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New Wearable Feedbags Let Americans Eat More, Move Less

Thanks Daniel, for the heads up.

Pedalpalooza: NP Greenway Ride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

Some People Mature: Other's Just Age

Tomorrow's my birthday but I'm not quite ready for the pasture yet. Making good on a promise made many months ago, I took my bike out to Portland International Raceway for the Monday night novice women's race.

My goals were to stay upright, and to not throw up and I achieved them both.

I had no idea what kind of speed I could maintain, being much more out of shape than the last (and only other) time I tried this about three years ago. I kept up with the pack for about two laps and then started to fade. This turns out to be a good thing, since it wasn't long after that I came upon about four riders who had crashed on a turn. Most of them were already up, but Heather was on the ground moaning. It looked like she landed on her hip, and then Penny landed on her. Not good.

I stopped and we helped get her off the track. Then I rode with one of the Ironclad riders, who's leg was swelling into something epic and horrible-looking, back to the start, where she could see the medic. I had heard her talking to the medic earlier and saying something like, "I hope not to see you again." Total jinx.

Penny decided that's it for her racing career. She said she saw her summer "flash before her eyes," of not being able to ride and it wasn't worth the risk. I can't say I blame her. I will go back, but I have a tendency to drift towards the back of the back to avoid just such mishaps. I suppose surging to the front would also be a safe option, but that's not physically possible at this time. Maybe by the end of the summer...

Jess and her friend T came out to watch and took a couple of pictures. The weather at least, was perfect, cooling down from an 80 degree peak with cloud cover moving in. After my escorting duty was done, I kept riding until the women's race was over, which gave me a total of five laps, just one shy of the real race. I was happy to discover that I actually got faster as the race went on. I think I will do a longer warm up next time.

Tomorrow will be low-key as birthdays go, filled with catch up studying, drawing live nude girls in art class and dropping off ballots. But there will be Cold Stone. Can't let the day be totally boring (not that live nude girls is boring). But Jess did take me to the beach this past weekend where we had superb weather and the nicest hike I've been on in a while. Head on over to my Flickr page and check it out.

To Know Them is To Love Them

Since I'm too swamped for a real post, I give you a much better form of entertainment:

Fun at the Dentist? Yes.

I'm not saying it was a trip to Disneyland or anything, but my hygienist is seriously awesome and has a great sense of humor. So even though she's torturing me, she's kind of cool to hang out with, and I told her so today.

When she came out to get me, she said, "Oh good, you came back." This is because she spent two hours torturing my gums on the right side yesterday and I was plenty sore after the novocaine wore off, but I woke up this morning feeling pretty good.

"I didn't even make a voodoo doll of you," I told her, by way of assurance. She was relieved.

For round two, it was more of the same, this time in the lower left quadrant. Except she 'grazed a nerve' as she called it, when giving me the shot which did not please me. Yesterday I gave her a hard time when she was giving me the prep speech and she said, "And then you'll feel a pinch."

"Huh. Feel a pinch, that's what they always say."

She admitted it was a crock. "Should I just say it's going to hurt like hell?" she asked. I told her that would probably be better. She agreed that she likes to prepare for the worst too.

The big needle in the gums is the worst part and after that it's all about trying to keep my jaw open and not swallow too much of my spit. I keep my Ipod with somewhat noise-canceling headphones turned up way loud and then the scraping noise becomes more like part of the music. A few times she was even on-beat. She got a little jealous yesterday when I started laughing.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"I have a lot of 80's music. I'm rockin' the Copacabana right now."

She loved that, and said I should bring speakers next time.

Today I told her that, based on her instructions not to have any crunchy foods for a week or so, I told Jess that meant I should only eat ice cream. And that Jess wasn't buying what I was selling.

"Should I call her?" Shea asked.

"Oh that would be so great!" I said. We started laughing hysterically. I'm pretty sure you don't hear many people laughing in the dental chair. Towards the end of the cleaning, she called over to the dentist, who was just hanging out at the front counter.

"Hey Aaron, can you do us a favor?"

She told him to call our land line and leave a very straight-laced message with instructions to eat ice cream specifically. We couldn't hear the whole thing, but it sounded like he played it completely dead pan.

At home later, Jess came downstairs and said, "Is your little mouth doing OK? We need to get you some ice cream." Aaron was so convincing apparently that she wasn't *quite* sure it was a joke. But, she said, "No dentist called and tells patients to eat ice cream. It sounded fishy."

