in the river. It's a pretty well known fact that I hate cold water, but one of my Sorella sisters recently posted a compelling email about the benefits of icing as an aid to recovery. I figured I should just harden up and do the right thing. Well, the mind was willing but the body was--reluctant to say the least! One of the guys laying out on the bank pointed out a handy rock from which I could leap into the deep section and completely submerge. I thanked him, but respectfully declined, not seeing any need to go into shock and drown. It took me five minutes to submerge up to my thighs. I did some fast talking and convinced myself to stay in for at least a slow count of 100. By then, numbness was mercifully setting in so I figured I might as well stay in another few minutes for maximum benefit. I distracted myself by singing Lindsay Mac's 'Stumble' a couple of times and thought of all the fresh oxygenated blood ^TM that would shortly be flooding my legs so I could hit the trails fresh the next day. My legs said, "screw you, we don't care."

I stepped gingerly out of the river, intending to head for the showers. But when I passed by the info tent area, I noticed dinner had just arrived. Food suddenly seemed like a much higher priority. They mentioned they were trying a pizza dinner for the first time this year and to be sure to give feedback. For me, the pizza was a definite fail. It did not survive the forty minute trip from Eugene well at all and I'm not a big fan of cold pizza, especially after a full day of riding. I ate a couple of pieces and some salad and headed to the showers.

There were shuttles to ferry people to the nearby high school. As I got out of the van, a guy waiting to make the return trip said, "Enjoy the water temperature!" Crap. I had forgotten that the hot water tank was pretty small. The information booklet for the weekend promised the showers would be wet but made no guarantees beyond that. When I walked in, I was pleased to find the locker room facilities were spacious, clean and well kept. I was appalled to see every single one of the twelve showers running steadily with me the only person in the room. I'm sure with that set up, whatever hot water there had been was used up twice as fast. I was even more disgusted when I heard that the men's showers all turn on and off individually--in other words, they were designed in a sane manner. The women's showers, it turned out, were all on a timer. All on or all off. It was possible to turn them off, but only by wrenching the timer back to zero with brute force. It was a good thing I'd been in the river already--the showers seemed downright comfortable in comparison. But I definitely was in and out quicker than usual.

Back at camp, I spent some time in the beer garden chatting with my new adopted family, and trying to talk one of the moms into doing Short Track racing. It occurred to me that I sounded remarkably similar to all the people who have been trying to get me to race 'cross this season--but Short Track is sunny and warm and fun, while 'cross is wet and miserably and insane.

I retired to my tent at a decent hour and called Jess.

"You would have hated everything I did today," I said, telling her about the hours-long hairy decent on Alpine.

"I like descending!" she said, a bit defensively. "I just don't like when I spend half my time walking, because of obstacles, and there are roots and rocks and it's really narrow and if I go wrong I might hit a tree or drop off the trail."

You're describing good singletrack, I thought, but decided not to point that out at the moment.

I stayed up way too late reading and finally went to sleep sometime after my neighbor's iPod battery ran out and their obnoxious music died down.

Saturday:

I forced myself out of my warm sleeping bag at 6:30. The breakfast spread was the same as the previous day and I loaded up on pancakes and hoped my guts would behave today. I was wait-listed for the Middle Fork trail shuttle and there would be no friendly rest area at the end---just the shuttle bus waiting to take us back to camp.

I made it onto the bus. Ian sat next to me, the knees of his long legs crushed up against the seat in front of us. I can't remember the last time I rode in an old school yellow school bus, but they were definitely not made for adults. I alternated chatting with Ian and reading my magazine.

With fourteen miles to go to the trail head, the routine hum of the road was shattered by a loud shot. One of the bus tires had blown. We kept driving for another mile or so and pulled over as soon as there was room.

Everyone piled out of the bus and the driver and a couple of guides had a look at the tire. The rubber poked out at odd angles, but the tire itself was only slightly sagged. The next few minutes were filled with discussion about the best way to proceed. We still had twelve miles to go to get to the trail head. Suggestions included having a few people ride to the start, while the rest piled into the Penske truck that held our bikes. Or half the people going on the truck and half in the bus. The PIC's has just about agreed on this plan, when one guy who was a commercial trucker, said that the tire would be fine with everyone on the bus, as long as we kept to twenty miles per hour or less. So then we all piled back on and made it safely to the start of the trail.

We split into the hammer, middle and slow groups and set off. Middle Fork is described in the MBO literature as an epic, all-day trail. My first hint of the magnitude of the adventure came about a quarter mile into the trail when we went through a huge mud bog. It came up with no warning and I wasn't carrying any kind of speed. No chance of powering through it, so I got off dropped off the last rung of my comfort zone ladder. Five minutes in and already my feet were caked and squishy with mud and cold water. So, it's going to be *that* kind of day, I thought, and adjusted my mind set accordingly.

As I cleared the mud and started pedaling again, I heard a loud splash behind me. It was Paul, one of the guides, apparently not having much luck riding through the mess. I smiled and kept pedaling.

A few miles in and we were into a fun swoopy section of fairly smooth single track, with enough turns and bumps to keep things interesting. It was like a roller coaster, except I controlled the speed.

Middle Fork is a pretty technical trail, with lots of roots, rocks, switch backs, steep climbs, creek crossings and other challenges. I consider myself to be closer to intermediate than beginner so tried to challenge myself while still keeping in mind my number one priority to not get hurt. That compromise meant at least a couple of miles of what is referred to in MTB circles as 'hike-a-bike.' Anytime the road turned steeply upward, I was walking. Sometimes on creek crossings, there were rocks or logs to step on. Sometimes I just waded, to try and get the mud off my shoes. A few people complained but I looked on the bright side--at least my feet weren't going to swell! And I'd worn wool socks, which turned out to be a great choice for spending the day with my feet wet.

The other popular feature of the trail was these skinny log bridges with one rail. We must have crossed about at least ten of them before the day was over. They're so narrow that you have to pop your bike onto the back wheel and roll it in front of you, and a couple of them were missing steps on the other end.

One section of switch backs was so steep that a couple of guys were waiting to help folks get up it. I didn't hesitate to hand my bike up, as I could barely crawl up it *without* carrying my bike. I think I struck a nice balance throughout the day between not being a stuck up feminist, or a girly wimp. There were a few times the guys offered to take my bike, but if I didn't need help, I didn't take it.

I was very happy to see the truck waiting for us at the lunch stop. At the beginning of the day, we put our lunches in coolers and they were delivered to us midday. I still had a pretty gaping hole in my mouth from getting my wisdom teeth out eight days before, so I eschewed the turkey in favor of PB & J, which was my lunch of choice for the weekend. I had to skip the Dave's Killer Bread as well because of all the nuts and seeds, just waiting to tuck into the gaps.

The trail gets easier as you go down, so after lunch, things mellowed out a little bit, and I even managed to clear one of the baby stream crossings. Even the 'easy' sections of the trail required my full attention though. Just when things got smooth enough to lull me into feeling comfortable, a tricky short root-filled climb or some rocks would appear to keep things interesting. As usual, I had drifted to the back of the pack. Matt was the guide doing sweep on the middle group, and he rode directly behind me after lunch. All the guides were great all weekend. Matt in particular had a very intense vibe and took his responsibilities very seriously, while still obviously having a great time. If any charge needed taking, he was the go-to guy to make sure decisions got made, flats were fixed etc.

I could tell he was impressed with my riding, especially when I cleared a short steep section full of chunky rocks. "I didn't think you'd make it," he said after I'd powered my way up it (by the skin of my teeth, but I didn't feel the need to mention that). He asked if I'd gotten involved with the PUMP group in Portland yet and suggested I hook up with them for some rides. "But you might want to take your reflectors off," he warned. "They'll probably make fun of you." That happened to me with my road bike as well. I expect I'll care as much now as I did then, which is to say, not at all. I'm a commuter first, and have been known to ride all my bikes in town, in traffic.

Everyone made it back to the bus around 3:30 and then the most challenging part of the day was upon us: a ride back to town on a bus full of stinky bikers. I think just about everyone remarked on the odor as we filed onto the bus. "I'm smelling chamois!" one guy said.

Fortunately, the ride back was much shorter. Heeding my lesson from yesterday, I headed immediately to the shower shuttle and just got the last of the hot water. Dinner that night was amazing, bbq chicken, sausages, corn on the cob, rolls, salad, coleslaw, potato salad, veggie sausages, brownies and ice cream. I got my tray and sat down next to a hard core guy with a long beard. He'd ridden three trails and had four beers before 6:00pm.

One trail and no beers was plenty for me, but I headed to the beer garden to socialize after dinner anyway. I saw a woman with a dog that I knew was camped next to me but hadn't met yet. I went to join her and another woman, but left after finding out they were just camping out with their mates and not riding. Too hard to try to make conversation about things not trail-related. I spotted my adopted family and headed for their table. We hung out and traded trail stories until it was time for the raffle.

