I started blogging angsty poetry as a teen on everyone's favorite site, Xanga. A few years later I discovered Blogger and shifted everything over, recording various adventures in different blogs.
Now, I'm switching again. At the behest of some, and the lure of better site tracking, (not to mention the fact that several of my heroes keep their blogs there), I'm scooting my trend-following butt over to Wordpress.
The fact that you "follow" my site and hopefully draw some sort of enjoyment from what I write, is why I do it, so feel free to check out my new site and like or follow or comment, or whatever it calls that kind of stuff:
http://bethanyhughes.wordpress.com/
See, I can't even figure out how to make the link turn blue and be underlined so you can just click on it. Or maybe Blogger is mad at me for turn-coating. I'm sorry Blogger, you've been good to me.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Social Grooming and the Nature of Being a Missourian
We had an idyllic Hump Day ride. While our numbers were diminished by the threat of rain, so was the mercury, and I like that.
While riding today I looked down and realized that the trail I was on was not necessarily easy. Even on foot I avoided this section because of all the rocks; just a month ago I would not have dared to try this particular chunk; but I have learned to trust Frank. While I look at things and think, “WHAT THE?!” he just rolls right over. We are at a point in our relationship where my human brain worries and doubts while he just blasts it. Only once we manuevered over any given obstacle do I sit back and congratulate myself. In the case of this evening it was at this point that I cut a corner too tight and rode right into a lovely creek of mud. Hubris checked and humerus bruised.
We were escorted home by spatting clouds; our way was lit by peals of lightening and thunder applauded us. Mother Nature levied her version of Shaken Baby Syndrome on the new-sprung leaves. I give thanks for walls and roof and revel in the borrowed time on the trails.
While generally happy to march around the house playing the “is it mud or bruise?” game with myself, I was quick to clean up when I got home from today’s ride. “Why?” you ask. Here, let me show you:
Well, not quite, but you get the idea.
I.Hate.Ticks.
I’ll spare you the gory details of the back story, suffice it to say it involved weeks of gutting/swabbing a puss oozing chasm in the back of my leg with a Q-tip rod dipped in Iodine.
In 1985 an egregiously misinformed State Governor Ashcroft signed Honeybees into being our “State Insect.” Since that time, the ticks have rallied their numbers making every outdoor-faring Missourian aware that it is they who rule the state. They dominated the after-ride conversation the way weather does an English tea-party.
On a different note, did you know we have a “State Grape”? Check it out: http://www.sos.mo.gov/symbols/
I could write an entire blog ranting about this (ticks, not Norton Grapes). How you can’t squash them and how rudely indifferent they are to your efforts to do so. How they crawl unabashedly toward your None of Your Business Districts. Then, even hours after you are safely home and have insisted that every family member and visiting acquaintance check you, phantom creepies send you into hysterical conniptions.
But in the end we are Missourians, and we must decide: isn’t it worth it to get out and enjoy the song of the Native Bluebird, and the sight of the Flowering Dogwood? To enjoy the crunch of the Eastern Black Walnut or the bones of the Duck Billed Dinosaur under your tires? To dodge around a mule (seriously, that is our stats animal?) to the strums of a fiddle and feel the brush of the Big Bluestem Grass as it transfers an arachnid vector “of a number of diseases, including Lyme disease, Q fever, Colorado tick fever, tularemia, tick-borne relapsing fever, babesiosis, ehrlichiosis and tick-borne meningoencephalitis, as well as bovine anaplasmosis.”
Well, probably not, but that’s why God gave us DEET.
While riding today I looked down and realized that the trail I was on was not necessarily easy. Even on foot I avoided this section because of all the rocks; just a month ago I would not have dared to try this particular chunk; but I have learned to trust Frank. While I look at things and think, “WHAT THE?!” he just rolls right over. We are at a point in our relationship where my human brain worries and doubts while he just blasts it. Only once we manuevered over any given obstacle do I sit back and congratulate myself. In the case of this evening it was at this point that I cut a corner too tight and rode right into a lovely creek of mud. Hubris checked and humerus bruised.
We were escorted home by spatting clouds; our way was lit by peals of lightening and thunder applauded us. Mother Nature levied her version of Shaken Baby Syndrome on the new-sprung leaves. I give thanks for walls and roof and revel in the borrowed time on the trails.
While generally happy to march around the house playing the “is it mud or bruise?” game with myself, I was quick to clean up when I got home from today’s ride. “Why?” you ask. Here, let me show you:
Well, not quite, but you get the idea.
I.Hate.Ticks.
I’ll spare you the gory details of the back story, suffice it to say it involved weeks of gutting/swabbing a puss oozing chasm in the back of my leg with a Q-tip rod dipped in Iodine.
In 1985 an egregiously misinformed State Governor Ashcroft signed Honeybees into being our “State Insect.” Since that time, the ticks have rallied their numbers making every outdoor-faring Missourian aware that it is they who rule the state. They dominated the after-ride conversation the way weather does an English tea-party.
On a different note, did you know we have a “State Grape”? Check it out: http://www.sos.mo.gov/symbols/
I could write an entire blog ranting about this (ticks, not Norton Grapes). How you can’t squash them and how rudely indifferent they are to your efforts to do so. How they crawl unabashedly toward your None of Your Business Districts. Then, even hours after you are safely home and have insisted that every family member and visiting acquaintance check you, phantom creepies send you into hysterical conniptions.