Priceless.

It's a good thing I like Shea so much because she didn't have time to do the upper left quadrant and I have to go back on Monday at (OUCH!!!!) 7:00AM.

My New Mountain Bike, Let Me Show You It

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

It's been almost exactly one year since those crackhead Sorellas gave me a free hit of MTB at an all-day clinic and sent me on my way. The conclusion was inevitable. Happy trails to me...

Outside Looking In

I'm enjoying a rare quiet moment in the middle of my Monday, sitting OUTSIDE IN THE SUN on the campus quad. 

I feel like I've been through the wars. Except I got a little perspective on that this weekend, so I'll change that to, 'I feel like I've been through the bougie middle-class-problems skirmish.'

I promised Jess that we would tackle the garage this weekend.  We organized it last summer (sort of) but then we kept getting more and more stuff, until we could barely walk through to get our bikes out.  I think J's eye literally started twitching every time she had to go in there.  It's a good thing she hasn't been riding much these last few months.  We took everything out, rearranged the shelves and then put it all back in, but more organized.  The results are so pleasing that I've gone out there several times just to admire all the luscious space.

Saturday, I had to go to the farmer's market in search of snap peas. The selection at New Seasons is pathetic right now and I've been getting pretty desperate.  We rode our bikes to Lisa's house and then we all car pooled downtown together, J and I hardly fighting over Essex at all.  There were no snap peas, but it was good to get out and see people outside. It's like it's spring or something--crazy.

We also stopped for chocolate at a place (I forget the name), near Cacao that Lisa has been praising for months.  It definitely lived up to the hype.  I will link the name when remember it.

Then we had to rush back to NE to meet the delivery people, who were bringing my new stove from Home Depot. Geahk also met us there so he could take a look at a project I need help with.  The stove has one of those high backs with the controls at the back, and, unfortunately, I forgot about the counter that hangs over the kitchen--right where the stove would fit under, if it were short enough.  Geahk said he could just move the counter top, but after further study, he thought the best option would be to just get a different stove.  I agreed, but wailed silently over the doom that is every house related activity I try to do.

Which is why I get to spend the rest of the afternoon in rush hour traffic.  I found slide-in stove that will work, and it's even the right color---but it's out in BFE Milwaukie and my hired help, AKA my little brother Kenny, isn't available until 3:30. Fun times.

The rest of the weekend was spent either stressing over homework, the garage, or the stove.  Poor Jess had to put up with a pretty cranky, stressed out, and overwhelmed version of me.  I had the final draft of a story due in writing and our second midterm in Math.  Since those classes are back-to-back, there would be no time to cram for the math test before class.  For our second essay in writing on 'place,' I decided to write about Mom's house.  It seemed a prominent subject, since I have been working on the house for the past few months and accepting the reality that strangers will soon be living in it.  I knew it wouldn't be fun to write, but I underestimated just how much it would suck.  Aside from having to view the computer screen through tears much of the time, I also didn't feel like the story was coming together in a technical way either.  I felt like I was floundering through jello and I was sick of rereading it long before I could call it anything close to 'finished.'  The only good news about it was that people in my first workshop responded well to it emotionally.  Fellow classmate Rebecca even said that she really came to like mom through my story--so that made the torture seem more worthwhile. I do feel sorry for folks that didn't get to know her. She was just so damn cool.

Between the help I got from Jess and a fellow classmate, I muddled through to something that is hopefully acceptable.  In our class discussion today, it seemed that a lot of people really struggled with this topic, for one reason or another.  I really related to the person who said that she might not be graded as well, but she was glad she took the risk.  I took this class so I could push myself, so struggle is actually a good sign.  It's just not fun.  Jess strongly suggested I choose a more uplifting topic next time...

I left off halfway through this post to go to yoga, only to find class was canceled.  On the one hand, I definitely could have used a nice yoga session today--on the other hand, I was grateful for the unexpected hour of time which meant a little more time outside, and time to eat before spending the afternoon in rush hour traffic.

I went home and ate, then remembered I promised to cut the lawn, so I did that too.  Then I discovered cat puke on the carpet--not an unusual occurrance, but I so was not in the mood.  I was already exhausted and I still had two stoves to move.

Lil' bro showed up right on time and for bonus points brought his friend C, to help.  She was cute, smart and totally together which prompted me to ask her what she was doing hanging out with my brother. <G> Apparently, I wasn't the first to ask.

