I would like to break up the monotony of words with a few photos from today's ride, but sadly I didn't take any. Not one photograph. I'm an abject failure as a cyclist/photographer.
The Sunday ride on a 3-day weekend ride is sort of a weird thing. We approach it more casually, maybe because it's the last day. We think of it as "only a 40-mile ride," but maybe that's because it's so much shorter than the 100 miles we rode yesterday. There aren't many times I would leave home and say I'm "only" going to ride 40 miles. Some people might tell me, as I told Rita yesterday, that "only" and "40 miles" don't belong in the same sentence. Oddly enough, we ride at a more relaxed pace, even though most of us are already packed up and ready to go home.
Today's route began and ended on the beautiful Riverwalk. It's so pretty, winding along next to the river and seeing the fishing boats out early in the morning. We also went to Fort Benning, where we had to produce a photo i.d. to get back ON the base. We had already BEEN there and had ridden past it to get to a rest stop, and we had to produce i.d. to get back ON. Huh? How can one get on the fort at one point and then leave it, only to have to identify oneself to get back to where you were in the first place? (I apologize for the poor pronoun reference in the preceding sentence. I'm too tired to be my usual grammatically perfect self.)
I was hoping Rozmo wouldn't notice that our total mileage for the weekend was going to be 193 miles. I just knew she would insist we ride an additional 7 miles, and while that wouldn't have been debilitating, I was ready to go home. And I wanted to get on the road before the Falcons kicked off so I could A) listen to the game; and B) get through Atlanta before the game ended, since I would be driving the RV almost right by the stadium. When she DID realize it, though, she didn't even mention wanting to "round up" our mileage to 200. Whew. I think she was ready to go home too.
That's likely our last multi-day ride for this year. I would love to do the North Florida Tour again (first weekend in November), but only if they can guarantee I won't nearly freeze to death this time. But it conflicts with football anyway, so I'm not even entertaining the idea.
Even with all the crises (and I haven't even written about one of them yet, because I didn't want it to sound like I was looking for things to go wrong), it was a good weekend. But I'm glad to be home. As always.
Showing posts with label BikeFest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BikeFest. Show all posts
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
BikeFest Saturday........
Well, we thought it would be a good idea. Again this year.
Riding the century ride, that is.
We had promises of it being better than last year because the roads were NOT Alabama roads. And that was correct.
Still, 100 miles is 100 miles, and it was pretty miserable toward the end. Correction: It was pretty miserable toward the middle. From the middle to the end was a special form of hell all by itself. Correction: From the middle to 10 miles from the end was a special form of hell all by itself. The last 10 miles were heavenly. But I may be in the market for a butt transplant. (It isn't really the butt, but to discuss the actual anatomical location would be indelicate. To say the least.)
Our first 10 miles today were on a bike path that is shady and fairly flat, and naturally free of traffic, so those were pleasant miles. We knew we would also return by the same path, so as Rita kept saying, "We really only have to ride 90 miles, because those last 10 are like a gift." I finally told her that "90 miles" and "only" didn't belong in the same sentence.
There were times today when I thought I should make a point to hang out with Rita more. She's so positive, so upbeat, so cheerful. All. The. Damn. Time. At about mile 75, though, when she said in her best cheerleader-type voice, "Guys, we're three quarters of the way through, and it's the hardest three quarters!!!!!" I almost told her to put a sock in it. There's really only so much cheerfulness a person can stand, especially on a 100-mile bike ride.
Rita was kind enough to stay with us all day, however, even though I'm pretty sure she had to dial it back a few notches (most of her notches?) to ride at the pace Rozmo and I tend to keep. I thought it was because she's much fitter and about ten years younger than I am, then I found out she is the same age I am. I'm trying not to hate her guts. I didn't always stay right with them, but I was never far behind, and I always caught up.
Rita kept saying that at mile 55 we would be at the highest point of the day, and it was "all downhill after that." I didn't want to come off as a Negative Nancy (sorry to any of you named Nancy out there), so I didn't point out that just because we had passed the HIGHEST point of the day, that didn't mean we wouldn't still have to do some ups-and-downs. I didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm. Wait...yes I did. Only it's impossible to dampen Rita's enthusiasm.
There were some awesome fraternity boys manning a couple of the rest stops, and they were truly delightful. They were selling pink bracelets to raise money for breast cancer awareness, so naturally I bought one. Rozmo bought five. Overachiever. One of the fraternity boys also served as the designated driver for his friends last night, so he was operating on about 30 minutes of sleep. On the century day. And he was smiling the whole time. Gotta love him.
When we got back and went to get our precious, prized bandanas, I came out to find my water bottle on the ground. I didn't think much of it, until I realized the cage was broken. A gentleman (?) came over and apologized, saying he was the guilty party, he wasn't watching what he was doing and knocked my bike over. (That's almost akin to someone keying your car.) He saw me standing there with the pieces of my water bottle cage in my hand, but he didn't offer to pay for the damage. (I probably would have refused anyway, but still.) Only after I had the bike back at the RV did I realize that BOTH water bottle cages were broken, and it cost me $36 to replace them. I could have managed with one, but not with zero. I could also have had carbon cages for $100, but water bottle cages is not an area in which I'm inclined to splurge.
This was my eighth century, and while the smart thing would be to say it will be my last, I'm not known for being smart or having a good memory. Like childbirth, the agony of riding the century will fade, and I'll pony up to do another one. Even with Rita. If I don't put a merciful end to her undying cheerfulness.
Riding the century ride, that is.
We had promises of it being better than last year because the roads were NOT Alabama roads. And that was correct.
Still, 100 miles is 100 miles, and it was pretty miserable toward the end. Correction: It was pretty miserable toward the middle. From the middle to the end was a special form of hell all by itself. Correction: From the middle to 10 miles from the end was a special form of hell all by itself. The last 10 miles were heavenly. But I may be in the market for a butt transplant. (It isn't really the butt, but to discuss the actual anatomical location would be indelicate. To say the least.)
Our first 10 miles today were on a bike path that is shady and fairly flat, and naturally free of traffic, so those were pleasant miles. We knew we would also return by the same path, so as Rita kept saying, "We really only have to ride 90 miles, because those last 10 are like a gift." I finally told her that "90 miles" and "only" didn't belong in the same sentence.
There were times today when I thought I should make a point to hang out with Rita more. She's so positive, so upbeat, so cheerful. All. The. Damn. Time. At about mile 75, though, when she said in her best cheerleader-type voice, "Guys, we're three quarters of the way through, and it's the hardest three quarters!!!!!" I almost told her to put a sock in it. There's really only so much cheerfulness a person can stand, especially on a 100-mile bike ride.
Rita was kind enough to stay with us all day, however, even though I'm pretty sure she had to dial it back a few notches (most of her notches?) to ride at the pace Rozmo and I tend to keep. I thought it was because she's much fitter and about ten years younger than I am, then I found out she is the same age I am. I'm trying not to hate her guts. I didn't always stay right with them, but I was never far behind, and I always caught up.