But in the end we are Missourians, and we must decide: isn’t it worth it to get out and enjoy the song of the Native Bluebird, and the sight of the Flowering Dogwood? To enjoy the crunch of the Eastern Black Walnut or the bones of the Duck Billed Dinosaur under your tires? To dodge around a mule (seriously, that is our stats animal?) to the strums of a fiddle and feel the brush of the Big Bluestem Grass as it transfers an arachnid vector “of a number of diseases, including Lyme disease, Q fever, Colorado tick fever, tularemia, tick-borne relapsing fever, babesiosis, ehrlichiosis and tick-borne meningoencephalitis, as well as bovine anaplasmosis.”
Well, probably not, but that’s why God gave us DEET.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Maintaining Sanity
Work has jumped into hyper drive. 14 hour days and three times as many people to train and oversee. I try to convince myself the commute is enough time to gather and focus myself.
But nothing does that quite like a healthy dose of dirt. And as the Earth Riders have taught me, you've gotta earn your dirt.
The corporate gods showed some kindness and gave us today off, as it is Easter. This afternoon, our family gathered around the table to feast on leftovers from the BIG family meal the day before (a gathering which I missed), and then we weeded the garden.
I had my own nefarious plan. I loaded up every mountain bike in the garage onto the bike rack and got little sister Anna and her fiancee' Tim, to come out and play. This maneuver has been weeks in the making. Or rather, I have been harassing Anna for the past few months to come out with me. This week was my first success in this endeavour.
The threatening clouds of the morning had broken and we drove out under blue skies.
We hit the trail head only to find the single-track was gooey roped off. Understandable for sure.
But still.
Bum.Mer.
We rode the paved trails as Anna explained the basics of shifting and gears to Tim, he caught on pretty quickly. The ticks and clicking which I kept hearing let me know he was applying and experimenting with his new knowledge.
It was hard to override my burning desire to get dirty and to show Little Sister that doing so is fun. As we wound along on the black top I began to scout the trails in my mind, guestimating which sections might be dry enough to ride. I then applied these not-so-scientifically based calculations to my best naviguessing recollection of the single-track lay out. We cut into the woods at one point and the trail was dry enough that we weren't leaving tracks; bending rules is a proverbial slippery slope and left to my own devices, I would not be trustworthy, but I was held in check by knowing that I was setting an example.
Then a piece of Anna's bike fell off, so I walked back along the trail looking for her seat stem nut. On my way I found a snail shell, a blue button, a piece of glass, a piece of ceramic, and finally the nut. So many treasures! We put the bike back together and took off again.
They were both jolly good sports about it even though we rode slow and had to walk and carry our bikes over certain sections.
After a short jaunt we got back on the black top where the quiet trails gave space for us to openly discuss the more...earthy...matters of mountain bike riding. Hiney soreness being the most appropriate of the conversation. Tim will fit into our family just fine.
As we rode further, Anna related the experiences with which she associates those trails; namely, running cross country in High School. When she admitted that she had nearly forgotten that the lake existed in recent months, I felt I had been remiss in my big sisterly duties.
I strive to spread awareness of the joys brought by being in the outdoors, and continue to be confounded when I find people who, quite simply, don't agree. But I also see her enjoying things which are completely alien to me, so I can allow for that much at least. I settled with being honored that she loves me enough to come give it a shot and taking joy in knowing that we were out there making more recent memories which will one day bring conspiratorial smiles to our faces.
As we got close to Sail Boat Cove, again, I couldn't help myself. I remembered on our Wednesday ride when Kelley had turned to the rest of the group with a twinkle in her eye and suggested we hit a particular jump; a chance to allow a moment of going airborne to embed passion for riding. Anna was not impressed with my plan, Tim was sportsman enough to give it a couple gos. I was thrilled. I remembered entire afternoons as a kid spent playing at one objective over and over again.
This was relived for a good bit of time. Riding up the hill, planning the approach, calculating, powering down the hill, then forgetting every single detail of the plan when hitting the jump and just loving the ride.
And then the clouds rolled back in, and Anna reminded me that I had promised drinks at Sonic, so we headed home.
But I got my fix; my chance to come up for air, just enough to get me through this next week and a half of work; and enough time to let the trails dry properly.
But nothing does that quite like a healthy dose of dirt. And as the Earth Riders have taught me, you've gotta earn your dirt.
The corporate gods showed some kindness and gave us today off, as it is Easter. This afternoon, our family gathered around the table to feast on leftovers from the BIG family meal the day before (a gathering which I missed), and then we weeded the garden.
I had my own nefarious plan. I loaded up every mountain bike in the garage onto the bike rack and got little sister Anna and her fiancee' Tim, to come out and play. This maneuver has been weeks in the making. Or rather, I have been harassing Anna for the past few months to come out with me. This week was my first success in this endeavour.
The threatening clouds of the morning had broken and we drove out under blue skies.
We hit the trail head only to find the single-track was gooey roped off. Understandable for sure.
But still.
Bum.Mer.
We rode the paved trails as Anna explained the basics of shifting and gears to Tim, he caught on pretty quickly. The ticks and clicking which I kept hearing let me know he was applying and experimenting with his new knowledge.
It was hard to override my burning desire to get dirty and to show Little Sister that doing so is fun. As we wound along on the black top I began to scout the trails in my mind, guestimating which sections might be dry enough to ride. I then applied these not-so-scientifically based calculations to my best naviguessing recollection of the single-track lay out. We cut into the woods at one point and the trail was dry enough that we weren't leaving tracks; bending rules is a proverbial slippery slope and left to my own devices, I would not be trustworthy, but I was held in check by knowing that I was setting an example.