Everyone registered for the weekend got a raffle ticket, and the chance to win one of the many cool prizes, but the only one I cared about was this one: A sweet looking blue/black GT hard tail that would be perfect to take home to Jess. I was already imagining the look on her face. I'd tell her I was bringing her home a souvenir--and then show up with a shiny new bike. It'd be awesome.

Paula came around with the tickets, and promised me sincerely that she was handing me the winning bike ticket. Ayleen likes to run speed raffles, which I like because it means a better chance to win if someone isn't paying attention. If you miss your number because you were talking to your buddy, or in the bathroom, too bad.

The moment finally arrived and Ayleen dragged it as long as possible. "Three...." Holy crap, I was in the running. "Five...." Now our whole table was on pins and needles, since all of us had 35 as our first two digits. One number left. Could I actually be this lucky?

"One!" Our whole table deflated as one. I looked down at my ticket: 354. THREE STUPID NUMBERS OFF!!! It was maddening to be so close. The lucky bum who won was sitting near the stage. He didn't even holler when he won.

Later I saw most of the staff sitting up on stage and went over to commiserate about my close call. Ayleen immediately took pity on me and offered me a consolation prize--a tiny little Dave's Killer Bread tank top that actually fits. Still, I think I may need therapy about the raffle.

I visited a while longer with the fam, and then went to brush my teeth. I was headed toward my tent and bed, when I saw Ayleen coming towards me. "Hey, we're driving up the road to the hot springs, do you want to come?"

My mouth moved before my brain even processed forming the words. "I'm so there. I'll be right back." A hot soak would be just the thing to perk me up for the last day of riding.

I met her back at the info tent. I had imagined a van full of people, but when I showed up it was just Ayleen and two guys who worked for Randy. Stefan and (name forgotten of course). So we took a car instead of the van and rolled out.

We decided to avoid what was known as the creepy trucker hot springs and drove a little bit further to a different spring that was about a mile hike in to get to. I was the the only one who'd thought to bring a light. Stefan found one more flashlight when he went back to the car for the booze and we made our way in without mishap.

There were two pools--one was too hot to get in, but the other was just right. Even though it was only a foot or so deep, the pebbled bottom was plenty nice for sitting in. The others brought suits, so I was the only one skinny dipping but it wasn't a big deal and the guys were chill about it. I actually had a swim suit at camp, but I don't do swim suits in natural hot springs. I think it's wrong and unnatural.

We soaked and sweated and talked about event planning, other hot springs encounters and enjoyed the full moon shining over the river. On our way out we stopped at a particularly pretty spot to take it all in. I suggested a moment of silence and they agreed. It was sweet and peaceful--until a car went by on the nearby road, shattering the sense of peace.

With that little side adventure, and staying up to write about it, I didn't get to bed until 1:30 or so.

Sunday

My big plan for the day was to take it easy. I was tired from two epic days of riding and I knew that fatigue equals more mistakes (read: crashes). I planned to do the grossly misnamed Flat Creek trail and then Salmon Creek, a flat trail which lead right back to camp.

The shuttle for Flat Creek was very popular--I think a lot of folks had the same idea. Instead of a school bus and Penske truck, we had a couple of vans with racks on top, but they managed to get all the people and bikes who wanted to go. On the way up the trail, we encountered two guys riding up, who latched onto the pick up truck to get a ride.

Even though Flat Creek is listed as one of the easier rides on the weekend, I found it pretty challenging. It's a short, but unrelenting 15 minutes of downhill with lots of cliff exposure to one side of the trail, and some pretty steep switchbacks. At one point I ran into some big rocks and panicked a little, riding up onto the right (non-cliff) side of the trail and pulling my first endo of the weekend. It was pretty minor and I only got a few scratches. I was so close to pulling a crash-free weekend! Oh well. I finished out the rest of the ride with no incidents.

At the bottom, we regrouped and Matt asked who wanted to go straight back to camp and who wanted to do the more technical side of Salmon Creek, ending at the Fish Hatchery. Even though he said it was more technical, I figured it was still pretty flat, so how bad could it be? I went the hard way.

How bad turned out to be, bad enough to end up doing more hike-a-bike than I expected. I had no legs to speak of on any of the up hill sections. It would've been interesting to do the trail when I was fresher. But that's the nice thing about going back next month!

The trail ended at the fish hatchery, where we spent a few minutes admiring the baby salmon and the HUGE sturgeon, all of which were longer than me.

From there it was a quick jaunt over a gravel road back to camp. I took about an hour to pack up and head back to the city, well pleased with my first foray into the world of sweet, sweet single track.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Gettin' High

2008-07-27T00:16:00.001-07:00

I had a few minutes to play around after our meeting at the REI flagship store.

Big Dumb Plans

2008-07-22T13:09:00.001-07:00

The carpocalypse is coming. Gas isn't getting any cheaper, and despite the host of folks who refuse to get it, the plain fact for anyone who cares to open their eyes, is that more driving is not the solution. Since inheriting my mom's car, it's been useful on occasion, particularly in the winter when I'm feeling lazy. But more often than not, it's a crutch, resulting in a prolonged debate between the devil and the angel on my shoulder about how I will get where I need to go. As the weather gets warmer, the devil wins less--but when she does, I'm almost always the loser, ending up stuck in traffic, frustrated and thinking how much more fun, faster and more pleasant my task would have been by bike. Even though traveling by bike is hardly a utopia these days, for me, it still beats the alternative 99.99999 percent of the time. For those .001% times, Jess's car is usually available, since she rides as much or more than I do (having a job and not being a shiftless bum like myself, she actually *has* to leave the house at least four days a week). We also both have Zipcar accounts (received gratis as perks for involvement with different bike-related projects), giving us the flexibility to get the right car for the job if we need say, a pick-up truck for a dump run.

With that in mind, I've decided to make good on a long held dream. I've been lusting after an Xtracycle ever since I first saw one seven or eight years ago. For those who haven't heard of the X, it's a frame extension called a 'Free Radical" which attaches to a regular bicycle. The wheel base is extended about 15 inches and Freeloader bags are attached to two V-Racks. A snap deck sits over the rear tire. That plus a host of optional accessories allow you to carry just about anything on your bike: groceries, ladders, 80 lbs bags of dog food, people, oversize loads. The size of your load is limited only by your creativity, the length of your tie-down rope, and the strength of your legs.

I never had the money, the space or the need to justify getting one, but I light up every time I see one, and, if the owner is stopped, usually pester them with questions about how they like it. I've read through pages of testimonials on the Xtracycle website about how it literally "changes your life!" One of the pros of an X over a more traditional trailer system is the quality of the ride. The long wheel base means your bike rides like, well, a bike. I've heard lots of reports that an X rides even better when loaded. So, you don't have to try to decide whether to hook up the trailer that day, it's just always there. And we're not just talking nice paved roads here either. Xtracycles can tackle gravel, dirt and singletrack as well or better than a regular bike.

Now Surly has teamed up with Xtracycle and made a frame that's purpose built for Xtracycle components. The frame being all one piece means an even smoother ride and less flex in the frame when carrying loads. They call this new frame, the Big Dummy. Last week, I got lost in the rabbit hole and spent a whole evening watching Big Dummy porn on YouTube.

So it seems, the time has come to make the leap. The car will go on sale next month, and the resulting funds will be use to build the bike collection I've always wanted. Yes, I said 'collection.' After all the traveling I did last summer, and the $600 I spent on rental cars while visiting folks in California, I swore I would not go down there again without a bike. After spending a few weeks checking out folding bike options, I took the leap and ordered a Bike Friday Tikit. Sure, I could spend less on a Dahon, but the general consensus is that Bike Friday has the nicest riding folders of anyone around. You can get a lot of bike for car money, and I want these to be in the stable for years to come, so I decided not to skimp.

If you're not a bike person, you might think deciding to get a folding bike would narrow down the choices--but at Bike Friday, they have a folder for every occasion. Touring? Multi-modal city commuting? Off-road? High end performance? Tandem, triple, four person that comes apart and fits in two suitcases? You get the idea. So narrowing down the final choice was pretty tough. I called and talked to Hugh, one of the sales associates at BF and based on my needs, he suggested the Pocket Crusoe or the New World Tourist. But I couldn't quite get the Tikit out of my head. The wheels are smaller, which usually means a harsher ride, but Jess and I went down to Coventry Cycles on Hawthorne and tried some out and the ride was pretty smooth. Plus, the folding package is smaller, and you can roll the bike by the built in handle. And for travel, the breakdown and packing process is a lot quicker than the larger Crusoe and Tourist models.

After much deliberation, I decided on a custom built Tikit with 24 speeds, touring H-bars and the travel case that doubles as a trailer when you get to your destination. It'll be yellow and I'm still deciding what to put on my custom name plate. I'm open to suggestions.