Rita kept saying that at mile 55 we would be at the highest point of the day, and it was "all downhill after that." I didn't want to come off as a Negative Nancy (sorry to any of you named Nancy out there), so I didn't point out that just because we had passed the HIGHEST point of the day, that didn't mean we wouldn't still have to do some ups-and-downs. I didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm. Wait...yes I did. Only it's impossible to dampen Rita's enthusiasm.
There were some awesome fraternity boys manning a couple of the rest stops, and they were truly delightful. They were selling pink bracelets to raise money for breast cancer awareness, so naturally I bought one. Rozmo bought five. Overachiever. One of the fraternity boys also served as the designated driver for his friends last night, so he was operating on about 30 minutes of sleep. On the century day. And he was smiling the whole time. Gotta love him.
When we got back and went to get our precious, prized bandanas, I came out to find my water bottle on the ground. I didn't think much of it, until I realized the cage was broken. A gentleman (?) came over and apologized, saying he was the guilty party, he wasn't watching what he was doing and knocked my bike over. (That's almost akin to someone keying your car.) He saw me standing there with the pieces of my water bottle cage in my hand, but he didn't offer to pay for the damage. (I probably would have refused anyway, but still.) Only after I had the bike back at the RV did I realize that BOTH water bottle cages were broken, and it cost me $36 to replace them. I could have managed with one, but not with zero. I could also have had carbon cages for $100, but water bottle cages is not an area in which I'm inclined to splurge.
 |
| This is Ken, Janet, and Janet's daughter Courtney. Until Friday, Courtney had never been on a bike ride longer than 15 miles. She rode 50 on Friday and 100 today. I bow down to her. |
 |
| Rita and Rozmo. This was at the rest stop at the end of the trail at mile 10. It was also the rest stop at mile 90, but I was pretty much over taking pictures by then. They were still smiling, however. Especially the ever-cheerful Rita. |
 |
| This is Dragos, and I love his name. I love almost everything about him, except for the fact that he is an Auburn grad. I first met Dragos on the bike ride in Iowa (either 2004 or 2006, I can't remember which), and we've run into each other a couple of times a year since then. He is delightful, and a kick-ass rider. Ah, youth. |
 |
| Me, Rita, and Rozmo with our bandanas. Right before I fond out about the idiot breaking my water bottle cages. I mean, the nice gentleman who confessed to knocking my bike over. |
 |
| I hung my bandana up in the RV, and I can't bring myself to take it down. It may still be there next year when time for BRAG comes around in June. |
Friday, October 12, 2012
Georgia BikeFest 2012 Friday.....
EDITED TO ADD: I have no idea what happened to this post last night. I'm pretty sure I clicked "Publish," but I can't guarantee it. I will back date it so it doesn't look like I have two posts on the same night. Because I'm weird that way.
Tonight you get somewhat of a break from my yammering. I took a few photos on today's ride, but not enough to capture the essence of the day.
Rozmo and I waited until about 9:00 to leave this morning, which was heavenly compared to the 6:00 AM we usually try to leave on BRAG. We wanted to give it a chance to warm up so we wouldn't have to dress in layers that we would later have to take off. And try to track down a sag vehicle to retrieve them when we got back.
Today's route was the Saturday route from last year, which basically means it sucked. A lot of shake and bake (that's we call rough pavement), and it was almost entirely in Alabama. Strike two. Lots of hills, but we couldn't complain about the weather. It was very pleasant when we left, and while it got hot this afternoon, we've ridden in a lot worse heat.
Rozmo, Steve and I had dinner at a place where they have a $30 hamburger, and if you can eat it -- alone -- in under 30 minutes, you can have it for free. It's three hamburgers with all the toppings, PLUS you have to finish off the chili cheese fries that go with it.
Tonight you get somewhat of a break from my yammering. I took a few photos on today's ride, but not enough to capture the essence of the day.
Rozmo and I waited until about 9:00 to leave this morning, which was heavenly compared to the 6:00 AM we usually try to leave on BRAG. We wanted to give it a chance to warm up so we wouldn't have to dress in layers that we would later have to take off. And try to track down a sag vehicle to retrieve them when we got back.
Today's route was the Saturday route from last year, which basically means it sucked. A lot of shake and bake (that's we call rough pavement), and it was almost entirely in Alabama. Strike two. Lots of hills, but we couldn't complain about the weather. It was very pleasant when we left, and while it got hot this afternoon, we've ridden in a lot worse heat.
 |
| Rozmo makes the cutest pictures. She does silly things and looks adorable. When I do silly things, I look stupid. I'm trying not to hate her for it. |
 |
| We stopped to take a picture of Poorhouse Road, and Rozmo found a campaign sign for someone with her same last name. In fact, except for the "y" in Roy, it could have been Rozmo running for chief justice. |
 |
| Rozmo was supposed to be taking a picture of me under the Poorhouse Road sign, but we had a delay while I got the fire ants out of my cycling sandals. I didn't even curse. |
 |
| See what I mean? I look dorky. |
 |
| I'm afraid my attempt at a photo essay didn't come through very well. I was trying to convey the idea that if I DO go to the poorhouse, it will be due to the expenses associated with cycling. |
 |
| This is the river above which we are camped. This is before they let the water through, which they do at 3:00 every day. |
 |
| Looking downstream. Or upstream. In the other direction. |
 |
| I have no idea what this contraption is called, but it will accommodate seven "cyclists," one of whom must be the driver. |
 |
| Me, Rozmo, Cheryl, Chuck, and Jerry. Steve joined us after this picture was taken, and when we started figuring out how to drive it, we were joined by Ramsey (isn't that a cool name?), a young lady who works for the bike shop. She took us a couple spins around the block, even among the spectators gathered to listen to the band. I love street dances. But I didn't dance this year. |
Rozmo, Steve and I had dinner at a place where they have a $30 hamburger, and if you can eat it -- alone -- in under 30 minutes, you can have it for free. It's three hamburgers with all the toppings, PLUS you have to finish off the chili cheese fries that go with it.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Sometimes Blog Posts Sound Like Gunshots.......
.....and sometimes it's just the sound of Fate (or Karma, or whatever you want to call it) slapping her knee in DELIGHT at our audacity to think we are in control of things.
Let me back up a minute and explain.
I am in the town of Columbus, Georgia, right next to the Alabama border (I can literally throw a rock into Alabama, if I can get it across the river) for Georgia BikeFest. It's one of the two weekend cycling events sponsored by BRAG, three days of cycling without having to decamp every morning. It is a beautiful spot right here by the river, and I remember standing in this parking lot last year and saying (maybe smugly, maybe not), "Next year I'll be retired, and I'll be the first one here, and I'll get whatever RV spot I damn well please."
Ahem.
It is rare that I take the RV anywhere by myself. Either Hubby or Katydid is usually with me, but Hubby doesn't DO cycling events at all, and Katydid couldn't come this year for a number of reasons. But I've become (more) comfortable driving the RV, and it was only roughly a three-hour trip, so I wasn't worried. Driving through downtown Atlanta has its challenges, but once you've driven an RV through Chicago, you're prepared for anything! I just told myself I would take it easy, not get in a rush, stay in the far right lane as much as possible, and not stress.