Then a piece of Anna's bike fell off, so I walked back along the trail looking for her seat stem nut. On my way I found a snail shell, a blue button, a piece of glass, a piece of ceramic, and finally the nut. So many treasures! We put the bike back together and took off again.
They were both jolly good sports about it even though we rode slow and had to walk and carry our bikes over certain sections.
After a short jaunt we got back on the black top where the quiet trails gave space for us to openly discuss the more...earthy...matters of mountain bike riding. Hiney soreness being the most appropriate of the conversation. Tim will fit into our family just fine.
As we rode further, Anna related the experiences with which she associates those trails; namely, running cross country in High School. When she admitted that she had nearly forgotten that the lake existed in recent months, I felt I had been remiss in my big sisterly duties.
I strive to spread awareness of the joys brought by being in the outdoors, and continue to be confounded when I find people who, quite simply, don't agree. But I also see her enjoying things which are completely alien to me, so I can allow for that much at least. I settled with being honored that she loves me enough to come give it a shot and taking joy in knowing that we were out there making more recent memories which will one day bring conspiratorial smiles to our faces. As we got close to Sail Boat Cove, again, I couldn't help myself. I remembered on our Wednesday ride when Kelley had turned to the rest of the group with a twinkle in her eye and suggested we hit a particular jump; a chance to allow a moment of going airborne to embed passion for riding. Anna was not impressed with my plan, Tim was sportsman enough to give it a couple gos. I was thrilled. I remembered entire afternoons as a kid spent playing at one objective over and over again.
This was relived for a good bit of time. Riding up the hill, planning the approach, calculating, powering down the hill, then forgetting every single detail of the plan when hitting the jump and just loving the ride.
And then the clouds rolled back in, and Anna reminded me that I had promised drinks at Sonic, so we headed home.
But I got my fix; my chance to come up for air, just enough to get me through this next week and a half of work; and enough time to let the trails dry properly.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
(H)iding on (R)ump Day - aka Last Wednesday
I usually stay late at work, hours being determined by the amount of work left to do.
Not so today. Today I was going to ride my first Hump Day; Frank's first social engagement. By 5:32 I was out the door.
About 3 minutes from the trail-head I remembered I had been too excited to really read the instructions on where and when to meet. I vaguely remembered something about 6 o'clock and Sail Boat Cove. Turns out that was information from last week's grill out, fortunately the road passed Smoke & Davey trail-head where we actually meet.
My first point of consternation was that Sail Boat Cove has nice bathrooms where one can change out of work clothes, fill water bottles, check for ticks, etc.
Smoke & Davey's has no such accouterments.
Turning into the parking-lot was akin to walking into a swarm of mosquitoes. Spandexed, be-helmeted, clipped in mosquitoes; they even make the same sounds!
There are a lot of things out on those trails which can be run into, but before I could worry about that I had to maneuver a parking lot full of people in constant motion.
The lot was full of cars and the prospect of parallel parking was not exactly relaxing. Once I had the keys out of the ignition I had to contend with the fact that my 'Smoke & Davey's trail-head routine' involves changing clothes in my non tinted window car. Now there were 30+ people buzzing around. Well, I guessed we'd get to know each other at some point and public indecency is lower on my list of social faux pas than tardiness, so I did what I had to do.
Once dressed and out of the car, I began to relax. I recognized faces and was breathing outside air; everything was going to be okay.
Kelley rode up as I pulled Frank down and invited me to ride with their group; they had another beginner with them. Most of the other groups took off ahead of us, spreading out throughout the trails according to skill levels. Kelley and Co. waited patiently while I put on gloves and helmet. Then we were off; a group of 5. Two brand newbies and 3 folks who knew the ropes and were patient and encouraging.
I began learning immediately. For starters, I have always ridden in the hardest gear I can manage. The advantage? I feel tough. The disadvantage? I am down shifting like a maniac any time I see an uphill coming; when I don't see the uphill coming, I'm walking my bike. When focused on not hitting trees and rocks, it's a whole lot to be considered. Seeing that the more experienced riders did not ride like this, I evaluated my reasoning and came up with the above.
I also learned to identify the sound of 'cross chaining.' This is not a good thing as it causes unnecessary wear.
These bits of knowledge taken together, I think I will be better off riding in the middle gear on my front sprocket and ranging amoung 3 or 4 on the cassette; thereby NOT cross chaining and hopefully being better prepared for climbs.
Frank and I continued to get to know each other and we got to know the other bikes too, learning what kinds of noises the other bikes make and watching what kind of rider actions precipitate those noises.
Our group intersected with others out there, all moving at different paces, and all having a blast. All in all we rode for about 2 hours. The whole experience was fun but my most favorite was when the 3 savvy riders stopped us at the top of a hill and explained how to hit a jump so as to catch air. I squealed like a little girl and am fine with it.
In closing, I think it best for the morale of the reader that I not mention the sound of sirens which passed early in the ride. Nor would I so much as consider bringing up the fact that they were there for a rider who dislocated his elbow. Even if this were the case it would be entirely inappropriate to nickname that derogated bit of trail the 'Hend-Rocks' as a nod to the incident. An unofficial title which I have no interest in perpetuating...
Not so today. Today I was going to ride my first Hump Day; Frank's first social engagement. By 5:32 I was out the door.
