Putting it together

I always think of these things I want to write about but draw a total blank when I sit down to the computer. It's like going to the grocery store sans list - all you needed was a half gallon of milk but you come home with everything but. In the case of the blog it's more like I think of these great, meaningful (to me, anyway) things worth sharing and sit down and just bitch about the weather and talk about how maybe some day I'll get to race my bike again. It probably makes it sound like I regret moving here and I hate it, but that's not the case at all.

I'm actually . . . happy. It's impossible to overstate the effect having a job I love has on my state of mind, and is, if I were to draw a metaphor, the border of the puzzle. I can't start putting together the picture until I have the border in place to support my other endeavors, both financially and emotionally. And as almost anyone who would read this knows, it takes huge financial and emotional support to race bikes seriously.

On the employment front, too, it's looking like Cody has a great new job, too! Working as a field hydrogeologist for an environmental consulting firm in Boston. That's just what he wanted - field work, no report writing or desk time. The thought of us both having good jobs that we like at the same time is almost unfathomably radical.

The other pieces are falling into place, too. I have a partner who totally supports my endeavors, and a family who continues to support them from afar. We have a great network of friends here who, though none want to go ride road bikes with me when it's below 70 degrees out, make for some great company. We finally have our house set up to have some pretty basic amenities that it heretofore lacked, such as running water when it's freezing out (the hose that had formerly run from the main house to the barn freezes solid in the winter, as you can imagine) and a toilet. If you've ever had the chance to live without running water in your house or plumbing you'll understand what a relief it is to not have to run outside to pee in the middle of the cold dark night. It makes you appreciate how totally freaking awesome it is that we live in an era and a country where we have running water, and how precious it is. I tend to go off on people who I think are wasting water, and maybe you can understand why.

Anyway.

But what about the brutal winter weather, you ask? It is tough. I love riding my bike more than almost anything, and it's tough to be unable to do so. Sure I could ride the trainer, but I always thought of the trainer as only acceptable for maintaining fitness. I'm not going to try to build base on it. No freaking way. If that means I don't have good fitness until June, well, that's just fine. I'm also lucky because I like to do lots of things that don't involve 2 wheels. I'll always come back to the bike, but if I'm running a lot in the winter, maybe getting in a couple days XC skiing or snowboarding, lifting the weights that I didn't lift in the fall when I usually do, doing push-ups on a freezing beach on Superbowl Sunday while dog walkers give me a wide berth because I'm obviously insane, well, that's OK too. If I end up not racing as much road, which I love more than chocolate (for reals, and I love chocolate a lot), and racing a ton of cyclocross, maybe a MTB race here and there, maybe a 10 K run, maybe (oh dear god) a triathlon, I think that's a fine compromise for having everything else in life otherwise pretty well sorted. I get all antsy seeing how everyone's racing out west, but my time will come, I just need a bit of patience.

Talk about the weather . . .

Talking about the weather is so mundane for so many people, but when your whole life revolves around being outside it becomes a very real topic of conversation that is difficult to exhaust. Which is why I'm writing about the snow. Oh the snow. More snow. Check it out.

It just doesn't seem fair, you know? 20 more inches of snow? Really? As it is we can't ride outside because the snow berms scarcely allow two cars to pass side by side. I know, everyone is sick of me complaining about the weather, "just move back west!" and all that. But to be fair, this is a really unusual year for snow, and if it was like this in Reno I'd bitch about that too. Don't go! I'm done talking about the weather . . . for now.

Anyway, what with everyone racing out West I'm starting to really want to go race my bike. Too bad, I guess, since that's still a few months off. But I'll find a way to cope, and it'll be here before I know it. I hope.

Oh hey! I'm blogging from home! We got internet that works . . . kinda. We had to get a mobile hotspot dealy-oh, and it only works in one spot in the house, but hey, it works! 5 GB data stream limit, so no streaming video (except for the odd You Tube video of cats playing pattycake) but hey, I'll take it! I've already frittered away an hour of my morning here. Excellent.

Okay, I guess I should go shovel, or bring in firewood, or something. I had planned on writing about new goals and stuff but I wasted my blogging energy by complaining about the snow, so next time.

I hate thinking up titles to these things . . .

The East . . .

. . . vs. the West.