The final steed is arguably the be-all end all of mutt do-it-all bike utility. It is will also be based on a Surly frame and it's called the Cross Check. It's one of three bikes that Surly sells as a complete bike, but I'm getting the frame only so I can build it up with just the parts I want. It will serve as my main commuter bike, but it could be pressed into service for light touring, or as an actual 'Cross bike (I'm getting a lot of pressure to race Cyclocross this year to which I say--we'll see). I hear nothing but good about the ride quality and versatility of this frame and so far, my test rides have been pretty sweet. Check out Vik's blog to see what a chameleon this bike can be.

The only really sad part of this affair is that for reasons of space, I'm going to have to give up my trusty Scott Sportster P4, which has been my dream bike up this point and is almost as versatile as the Cross Check. It's a cushy ride around town, but has front suspension in case I get the urge to go off-road. I even took it to Bend and took it on some trails that definitely tested it's limits. I hate to do it, but our garage is not very big. The Scott has been feeling a little slow for the past few months and I've been wishing for something a little zippier for around town trips. I can easily rationalize having having five bikes with different purposes, but not two bikes with the same purpose. That's just crazy. :-)

Jess is also trading her Scott for a Cross Check. She swears she had the idea first, but I don't know if I'm willing to give her full credit. :) However, it does mean that, once again, we will have matching bikes in the same color (Misty Mountain Grey). The components might be a little different though. I keep trying to get her to embrace our twin dork pride, but she's not quite there yet. The problem is, I've always done my shopping by noticing cool things that other people had and then going to find that thing. She just happens to live with me, and also have excellent taste in just the kind of clothes/gear I like. It's really quite convenient. And besides, I had my Timbuk2 bag first. So there.

So that's it. By the end of September, I hope to have a completely revamped bike stable. To sum up the final list:

Trek 1500 (road, speedster, distance events)

Cannondale Rush (MTB (stay tuned for reports from the first shake down rides at Mountain Bike Oregon last weekend)

Surly Big Dummy (Hauling machine for big art portfolios, groceries, girlfriend, granny and whatever else I might pick up)

Surly Cross Check (Do it all commuter, cross, light touring)

Bike Friday Tikit (Go anywhere, stealth superhero travel bike--in bright yellow)

The revolution will not be motorized.

It's Just a Bike Race

2008-07-15T01:41:00.001-07:00

Against nurses orders, I stopped taking narcotics just in time to go out for this week's Short Track race. The main goal was not to fall on my face (or any other part). As I rode out to the course, I saw a guy pushing a tall/chopper bike who seemed to be headed towards PIR. Hmmm, strange place for a freak bike, I thought.

I arrived nice and early so I could pre-ride a couple of times. For once I didn't have the sensation of freaking out before the race. The course was surprisingly sane this week. The back field was too wet to use, so no extra start loop and no gravel hill. Can't say I missed it. It was a fast course, with long gently curving grass sections, the usual tight twists, some bumpy descents but nothing really hairy. And they even left one of the logs in for the beginner race. This was no big deal, unless the person in front of you didn't clear the log and you weren't ready for it. The infield was pretty fast too. No huge ruts like last week and only one hair-pin downhill turn. All in all, a perfect course for someone who recently had teeth yanked out.

Before the race, I loaded up on some more Ibuprofen and my post-surgery antibiotic. If I do well, I'll give the credit to doping. If I do poorly, I'll blame it on doping. At the start line, there seemed to be a lot of women who had either never been on a mountain bike or were very very new to it. Beginner doesn't necessarily mean slow, however, as the woman who had never been in a mountain bike race, left the rest of us in the dust. I assume she'll be upgrading next week...

The race itself was even more fun than last week. I didn't have anyone directly slowing me down like last week, until I started passing juniors (and a few men, whoo hoo). I just took it as an opportunity to rest. I started out well, but a couple of women got ahead of me and I couldn't find another gear. I did however, finally stay ahead of Sharon (my neighbor). She already confessed to having spent the weekend doing epic rides though, so we'll see if I can repeat my performance next week (when I will be zonked from three days of MTB Oregon).

I also met my other goal, which was to get air at the finish line on every lap. Last week, the announcer started a big air/style contest and even laid down across the finish line for certain riders to jump over him. Now that's trust. The section just before the finish was a perfect lead up, down hill and then a long straight away. I couldn't really tell how high I was getting, but I was pretty sure my wheels left the ground every time. Despite this effort, I could not get any love from the announcer! I was so annoyed. He had a lot of trouble getting any air from the women last week, so I think he was just not looking, not expecting any air from the women, especially in the beginner race. I had a little chat with him after the race, and I think he'll be giving me a little more love next week.

I'd especially like to thank Rick from Seven Corners/Team Beer for yelling at me to go faster on every lap. I didn't always obey, but it's nice to have a cheering section. I made sure to return the favor.

Just before the final race of the day, there was an exhibition lap by the Zoo Bomber crew. Pictures say it better, so check out the video below:

Crashing and Passing

2008-07-13T23:20:00.001-07:00

6/30/08: Another Monday night, another short track MTB race. This week I had my act together but a trip to the vet (sick kitty) put my arrival time only slightly earlier than last week. The difference was, this time I just marched up to the check in counter, where there was no line, said my name and race number and went on my merry way.

A quick visit to the Chris King tent took care of some nagging brake rubbing in my front wheel. I'm still experimenting with the tire pressure thing, so this week, I tried 28 psi, just for grins and giggles, 'cause that's what Sue said she ran last week. I set off on my pre-ride lap and before I got too far, I saw our new Jr team member, and gave her a shout out as I was passing.

As I twisted and turned and twisted through the course the word 'sadist' kept popping into my head for some reason. It seemed much harder than last week. A scientific poll of a core sample of other racers in a number of categories revealed that I wasn't the only one who thought the course designer was just a little bit evil. The worst offender was a steep climb followed by a sharp right turn followed by a quick but hair-raising decent into a hairpin left turn. Sadly, as the beginner women's race lined up, the starter announced that we would be skirting that hill. Darn. Yeah, I had already developed a love/hate relationship with it.

I got a little better start this week, and settled into the middle of the pack just behind Sharon, my neighbor from two doors down. Not a good enough start though, because I got caught behind a lot of slower people going up hills and through technical sections. Right after the start, I had to slow down near the top of the first crest. The rider behind me was yelling "PEDAL PEDAL PEDAL!" but alas, that didn't make the woman in front of me go any faster. I managed to stay in the saddle, but I think she had to get off and run up the rest of the hill.

Next, I got caught behind four people who all died at the top of the gravel pile, and then it was my turn to get off and run. The descent is a lot harder when you're trying to remount your bike at the same time, but I pulled it off.

Once we got into the trees, things settled down. I focused on staying on course and working on my turns. The field got strung out, but this time I could actually see most of the women in front of me for the majority of lap one. That got me thinking foolish thoughts about a top ten finish. But I do come out for fun, so I didn't kill myself trying to catch anybody, just kept to a pace I could maintain.

Things were going pretty well, when I came past the finish line and up into a big hill. The decent is pretty loose dirt and before I knew it, I was on the ground with my bike on top of me and one foot still trapped in the pedal. Oh, I crashed, I thought, even as I was trying to figure out how to get up. It was a stupid rookie mistake really. I had my weight too far forward. A quick inventory revealed only minor scrapes. I hopped on and kept going, but despaired of ever catching Sharon again.

I settled back into a rhythm and as the race went on, I started feeling better and more confident. At the end of the final lap, I had Sharon in my sights and found an extra gear to pass her just before the final turn, which made my night and gave me bragging rights for the week. So imagine my surprise when results came out on Thursday and I was placed 17th, two places behind Sharon. I wrote to the officials and learned that in fact, I'd been sent on a wild goose lap. I got passed by the leader of the men's race and should have been done on lap three, but they were slow figuring things out and passing that on to the races. "Turn on the after burners sooner next time," was the parting advice.

7/7/08: Jess was off work this week, while we hosted her dad, who was visiting from Santa Fe. They came out to watch this week's race. After my course pre-ride, Jess came over to the back side and I gave her my bike so she could try out the whoop-de-doo hills, the only part of the course I thought she would enjoy.

I'm getting used to the pattern now. The courses seem to get more evil every week, and every week, during pre-ride, I freak out and think, no way am I going to survive this! When the race starts, I have little time to think, and more time to enjoy myself. Since I'm still riding beginner, they usually take out the narliest section of the course. In this case, it was a couple of logs that required bunny hopping in the wooded section and a steep downhill into a hairpin left turn. I always make a point to try them out in pre-ride and I successfully got down the hill twice and over the log once.

