I'm So Dizzy, My Head is Spinning.....

With my apologies to whoever sang that song in the 70's......

Katydid and I went bike shopping today, and I'm more confused than ever.

I know some things I want on my bike, but there are so many choices to make that it is completely baffling. And of the definite things I want on my bike, some people try to talk me out of those very things.

My main requirement is that it have a triple, or three chain rings. That provides an additional set of gears on the low end, mainly for climbing. Or for really slow people like me.

The very first guy we talked to said he was going to try to talk me out of a triple and into a compact. I said the last guy who sold me a bike talked me into a compact, and I was going to hunt him down and kill him.

He wisely said then, "I want you to have a triple."

What brand? The two I'm trying to decide between are Cannondale and Trek. Both have women-specific designs, which I like very much. I've had a Trek and loved it. I've had a Cannondale and loved it. The last bike I had was a Giant, only because it came in yellow and it was something the guy could get. (Not every bike store carries every brand .... evidently you have to be ALLOWED to sell certain kinds.....) More on the color issue later.

Then there is the decision between carbon fiber and an aluminum frame. Many people swear by carbon because it's lighter. I'm all about lighter in my bike, since I'm not having much luck making MYSELF lighter. Personally, I blame it on the lack of a triple. One salesman will swear by carbon, and the next will be an aluminum devotee. Sigh.

Then of course there is the matter of size. As one cute little salesman said today, very diplomatically, "Since you're not very tall......." How sweet of him. I had no idea that I would require a 47-48 cm bike. Who knew?

And there is the matter of test riding. Out of all the bikes we looked at today, I got to sit on one of them. These bikes aren't typically in stock, so you basically wind up buying something out of a catalog. Or off the internet. I could have stayed home this morning.

It may seem silly, but color is also important. It's not like buying a car, where you decide on the model and they have it in a gazillion different colors, one of them bound to strike your fancy.

Oh no.

Each model of bike comes in AT MOST two colors, some of them only one. Where do you compromise? If the model you really want comes in a butt-ugly color (like grey with teal accents), do you go with a different model to get the right color?

That sort of feels like going shopping for a BMW convertible and settling for a Toyota Camry because it comes in the right color.

The price ranges are enormous too, so that doesn't help a lot. We looked at bikes everywhere from $849 to $4200 today.

To top it all off, most of those bicycle shop folks talk way over my head about gear ratios, components, and lots of terms I can't even remember. I hate feeling stupid, so I just nod a lot. One of them asked me what my rear cassette looks like on my current bike, and I almost told him he was getting a little personal. I'm doing good just to know what a derailleur is.

I'm having dinner with my buddy Rozmo this week, and she is much more knowledgeable than I am. Perhaps she can help answer my questions, or at least tell me what questions to ask.

I remember when the most difficult decision to make about a bicycle was whether it had a basket or not.....

Gus and His Vocabulary......

Gus probably isn't that much smarter than a lot of dogs. He does have quite a vocabulary, though. Besides the obvious "treat" and "out" and "walk," he knows some others too.

One of his favorites is "swimming." He thinks he and Libby are really blood siblings, so he thinks he's a Lab also. He gets in the pool even before Libby does. And if we accidentally leave the back gate open to the pool, he will go out there all by himself and take a little dip. Even Libby doesn't get in the pool if we're not out there. I have fussed and fussed at Gus, because he knows little children aren't supposed to get in the pool alone. He just can't resist.

He also knows the word "clothes." If I say that word, he goes to the basement door. He waits at the top of the stairs to see where I'm going. If I turn left, he just stands there and waits, because it isn't really that exciting to go get laundry out of the washer or the dryer. If I turn right at the bottom of the stairs, though, he goes kind of crazy. Then he knows that I'm about to open the big overhead garage door, and he goes into a barking frenzy. If I do raise the door, he grabs hold of the rope at the bottom of it and hangs on for dear life, riding the rope upward with the door. I guess it's sort of a doggie amusement park ride.

One of his favorite phrases is "time to go to bed." He gets his nightly treat and heads up to the bedroom. Hubby usually goes to bed first, and Gus goes up with him. If I stay downstairs for any length of time, though, he comes back down and lies at my feet until I get ready to go up.

A treat is one thing, but he will dance for "cheese." If I ask Hubby if he wants cheese on his sandwich, I have to spell it, or Gus goes to the refrigerator and refuses to move.