That plan worked beautifully, until I heard the gunshot.
Wait, before I tell you about the gunshot, I have to tell you something I found hilarious, but I won't drag it out forever. When I was just south of Atlanta, I called Rozmo to let her know I had left earlier than I had planned, and if she wanted to ride some today, I would be there. She said she had left LATER than she meant to, and she was just then at Flat Shoals Road. I looked up at the next overpass and said, "Huh? Me too." Then I looked in my side mirror and saw her coming up behind me. She forgot I was in the RV, so she didn't realize who it was she was about to pass. I thought that was hilarious, that I would choose to call her at the exact same moment we were at the same exact spot on the interstate.
Then I heard the gunshot. Well, it wasn't an actual gunshot, and I recognized it immediately for what it was, but I don't know HOW I recognized it, since I'd never heard it before. It was the sound of a tire blowing out. On the RV. On I-85. It's amazing how well the human brain adapts to challenging situations. As soon as I heard the sound, I immediately turned on the flashers (I don't even know how I knew where they were) and headed for the shoulder of the road. I got way, way, way off the side of the road, and even then the RV shook every time one of those tractor trailer rigs blew by. It was a little unnerving, to say the least.
I won't bore you with all the details, but I called the insurance company with whom the RV is insured, and who provide roadside assistance. At first I thought I didn't have a spare (that might teach me to listen to Hubby, but probably not), and she said the RV would have to be towed. Then I discovered I DID have a spare, and she said someone would come change it for me. Now I'm not a wimp and I do know how to change a flat tire, but I've never tried to raise an RV with a jack, and the RV has dual wheels on the rear. Naturally the tire that blew was the INSIDE one. Which means removing TWO wheels. Sheesh.
I had to wait about an hour and a half, so I spent the time reading on my iPad. Finally a very, VERY nice young man arrived, and he was completely unfazed by having to lie down on the side of the road with 18-wheelers whizzing by only inches (okay, feet) from his head. Yes, the flat had to happen on THAT side of the RV as well.
I was astounded at how quickly he was able to get the tire changed, but then he called me over and pointed. "There's some damage here," he said.
Uh oh. The exploding tire had torn the fuel line away from the "neck," the place where you put fuel in. It wasn't leaking, but there would be no way to put more gas in the RV because it would just pour onto the ground.
Great. My weekend just went to hell. On a bullet train.
But then he said I could take it to their shop (and assured me the RV was safe to drive), about 40 miles away but still on my way to Columbus, and they could fix it today. He couldn't RECOMMEND their shop, because that would be soliciting business, and I was welcome to take it somewhere else if I wanted to.
Seriously? I'm gonna drive an RV around some town I'm not familiar with and hope I happen on a repair shop that can replace a hose on an RV? No, your shop will be just fine.
Hubby texted me when I was on the way and said for me to ask how much it was going to cost, then take it somewhere else if it was a "crazy amount." See above hypothetical question, Hubby.
The kind young man followed me down the interstate for about 20 miles, poking along at the speed I felt safe driving, which was just below what I would have been able to do on my bike. (That might be a slight exaggeration.) I got teary-eyed when I realized he was hanging back there. Then he disappeared (he never passed me, so I assume he had to go on another call and exited the interstate) and my tears dried up.
The people at the automotive shop were VERY friendly (could it have anything to do with the fact that it is owned by a woman? hmmmmm?), and they got me back on the road. I got here in time to register and pick up my packet, and if I didn't get the very best RV spot, at least I got one, and if I didn't get to ride my bike today, I'll have three days of riding, and I am very thankful that today's incident didn't turn out any worse than it did.
I could have been driving much faster (I was about 10 below the posted speed limit). The tire could have blown when I was in the middle of downtown Atlanta. I could have been surrounded by cars on both sides. It could have been one of the front tires, which probably would have caused an accident. Perhaps even a rollover.
But I'm here, Rozmo and I have had dinner (wonderful Thai food), and I don't have to move the RV again until Sunday.
Probably the best news of all is that Hubby feels terribly, terribly guilty because he knew the tires needed to be replaced soon and was putting it off.
No telling what I might get out of this.
Tee. Hee.
Let me back up a minute and explain.
I am in the town of Columbus, Georgia, right next to the Alabama border (I can literally throw a rock into Alabama, if I can get it across the river) for Georgia BikeFest. It's one of the two weekend cycling events sponsored by BRAG, three days of cycling without having to decamp every morning. It is a beautiful spot right here by the river, and I remember standing in this parking lot last year and saying (maybe smugly, maybe not), "Next year I'll be retired, and I'll be the first one here, and I'll get whatever RV spot I damn well please."
Ahem.
It is rare that I take the RV anywhere by myself. Either Hubby or Katydid is usually with me, but Hubby doesn't DO cycling events at all, and Katydid couldn't come this year for a number of reasons. But I've become (more) comfortable driving the RV, and it was only roughly a three-hour trip, so I wasn't worried. Driving through downtown Atlanta has its challenges, but once you've driven an RV through Chicago, you're prepared for anything! I just told myself I would take it easy, not get in a rush, stay in the far right lane as much as possible, and not stress.
That plan worked beautifully, until I heard the gunshot.
Wait, before I tell you about the gunshot, I have to tell you something I found hilarious, but I won't drag it out forever. When I was just south of Atlanta, I called Rozmo to let her know I had left earlier than I had planned, and if she wanted to ride some today, I would be there. She said she had left LATER than she meant to, and she was just then at Flat Shoals Road. I looked up at the next overpass and said, "Huh? Me too." Then I looked in my side mirror and saw her coming up behind me. She forgot I was in the RV, so she didn't realize who it was she was about to pass. I thought that was hilarious, that I would choose to call her at the exact same moment we were at the same exact spot on the interstate.
Then I heard the gunshot. Well, it wasn't an actual gunshot, and I recognized it immediately for what it was, but I don't know HOW I recognized it, since I'd never heard it before. It was the sound of a tire blowing out. On the RV. On I-85. It's amazing how well the human brain adapts to challenging situations. As soon as I heard the sound, I immediately turned on the flashers (I don't even know how I knew where they were) and headed for the shoulder of the road. I got way, way, way off the side of the road, and even then the RV shook every time one of those tractor trailer rigs blew by. It was a little unnerving, to say the least.
I won't bore you with all the details, but I called the insurance company with whom the RV is insured, and who provide roadside assistance. At first I thought I didn't have a spare (that might teach me to listen to Hubby, but probably not), and she said the RV would have to be towed. Then I discovered I DID have a spare, and she said someone would come change it for me. Now I'm not a wimp and I do know how to change a flat tire, but I've never tried to raise an RV with a jack, and the RV has dual wheels on the rear. Naturally the tire that blew was the INSIDE one. Which means removing TWO wheels. Sheesh.
I had to wait about an hour and a half, so I spent the time reading on my iPad. Finally a very, VERY nice young man arrived, and he was completely unfazed by having to lie down on the side of the road with 18-wheelers whizzing by only inches (okay, feet) from his head. Yes, the flat had to happen on THAT side of the RV as well.