The race started way over on the back side this week. I've been making it a goal to get better starts and hopefully position myself in front of the people who end up stalling on the technical sections. I did better this time sprinting to the first turn, but then lost some ground by the time we got to the single track and ended up in my usual mid-pack position. This was OK till we got to the gravel pile, where I once again got stuck behind four other people. I had to bust out my non-existent cyclocross skills, run up the last bit and then remount while sliding down the steep gravel pile. I almost bit it at the bottom but saved myself just in time.

After that, things settled down. I started the race already tired and for the first lap, I complete forgot everything I ever knew about shifting. I went up when I meant to go down and vice versa. The heat, plus the huge meal of fish and chips, walla walla sweet onion rings and Burgerville shakes a few hours before weren't doing me any favors. Afterwards, Jess commented on how much slower my cadence seemed than everyone around me (see video). I am known to be a masher by trade, but after looking at the short clips of dad's video from the week before, I have to conclude that I probably had no legs going in.

Still, the woman ahead of of me was pissing me off. She slowed down at every little bump and hill (video 1:30), destroying any momentum I was trying to build up. I made it my goal in life to get by her, and I was finally able to cut her off in the woods at one of the 90 degree turns going between two narrowly spaced trees and up a hill.

After that I just tried to survive, but as the final lap came up (for reals this time) I found another woman just ahead of me and managed to again sprint around the last corner and pass her right at the last hill before the finish line. That felt good.

I yelled to the guys on the side, "Are we done!??" but couldn't get an answer. But I'd heard the announcer talking about seeing the leader finish, so I pulled off, and hoped it wasn't premature. Results are up and I got 8th this week, my first top ten finish. But I still didn't catch Sharon, so I have a nice carrot waiting for me tomorrow. I'm disobeying nurse's orders and racing tomorrow, despite still being sore from having my wisdom teeth out this past Thursday. Priority number one will be not to fall on my face (or any other part), and number 2, will be to see if I can finally catch that elusive neighbor of mine.

I Heart The Onion

2008-06-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

New Wearable Feedbags Let Americans Eat More, Move Less

Thanks Daniel, for the heads up.

Pedalpalooza: NP Greenway Ride

2008-06-25T18:58:00.001-07:00

Saturday evening we took a tour of what folks from the citizens group North Portland Greenway hope will eventually be a trail which connects Cathedral Park in St Johns, with the Eastbank Esplanade and Forest park via the east side of the Willamette River. I had no idea all these as yet, un-built and often privately owned tracks existed. The ride was a grand adventure.

We started on Waud bluff (never knew there was a name for it), on Willamette Blvd next to the University of Portland. Scott Mizee led the ride, along with Jason Starman and Joe Adamski. The first thing we did was make a screaming single track decent down to the railroad tracks. I immediately regretted not bringing my mountain bike instead, but the trails were totally doable by all the folks along who had everything from road to MTB steeds.

We continued along the tracks and through the UPS parking lot to a look out point on Swan Island. Scott talked about the industry of the island, the history (the spot where those buildings are used to be Portland's first airport) and the sections of trail that have already been created, which we proceeded to tour shortly.

The ride was so much fun in part because I've lived in Portland my whole life, and I had no idea of all the cool paths that were right under my nose. Even with the trail undeveloped, there are folks right now who use them to walk and bike to Swan Island, (where about 10,000 people work now) or on to downtown from north Portland. The finished part of the trail is gorgeous and includes a view point with historical information. It's a great spot to watch ships being built and launched. They try to announce when the launches happen and Scott said they're great fun to watch, and include lots of pomp and circumstance. One of the goals of the project is to attach a bike/ped access bridge across the river to the existing train bridge, which would give great front-door access to mountain biking in Forest Park or just a more direct route from north PDX to downtown.

We continued on through more parked trucks and into railroad-owned territory. On a perfect, warm Saturday solstice evening, there was no traffic and the ride was lovely. The views of the Fremont bridge and downtown were spectacular in the fading evening sunlight. Clearly we weren't the only trespassers, as evidenced by the graffiti tags on many of the train cars. I felt like I was rolling through a scene from Breakin'.

We came out from River Rd, which turns into Tillamook St, and comes out via a bridge over railroad tracks onto a section of Interstate Ave that I ride past all the time. There are two lovely bike lanes on either side of the bridge/road that lead exactly nowhere, since technically, you can't (legally) ride on the railroad path. I've often wondered where it lead though, and now I know.

Most of the riders peeled off at that point to get home or to other PP events, but Jess, T, and I were game to go back and explore north section of the trail. We rode up Interstate to Willamette and back to our starting point, but then kept going through the U of P campus. Down another steep hill (paved this time) and soon we were back along the railroad tracks. As we bumped along the large thick gravel next to the tracks, I wished once again that I had my MTB--I would have given it to Jess. Her broken wrist is mostly healed but still in pain every day. We weren't expecting quite this much adventure when we signed onto this ride. Although we both had a good time, a little full suspension would have been nice for her to have on a lot of sections.

She came through like the trooper she is though. Our next stop was a cove near the train bridge that goes across the Willamette near Ida St and the Fred Meyer in St Johns. I had often looked down on it from the bluff, but being up close was very cool. The area down there is pretty sketchy and I would *never* go down there without a group. We saw some folks that probably live down there and skirted one look out point after hearing evidence of a rowdy solstice party going on.

We did climb the stairs to stand on the train bridge and we treated to a train coming through just at that moment. There were two tracks on the bridge so it was plenty safe for us to stand on the sidelines and watch it go by. It was amazingly cool and made even better when the conductor, who looked far too young to be so curmudgeonly, leaned out of his window and yelled, "Get out of here!" Perfect.

As we climbed down the stairs, I couldn't help but ask, "When do we find the body and pull a gun on Ace?" We came out into Cathedral Park just as the sun was setting over the St John's bridge.

Thanks to Scott for showing me I don't know nearly everything about Portland. I'm excited that cool people are working to make this trail happen. Scott said they may try to do the ride tours monthly, which I think would be great for creating interest in the trail and getting the word out. The wheels of transportation are slow, and what they most need right now is a group of people they can call on in key moments to agitate the right political powers-that-be.

Check out their site to get more info and sign up for the email list.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Sunday Parkways

2008-06-25T17:50:00.001-07:00

As we pulled out of the garage at 8:15 Sunday morning, on our way to Portland's biggest block party, Jess announced, "It's raining out here."

So. Typically. Portland.

Well it's also typically Portland to carry on in the face of raindrops, so after going back for our jackets, which we had hoped to retire for the summer, we set off. J's friend T had left the house in optimistic shorts and T-shirt attire. She turned down the offer of my extra jacket, then reconsidered, but by then she was already soaked. Not only was it rainy, it was pretty chilly too.

We joined the route at Arbor Lodge Park on Bryant St and there were few people to be seen aside from organizers and booth staffers. We worried that turn out might be low for the event, but I felt that A) the weather would improve and B) if you're going to live here, you learn to do things in whatever weather is offered. It was still early after all.

After collecting some Cliff Bar samples and a few of the awesome new N/NE PDX bike/ped maps (thanks Timo!), we continued on over the Bryant St bridge to Peninsula park, which would be our station for the next several hours. T had an engagement, not to mention she was miserable, so she headed home. I chased down a guy on a Big Dummy to pick his brain about it before picking up my volunteer T-shirt and reporting to our post.

We had volunteered to help sell and fit helmets, which were being sold for $5 each through Trauma Nurses Talk Tough at Emanuel hospital. Helmet fitting doesn't seem like it would be fun, but I actually quite enjoy it, and I'm good at it. Things started out slow, but soon there was nothing but a sea of heads waiting to be fitted. I had a blast seeing how happy people were to get a new helmet and in some cases, find out how comfortable they can really be. I also had parents bring their children over who already had helmets, just to ask if they were properly fitted. It's such a better feeling than seeing all the naked heads on bikes and resisting the urge to lecture them.

Speaking of naked heads, if you or someone you know has one that needs covering, the trauma nurses are holding more sales on the following dates:

Emanuel Hospital Atrium: 2801 N Gantenbein Ave - Portland, Oregon

June 26th (That's tomorrow!)
July 17th
August 14th

Legacy Mt. Hood Medical Center Kids Fair: 24800 SE Stark St. - Gresham, Oregon

Saturday September 13, 2007 10 am to 2 pm

Helmets sizes in toddler to adult. Spread the word.

Two old family friends showed up and I settled their helmets over their considerable cushions of hair and they left smiling. I fussed around the tiny head of the most patient two year old I've ever seen. I met 'mystery black guy rider' Ernie, who I see around in the neighborhood but never actually got to meet. I hope the little guy (maybe 8 or 9) with dreadlocks eventually submitted to a fitting--when I got distracted with another customer, his dad was lecturing him about how he couldn't 'be like the racers' unless he had a helmet. The first person we met when we arrived was Nancy, a feisty red head who was in charge of taking the $Lincolns. Later, she was outted as Janis McDonald's mom--no wonder she was so cool. Jess wound up on the channel 6 news (0:58).