It isn't just words, though. When I come home in the afternoon, if I change into tennis shoes and shorts, he knows we are going to the park. Or he hopes we are. He stands there at my feet, one paw up in the air, looking at me expectantly and slowing wagging his tail one way. Then the other. Wag. Wag. If I say the magic word, he starts barking to let Libby (outside) know that we are going to the park, going to the park, going to the park, going to the park, going to the park.

He also seems to know when I'm planning to ride my motorcycle to school. This morning when I came downstairs, before I could even head to the basement door, he was already standing there, anxious to get on with the opening of the big door.

If he's all that smart, why doesn't he know where the squirrels go?

Revenge is Sweet..... and Lucrative........

There's this guy Hubby knows at the golf course. Not a friend, just a young guy he's seen on the course before. Hubby says the guy is an a__hole, which makes this story even better.

I don't know if his girlfriend was snooping or if she stumbled across it accidentally (not likely, I'm guessing), but she found some child pornography on the guy's computer.

Naturally she was disgusted.

You know how some women get revenge by throwing their men's stuff out in the yard, perhaps setting it on fire to make the point really stick?

This girl went one better.

She gathered up his belongings and took them to the golf course, where she SOLD THEM to the same guys he plays golf with.

In the words of one of Hubby's buddies, "I got a really good Jeff Gordon jacket for five bucks!"

To top it off, the girl called the local pizza place where her boyfriend (I'm guessing he's an ex-boyfriend now?) and asked to speak to the manager, because that's what he had told her his job was.

Turns out she was speaking to the manager, who was NOT her boyfriend, and the boyfriend was actually a busboy.

Busted.

Oh, and on top of selling all his belongings, she stopped paying his golf dues.

Man, that's cold.

Hee hee.

Burning the Candle at Both Ends.....

Burning the candle at both ends.....I haven't really liked that expression ever since I heard a guy use it to describe the effects Mexican food has on him.

You're welcome.

Up early this morning and going nonstop ever since. Unfortunately, that means I have no time tonight for words of wisdom, humor, poignancy, history, confusion, celebration, reflection, judgment, complaint, praise, or cynicism.

Hell, I don't even have time tonight for drivel.

You're welcome.

In anticipation of tomorrow night's post, however, I will titillate you with the promise of a story about a guy Hubby knows from the golf course whose ex-girlfriend exacted some satisfying revenge. **Giggle**

Happy Endings.....

Before I went out of town last weekend, I realized I had lost my necklace. I'm not that big on jewelry. I wear the same rings and necklace all the time. I do change out my earrings, but I never remove my rings or necklace, even when I sleep or swim.

So by the time I realized my necklace was gone, I had no idea when I'd last been aware of it. I figured the most likely place for it to be was in the hamper, where I had accidentally pulled it off over my head with a t-shirt.

I forgot to look for it before I left town, and I became aware over the weekend of just how often I play with the pendants.

The chain itself doesn't hold that much sentimental value for me, but the two pendants do. One is a bicycle that Sweet Girl gave me for Christmas in 1994. It's missing one of its handlebars, but the wheels on it actually turn. I've worn it all these years. The other pendant was also a gift from Sweet Girl, a long rectangular pendant with my name on one side and on the other side my name in Arabic. I guess it's my name.....it might say "Death to Americans" for all I know about Arabic. But she brought it back from the Persian Gulf on her last tour there, so it is very special.

I texted Hubby from the bike ride and told him if he emptied Kirby (our automatic pool vacuum), to please look for my necklace. He did, but he didn't find it.

I looked all over the bottom of the pool, thinking the necklace should be easily visible against the dark blue background of the pool liner. No luck.

Hubby suggested I look in Kirby again, since it could have been picked up after he emptied it. It wasn't easily visible, but after I squeezed all along the debris bag (think: cake decorating bag only with a putrid smell), the handlebar of the bicycle pendant poked through.

It was tangled and slightly nasty, but everything was intact. I love happy endings.

Subtlety is Lost on Some People.....

One of the things we stress on BRAG (and similar bicycle rides) the most is the issue of safety. That can mean riding safely, wearing the proper clothing and a helmet, drinking sufficient fluids, and washing your hands.