I was astounded at how quickly he was able to get the tire changed, but then he called me over and pointed. "There's some damage here," he said.
Uh oh. The exploding tire had torn the fuel line away from the "neck," the place where you put fuel in. It wasn't leaking, but there would be no way to put more gas in the RV because it would just pour onto the ground.
Great. My weekend just went to hell. On a bullet train.
But then he said I could take it to their shop (and assured me the RV was safe to drive), about 40 miles away but still on my way to Columbus, and they could fix it today. He couldn't RECOMMEND their shop, because that would be soliciting business, and I was welcome to take it somewhere else if I wanted to.
Seriously? I'm gonna drive an RV around some town I'm not familiar with and hope I happen on a repair shop that can replace a hose on an RV? No, your shop will be just fine.
Hubby texted me when I was on the way and said for me to ask how much it was going to cost, then take it somewhere else if it was a "crazy amount." See above hypothetical question, Hubby.
The kind young man followed me down the interstate for about 20 miles, poking along at the speed I felt safe driving, which was just below what I would have been able to do on my bike. (That might be a slight exaggeration.) I got teary-eyed when I realized he was hanging back there. Then he disappeared (he never passed me, so I assume he had to go on another call and exited the interstate) and my tears dried up.
The people at the automotive shop were VERY friendly (could it have anything to do with the fact that it is owned by a woman? hmmmmm?), and they got me back on the road. I got here in time to register and pick up my packet, and if I didn't get the very best RV spot, at least I got one, and if I didn't get to ride my bike today, I'll have three days of riding, and I am very thankful that today's incident didn't turn out any worse than it did.
I could have been driving much faster (I was about 10 below the posted speed limit). The tire could have blown when I was in the middle of downtown Atlanta. I could have been surrounded by cars on both sides. It could have been one of the front tires, which probably would have caused an accident. Perhaps even a rollover.
But I'm here, Rozmo and I have had dinner (wonderful Thai food), and I don't have to move the RV again until Sunday.
Probably the best news of all is that Hubby feels terribly, terribly guilty because he knew the tires needed to be replaced soon and was putting it off.
No telling what I might get out of this.
Tee. Hee.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Disturbing......
We (Katydid, Rozmo, Deb and I) witnessed a rather disturbing scene at BikeFest this weekend. It has been on my mind ever since, but I didn't want to spoil the happiness that was the bike ride with this scene that was ... not happy.
I noticed a group of people down below us, on the Riverwalk, because there appeared to be some tension. Then a container of ... something ... french fries? ... onion rings? ... went flying. There was a little girl involved, probably about two and a half years old. There was a young woman, an older woman (holding the child), and an older man. The older two appeared to be parents of the young woman and grandparents of the child.
Their voices became louder and I could hear them clearly all the way up where we were standing, probably about a hundred feet away. (Give or take ... I'm terrible with distance. Which probably explains why I continue to choose to ride the century route when I could be watching football.)
I could clearly hear the young woman (who wasn't teenage young, just younger than the other woman, obviously, since that turned out to be her mother) saying, "Show me the paperwork. Show me the paperwork. Show me the paperwork or give me my child."
It was obviously a custody dispute, and I wanted both to turn away because I felt like a Peeping Tom and to watch as closely as I could in case the verbal dispute became physical. I had already heard someone ... maybe BOTH women ... saying, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" The little girl, thankfully, was not crying, but I couldn't stand the thought that she might get caught between these two seemingly irrational adults. Well, one was more irrational than the other, but the situation was getting out of control.
Enter Rozmo.
She had gone to take pictures down on the Riverwalk, and the argument moved down her way. The father had come up the steep stairs to where we were standing, presumably to wait for police to arrive. Rozmo had stumbled upon the two women arguing, asked if everything were okay, and when one said "Yes" and the other said "No," she tried to mediate.
That's Rozmo. That's the way she rolls. She has SUCH a way with people, and especially children. She was able to calm both adults and get them to walk up to where we were standing, and she kept the little girl engaged in conversation the whole time.
I won't bore you with ALL the details, but the woman had lost custody of her little girl because of a drug issue, and the grandmother DID have paperwork, which she was only willing to turn over to law enforcement. I have no idea how this scene came to be played out on the Riverwalk, unless there was an issue with visitation or something. It seemed a strange place for such a situation to get out of hand, without any social services or law enforcement people around to keep things under control in the first place.
Sadly, I didn't find the situation with the mother and the drug habit and the loss of custody surprising at all. It's what we hear all the time these days. What I DID find surprising was that the mother who has lost custody is an OB/GYN but has no job now because of her drug habit. She has no right to have her child now because of a drug habit.
How tragic. It's tragic for ANYONE, I realize, but to think someone with the intelligence to go to college, complete medical school, survive the internship and residency, and become a practicing medical doctor could throw everything away like that just because of drugs just boggles my mind.
I hurt for the little girl. And the grandmother. And the grandfather.
And the mother.
I noticed a group of people down below us, on the Riverwalk, because there appeared to be some tension. Then a container of ... something ... french fries? ... onion rings? ... went flying. There was a little girl involved, probably about two and a half years old. There was a young woman, an older woman (holding the child), and an older man. The older two appeared to be parents of the young woman and grandparents of the child.
Their voices became louder and I could hear them clearly all the way up where we were standing, probably about a hundred feet away. (Give or take ... I'm terrible with distance. Which probably explains why I continue to choose to ride the century route when I could be watching football.)
I could clearly hear the young woman (who wasn't teenage young, just younger than the other woman, obviously, since that turned out to be her mother) saying, "Show me the paperwork. Show me the paperwork. Show me the paperwork or give me my child."
It was obviously a custody dispute, and I wanted both to turn away because I felt like a Peeping Tom and to watch as closely as I could in case the verbal dispute became physical. I had already heard someone ... maybe BOTH women ... saying, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" The little girl, thankfully, was not crying, but I couldn't stand the thought that she might get caught between these two seemingly irrational adults. Well, one was more irrational than the other, but the situation was getting out of control.
Enter Rozmo.
She had gone to take pictures down on the Riverwalk, and the argument moved down her way. The father had come up the steep stairs to where we were standing, presumably to wait for police to arrive. Rozmo had stumbled upon the two women arguing, asked if everything were okay, and when one said "Yes" and the other said "No," she tried to mediate.
That's Rozmo. That's the way she rolls. She has SUCH a way with people, and especially children. She was able to calm both adults and get them to walk up to where we were standing, and she kept the little girl engaged in conversation the whole time.
I won't bore you with ALL the details, but the woman had lost custody of her little girl because of a drug issue, and the grandmother DID have paperwork, which she was only willing to turn over to law enforcement. I have no idea how this scene came to be played out on the Riverwalk, unless there was an issue with visitation or something. It seemed a strange place for such a situation to get out of hand, without any social services or law enforcement people around to keep things under control in the first place.
Sadly, I didn't find the situation with the mother and the drug habit and the loss of custody surprising at all. It's what we hear all the time these days. What I DID find surprising was that the mother who has lost custody is an OB/GYN but has no job now because of her drug habit. She has no right to have her child now because of a drug habit.