Time flew by and before I knew it, our shift was over and the sun was starting to peek out of the clouds. By the time we made it back onto the route, it was truly a summer day. The streets were completely packed with happy people. We bought a few baked goods for Obama, ran into people we knew and thanked all the cops at the major intersections who waved us through, while pausing the auto traffic.

Over at the SEI stop, we said hey to our Little Red Bike friends Evan and Ali and I discovered the African American Outdoors group (my people at last? Maybe...) Our last stop before the route re-opened was the Kaiser stop, where we sat in the city maintenance truck to get a perspective from life on the other side. It was good to get an idea of what truckers see (or don't see) as we share the roads.

I will definitely be writing and agitating to the proper folks to get another one of these going ASAP. Maybe one day we can be like Bogota, Columbia and have millions of people taking back the streets to play every Sunday.

Thank you Portland, may we have another?

We've Had ____ Days Without a Rude Driver

2008-06-25T15:03:00.001-07:00

Car crashes into bike race
Originally uploaded by lazarus6

A bike commute should not cause crying. And yet, my girlfriend arrived home last night in tears, thanks to the sheer number of car drivers on the road, who seem intent on taking someone else out as they get from place to place.

Recently, Jess altered her route so that she only spends about four blocks on a main road--Interstate between Skidmore and Alberta--and yet she still can't get home without one, if not several incidents, in our supposedly Platinum Level city. This time it was the driver of a pick up truck who, deliberately and with malice, pulled out from the side street to turn right across the bike lane and onto Interstate, cutting off Jess, and (incidentally) the car next to her.

Jess is not what I'd consider overly confrontational, but even she was moved to yell, "I can't believe you just did that!"

"You guys (bikers) do it to us all the time," replied the equally insensitive passenger. "Why don't you try driving sometime?"

"I do drive, and I'm very respectful."

The driver then proceeded to swerve over into the left turn lane and make a U-turn across the MAX tracks on a red light.

I only hope the accident he someday causes only injures himself and whoever is stupid enough to ride with him, though I fear that won't be the case.

Shortly after that she was unnecessarily beeped at by some impatient woman who needed to get to the red light two seconds faster. The list goes on.

Today her bike is in the garage. She was so upset and frustrated by the culmination of what has been an ongoing trend, that she drove to work rather than risk another series of stupid people trying to run her down in rush-hour traffic. I don't blame her.

I have no doubt that she'll get back on her bike when she's ready. But it's sad that we (and by 'we' I mean all road users) have to worry about getting home alive because stupid people have been given a license to kill.

Earlier today, I was pondering this blog post as I began the ride home from my yoga class at PCC Cascade. Headed slowly along the ped/bike path through the parking lot, I was nearly run down by a driver speeding through the parking lot at 10-15 mph, and completely ignoring the stop sign in front of the path. I put my foot down and yelled "STOP!" at the driver, before my brain had even fully registered what happened. The driver, an old man in his 60's or so, just looked me as he sped on through.

A woman who was walking just behind me and talking on her cell phone, stopped her conversation to chant the license number long enough for me to make a note in my phone. Unfortunately, it probably won't do me much good. A call to the non-emergency police number yielded a sympathetic but basically helpless officer. Thanks to Ray Thomas, I do have the option and resources to pursue a citizen citation, but I'm not sure if even that's worth it, considering he didn't actually hit anyone. Mostly, I wish I could find out where he lives so I can show up at his door and have a chat with him about the importance of not killing or injuring people while trying to get around.

CrazyBikerChick has one of the most excellent open letters to drivers that I have ever read. If you drive a car, but don't ride a bike (or don't ride in traffic), I encourage you to go read it, and share it with others. I just want to get home alive. I just want my girlfriend to get home alive, in one piece and not stressed to the point of tears by people who never learned to share.

Is that too much to ask?

Muddy, at last

2008-06-24T23:36:00.001-07:00

Monday night I went out for my first mountain bike race at the PIR Short Track series. It was only the second time I've actually ridden my new MTB, which I've had for over a month. I managed one ride through Forest Park last week and that was it. So it was all or nothing. I signed up for the whole series because when else am I going to be able to ride great dirt, bumps, single track and gravel 10 minutes ride from my house? Exactly.

Earlier in the day I took my bike down to River City to get a shorter stem. While I was upstairs getting helped, there was another RC employee working on a very nice Cannondale belonging to Sue Butler. Her name sounded kind of familiar, so I figured she was pretty good. Next, I stopped by Cyclepath on the continuing search for a saddle that doesn't make me scream after 10 minutes. Bill offered me not one, but two test ride saddles and let me take them for a week. Brilliant! Why has no one ever done this before? There's no way you can really know if a saddle is going to work without some serious ride time. Especially on a MTB, there's no garuantee of keeping it unscuffed enough to return if things don't work out.

At home, I was running late, as usual and had just enough time to pop one of the test saddles on, throw on my kit and ride to PIR. Did I mention it's only 10 minutes from my house? Bliss.

When I arrived, the junior and beginner women's clinic had already started. I still needed to register, but I didn't want to miss some nugget of information that might help me survive the race. I rolled up, and who was holding court, but Sue Butler. She and another woman took us in two groups pre-ride the course.

The problem with riding the course slowly is that a lot of the obstacles require speed in order to clear them. There was literally a huge pile of gravel in the middle of the start lap. I might have freaked out about it, but I didn't want to look wimpy in front of Sue, so I just waited till everyone else was at the top and then rammed my way up. Speed is your friend.

My favorite section by far was the whoop-de-do hills, or whatever you call them. Sue showed us how to push down at the right time to increase speed. And I loved her tip for climbing more effieciently: "Boobs to the tube!" In other words, keep your center of gravity low. One thing not to do is stand up and pedal, especially not on a full suspension bike, as that is just asking for back tire spin out.

We circled into the trees and rounded a sharp corner into several very small, compact bumps. A guy blew by us and promptly crashed in the middle. "Doesn't it make you feel better to see the guys crashing too?" said Sue. "We scheduled that just for you, ladies." Then someone in our group tried it, with not much better results. Sue demonstrated and advised us to keep out pedals level while cresting the bumps, so you don't hit your pedals. But that assumes you have enough momentum to stop pedaling and still crest the bump. Easier said than done. I don't like to think too hard about technical obstacles when I'm on the MTB so I cut ahead and just barely cleared the bumps.

After that I went ahead of the group and finished the lap. I was stressing out about registering. I meant to register by mail earlier in the week but I forgot that stamps went up. I got in line with about 20 minutes to go until my race start.

I saw a young girl also in Sorella uniform and figured she must be our newly sponsored junior racer. I felt really bad about not having time to say hello and gave her a couple of smiles. By the time I finished registering, they were calling up the kiddy racers and I still had to pee and fiddle with my tire pressure. I let out too much air and then had to rush over to the Chris King booth to use their pump. And my saddle had loosened on the ride over, so I ended up stuffing my multi-tool in my jersey and running over to the start line, where everyone was already lined up. I just had time to tighten the seat and hope it was in a decent position. I stashed the tool between two fence posts and squeezed my way up into the women's field right before the beginner men were sent off.

I'd been nervous about the race for most of the afternoon, but there was no time for that now. Thirty seconds after the men, our horn sounded and we were off.

My goals in this race were, as in every race, to keep the rubber side down and have a good time. I really could care less about my finishing place, so I let most of the riders surge ahead of me on the nice wide starting straight. It was much easier to navigate the course now that the race was on and there wasn't much time to think.

I got passed by most of the women I think, but I managed to pass some little kids, so I felt good about that. On the first lap, we had to go through a lovingly hand-made mud pit. There was really no good line, so I just down shifted and pedaled like crazy and made it through. Then there was a super twisty single track section through some dirt piles and then the whoop de do hills. The tree sections had lots of sharp turns but I took it easy. When I got almost to the end of the first lap, I went through a short muddy section and up a steep hill. There was a very good course marshall (or maybe he was just a super helpful spectator), who was always yelling encouragement and helpful advice. He reminded me to quit looking down and instead look out and ahead at where I wanted to go.

I did about three laps I think. After the first lap, I just settled in and literally enjoyed the ride. I passed one woman who was walking her bike, but still moving forward. Good for her. For next week, I need to work on faster passing, tighter corners and pushing a bigger gear on the non technical areas. For the most part, I seemed to have no trouble being in the right gear at the right time.

When it was over, I felt completely toasted. My throat was on fire from the dust and I literally couldn't talk for about five minutes. My friends Simon and Laura, who came to cheer me on, came over and watched me heave and spit for a few minutes while I downed water. If I could just skip the 20 minutes or so immediately after the race, that would be perfect. After a while, I started feeling human again and could chat normally. I saw the Sport women's race go off with Sage (my Urban Assault partner) right in the mix. And I chatted with Laura, a new teammate I hadn't met yet. I didn't find Sasha (our new Jr racer) but will definitely chat her up next week, since I am now registered for the whole series (and plan to arrive nice and early!).