About 3 minutes from the trail-head I remembered I had been too excited to really read the instructions on where and when to meet. I vaguely remembered something about 6 o'clock and Sail Boat Cove. Turns out that was information from last week's grill out, fortunately the road passed Smoke & Davey trail-head where we actually meet.
My first point of consternation was that Sail Boat Cove has nice bathrooms where one can change out of work clothes, fill water bottles, check for ticks, etc.
Smoke & Davey's has no such accouterments.
Turning into the parking-lot was akin to walking into a swarm of mosquitoes. Spandexed, be-helmeted, clipped in mosquitoes; they even make the same sounds!
There are a lot of things out on those trails which can be run into, but before I could worry about that I had to maneuver a parking lot full of people in constant motion.
The lot was full of cars and the prospect of parallel parking was not exactly relaxing. Once I had the keys out of the ignition I had to contend with the fact that my 'Smoke & Davey's trail-head routine' involves changing clothes in my non tinted window car. Now there were 30+ people buzzing around. Well, I guessed we'd get to know each other at some point and public indecency is lower on my list of social faux pas than tardiness, so I did what I had to do.
Once dressed and out of the car, I began to relax. I recognized faces and was breathing outside air; everything was going to be okay.
Kelley rode up as I pulled Frank down and invited me to ride with their group; they had another beginner with them. Most of the other groups took off ahead of us, spreading out throughout the trails according to skill levels. Kelley and Co. waited patiently while I put on gloves and helmet. Then we were off; a group of 5. Two brand newbies and 3 folks who knew the ropes and were patient and encouraging.
I began learning immediately. For starters, I have always ridden in the hardest gear I can manage. The advantage? I feel tough. The disadvantage? I am down shifting like a maniac any time I see an uphill coming; when I don't see the uphill coming, I'm walking my bike. When focused on not hitting trees and rocks, it's a whole lot to be considered. Seeing that the more experienced riders did not ride like this, I evaluated my reasoning and came up with the above.
I also learned to identify the sound of 'cross chaining.' This is not a good thing as it causes unnecessary wear.
These bits of knowledge taken together, I think I will be better off riding in the middle gear on my front sprocket and ranging amoung 3 or 4 on the cassette; thereby NOT cross chaining and hopefully being better prepared for climbs.
Frank and I continued to get to know each other and we got to know the other bikes too, learning what kinds of noises the other bikes make and watching what kind of rider actions precipitate those noises.
Our group intersected with others out there, all moving at different paces, and all having a blast. All in all we rode for about 2 hours. The whole experience was fun but my most favorite was when the 3 savvy riders stopped us at the top of a hill and explained how to hit a jump so as to catch air. I squealed like a little girl and am fine with it.
In closing, I think it best for the morale of the reader that I not mention the sound of sirens which passed early in the ride. Nor would I so much as consider bringing up the fact that they were there for a rider who dislocated his elbow. Even if this were the case it would be entirely inappropriate to nickname that derogated bit of trail the 'Hend-Rocks' as a nod to the incident. An unofficial title which I have no interest in perpetuating...
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Small Talk and Spandex
I have been practicing the art of small talk. Exchanges which are relevant, friendly and fit into an 8 floor elevator ride or can be understood from the distance of a neighbor's driveway. Like most people, weather is my fall back topic. As such, this season gave rise to something along the lines of "I dare'nt get all my Spring clothes out at once, lest it guarantee another freeze!"
Well, tonight I decided to dig out my Spring clothes. I have watched my mother do this several times a year for many years now, so I knew it was going to be an ordeal. I got out plastic bags and labeled them for "give away" or "toss." Then I made the plunge into the basement where we keep totes of memorabilia, weird 80s style Jesus pictures, the cat litter box, Joshua's old terrariums, and boxes of off season clothing. Eventually I find a suitcase which I recall packing my extra clothes into at one point. I triumphantly zip it open. Inside are 2 items, a tank top dress and a floral print skirt.
I then realize, I have never had much need for a 'summer wardrobe' as I am usually engaged in some sort of endeavour which doesn't require it. Here's the run down.
I was a Ranger at Philmont (3 seasons):
shorts (1), zip offs (1), Staff shirts (3), Chacos, boots.
I worked for Alaska Icefield expeditions (2 seasons):
Carhartts (1), Staff shirts (5), staff sweatshirts (2), snow boots
I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail (1 season):
zip offs (from Philmont), T-shirt (also from Philmont), boots, some insoles and duct-tape for sandals.
At this point I have to wonder whether I don't pursue things like that specifically to avoid having to think about stuff like 'coordinating' outfits. Ask my mom, when she took me clothes shopping during High School I would grab arm loads of clothes, shut myself in the dressing room, and take a nap on them. It didn't go over so hot.
Another idea which did not go over so hot with me at first was the idea of spandex shorts with built in diapers. For starters:
And, even if you are in spectacular shape, you can still look forward to this:
My judgment ebbed on Monday when I tried to get off my bike and my Philmont shorts caught on the bike seat, thus pitching my face into the pavement (nobody worry, I broke the bike's fall with my body; Frank is okay).
It dissipated further when some man in lose cut-off shorts rode into the parking lot and dismounted by kicking his leg over the front handle bars.
My tune was changed completely by the time I sat down at the office on Monday after having ridden trails all day Sunday afternoon.