How tragic. It's tragic for ANYONE, I realize, but to think someone with the intelligence to go to college, complete medical school, survive the internship and residency, and become a practicing medical doctor could throw everything away like that just because of drugs just boggles my mind.
I hurt for the little girl. And the grandmother. And the grandfather.
And the mother.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
BikeFest Sunday....
Today is my favorite day of a 3-day bike ride. Sunday's ride is always more relaxed, more laid-back. It sounds funny to say the route today was "only" 40 miles, but that felt like a walk in the park after yesterday's 102 miles. Katydid and I rode the tandem, and we took it easy, sort of meandering along. We joked and laughed, especially with Winston, who nearly KILLED himself trying to stay ahead of us. When we took a little short-cut off the Riverwalk, we could hear him 100 yards behind us saying, "How did they get in front of me?" Then at the end we took another short-cut through the parking lot (in our defense, it was much more practical than trying to ride the winding switchbacks of the handicap-accessible ramp up from the Riverwalk), we were waiting at Winston's RV for him. He said the sweetest three words I've ever heard from him: "I give up."
Today's ride was partly on the Riverwalk, which I wanted to roll up and bring home with me, and partly on the Army base of Fort Benning. We had to ride through a military checkpoint, and the man whose job it was to check for our wristbands took his assignment VERY seriously. I thought I was going to wreck the tandem just trying to hold up my arm to show my wristband.
It was a fabulous weekend (and the Dawgs won - barely - whew!) of bicycling. I had so much fun catching up with old friends and making a few new ones.
Here are some random pictures from the weekend.
Today's ride was partly on the Riverwalk, which I wanted to roll up and bring home with me, and partly on the Army base of Fort Benning. We had to ride through a military checkpoint, and the man whose job it was to check for our wristbands took his assignment VERY seriously. I thought I was going to wreck the tandem just trying to hold up my arm to show my wristband.
It was a fabulous weekend (and the Dawgs won - barely - whew!) of bicycling. I had so much fun catching up with old friends and making a few new ones.
Here are some random pictures from the weekend.
 |
| View of the Chattahoochee River, which serves as the border between Georgia and Alabama. |
 |
| On Fort Benning |
 |
| Shadow shot of Katydid and me on the tandem |
 |
| Shadow shot of me from Saturday's century ride, before the 72-95 mile stage when things weren't fun |
 |
| The power of the water going through the turbine at the dam. The water is released about 5:00 PM, and the kayakers are already lined up to play in the rapids. |
 |
| Building between the Riverwalk and downtown Columbus. I loved the angle of this shot. |
 |
| The dam in the background, not long after the water had been released. |
 |
| This puppy was enjoying a drink - and making a mess - along the Riverwalk. |
 |
| Not a very good picture of a pink labrador retriever. His owner, who lost his mother to breast cancer, had dyed the dog pink for Breast Cancer Awareness. We later saw a pink giant poodle. |
 |
| Another shot of the dam with the waters unleashed. |
 |
| Katydid on the Riverwalk. |
 |
| Another view of the river from the Riverwalk. |
 |
| Rozmo on the way back to camp on Friday. I could have used some of that propane (sign in background) to assist me. |
 |
| The marina where we had a rest stop on Friday. |
Saturday, October 15, 2011
BikeFest Saturday - The Century Edition....
I didn't want to commit to the century ride today, especially after Rozmo said she wasn't going to ride it. The decision point between the 47-mile route and either 86 or 101 miles came very early in the day - at the 14.9-mile mark. I knew I wanted to ride more than 47 miles, so I soldiered on.
The next decision point was at 60 miles. I could ride 86 or 101. I told myself I would check my average riding speed at that point, and if it was anywhere near 14 mph, I would ride the century. I forgot to check my average, and I had already made the turn for the 101. When I DID check it, I had averaged 15.1 to that point. That's unheard of for me, no matter what the ride length.
The overall ride was pretty tough, with lots of hills and lots of shake-n-bake pavement. Miles 72 to 95 were not much fun, but I was back by 4:00. Pictures tomorrow, if they are decent. Needless to say, I'm pooped. And there's a ballgame to watch.
Go Dawgs!
The next decision point was at 60 miles. I could ride 86 or 101. I told myself I would check my average riding speed at that point, and if it was anywhere near 14 mph, I would ride the century. I forgot to check my average, and I had already made the turn for the 101. When I DID check it, I had averaged 15.1 to that point. That's unheard of for me, no matter what the ride length.
The overall ride was pretty tough, with lots of hills and lots of shake-n-bake pavement. Miles 72 to 95 were not much fun, but I was back by 4:00. Pictures tomorrow, if they are decent. Needless to say, I'm pooped. And there's a ballgame to watch.
Go Dawgs!
Friday, October 14, 2011
BikeFest Friday....
This is a rather long-winded (if I don't fall asleep first) post about bicycling, so if that bores you to tears, you may be excused. It won't even hurt my feelings. Much.
Today's ride started out on the Riverwalk, a very neat bicycling/walking path in Columbus, Georgia. We went out to the Oxbow Meadows Environmental Learning Center for our first rest stop, then turned around and came back to BRAG headquarters for Rest Stop #2. That can be a dangerous thing to do, coming back to camp for a rest stop. It would have been way too easy to settle for a 17 mile ride and call it a day.
There was another big section of the route on a bike path, and that can be a good thing or a bad. It's good because there is no traffic and very few hills (the path is built on an old abandoned railway line), but it's treacherous passing other cyclists, particularly if cyclists and walkers are coming from the other direction. The path was also often covered with leaves (duh, it's called "fall" for a reason) and acorns, along with random tree branches. But it was still a very nice change from having to dodge cars. Rest Stop #3 was at the end of the path at about the 30 mile mark.
Naturally the hills began after we left the path, but they weren't the killer type. They would have been much worse on the tandem, though. My climbing gear on my single bike is much friendlier than the tandem. The fact that it is made out of carbon fiber (which apparently costs a war pension per gram) helps too.
Rest Stop #4 was at mile marker 40 at a pavilion next to a store. There were no porta potties, and I didn't want to walk across the parking lot to go in the store. Plus I don't like to use the bathroom in a store if I don't buy something there, and getting money out of my bike bag would have been way too much trouble, not to mention silly because we had FREE food and drink at the rest stop, so I just didn't use the bathroom at that stop. I realize I have just provided you with information you neither needed nor probably wanted.
Rest Stop #5 was at the bottom of a SCREAMING hill at a marina. Seriously, I gasped when I started down that hill. And the tent with the rest stop was set up right at the bottom of the hill. Really? I refused to ride my brakes down the hill, so I flew past the rest stop tent and went around a little loop in the parking lot. I was surprised more people didn't do the same thing. That rest stop was also only 5 miles from the end, which I thought was a little silly (that's two "sillies" in the same blog post, if you're counting), but I guess the folks in charge of such things thought they would get a bunch of complaints if the last leg of the ride had been 20 miles. And they're probably right, because people are bound to complain regardless.