I'll say one thing for my bro, he's entertaining.  We had a surprisingly good time on the ride out and back and the woman selling the stove was warm and friendly and not at all a suburban pod person.  We stopped at McD's on the way back and traded bawdy jokes.  Kenny said something annoying that made me punch his leg--at which time he revealed that he'd been campaigning all day to see what it would take to force me to violence.

"Are you FIVE?" I replied.  I promised to hit him on general principle the next time I saw him, so he wouldn't have to work so hard.

The Home Depot folks were surprisingly--no make that astonishingly, nice when I returned the stove, even refunding my delivery charge.  My dad hasn't had quite as much luck--I guess our last name is pretty regularly cursed around those parts now, so I was happy to get no-hassle service.

It was after 8:00pm by the time I returned the truck and came home, stopping at Fred Meyer for ice cream so I could assuage my pain with food like any good American.  I was even prepared to buy the ::gasp:: packaged snap peas--but they didn't have any! Not even any snow peas just to feel the satisfying crunch of a semi-sweet vegetable.  I bought a small bag of baby carrots instead and some canned pineapple.  I've gotten semi-hooked on the fresh pineapples at New Seasons, but that's not sustainable for our budget. 

I was too tired and head-sore to think about homework so I just showered and spend some much needed time catching up with J.

Tomorrow, the first of two deep cleaning dental appointments lasting aproximately two hours each. This week is not the funnest I've ever had.

Monday Monday

I procrastinated my homework as usual, which had me awake at 5:30 this morning with all intentions of working on the first draft of my next story for writing class. Instead I spent an hour with a heating pad on my belly, waiting for the drugs to kick in. I seriously considered staying home and skipping every class, which I have not yet done this term.

Jess brought me my laptop in bed and eventually I was able to sit up and spit out some words. I wasn't at all happy with any of it, but I got up and went to class (on time even!) anyway, because 90% of life is showing up. And I really wanted to find out what Joan thought of my last paper.

When I got to class, my classmates were sitting around in the hall outside the door. Joan was there, leaning against the wall and handing back papers. I wondered if she'd forgotten her classroom keys, but it turned out she was sick and was only staying long enough to hand back papers. On the one hand I was glad I came and on the other, I could have safely stayed in bed till at least 10:00, and I was bummed. But the drugs had kicked in after all, and Joan did like my paper and wants me to read it in class on Wednesday.

Since we were there and most of us had drafts that we hated, a few of us headed down to the Underground to do the workshopping that would have happened in class. In our group was Sean the Irish smoker, Emily the non-writer (who had draft twice as long as the longest of the rest of us) and Simon the quiet red-head.

We're writing about place and Sean's piece started in my neighborhood of Kenton. I loved the way he talked about the Paul Bunyan statue, staring across at the Dancin' Bare strip bar as if working up his courage to go in. His view of Portland is kind of a tough love, but the piece should prove educational since he's planning to put a lot of history into it.

Simon gave us a few luscious paragraphs about his love of kitchen's that made me think of mom's kitchen. I managed to read my piece aloud (which I hate doing) and get through both the reading and most of the feedback without crying. The other two talked about the story--but the first thing Simon said was, "I'm SO sorry," and clearly, he was very affected by what I wrote, which then set me off too. I guessed then, that somehow, he is in the club too. Note to self--bring tissues to writing class for the next few weeks...

ETA: As I picked up one of the two copies of my story to begin reading, Sean reached for the other one. "Do you mind?"

"No," I said, thinking he wanted to read along as I read, perhaps make notes. But then he stood up.

"I'm going to read this outside and have a cigarette," he said.

I was too stunned and speechless to react. He was out of the room before I recovered. Probably a good thing. Lots of things came to mind many seconds too late. "By the way, she died from that," is always my go-to phrase. I had the urge to run after him and snatch back the paper, lest he fill them with the stink of his nasty, lethal habit. But I didn't do any of that. He was long gone and it seemed I should explain the long silence and what I'm sure was an interesting look on my face, to my remaining audience.

"She died from that," I said, this time for the benefit of my remaining audience of two. I didn't think they were smokers, but I didn't much care at that point. They smiled resigned smiles of understanding. "It's really hard for me not to lecture," I told them, by way of explaining what I felt had become an awkwardly long silence. I think they got it.

I don't know why I'm still so stunned when irony smacks me on the head like that. I should be expecting the blow by now.