I come from a people who are naturally padded. Well, not so much on my father's side, but my mother's people are built to weather harsh winters. My most recent harsh winter involved a lot of hot chocolate drinking and cookie baking... even with all that cushioning my hiney had nothing nice to say about Bianchi. So I swallowed my pride and inquired after a pair of cycling shorts. Turns out, my mom has an extra pair.
"I never wear these because they are obscene," she explains happily as she proffers them to me.
Great. Now I'm super confident about going to ride with my new friends for the first time on Wednesday.
Fortunately I have 6 seasons of function over fashion in recent history (let's not even TOUCH the topic of childhood garb)...not to mention my only other option is a floral print skirt. And hey, it gives me something new to make small talk about.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to return to looking up funny pictures of people wearing spandex.
Well, tonight I decided to dig out my Spring clothes. I have watched my mother do this several times a year for many years now, so I knew it was going to be an ordeal. I got out plastic bags and labeled them for "give away" or "toss." Then I made the plunge into the basement where we keep totes of memorabilia, weird 80s style Jesus pictures, the cat litter box, Joshua's old terrariums, and boxes of off season clothing. Eventually I find a suitcase which I recall packing my extra clothes into at one point. I triumphantly zip it open. Inside are 2 items, a tank top dress and a floral print skirt.
I then realize, I have never had much need for a 'summer wardrobe' as I am usually engaged in some sort of endeavour which doesn't require it. Here's the run down.
I was a Ranger at Philmont (3 seasons):
shorts (1), zip offs (1), Staff shirts (3), Chacos, boots.
I worked for Alaska Icefield expeditions (2 seasons):
Carhartts (1), Staff shirts (5), staff sweatshirts (2), snow boots
I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail (1 season):
zip offs (from Philmont), T-shirt (also from Philmont), boots, some insoles and duct-tape for sandals.
At this point I have to wonder whether I don't pursue things like that specifically to avoid having to think about stuff like 'coordinating' outfits. Ask my mom, when she took me clothes shopping during High School I would grab arm loads of clothes, shut myself in the dressing room, and take a nap on them. It didn't go over so hot.
Another idea which did not go over so hot with me at first was the idea of spandex shorts with built in diapers. For starters:
And, even if you are in spectacular shape, you can still look forward to this:
My judgment ebbed on Monday when I tried to get off my bike and my Philmont shorts caught on the bike seat, thus pitching my face into the pavement (nobody worry, I broke the bike's fall with my body; Frank is okay).
It dissipated further when some man in lose cut-off shorts rode into the parking lot and dismounted by kicking his leg over the front handle bars.
My tune was changed completely by the time I sat down at the office on Monday after having ridden trails all day Sunday afternoon.
I come from a people who are naturally padded. Well, not so much on my father's side, but my mother's people are built to weather harsh winters. My most recent harsh winter involved a lot of hot chocolate drinking and cookie baking... even with all that cushioning my hiney had nothing nice to say about Bianchi. So I swallowed my pride and inquired after a pair of cycling shorts. Turns out, my mom has an extra pair.
"I never wear these because they are obscene," she explains happily as she proffers them to me.
Great. Now I'm super confident about going to ride with my new friends for the first time on Wednesday.
Fortunately I have 6 seasons of function over fashion in recent history (let's not even TOUCH the topic of childhood garb)...not to mention my only other option is a floral print skirt. And hey, it gives me something new to make small talk about.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to return to looking up funny pictures of people wearing spandex.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
It's Alive!
Planning ahead has a way of cramping my style. For example, a few weeks ago we decided to have some people from our church over for dinner. This was a great idea three weeks ago. As of 12:03 this morning, when Frank and I arrived home, it became a terrible plan. It meant playing grown up ALL DAY, when all I wanted to do was be on the trails.
So we had an awesome crock pot barbecue lunch, and I served food and refilled glasses like a champ. I even think I did a decent job of holding adult like conversation. It was actually a jolly good time, I just had to work really hard to stay present.
Then everyone left.
Mom bequeathed me a pair of shorts with built in diaper padding, something I had learned would be very much appreciated even after just a quick 30 minute ride this morning. Suited up and loaded down, I rolled out to the trails.
It was love at first bike.
Within the first hundred yards I came upon a group of the Earth Rider boys coming in from a lap. They already knew FrankinBike by name and by the pictures which Tim posted to the forum wall (which I ripped off to share with you in my previous post. Thanks Tim).
I cannot help but suspect that if Frankenstein's monster had received as warm a reception by the townspeople as FrankenBike got from these guys, that old classic would have gone in a very different direction. We discussed the fact that one of the sprockets on my rear cassette is not playing well with others, but that being a gear I will not be using for a while (as I have yet to develop the requisite muscle groups), it is not a pressing problem right now. There are tweaks to be made here and there but those will come as Frank and I get to know each other better. Right now I am just tickled.
Frank is a hard-tail but his front shocks have already revolutionized my bike riding experience. I can get over obstacles without cringing at an inevitable bum-punishment afterward; therefore, I find myself willing to try getting over bigger things. The disc breaks not only enable me to stop quickly, but allow me to enact cool slidey maneuvers which, once controlled, could probably help me get around corners more quickly. When I pull up on my handle bars, the front wheel pops right up off the ground. Crazy stuff.
So we hustled about on the trails for a bit, getting to know each other.
Although this was just our maiden voyage, I have already begun to learn things.