The route was advertised as 60 miles today, but my GPS said 63.63 when we got back. There is always a little variation, but today's difference may be due to the number of times we missed turns and had to go back. I swear, the number of times we turned around today is probably more than the last 10 years of doing these rides combined. I don't know if it was sloppy route marking (which almost never occurs) or sloppy paying attention to the marks on the road. But we got back safely, and that's all that matters.
Tomorrow's mileage is still being negotiated. Story tomorrow night.
Today's ride started out on the Riverwalk, a very neat bicycling/walking path in Columbus, Georgia. We went out to the Oxbow Meadows Environmental Learning Center for our first rest stop, then turned around and came back to BRAG headquarters for Rest Stop #2. That can be a dangerous thing to do, coming back to camp for a rest stop. It would have been way too easy to settle for a 17 mile ride and call it a day.
There was another big section of the route on a bike path, and that can be a good thing or a bad. It's good because there is no traffic and very few hills (the path is built on an old abandoned railway line), but it's treacherous passing other cyclists, particularly if cyclists and walkers are coming from the other direction. The path was also often covered with leaves (duh, it's called "fall" for a reason) and acorns, along with random tree branches. But it was still a very nice change from having to dodge cars. Rest Stop #3 was at the end of the path at about the 30 mile mark.
Naturally the hills began after we left the path, but they weren't the killer type. They would have been much worse on the tandem, though. My climbing gear on my single bike is much friendlier than the tandem. The fact that it is made out of carbon fiber (which apparently costs a war pension per gram) helps too.
Rest Stop #4 was at mile marker 40 at a pavilion next to a store. There were no porta potties, and I didn't want to walk across the parking lot to go in the store. Plus I don't like to use the bathroom in a store if I don't buy something there, and getting money out of my bike bag would have been way too much trouble, not to mention silly because we had FREE food and drink at the rest stop, so I just didn't use the bathroom at that stop. I realize I have just provided you with information you neither needed nor probably wanted.
Rest Stop #5 was at the bottom of a SCREAMING hill at a marina. Seriously, I gasped when I started down that hill. And the tent with the rest stop was set up right at the bottom of the hill. Really? I refused to ride my brakes down the hill, so I flew past the rest stop tent and went around a little loop in the parking lot. I was surprised more people didn't do the same thing. That rest stop was also only 5 miles from the end, which I thought was a little silly (that's two "sillies" in the same blog post, if you're counting), but I guess the folks in charge of such things thought they would get a bunch of complaints if the last leg of the ride had been 20 miles. And they're probably right, because people are bound to complain regardless.
 |
| It might not LOOK like a screaming hill, but trust me...I'm a doctor. |
The route was advertised as 60 miles today, but my GPS said 63.63 when we got back. There is always a little variation, but today's difference may be due to the number of times we missed turns and had to go back. I swear, the number of times we turned around today is probably more than the last 10 years of doing these rides combined. I don't know if it was sloppy route marking (which almost never occurs) or sloppy paying attention to the marks on the road. But we got back safely, and that's all that matters.
Tomorrow's mileage is still being negotiated. Story tomorrow night.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
BikeFest Day Zero....
We are right on the Georgia-Alabama border for a three-day bike ride called BikeFest. We are in a new location for the fall ride this year, although we have stayed here before on the week-long ride of BRAG. Katydid and I brought three bikes: my single, her single, and the tandem. We actually brought four if you count my unicycle, which I cannot ride yet. But it ought to provide some humorous video if nothing else.
We don't know which bikes we are going to ride on which day, but we are fairly certain we are NOT going to ride the tandem on Saturday. In a serious role reversal, I'm trying to talk Rozmo INTO the century ride on Saturday (which is actually 101 miles, and don't think that last mile won't be a killer), and she's trying to talk me OUT of it. The next shorter ride is 86 miles - hell, you might as well go ahead and ride the century. After that is the 47, and we're not even discussing that one. I mean, what would we do with the REST of the day? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
We are pretty certain we will ride 60 miles tomorrow, and discussions are taking place even as we type as to whether we will ride single or tandem. Weather is supposed to be nice, sunny and in the low 80's.
Now THIS is what personal days are made for.
We don't know which bikes we are going to ride on which day, but we are fairly certain we are NOT going to ride the tandem on Saturday. In a serious role reversal, I'm trying to talk Rozmo INTO the century ride on Saturday (which is actually 101 miles, and don't think that last mile won't be a killer), and she's trying to talk me OUT of it. The next shorter ride is 86 miles - hell, you might as well go ahead and ride the century. After that is the 47, and we're not even discussing that one. I mean, what would we do with the REST of the day? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
We are pretty certain we will ride 60 miles tomorrow, and discussions are taking place even as we type as to whether we will ride single or tandem. Weather is supposed to be nice, sunny and in the low 80's.
Now THIS is what personal days are made for.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Rozmo......
Bikefest is over for another year, and normally this would be the end of organized cycling events for the year. We still try to get together for informal rides when the weather is decent, but mid-October is pushing it as far as being able to count on decent weather for a weekend of riding.
This year, however, we will be traveling to North Florida for an annual event that I have heard is lots of fun. Katydid, Rozmo, and I will pile into the RV once again and enjoy a weekend of cycling and tomfoolery.
Case in point:
I don' remember how the conversation started, but Friday afternoon we were sitting around outside the RV, making fun of and heckling two high school-age boys playing tennis. (They were awful. One of them only looked sort of good because he was so much better than his friend.) Every time one of them would hit the ball over the fence, I would shout (loudly) how many that was that had gone over the fence. "Three!" "Four!" "What are you going to do when you've hit them ALL over the fence, go home?"
The things grown-ups will do to teenagers after a 50-mile bike ride.
Anyway, back to the conversation. Rozmo said she had friends who didn't believe she could stand on her head and drink a beer. We immediately added two more to the list of friends who didn't believe she could do that. Actually, she said she had won many a bet with that particular challenge.
I couldn't get past the standing on her head part. Rozmo is ten years older than I am, and I don't care who knows it. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Here is proof, however, that she can indeed stand on her head and drink a beer. I suppose other beverages would also suffice, but they just don't have the same effect. On the bet OR the outcome.
Personally, I thought she was cheating by using A) the pillow; and B) the light pole. But then I haven't stood on my head lately, so what do I know?
Just in case you're wondering, yes, Rozmo is going to kill me for that first picture. When she finds it.
This year, however, we will be traveling to North Florida for an annual event that I have heard is lots of fun. Katydid, Rozmo, and I will pile into the RV once again and enjoy a weekend of cycling and tomfoolery.
Case in point:
I don' remember how the conversation started, but Friday afternoon we were sitting around outside the RV, making fun of and heckling two high school-age boys playing tennis. (They were awful. One of them only looked sort of good because he was so much better than his friend.) Every time one of them would hit the ball over the fence, I would shout (loudly) how many that was that had gone over the fence. "Three!" "Four!" "What are you going to do when you've hit them ALL over the fence, go home?"
The things grown-ups will do to teenagers after a 50-mile bike ride.
Anyway, back to the conversation. Rozmo said she had friends who didn't believe she could stand on her head and drink a beer. We immediately added two more to the list of friends who didn't believe she could do that. Actually, she said she had won many a bet with that particular challenge.