My bike is now appropriately muddy, which makes me very happy. I don't feel like such a poser. I'm definitely looking forward to more racing next week!

ETA: In the men's single speed race that happened just after ours, one of the racers, Colby Brooks, collapsed near the start/finish area. When I could breath again, I went over there to take pictures of the race and saw several people surrounding him and sharing CPR duty. He did not crash, probably his heart gave out, as people said he just collapsed at that corner of the track. Time seemed to slow down. It felt like they were doing CPR forever, and I didn't think he was going to make it, but the EMTs arrived and got him stabalized and he is reported to be doing well and recovering. I have to give huge credit to Mike Murray for having an awesome organized team, medical personal etc. There's a lot of second guessing going on over at bikeportland.org about whether the race should have been stopped, but as far as I can see, things were handled with minimum panic and maximum efficiency. And Colby is alive. I'm sure as far as he and his loved ones are concerned, everything was done perfectly. Get well soon Colby.

EATA (Edited Again To Add):

The results are in and I placed 11th. Not that I'm competitive or anything.

Welcome Urban Assault Riders

2008-06-18T08:30:00.000-07:00

I understand the Austin Urban Assault is happening this weekend. To all you riders who have been emailing me for quiz answers: I don't have them. My partner did most of the research, and in any case, I didn't save the answers, nor do they give them out at the race, since they re-use the quiz, as you have likely discovered.

Don't worry. The quiz is hard for everybody. Do your own research, make your own guesses, and remember to have fun! Good luck, and keep the rubber side down.

First Day of Summer

2008-06-14T23:55:00.000-07:00

I've decided today is going to be my official first day of summer. It's got just about everything you need in a summer day:

Free Waffles from Flavour Spot

A trip to the farmer's market:

A Pedalpalooza ride (A self tour of the Cycle Seen exhibit since we were late for the start):

Good food from Good Neighbor Pizza:

Cute girlfriends:

Cirque Du Cycling parade and criterium race:

And sun! (Finally!)

Welcome, summer. Were so glad you're here.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Quickie

2008-06-13T16:54:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting around at Macforce for my new boyfriend Todd to come out and get his thank you cookies, that I made spur of the moment after he saved my bacon (and probably my entire back up disk) from certain death this morning. It was on my way after all. I didn't used to believe in PMS but the fact that it's (FINALLY!) sunny and warm, I'm out riding my bike around and I'm still cranky must mean something's up. I'm trying to think good thoughts, but it's hard. I love Stephanie Schneiderman--love her--but if "Oxygen" pops into my head one more time, there might be a suicidal incident. Made an un-chaperoned visit to REI with predictable results. Went to the graduate portfolio show at my future school. They're doing some good work down there. On my way to my first Pedalpalooza event.

An Ounce of Prevention

2008-06-10T17:30:00.001-07:00

I have pictures of my insides, and a gap in my memory. No, I didn't wake up in a tub of ice with my kidneys missing: I had my first colonoscopy. Thirty-seven is a little young to be having your first colonoscopy, but I have a high genetic risk for colon cancer—as evidenced by three close relatives who have all been diagnosed with the disease, two of whom did not survive. It was therefore highly recommended that I get screened early.

When you mention a colonoscopy to people who have had them done, they will most likely tell you that the worst part is the preparation. I would have to agree. It involves abstaining from solid foods the entire day before your procedure. You can only have clear liquids—this includes Jello as long as it's not purple or red in color. I recommend making some, so you can at least have the illusion of eating. The fun really begins when you start drinking your laxative prescription, usually Go-Lightly, to clean out your colon. I was tipped off by my doctor's office to flavor the drink with Crystal Light, which made the taste tolerable. You drink eight ounces, every ten to fifteen minutes until you finish the whole gallon. It takes about four hours, and once it starts working, you can pretty much plan on not straying too far from the bathroom. In fact, I recommend getting some nice padding for your toilet and firing up a DVD on a laptop. If you don't have a laptop, you can always settle in with a favorite book.

The next day, I showed up at the clinic, weak-kneed, with a sore spot in my lower back that I presumed was the result of my stomach caving in on itself. My partner Jessica drove me to the clinic. Because she is a nurse, we got permission from the doctor for her to watch my procedure, which made me more comfortable.

After filling out the ubiquitous paperwork, I was taken back to the preparation/recovery room, where I put on the ridiculous gown and waited. My nurse's name was Candy. It took some doing, but I refrained from making an obvious joke about stripers; especially since she was about to put in my IV. I've never had an IV before, but Jessica sticks them in all day at her job, so I know a lot about what makes them difficult. Candy examined the back of my right hand, tapping it occasionally and looking for a likely vein. The prospects weren't good, and it didn't help that I hadn't had anything to drink in the last three hours, per my instructions. “See that dip? That's a valve,” Candy said, pointing to where my vein petered out. “I don't think we're getting past there.”

“Why don't you try my arm?” I suggested. “I give blood regularly and they never have any problems.”

“The problem with that is, you have to keep your arm straight,” she said.

“That's OK. It's preferable to multiple sticks.” Sure enough, she got in on the first try and it didn't even hurt. Once I was all taped up, she took some time to explain the risks of the procedure. The possible complications include rectal bleeding (especially if any polyps are found and removed), nausea or vomiting from adverse reaction to the sedatives, and infection. The biggest hazard is intestinal perforation, or getting a hole poked in your colon. If that happens, you need immediate surgery to repair the hole and avoid death. This problem only happens in about .02 percent of cases, but it's one that has loomed large in my mind because my grandmother on my dad's side was one of the unlucky minority. She went in for a routine colonoscopy and the doctor perforated her colon. The clinic staff were more concerned with covering up their mistake than getting her to the hospital, which was some distance away. The hospital then dragged its feet getting her into surgery. She died two days later.

For this reason, I made sure my procedure took place at a clinic across the street from a hospital. I interviewed my doctor regarding her experiences performing the procedure, and asked if she'd ever had any complications (she hadn't). She assured me that since I was young and healthy, everything would most likely go smoothly. Still, I was happy that Jess would be there watching.

I actually had two procedures in the same appointment. First an endoscopy, to check my stomach for ulcers; then the colonoscopy. For short procedures such as these, most doctors use what is known as conscious sedation. This means they give you a drug to keep you calm and make you forget the procedure, but you're not actually asleep. The most commonly used drug combination is a dose of fentanyl for pain, combined with midazolam hydrochloride, also known as Versed, to keep you relaxed and make you forget. Although some people have adverse reactions to Versed, or trauma related to memory loss, I was completely on board with the idea of forgetting the pain. I suspected the endoscopy would be much worse than the colonoscopy. “Am I going to have a sore throat?” I asked the nurse as she prepared to give me the first drug.

Jess answered first. “Yeah, you will.”

My procedure nurse looked sheepish. “Well, we usually say no to that question...” In other words, she usually lies. I didn't see how you could have a big tube stuck down your throat without some residual effects.

“Hmm...I'll probably need ice cream to sooth it then,” I said. “Can I get that written in my take-home instructions?” This was now a running joke with me and Jess, ever since I persuaded my dentist to leave a fake voice mail stating that I should stay on soft foods—specifically ice cream—for the few days following my dental procedure.

With that, the nurse injected what she called 'a starter dose' of Versed and fentanyl into my IV. Within a minute, I started to feel drowsy. “Something's happening,” is the last thing I remember saying. Unfortunately, the starter dose proved to be somewhat inadequate. As if it were a very vivid nightmare, I can clearly remember the feeling of choking while the tube was snaking down my throat, and feeling as if I was going to throw up. I also remember Dr Breittenger telling me to try to breath, they were almost done. It was like a scene straight out of a horror movie, or one of those dreams where you desperately need to talk, but can't. Jess confirmed later that I struggled quite a bit until the tube was out, and my blood pressure skyrocketed to two hundred over one hundred. The doctor asked Jess to turn up my oxygen flow—they were busy holding me down and trying to finish quickly.

Once the tube was out, they increased my dose of Versed, and the rest of the procedure is a blessed blank spot in my memory. For the rest of the day, my brain danced in and out of awareness, and I struggled to put floating pieces into place. Rather than be disturbed by the gaps in my memory, I was completely fascinated. Poor Jess just found it irritating. Our conversations went something like this:

Me: (At home, waking up from a nap). Dang, I meant to get pictures!

Jess: We did get pictures honey. I showed them to you.

Me: You did?

Jess: Yes. Here they are.