Today's lesson? There are two reasons that Fidgit falls off her mountain bike:
a) Riding too slow
b) Riding too fast
So we had an awesome crock pot barbecue lunch, and I served food and refilled glasses like a champ. I even think I did a decent job of holding adult like conversation. It was actually a jolly good time, I just had to work really hard to stay present.
Then everyone left.
Mom bequeathed me a pair of shorts with built in diaper padding, something I had learned would be very much appreciated even after just a quick 30 minute ride this morning. Suited up and loaded down, I rolled out to the trails.
It was love at first bike.
Within the first hundred yards I came upon a group of the Earth Rider boys coming in from a lap. They already knew FrankinBike by name and by the pictures which Tim posted to the forum wall (which I ripped off to share with you in my previous post. Thanks Tim).
I cannot help but suspect that if Frankenstein's monster had received as warm a reception by the townspeople as FrankenBike got from these guys, that old classic would have gone in a very different direction. We discussed the fact that one of the sprockets on my rear cassette is not playing well with others, but that being a gear I will not be using for a while (as I have yet to develop the requisite muscle groups), it is not a pressing problem right now. There are tweaks to be made here and there but those will come as Frank and I get to know each other better. Right now I am just tickled.
Frank is a hard-tail but his front shocks have already revolutionized my bike riding experience. I can get over obstacles without cringing at an inevitable bum-punishment afterward; therefore, I find myself willing to try getting over bigger things. The disc breaks not only enable me to stop quickly, but allow me to enact cool slidey maneuvers which, once controlled, could probably help me get around corners more quickly. When I pull up on my handle bars, the front wheel pops right up off the ground. Crazy stuff.
So we hustled about on the trails for a bit, getting to know each other.
Although this was just our maiden voyage, I have already begun to learn things.
Today's lesson? There are two reasons that Fidgit falls off her mountain bike:
a) Riding too slow
b) Riding too fast
The Building of a Beast
5 O'clock could not come soon enough on Saturday. I occupied myself as best I could at work all day but kept having to talk myself out of running down the 11 flights of stairs and out the front door. Our staff began clocking out at 5:00. At 5:02, I was out of there. By 6 my frame and I were pulling up outside of Tim's place. Tim's wife, Heather, was coming around the side of the house, covered in grass from a day of 'beginning of not-winter-anymore' lawn maintenance.
Tim too showed evidence of recent lawn work. He and Kevin were hanging out in the garage. All kinds of toys lined the walls. Bikes hung from the ceiling, bike parts were spread all over the floor. Boxes overflowed with bike parts.
Kevin presented me with my very own hydration pack. We threw the frame up onto a mountain bike jack (I actually have no idea what the device is called, but it sure was handy) and I picked my own tires from amoung many selections. I learned how to take a tire off the rim and how to put it back on. How to overfill the tube until the threads line up (when you hear it go 'pop'), let air back out, and then fill them to an 'appropriate for riding' level. I was taught to have due respect for nuts. Not to pinch them or clamp down too tight, also to make sure they are straight. (turns out, bike terminology is open to interpretation and easily inuendo-fied. Not that ANYONE in that garage that night would stoop to such lows).
We put the wheels on and there was the form of a bike.
Justin and his wife, Jenna, came to play too. She and I will be new to the trails together this year and I am more than pumped to have someone coming into the community at the same time so we can learn together.
The bike came together before my eyes. An orange Trek 4300 frame, yellow and black wheels, disk breaks with a blue caliper, shifters, a 9 speed cassette, a sea green seat, Shimano derailleurs, a black Specialized handlebar, red Salsa grips. "It's gotta be called Frank," Justin declared, "as in FrankinBike." We all agreed.
Threading the break and shifter cables through the correct housing stitched my monster together. Dan tested the sifters and breaks as Tim adjusted the cables; lightening struck and the creature came to life. For an interminable instant Tim and Frank had a stare down, the former running a mental check on the latter. I was all but crawling up the walls. Finally he took it off the mount, grinned, and released the bike to my eager self.
Riding up and down the block, I was full blown Fidgit. A self that has been hibernating since last September. A self that smiles big and cheesy and whose heart swells up like a helium balloon at a birthday party.
There are not enough thank yous in the whole wide world to convey to these folks how very happy and excited I am. So I figure, I'll just have to prove it by 1) Riding as much as I want 2) Getting at least 2 other new people out on the trails to play 3) Doing my part to protect, expand, and enjoy the trails.
Tim too showed evidence of recent lawn work. He and Kevin were hanging out in the garage. All kinds of toys lined the walls. Bikes hung from the ceiling, bike parts were spread all over the floor. Boxes overflowed with bike parts.
Kevin presented me with my very own hydration pack. We threw the frame up onto a mountain bike jack (I actually have no idea what the device is called, but it sure was handy) and I picked my own tires from amoung many selections. I learned how to take a tire off the rim and how to put it back on. How to overfill the tube until the threads line up (when you hear it go 'pop'), let air back out, and then fill them to an 'appropriate for riding' level. I was taught to have due respect for nuts. Not to pinch them or clamp down too tight, also to make sure they are straight. (turns out, bike terminology is open to interpretation and easily inuendo-fied. Not that ANYONE in that garage that night would stoop to such lows).
We put the wheels on and there was the form of a bike.
Justin and his wife, Jenna, came to play too. She and I will be new to the trails together this year and I am more than pumped to have someone coming into the community at the same time so we can learn together.