I couldn't get past the standing on her head part. Rozmo is ten years older than I am, and I don't care who knows it. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Here is proof, however, that she can indeed stand on her head and drink a beer. I suppose other beverages would also suffice, but they just don't have the same effect. On the bet OR the outcome.
Personally, I thought she was cheating by using A) the pillow; and B) the light pole. But then I haven't stood on my head lately, so what do I know?
Just in case you're wondering, yes, Rozmo is going to kill me for that first picture. When she finds it.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Some Days Are Like That Part 2.....
Katydid, Rozmo and I had already decided to ride the century today on BikeFest. For those of you who don't remember (and probably don't care in the first place), a century is 100 miles (or more) on a bicycle in a single day. I don't know whose idea it was to ride the century (again) this year, but I'd like to have a talk with her. Unless it was me, in which case I would like to sign up for some additional therapy sessions.
We were later leaving than we planned, because it's just so hard to get on that bicycle when it's cold. It's hard to dress for cycling at this time of year. It's uncomfortably cold in the morning, but you know very well that it's going to get quite warm by the afternoon. Or evening, if you happen to be out there that long. Personally, I'm too stubborn to layer very well. I figure I can suffer through a little while of being cold in the morning and not have to worry about removing layers (and where to put them) later in the day.
Where in the world was I going with this? Oh yeah....
So we were later leaving than we should have, considering we were planning to ride 100 miles. The last thing I did was put air in the tires, #1 because we needed it, and #2 because it was one more thing that would delay our actual riding.
Something went wrong with the valve stem, and we wound up with a flat tire.
We had extra tubes, but we decided to take it to the professionals instead of changing it ourselves, #1 because it was the back tire, and #2 because it was the back tire and it would have taken us roughly three and a half hours to change it.
The bike shop dude who changed the tire talks a lot more than he works. I accused him of charging by the word, and then I felt bad when he didn't charge us anything at all.
We finally left, only to discover after half a mile that we had no rear brakes. I didn't want to go back because #1 I don't like to go back EVER, and #2 we were already much later leaving than we wanted to be. I reasoned that we still had front brakes, and we don't use the brakes that often anyway. Never mind that I discovered the absence of brakes at a 4-way stop and we were extremely lucky that there weren't other cars at the intersection.
So back we went.
Willard worked on the brakes for another 15 minutes or so, talking the whole time. We finally left at 9:05 or something equally ridiculous.
Either of those incidents, the flat tire or the brake problem, would have been enough to make us change our plans for the route we were riding. We had by golly decided to ride the century, though, and none of us ever mentioned changing our plans.
Damn it.
So ride the century we did.
We didn't get into camp until 6:30 or so, but we still weren't last. CLOSE to last, but not last. The rest stops were closing (or closed) when we got to them late in the day, but the porta-potties were still there, and sometimes that's the most important thing. I was not in my happy place starting at about mile 75. I couldn't join Katydid in singing, and I couldn't even enjoy the music. After the UGA game ended (we listened to it on the radio on the bike), I didn't even have that distraction anymore. At mile 90 I knew we could make it (what other choice did we have?), but we still had to pedal those last 12 miles.
But hey, the reward for riding a century is large. We got a beautiful bandanna. It's all about the bandannas.
Good night.
We were later leaving than we planned, because it's just so hard to get on that bicycle when it's cold. It's hard to dress for cycling at this time of year. It's uncomfortably cold in the morning, but you know very well that it's going to get quite warm by the afternoon. Or evening, if you happen to be out there that long. Personally, I'm too stubborn to layer very well. I figure I can suffer through a little while of being cold in the morning and not have to worry about removing layers (and where to put them) later in the day.
Where in the world was I going with this? Oh yeah....
So we were later leaving than we should have, considering we were planning to ride 100 miles. The last thing I did was put air in the tires, #1 because we needed it, and #2 because it was one more thing that would delay our actual riding.
Something went wrong with the valve stem, and we wound up with a flat tire.
We had extra tubes, but we decided to take it to the professionals instead of changing it ourselves, #1 because it was the back tire, and #2 because it was the back tire and it would have taken us roughly three and a half hours to change it.
The bike shop dude who changed the tire talks a lot more than he works. I accused him of charging by the word, and then I felt bad when he didn't charge us anything at all.
We finally left, only to discover after half a mile that we had no rear brakes. I didn't want to go back because #1 I don't like to go back EVER, and #2 we were already much later leaving than we wanted to be. I reasoned that we still had front brakes, and we don't use the brakes that often anyway. Never mind that I discovered the absence of brakes at a 4-way stop and we were extremely lucky that there weren't other cars at the intersection.
So back we went.
Willard worked on the brakes for another 15 minutes or so, talking the whole time. We finally left at 9:05 or something equally ridiculous.
Either of those incidents, the flat tire or the brake problem, would have been enough to make us change our plans for the route we were riding. We had by golly decided to ride the century, though, and none of us ever mentioned changing our plans.
Damn it.
So ride the century we did.
We didn't get into camp until 6:30 or so, but we still weren't last. CLOSE to last, but not last. The rest stops were closing (or closed) when we got to them late in the day, but the porta-potties were still there, and sometimes that's the most important thing. I was not in my happy place starting at about mile 75. I couldn't join Katydid in singing, and I couldn't even enjoy the music. After the UGA game ended (we listened to it on the radio on the bike), I didn't even have that distraction anymore. At mile 90 I knew we could make it (what other choice did we have?), but we still had to pedal those last 12 miles.
But hey, the reward for riding a century is large. We got a beautiful bandanna. It's all about the bandannas.
Good night.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The Century Ride Plus 9......
This is how far Katydid and I rode today on our tandem.
And this is the bandana we got for completing the century ride.
We weren't even last. There were a bunch of century riders who came in after us, which we find pretty amazing.
I wrote a post a few months ago about the mental aspect of cycling. Today was a prime example of this. Yesterday we rode 50 miles, the longest route choice. At 25 miles, I was kicking myself (well, not literally, since it's pretty hard to kick yourself while riding a bicycle) because if we had chosen the shorter option, we would have been finished. At 47 miles, I thought, "There's no way I can finish these last 3 miles." But of course we did, and it wasn't as bad as I thought.
Today we got to the 47 mile mark, and we had 60 miles left to go. I didn't feel bad at all. I didn't really start feeling bad until about the 70-mile mark. Of course, knowing we still had 37 miles to go (we thought) made it that much worse.
Another mental aspect of cycling concerns the all-important century ride. A century is a 100-mile bike ride in a single day. Why we feel compelled to do such a stupid thing is completely beyond me. But Katydid had never done one, so I agreed that this was our best chance. The terrain was SUPPOSED to be flat. And it was, relatively speaking, but toward the end, especially with the brutal headwinds, even the tiniest incline became a mountain.
I have heard cyclists complain when they got in from a century that the mileage was "only" 98 miles or some such. I wanted to say to them, "Well go ride around the parking lot a few times, you dorks." So this weekend's "century" ride was billed as 107 miles. On my computer (which I admit isn't accurate, because it doesn't agree with the GPS that we have on the back of the tandem), the mileage read 109.40. First of all, the extra 7 miles beyond the 100-mile mark were painful. But they had been in my head all day. I KNEW they were there. The other two almost made me sit down on the side of the road and suck my thumb.