And so it went. I became obsessed with trying to piece together dream-like sequences that I wasn't sure had actually happened. In each case, I would ask Jess to confirm the event. For instance, when we left the hospital, we made several stops before going home. Jess picked up my favorite fried rice dish from a restaurant near the hospital. Then I (apparently) decided that it would be a great time to stop at REI to try on some shoes I've been wanting. I have to order them on line, but I wanted to make sure of the size. As we walked into the store, I said something like, “Aren't I doing great honey?” In my mind, I felt completely alert, sure that I was 'passing' as a normal, un-drugged person. In reality, watching her tell the story to others later, her mimicry of me was more like a half-drunk person about to pass out. Hours later, a picture of myself, sitting on a bench, trying on a sandal came into my head. “Did we go to REI?” I asked, startled that an entire visit to my favorite store could dissolve into mist.

Images and conversations continued to float back to me in a haze for the rest of the evening. Sometimes specific mention of an event would bring something back as well. “You've got tomato soup in the cupboard,” Jess reminded me. Oh yes, we stopped at New Seasons and Fred Meyer on the way home and I asked for soup because my throat hurt.

I suppose I'm so fascinated by all this because I've never used recreational drugs, or even alcohol. Perhaps someone who spent their college years waking up in strange places after parties would find this sensation routine. The experience got me thinking about what complex creatures we are, and how amazing it is that my doctor can completely alter my brain, then go inside my body and come out with photos I can use to gross out my friends.

My colon, I'm happy to report, is clean as a whistle. Most of the risk factors for colon cancer are things I avoid already; cigarettes, red meat, alcohol. Due to my family history, I will probably need to have a colonoscopy every three to five years. Despite my paternal grandmother's tragic outcome, I will continue to have them done. Colon cancer is ninety percent preventable with regular check ups. For people with a family history of colon cancer, it's even more important to get screened. Survival rates go from ten percent to ninety percent if the cancer is caught in the early stages. My maternal grandmother was diagnosed with an early stage of the disease when she was fifty. She was treated with surgery and is still going strong at eighty-four years old. Sadly, she has now buried two of her children, who could have been saved with a timely colonoscopy screening.

Death is coming for all of us, and it's easy to carry the feeling of invincibility from your youth into adulthood. I've seen the results of putting off preventative care because you think you're too busy. My mom had excellent health care, but she buried her head in the sand when it came to her poor health choices. I'm determined not to follow in her footsteps.

Out On A Limb

2008-06-02T23:54:00.001-07:00

One of the prompts for the third of our four essays due in writing class, was to write about where you're from and who you are, and to answer questions such as:

How one perceives oneself within and outside of a community and culture. How have you dealt with assumptions about each culture? What assumptions do people have about you? How have you handled these situations? To what extent have you embraced or resisted stereotypes?

Well, it's kind of a no-brainer, this prompt. Obviously, I could write about being a black gay girl in a straight white world--but I really didn't want to. I desperately wanted to write about something 'more upbeat.' On the day that we spent time in class brainstorming our topics, I made the mistake of mentioning my dilemma to a classmate:

As I attempted to express my frustration with the demographic make up of my home town, my classmate hastened to reassure me by saying how much worse things were in her home town in the Midwest, where 'the N word' can still be heard on a regular basis. I took a deep breath, and tried to explain to her, the subtle forms of racism which are not necessarily any easier to deal with, precisely because they can be so hard to pin down. “You know, I've heard that from other people,” she replied.
I ended the conversation at that point, before I officially became the 'angry black girl.' Her response was a red flag to me that those 'other people' were most likely people of color. It is common for people in a dominant group to not actually hear something that is said about their privilege, unless it is coming from someone in their group. If my classmate had actually internalized what those 'other people' had told her, perhaps she would not now be responding to my experience by telling me how grateful I should be that things are 'so good in Portland,' compared to where she is from. As if Portland had figured it all out, despite having a history of racist laws in the Oregon constitution until 1959. Her comment was completely inappropriate, for the same reason it would be unseemly to suggest to a paraplegic that they should be grateful they're not a quadriplegic.

Well, after that, I really felt like I had to write it, if only to give her a clue, and deal with my frustration. But now I was pissed off, defensive and wary. The next class, Joan, the teacher, asked us to go around and share our topics. I didn't really feel like talking about it at that point, so I just said something vague about 'not fitting in.'

"Oh yes, there's a whole area of research on that," Joan said excitedly. "Outsider/insider syndrome." She then went on with some story about going to a little town to do research and how she experienced the same thing. But I wasn't in the mood for "I know just how you feel!" coming from a straight, white, middle class woman just then. She felt me too, because at the break, she ran right over to me. "I just wanted to check in--I don't feel like I answered your question."

"I wasn't asking a question." I told her that I was feeling guarded about my topic, and that I wasn't going to workshop it in class. She panicked then, thinking she'd done something to offend me, so I had to reassure her that it wasn't her.

I worked on it over the weekend, starting over completely three days before it was due, because the first one had just turned into a rant about everything that had ever pissed me off. Not very useful. When I was done, I sent it to my WBPs (Weird Black People's) and they all wrote back with virtual head-nods that yes, I'd gotten it right.

The next class, I pulled S (my new metro straight, white boy-friend who loves the lesbos), and L (the other lesbo in class) into the hall and gave it to them. "You're the first ones to see this in this class," I told them.

"You're gonna give it to us crackers eh?" S joked. I wasn't worried though and we ended up meeting after class at Cup and Saucer and they gave me some good grammar feedback, and generally said they loved it. L kept saying how she wished I was in her diversity class the year before, where all the black people were straight and all the gay people were white. And one of the black women basically had the attitude of, 'let's take care of us (black folks) and then we'll get to you.' Yeah, that strategy wouldn't really work for me.

"You need a hotline," I told L, "so you can dial it up when you need a queer person of color to come and call bullshit on everybody. I'm envisioning a nice outfit with a cape of some sort. Maybe an invisible plane. You could have different extensions depending on which race you need."

Before I left, I said, "Now watch, we'll get them back next week and Joan will ask me to read it in class."

Fast forward to this morning. I walked in late, and Joan was giving a lecture about run-on sentences. I guess the latest crop of essays wasn't quite up to snuff in the grammar department. That got me worried. Grammar isn't really my best thing, and doing things last-minute doesn't help. But after her diatribe, she came over and handed me my essay and a quick scan revealed all 4's--her grading system is three numbers from 1-4 for concept, development of idea, and execution. "Beautiful essay," was her comment.

Well, good, I hadn't twisted my guts out for nothing at least. But the best was yet to come.

"I would love to have Dean and Kronda read parts of their essays, if you're willing." She looked at me.

I debated. S and L, sitting next to me, knew better than to offer advice. Of course it would suck to sit there and read my angry black girl manifesto to a room full of unknown white people. But really, why had I written it, if not for this very moment, to call out my well meaning, but clueless classmate and make her listen? I said yes.

I let Dean go first, enjoying his letter to his 'maybe, someday' child. Then it was my turn.

I was expecting it to be challenging, but I hadn't bargained on just how hard it was. I started crying in the middle of page two and didn't stop until class was over. Oh, so it's going to be like that eh? Crap. The worst part was when I got to the conversation (quoted above). I was crying too hard to make sentences anymore and had to stop for a long moment. I didn't look up, but I could imaging how much discomfort I was causing in the room. Well, why should I be the only one? I heard Joan start to say something, but I ignored her and continued. Wow, I guess that really got to me. I wasn't trying to be a drama queen, and I certainly don't like crying in front of a big group of people staring at me, but it wasn't the first time and it would be over soon. If showing these strangers my pain helped make my point (and got a certain person to listen), then it was worth it.

I settled into an acceptable level of crying that would still allow me to speak, and kept going. All was well until the very end, when I started choking up again. Come on, you've only got three sentences, suck it up! Another long deep breath, and I was done. I felt like I'd just finished biking up Larch Mountain.

I sat and wiped my face on my sleeve, grateful it was cool enough to warrant long sleeves today.

M, chimed in first. She was in the workshop group when I refused to talk about it. But they pestered me, so I told them a little bit, to which she and B (from Forest Grove, a suburb about 30 miles from Portland) replied, "Wow, we never thought of that." Yeah, why would they? I don't remember exactly what she said, except that it was sweet, that she was thankful that I shared, considering I didn't even want to talk to three people about it, and now I had dismantled myself for the whole class--and she said that "anyone with ears should hear this," which is possibly the nicest compliment on my writing, ever.

Another woman (name forgotten) chimed in with more nice words and said she hopes I find a way to get it published (general consensus). And Dean, Irish, forceful, loud, all-about-me Dean, complimented the 'quality of the writing' and said my tone was 'just right.'

Joan, who admits she spends hours trying to find just the right words for everything, was amazed that I had written the whole thing in a week (less, really). "I can't do that. You have a rare gift."