The bike came together before my eyes. An orange Trek 4300 frame, yellow and black wheels, disk breaks with a blue caliper, shifters, a 9 speed cassette, a sea green seat, Shimano derailleurs, a black Specialized handlebar, red Salsa grips. "It's gotta be called Frank," Justin declared, "as in FrankinBike." We all agreed.
Threading the break and shifter cables through the correct housing stitched my monster together. Dan tested the sifters and breaks as Tim adjusted the cables; lightening struck and the creature came to life. For an interminable instant Tim and Frank had a stare down, the former running a mental check on the latter. I was all but crawling up the walls. Finally he took it off the mount, grinned, and released the bike to my eager self.
Riding up and down the block, I was full blown Fidgit. A self that has been hibernating since last September. A self that smiles big and cheesy and whose heart swells up like a helium balloon at a birthday party.
There are not enough thank yous in the whole wide world to convey to these folks how very happy and excited I am. So I figure, I'll just have to prove it by 1) Riding as much as I want 2) Getting at least 2 other new people out on the trails to play 3) Doing my part to protect, expand, and enjoy the trails.
(Sh)overs and (M)akers
The energy of mountain bikers (when not riding) is, in one word, "casual". The other cool thing about them is, they ride mountain bikes; and know a lot about mountain bikes. As such, since new bikes were out of my price range, and I do not know enough of much of anything to be a wise consumer, I began seeking advice from them for my Craig's List hunt for a machine. Reviews, words of caution, but most of all words of support poured back and forth on their email forum.
On Wednesday nights the clan gathers out at Sail Boat Cove. This Wednesday was their first official "Hump Day" ride of the season. They ride, they grill, they commune. With tax season coming to a head, making work less than easy going, I was in dire need of a fix. So I headed out.
One of the guys, Adam, walked up with a Trek 4300 frame which his son (also present) had outgrown. He handed it to me, "for the cause," he explained simply. I was flabbergasted. Excitement kept sweeping over me all night. I enjoyed hanging out and grilling with everyone (Geoff makes some tasty burgers!) but I kept having to go back to my car to look at my frame. Advice on parts and pieces began flying. I did my best to jot things down in my notebook. The sun had set and we milled about gathering in toward the warmth of the grill as the air chilled. From across the glow of the coals, with the jut of a chin, Tim King said, "I've got tires for 'ya."
Now, the trail has taught me to accept kindness for the blessings it is but I doubt anyone would ever call me much of gracious at anything. As such, I hardly knew what to do in light of so much open generosity; so I just let it fill me up to beaming point. I was squirming around (both inside and out) for the rest of the night. When I got home I woke up the family dancing around the house with my new frame.
The next night I came home from work, and trained like Pavlov's Dog, headed straight to my computer to make the cyber rounds. I checked into my email and there was a forum thread titled 'Fidgit's Bike'. I was immediately anxious. I walked away; I watered the cat and fed the plants. Finally I worked up the courage and went back to my computer and opened the email. There was an 18 message long thread discussing parts, tools, and location for a bike build. For my bike. I was smiling so much it hurt, I was blushing so much it burned. My dog came over, anxious but wagging her tail, not sure what to make of it.
A standing, open invitation on a warm-ish Friday night was the venue for the official unofficial 'pre build meeting'. We reclined in patio furniture outside of a much loved and well known spot, obviously accustomed to the Earth Rider's presence. I can say with certainty that not all waitresses would so easily accept the clickity clacking of clip in shoes and sweaty riders threading bikes around tables and patrons.
Stories were told, jokes were leveled, and plans were made. We were meeting at Tim & Heather's Saturday evening and building Fidgit a bike...
On Wednesday nights the clan gathers out at Sail Boat Cove. This Wednesday was their first official "Hump Day" ride of the season. They ride, they grill, they commune. With tax season coming to a head, making work less than easy going, I was in dire need of a fix. So I headed out.
One of the guys, Adam, walked up with a Trek 4300 frame which his son (also present) had outgrown. He handed it to me, "for the cause," he explained simply. I was flabbergasted. Excitement kept sweeping over me all night. I enjoyed hanging out and grilling with everyone (Geoff makes some tasty burgers!) but I kept having to go back to my car to look at my frame. Advice on parts and pieces began flying. I did my best to jot things down in my notebook. The sun had set and we milled about gathering in toward the warmth of the grill as the air chilled. From across the glow of the coals, with the jut of a chin, Tim King said, "I've got tires for 'ya."
Now, the trail has taught me to accept kindness for the blessings it is but I doubt anyone would ever call me much of gracious at anything. As such, I hardly knew what to do in light of so much open generosity; so I just let it fill me up to beaming point. I was squirming around (both inside and out) for the rest of the night. When I got home I woke up the family dancing around the house with my new frame.
The next night I came home from work, and trained like Pavlov's Dog, headed straight to my computer to make the cyber rounds. I checked into my email and there was a forum thread titled 'Fidgit's Bike'. I was immediately anxious. I walked away; I watered the cat and fed the plants. Finally I worked up the courage and went back to my computer and opened the email. There was an 18 message long thread discussing parts, tools, and location for a bike build. For my bike. I was smiling so much it hurt, I was blushing so much it burned. My dog came over, anxious but wagging her tail, not sure what to make of it.
A standing, open invitation on a warm-ish Friday night was the venue for the official unofficial 'pre build meeting'. We reclined in patio furniture outside of a much loved and well known spot, obviously accustomed to the Earth Rider's presence. I can say with certainty that not all waitresses would so easily accept the clickity clacking of clip in shoes and sweaty riders threading bikes around tables and patrons.