It's sort of like childbirth. When you're in the middle of it, you think, "What in the hell was I thinking?"
Then when it's over, you think, "Well, that wasn't so bad."
The things we will do for a bandana.
And this is the bandana we got for completing the century ride.
We weren't even last. There were a bunch of century riders who came in after us, which we find pretty amazing.
I wrote a post a few months ago about the mental aspect of cycling. Today was a prime example of this. Yesterday we rode 50 miles, the longest route choice. At 25 miles, I was kicking myself (well, not literally, since it's pretty hard to kick yourself while riding a bicycle) because if we had chosen the shorter option, we would have been finished. At 47 miles, I thought, "There's no way I can finish these last 3 miles." But of course we did, and it wasn't as bad as I thought.
Today we got to the 47 mile mark, and we had 60 miles left to go. I didn't feel bad at all. I didn't really start feeling bad until about the 70-mile mark. Of course, knowing we still had 37 miles to go (we thought) made it that much worse.
Another mental aspect of cycling concerns the all-important century ride. A century is a 100-mile bike ride in a single day. Why we feel compelled to do such a stupid thing is completely beyond me. But Katydid had never done one, so I agreed that this was our best chance. The terrain was SUPPOSED to be flat. And it was, relatively speaking, but toward the end, especially with the brutal headwinds, even the tiniest incline became a mountain.
I have heard cyclists complain when they got in from a century that the mileage was "only" 98 miles or some such. I wanted to say to them, "Well go ride around the parking lot a few times, you dorks." So this weekend's "century" ride was billed as 107 miles. On my computer (which I admit isn't accurate, because it doesn't agree with the GPS that we have on the back of the tandem), the mileage read 109.40. First of all, the extra 7 miles beyond the 100-mile mark were painful. But they had been in my head all day. I KNEW they were there. The other two almost made me sit down on the side of the road and suck my thumb.
It's sort of like childbirth. When you're in the middle of it, you think, "What in the hell was I thinking?"
Then when it's over, you think, "Well, that wasn't so bad."
The things we will do for a bandana.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Roughing It.....
I was really bent out of shape at not being able to blog last night. I had my laptop in my tent, and there was a wireless network in range, but it was called "apfootball" or something and it required a password and I've never been much good at hacking into networks. I'm doing good to get into my own.
This is where I camped last night. Katydid didn't come down until this morning, so I was alone. I watched another episode of Carrier, and I found that I didn't get nearly as emotional watching it as I did when Sweet Girl was gone for seven months on her own aircraft carrier. It is an awesome series; very real.
I have referred to my tent as a "tentdominium" because it is supposed to sleep 6 or 8 people. I use it alone, or I use it when Katydid is here. I just like it because you can stand up in it, and dressing in spandex is so much easier when you can stand up.
There was a tent behind mine this time, however, that made my tent shrink in shame and cower in fear. I don't have a good shot of it, (it's off to the left in the picture below, but you really can't get a good idea of its size) but it had separate rooms. And I think it had an elevator.
If you look carefully at the front of the tent, you will notice that we sometimes ask the tent to double as a clothesline. It's embarrassed, but it does it anyway.
You have to look carefully, but the picture below shows why we are not camping in the same place tonight. It's right above the roofline of the tent.
See the reddish-brown that shows through the trees? Here, let me give you a better angle.
See the train cars in this shot? Yeah, the train went through approximately every thirty-eight seconds ALL NIGHT LONG. Okay, MAYBE that's an exaggeration, but it's possible that it isn't. I had to move over one time to let the train come through my tent. I had in earplugs, but they only dulled the sound so much.
So this is where we are camping tonight.
It takes care of several issues:
#1 -- It has internet. My idea of roughing it is when you actually have to plug the internet cord into the computer. We have wireless here. I can blog, check on my online students, shop for a Billy Joel CD that has become hopelessly scratched, or check out the college football schedule for tomorrow.
#2 -- It has electricity. I went without my CPAP machine last night for the first time since April. I didn't sleep very well. I kept waking myself up because I stopped breathing. This morning I discovered an electrical outlet on the pole right outside my tent, but I was going to have to go buy an extension cord for it to reach into the tent.
#3 -- It has a bed. Either I brought a defective air mattress, or I exceeded the weight limit on the Coleman inflatable mattress that I brought this weekend. I had to borrow a pump to inflate it, and I woke up with my butt on the cold, hard ground last night.
This roughing it is exhausting work.
This picture is from our ventures around town today. I would put this in the "Big-Old-Bag-of-Duh" File.
If you are going to spend the money to have lettering on your window, wouldn't you at least think about having someone proofread it?
This is where I camped last night. Katydid didn't come down until this morning, so I was alone. I watched another episode of Carrier, and I found that I didn't get nearly as emotional watching it as I did when Sweet Girl was gone for seven months on her own aircraft carrier. It is an awesome series; very real.
I have referred to my tent as a "tentdominium" because it is supposed to sleep 6 or 8 people. I use it alone, or I use it when Katydid is here. I just like it because you can stand up in it, and dressing in spandex is so much easier when you can stand up.
There was a tent behind mine this time, however, that made my tent shrink in shame and cower in fear. I don't have a good shot of it, (it's off to the left in the picture below, but you really can't get a good idea of its size) but it had separate rooms. And I think it had an elevator.
If you look carefully at the front of the tent, you will notice that we sometimes ask the tent to double as a clothesline. It's embarrassed, but it does it anyway.
You have to look carefully, but the picture below shows why we are not camping in the same place tonight. It's right above the roofline of the tent.
See the reddish-brown that shows through the trees? Here, let me give you a better angle.
See the train cars in this shot? Yeah, the train went through approximately every thirty-eight seconds ALL NIGHT LONG. Okay, MAYBE that's an exaggeration, but it's possible that it isn't. I had to move over one time to let the train come through my tent. I had in earplugs, but they only dulled the sound so much.So this is where we are camping tonight.
It takes care of several issues:#1 -- It has internet. My idea of roughing it is when you actually have to plug the internet cord into the computer. We have wireless here. I can blog, check on my online students, shop for a Billy Joel CD that has become hopelessly scratched, or check out the college football schedule for tomorrow.
#2 -- It has electricity. I went without my CPAP machine last night for the first time since April. I didn't sleep very well. I kept waking myself up because I stopped breathing. This morning I discovered an electrical outlet on the pole right outside my tent, but I was going to have to go buy an extension cord for it to reach into the tent.
#3 -- It has a bed. Either I brought a defective air mattress, or I exceeded the weight limit on the Coleman inflatable mattress that I brought this weekend. I had to borrow a pump to inflate it, and I woke up with my butt on the cold, hard ground last night.
This roughing it is exhausting work.
This picture is from our ventures around town today. I would put this in the "Big-Old-Bag-of-Duh" File.
If you are going to spend the money to have lettering on your window, wouldn't you at least think about having someone proofread it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)