On BRAG 1999 (I think), there was a horrible outbreak of an intestinal illness that sent many riders home. I am thankful that I didn't come down with it, but apparently enough people did that it got the attention of health officials. BRAG folks did a survey and while a cause was never definitively identified, there seemed to be a link back to folks putting their hands in bags of ice (to fill up their water bottles).

Many people were guilty of keeping their gloves on at rest stops. The gloves with which they had more than likely wiped their noses, wiped sweat off their brows, kept on while they visited the porta-potties, and then approached the food table. To put their hands in the ice bags.

Yuck.

I never was one to put ice in my water bottles. I figured it was pretty much a waste, since ice in Georgia in June wasn't going to stay ice very long. I fill my water bottles up at the rest stops, and if the water is tepid a few miles down the road, I'm still grateful I have it.

Ever since then, there has been a huge emphasis on hand washing at rest stops. There aren't any bags of ice out in the open, either. The tables are stamped with the words "Remove gloves and wash hands," and volunteers are instructed to enforce the policy.

There was a lady who worked rest stop #2 for several years, and she became (somewhat) affectionately known as "The Glove Nazi" or "The Rest Stop Nazi." She took her job very seriously, and she was even posted on the net doing part of her "gloves off wash your hands" routine.




I admired her to some extent for taking her job so seriously, but it began to wear on the nerves by day 7. You could hear her screaming before you even GOT to the rest stop. She hasn't been back in the last couple of years..... hmmmmm.....

Some people, though, need that kind of admonishment. I encountered a girl (woman) yesterday who would have incurred the wrath of The Glove Nazi.

She approached the table with her gloves still on, and the volunteer nicely asked her, "Have you removed your gloves and washed your hands?"

"Well, obviously I haven't removed my gloves," she responded, as she helped herself to some slices of peaches.

"We ask that riders remove their gloves to keep from spreading germs. There was a nasty illness on BRAG a few years ago."

"I've never been a rule follower," Miss Gloves On said, munching on her peaches and not the least concerned that everyone was staring at her.

Someone said, "The Glove Nazi would be yelling at you."

She said, "I don't mind getting yelled at."

I couldn't stand it. I had to speak up. "I'd rather be yelled at than come down with that horrible illness that went around on BRAG."

I swear to you, she said, "Oh, you haven't lived until you've had the swine flu."

I was aghast. I said, "Then I haven't lived, and I don't want to."

She just laughed.

She never got it. She never took her gloves off, so I'm sure she didn't wash her hands.

Gross. I hope she comes down with the dysentery from hell.

Sunday's Ride........

I couldn't beleive it when I looked at the time when I finished today. I was going sooooooooooooo sloooooooooooooooowly that I thought I was about 2 hours later finishing today than yesterday. It was actually only 10 minutes longer. I also thought the elevation was much more kick-ass today, but the GPS says otherwise. There were a couple of killer hills today, naturally at the end. I was just creeping up them. A guy came up beside me and said, "Are you in your lowest gear? Have you ever thought about getting a triple?"

His remains are somewhere along the side of the road.

The guy who sold me my bike assured me that the compact crankset I had was just as good as a triple.

He lied.

I think I will hunt him down and hill him too.

I WILL have a triple before I attempt another ride on my single bike.

I thought I had one of those "this would only happen to Bragger" experiences today, but it turns out I didn't really.

Today's route was 51 miles. The "short" option was 47 miles. What the hell? If I could ride 47 miles, surely I could ride 51. I mean, the last few were going to be the same anyway; it's not like they just tack on the extra 4 at the end.

I opted for the 51 mainly because it crossed into Tennessee, and I could legitimately say I rode to Tennessee on my bicycle. I was watching on the GPS to cross the state line, and I was riding with this other girl. We got to a park, and when we turned in, I noticed that the arrows turned around and went back out. So we just did a u-turn without venturing into the park very far. Turns out THAT'S where the state line was. I was bummed because I didn't think I had actually ridden to Tennessee, but as you can see from the map above (you might have to scootch it down a little bit), we definitely crossed the line.

I had my iPhone playing my music for the last half of the day, and I had it on shuffle. That was the only way to keep my sanity today. It was brutal out there.

When I rode up to my car, the song that came on was Julianne Hough's "My Hallelujah Song."

I am NOT making this up.

The song starts out: "Look at me, can't believe I finally made it here. Feeling like I'm where I belong. Singing my hallelujah song."

It made me smile at a time when I was thinking I might never smile again.