Stories were told, jokes were leveled, and plans were made. We were meeting at Tim & Heather's Saturday evening and building Fidgit a bike...
Where every new Adventure Begins
The latest episode in the Fidgit Saga began (little to my own knowledge) somewhere in the High Sierras last summer. I spent many miles violating LNT code, hiking around the edges of the trail. Most of us thru-hikers justified it; I mean, the trail was a muddy river, or was somewhere under deep banks of snow. Still, even the best justifications do not alter truth. The truth is this, you tromp around off the trail, you impact a wider spread of land. One day in particular I made (as I often did) a Public Service Announcement: I promised to make amends by doing trail work when I got home.
I got home. I missed my life on the trail every single day. I gave (give) talks about the code of that life, calling it 'Truths from the Trail'; telling others to get outside and to love the land and themselves. To accept both unequivocally.
One day in particular I spoke these words, ran out to my car and sped toward my day job. My joy sank into a pit in my stomach. I was not living by the code I preach. I acknowledged I had begun to veer off trail in my own life.
How to get back on? Hold to your commitments.
Months had passed and I had yet to fulfill my promise of trail work. That night I got online and, following names and a few leads I had come across, I found the Earth Rider's blog. They had trail work planned that weekend. My heart leaped and a tiny smile niggled at my cheeks.
That weekend, donning work clothes from my days on the ranch I headed out to the Smoke & Davey's trail head at Smithville Lake.
I pulled into the parking-lot to find 20 some odd folk gathered 'round. Greeted with a box of doughnuts and smiles all around, I was instantly at ease. They asked my name and I replied, "Fidgit." They were not immediately dubious or incredulous; they got it. Several of them bear trail names as well.
A round of introductions and chit chat gave way to a haul out to the area we would be building trail. I expelled the verbal diarrhea which comes with the territory of meeting new people. These folks were as understanding and patient of a group as could be found. They answered every question, chuckled at goofy stories, and most of all, were just plain encouraging.
Within hours we had cleared the brush, chainsaws took care of the larger stuff, and the Dingo (their loving name for what is essentially a pushable Bob Cat) had set a discernible trail. We all rallied around to set a few rock bridges. Imagine, if you will, 10 people trying to do a single jigsaw puzzle. Make the majority of them male and throw a sledge hammer into the mix and you have some idea of what ensued.
Just as we put final touches to the new segment of trail, a family came riding along. Murmurs of "Sweet, man." "Awesome." "That's so cool." swept down the line of trail builders as the 6-year-old boy, followed by big brother, 2 sisters and their dad pedaled past. A grin swept across every face.
These men, with thousands of miles of cumulative riding and vast stores of knowledge regarding mountain biking, gladly stood aside. Behind sports sunglasses, eyes beamed. There was no caste judgment passed, just unadulterated joy at having created something good. I decided I liked these people, very much, and needed more of them in my life.
I got home. I missed my life on the trail every single day. I gave (give) talks about the code of that life, calling it 'Truths from the Trail'; telling others to get outside and to love the land and themselves. To accept both unequivocally.
One day in particular I spoke these words, ran out to my car and sped toward my day job. My joy sank into a pit in my stomach. I was not living by the code I preach. I acknowledged I had begun to veer off trail in my own life.
How to get back on? Hold to your commitments.
Months had passed and I had yet to fulfill my promise of trail work. That night I got online and, following names and a few leads I had come across, I found the Earth Rider's blog. They had trail work planned that weekend. My heart leaped and a tiny smile niggled at my cheeks.
That weekend, donning work clothes from my days on the ranch I headed out to the Smoke & Davey's trail head at Smithville Lake.
I pulled into the parking-lot to find 20 some odd folk gathered 'round. Greeted with a box of doughnuts and smiles all around, I was instantly at ease. They asked my name and I replied, "Fidgit." They were not immediately dubious or incredulous; they got it. Several of them bear trail names as well.
A round of introductions and chit chat gave way to a haul out to the area we would be building trail. I expelled the verbal diarrhea which comes with the territory of meeting new people. These folks were as understanding and patient of a group as could be found. They answered every question, chuckled at goofy stories, and most of all, were just plain encouraging.
Within hours we had cleared the brush, chainsaws took care of the larger stuff, and the Dingo (their loving name for what is essentially a pushable Bob Cat) had set a discernible trail. We all rallied around to set a few rock bridges. Imagine, if you will, 10 people trying to do a single jigsaw puzzle. Make the majority of them male and throw a sledge hammer into the mix and you have some idea of what ensued.
Just as we put final touches to the new segment of trail, a family came riding along. Murmurs of "Sweet, man." "Awesome." "That's so cool." swept down the line of trail builders as the 6-year-old boy, followed by big brother, 2 sisters and their dad pedaled past. A grin swept across every face.
These men, with thousands of miles of cumulative riding and vast stores of knowledge regarding mountain biking, gladly stood aside. Behind sports sunglasses, eyes beamed. There was no caste judgment passed, just unadulterated joy at having created something good. I decided I liked these people, very much, and needed more of them in my life.
Tacky Title
Is the title of this blog tacky?
Yes.
Did it seem like a great idea at the time?
Yes.
Have I had a better idea yet?
No.
Erego, here we go.
Or rather,
here I am.
Yes.
Did it seem like a great idea at the time?
Yes.
Have I had a better idea yet?
No.
Erego, here we go.
Or rather,
here I am.
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