By the time we finished the workshop, I was really glad we'd decided to make our own class session out of the time. I hate my stuff a little less now, and I might have a new riding buddy in new-to-town Simon. It's always thrilling to meet a boy I might like enough to be friends with, even though I don't really need new friends. He asked where I shop because, he said, "I like your outfits." Let's tally: 1) Flattery from a boy. 2) Flattery about my clothes from a boy.

Yup, the apocalypse should be along any day now.

Off to math and then to see if I survive yoga after my snowboarding adventure on Saturday. And stay tuned for snowboarding video, hopefully in the next day or two.

Don't Get Any Ideas!

 

This was J's refrain throughout our viewing of the Banff Film Festival World Tour this evening.  I didn't count how many times she said it, but it was definitely more than twenty.

If I were going to get ideas, there were plenty of excellent suggestions for getting yourself hurt or killed.  Speed Flying (you can actually see the entire film on YouTube) is basically throwing yourself from the top of a mountain with skis and a parasail attached and hoping for the best.  What's funny is how the guys talk about how much easier it is on your body than regular skiing and how they can picture themselves doing it until they're old--as if there were much chance of them actually getting old while participating in such a dangerous sport.  The first item in the credits was a dedication in remembrance of _______.  Wake up and smell the danger, people! 

I guess the film festival is going on ten years now and it must be good every year because you have to buy your tickets not knowing what films they're going to show.  We weren't disappointed. Among my favorites were the one about a woman's search for coastal wolves in western Canada (look for the clip of her laying in the middle of a field while a pack of wolves curiously checks her out).  A film about some unicycle riders who are 'taking it to the next level' (Uni-mountain biking? Why not?)  After that film, the host announced that their unicycles do have special shocks in them and that the audience should NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. 

Did you see the climber who makes a leap from one patch of rock to another, misses and falls?  No, he didn't have a rope.  He's a deep sea climber.  He finds impossible looking overhangs in the water--so you have a nice soft (not) cushion of seawater to 'break' your fall, after which you can get stung by swarms of jelly fish.  Honestly, I don't know what Jess is worried about.  It was seriously impressive though. Some of the holds he was doing would give Spiderman a run for his money.

Other films included footage of high mountain skiers (it's not IF you'll start an avalanche, but when), a climbing photographer and two very well done animations.  The first, Badger, was a humorous meditation on how ground dwelling animals are affected by our mucking about with the planet.  The second, a stunningly animated two-minute piece about the mental challenges of ice climbing.

As if we weren't having enough fun, Jess won a really cool raffle prize that looks to be just my size...

If I don't post for a few days, it's just cause I'm out base jumping.

Morning is Not My Time

I hate days like this.  I got up early, thinking I'd come to school early and have breakfast on campus. I was doing well. Made myself a smoothie to use up the banana that was going south in the fruit bowl, gathered up my stuff--remembered my rain pants 'cause the weather has sucked so bad.  Grabbed my wallet from the bookshelf--checked my pocket for my phone--grabbed keys on the way out---

Oops. As I rolled up to the bike rack I reached into my pocket and realized, I had not, in fact, grabbed my keys. This is the problem with having a fancy garage door opener and leaving by bike. There's nothing that forces me to remember my keys.

So there I was with five hours of classes ahead of me and no save place to put my bike.  I was not riding all the way home again, especially not with the amount of headwind I fought on the way to school. There had to be a solution.  Could I take the bike to class? Someone had their bike in math class just the other day, but for writing I would have to leave it in the hall and I definitely couldn't take it into the gym for yoga.  I called campus safety and was told their office was too small to hold a bike.

I was just about to give up when I remembered Daniel.

My math teacher from last year bikes to class every day. I ran into him on my way home just a few weeks ago and I knew he taught a 7:00am class that gets out at 8:40.  I went to his office and he showed up a few minutes later.  I explained my problem and he was totally sympathetic.  He offered a few solutions. I could put it in his office, but he wouldn't be around by the time I got out of classes.  In the end, we walked out to his bike and he let me borrow his lock.  He could keep his bike in his office both here and at his Portland State U office later in the day.  We exchanged phone numbers and I promised to slip key and lock under his office door in an envelope later today.  I put the key in a closed zippered pocket of my pants to prevent further stupidity.

Since I had planned on having breakfast at school, I skipped the first 20 minutes of writing class to have eggs and hashbrowns in the cafeteria and prevent (my own or someone else's) low-blood-sugar related death later in the day.

So much for being an early bird.