But the best comment was the one that didn't come: my classmate was silent, and looking *very* pensive, which is exactly what I hoped for. Maybe she actually listened. Maybe she'll think twice before she says something stupid to the next black person she meets. Maybe she finally heard me. If that's true, then I'll take, 'slicing your heart open and bleeding all over your sleeve,' for the win.

Urban Assault Ride

2008-05-26T11:52:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, my Sorella teammate, Sage and I participated in the Urban Assault Ride. They lived up to their claim that it would be the most fun I've had on a bike all year.

It's sort of a combination road race, 'cross race, scavenger hunt and obstacle course. They warn that you might get wet and this was entirely accurate. The light sprinkle that was *supposed* to clear up to just cloudy and warm, instead became a downpour. If you'd told me that I would one day go out riding for over two hours in 50 degree rain wearing Keen sandals, I would've said you were crazy. But it actually wasn't that bad, thanks to race adrenalin and wool socks.

Before the race, there is a bonus quiz that you take to determine your start order. The quiz can give you as much as a 10 minute head start on your competition, so I spent way too much time and enlisted Jess's help, to try to find some of the answers. Here's a question that gives you an idea how hard the quiz is:

16. Swobo sells an item of clothing made of a material that comes from a distant land. Also from this country is a cyclist who many consider to be one of the greatest ever. One time in the Tour de France, he was in a breakaway with a teammate and a rival rider. He rode off the road and into a ditch. What was the name of the teammate that waited for him?

Our 75% score (the highest score was 89%) put us in the first wave.

There were six regular check points and two mystery checkpoints. I SUCK at figuring out clues, so I used my people skills instead and talked others into giving me both answers. You have to devise your own route between check points, so I planned out a clockwise route that would also give us the most downhill cruising.

At the start, we ran to our bikes and headed to REI, the first mystery check point, which fortunately, was right on my pre-planned route. It seemed most racers had the same idea. One person forgot this was supposed to be for fun and promptly went down hard on the tracks that curve on 10th and Morrison. Ouch.

I was feeling competitive, but as always, my first rule was to keep the rubber side down. I'd had a bike crisis that morning because of the foul weather, but Jess convinced me to keep my road bike as my vehicle of choice. It was a good thing too, because there was no way I ever would have kept up with Sage without it. There was also some scrambling involving the rules, since I had been completely misinformed by the woman at packet pick up, that we only had to go to seven of the eight checkpoints. It took some doing to find someone who knew the answer to this but I was very glad I checked.

At the Fat Tire Farm stop, there was bike jousting, catching rings on the joust pole. Then it was off to the NE Community Cycling Center to find a fairy on a bike who would give us our check point bead. We found him alright, but he wouldn't stop (even though Sage said 'Please' very nicely) until I cut him off.

After that we screamed down 33rd Ave toward Laurelhurst park. We saw another Sorella team mate, Kim, heading up the same street with her husband. They'd decided to go the opposite route from most folks. Kim is an excellent climber but there's no way I would have survived that route. And we finished a few minutes ahead of them despite some crowds at the challenges.

At the park, Jess was waiting for us, but didn't take many pictures. It was pouring rain by this time and she was soaked from riding around to check points trying to keep up with us. There were two challenges, keg walking--which Sage couldn't do in her bike shoes, so she promptly took them off. Those kegs aren't flat, and she still had a hard time (it looked painful) but she perservered. I found it much easier in sandals. Then it was over to the human wheel barrow challenge. I chose to carry, thinking Sage had bigger arms and would fare better standing on her shoulders, while I used mostly leg strength to push her along. We only fell twice winding between the orange cones. After we finished, she revealed that she'd been eating ice cream every day for the past week. Thanks partner. :)

The next challenge was only a few blocks away at Sunnyside school. Sage and I both rocked the bike limbo (on our own bikes) in one try. The hardest challenge was yet to come, at the Plan B Bar. A bag toss with the target hole on the ground about twenty feet away. Thankfully, if you didn't get four bags in, you could still leave after ten minutes. You could switch off at will so we both took tries and actually made our goal with a minute to spare.

Next up, River City Bikes and my favorite on-course challenge: a real live version of the Paper Boy video game. I rode a small red banana seat bike around in circles, tossing papers to Sage, who caught them in a plastic bin. We got our three catches in four tries and then it was over the bridge to the finish at Pioneer Square. Of course, we couldn't just ride in and be done. We were directed to put our bikes in a secure coral and then sent over to grab a big wheel and do a quick loop around a twisty course that invited lots of skidding out. I absolutely could NOT stop smiling riding that thing. Then off with our shoes and into a huge blow up obstacle course that was filled with puddles of muddy water from rain and previous contestants. By that time, we were too close to finishing for me to care so I threw myself into it with glee. We slide into the finish, completely soaked, but our reward was a second place finish in the women's division!

For our efforts, we got the prize I'd actually been hoping for--free Keen shoes, and some UAR socks. The winners got custom made UAR Timbuk2 bags. Thought they looked really cool, I definitely don't need any more bags. I don't need any more shoes either, but Keen finally came out with a clipless pedal version of their sandals and I've been wishing for a pair since they came out.

We retreated to the Visitor's center where I put on dry clothes (thanks to Jess) and we huddled under the bathroom dryers getting warm. The rain finally stopped and it actually warmed up a little so we went back out to enjoy the finish line party, which included a band and the mini-bike limbo contest. We also took a few more loops on the big wheel course. I may need to buy one. PMS crankiness is no match for the smiley power of the big wheel!

I got third in the limbo contest and just missed taking home one of those cool bags. Then we hung out some more while had a very long raffle and gave away literally tubs full of cool prizes, like bike computers, wool jerseys, hats, t-shirts, biodegradable lube etc. We didn't win anything, but the day was already such a success, I didn't mind.

Finally, we crawled home and Jess and I spent the rest of the night uploading pictures. You should go check them out here and here.

Next year, Jess will be all healed up and I'm sure we'll have a blast riding the course together. I can't wait.

The Good Ship P.M.S.

2008-05-24T23:44:00.000-07:00

I'm cranky, and nothing makes me feel better like a nice blog rant. So here are a few things that have been pissing me off lately:

1. Drivers. Why is it so &$#!*ing hard to get home alive these days? The more I commute, the more I can't wait to finally take my shiny new mountain bike for a spin way out in the woods, where I don't have to worry about every third car trying to run me down, which is it what it feels like, riding around town these days. And I'm not just talking about clueless people who don't see us--no, these are the super assholes, who buzz by just for fun (not surprised to see one was full of 20-something boys this afternoon), or jet out in front of us or cutting us off so they can get into their driveway (yes, the DRIVEWAY--they were 20 feet from home and STILL couldn't wait 5 seconds for us to go by). I'm also sick of sucking up exhaust at every stop light.

2. Smokers. Let me just get this memo out now. If you see me out and about and you are smoking, just know that I hate you. This would've been true BEFORE my mom took up residence in an urn on my bookshelf, but now it's worse. Guess what, no one actually uses those little 'smoking shelters' on campus. Nope, they smoke in front of the doors. I've just gotten in the habit of holding my breath when going in and out of buildings on campus. But what I'd really like to do is knock all those cancer sticks out of their mouths with a baseball bat. And if my aim is a little off--oh well.

3. FREE (BEER/ADMISSION). If I see one more event put FREE BEER in all caps or one more organization who tries to lure volunteers with FREE BEER, I might throw up in my mouth a little. I DON'T GIVE A FRAK ABOUT BEER. I hate beer (but not as much as smokers). How about getting original? Try FREE KOZY SHACK or FREE COLD STONE for a change. At least the beer, when it's offered, actually is free, as advertised. Some people need to go back and look up the meaning of the word free. Take the Carfree Cities conference for example. Everywhere I look, there are articles and ads about their "Free Public Day." So I went to pre-register and before Firefox could auto-fill my forms, they were telling me about the 'suggested donations.' FREE MEANS NO DINERO. If you want a suggested donation, then guess what, YOUR EVENT IS SLIDING SCALE.

4. Bike Racers. I didn't used to hang with the racing crowd much, but I've been a member of a team that is also a club for three years now, so I've gotten more exposure. By and large they're a good group, but a little single-minded when it comes to their bike use. It's not at all uncommon for a racer to drive three miles to the start of their race with their bike on their car. And then put that bike onto a stationary trainer to warm up.

&*&W$)#%&@#)%(*^)%(@*%^@)#*$&^@#)*&$^ (Censored, cause I couldn't think of a good enough way to express how stupid this is).

Hey racers--did it ever occur to you that you could actually use that bike to, you know, get around?

Of course not all racers are guilty of this, but there is definitely a mentality that is separate from the notion of bikes as transportation, or bike culture. This was recently illustrated by my own team, who practically leap to volunteer for any racing related event, but can't be cajoled, bullied or begged to help out with an amazing (nay, historic) event to try to take back neighborhoods *for people, NOT cars* that is happening next month. Maybe I should try offering them FREE BEER.

/rant