I feel like I should always come up with this clever little title, but I always totally fail. Whatever.

The blog has been so very neglected, and I can't even blame it on Facebook, because that, too, has seen little of me lately. Unlike my previous "where have I been" blog-post-life-updates, I don't have much going on so this is going to be really boring.

Why, oh why, when the West coast is getting ramped up for such late winter epics as Snelling and Merco do I still have no base, to speak of? To fully understand you would have to spend a couple weeks mid-January in New England. We've scarcely had a day without precipitation (mostly in the form of snow) in two+ weeks, and on those rare clear days it's pretty much arctic. Yesterday when I woke up it was -10 F with the windchill. Rad-tastic.

I'm going to share with you my hard-learned lesson of the winter 2010-2011: When faced with such inhospitable conditions as the Nor'east offers from December-March (hopefully) one ought to find joy in pursuits that do not involve wearing spandex and moving at increased rates of speed. One can wear spandex, or one can move quickly, but they should be mutually exclusive. And honestly I haven't done much of the former.

Not sure what else to elaborate on. I could get into how our X-mas/New Year etc. went (it was good), but it's been like, a month and I don't really feel like it. I got to go home for a week to visit with my family. I happened to go home when they were having 65 degree weather and I got a nice dose of sunshine, and got in a lot of biking. That was pretty much rad. It was good to see my folks and Reno and California again. But, I'm glad I moved.

I know, what the hell, right? But it was time for a change, you know? And sure, I could have just moved to Santa Cruz (oh please oh please oh please some day) but that wouldn't be enough change for me to really feel like I made a change. Or so I postulate, while awaiting the dumping 0f 10 inches of snow that we're supposed to get tonight. Le sigh. Anyway, as much as I love Reno and the west coast, this is a good experience, and all in all I'm glad we made the move, regardless of my wishes to return west in a number of years.

Anyway, the whole winter thing kind of throws a wrench in my bike racing plans, or, I should say, road racing plans. I mean, I'm just going to come out and say it - I don't want to ride my bike when it's 15 degrees and snowing outside. Sorry, I think it's time to admit that I am simply not that dedicated. And if I'm not dedicated enough to do that then I'm certainly not going to spend a month on the trainer instead. Pshaw, right. I was beginning to worry that I just wasn't that into my bike anymore, then I went out west and got to ride in the sunshine and it was total Bikelove. Descending down to the Yuba River with sunshine on my skin was pure ecstasy, as was the climb out. So it's not the bike that's the problem, it's the weather. And as such, I think it best not to force it. Okay, so I won't be fast in March, or April, or maybe even May. But there's still lots of racing in June, July, and August, and then there's always CX season. And it really forces me to find enjoyment in other physical and intellectual pursuits, which I feel can only make me more balanced.

Oh, the only really news-worthy bit is that I got a new job! But anyone who reads this already knows that, so that's kind of a stupid bit of news. But I love my new job and it makes me happy to be here, plus, free gym membership! Because it's really cold out there.

Anyway, if the first part of this post doesn't quite jive with the second half, it's because I wrote half yesterday and the finished it today. Until next time . . .

Where'd I go? Part 1

Yeah, long time, I know. Lots of changes, as you undoubtedly know. Let me back way up.

Tour of the Unknown Coast

The problem with waiting 3 weeks to write about something is I forget all the neat little details I’d wanted to include. For those who are unfamiliar with it, this ride is up in Humboldt County, a 2 day 100 miler, with about 10K feet of climbing. The first day is the longer of the two, about 70 miles. You ride down Avenue of the Giants, through the Rockefeller Grove (which is amazing) and finally climb up Panther Gap, which is probably 6 miles with 2500 feet of elevation gain (just a wild guess on that one). You then descend to Honeydew, which sounds sweet but in actuality bears a striking resemblance to scenes from Deliverance. Both the scenery and the people. But they’re used to the spandex crowd, since this ride takes place twice a year and the little shop there sells lots of cokes and snickers to the participants. So it’s not as sketchy as one might imagine. Anyway, you then proceed about 10 miles, following the Mattole River down to a little campground. They feed you dinner, and the next morning the Grange Hall down the road hosts a pancake breakfast with lots of Bisquick, ham, and Folgers. That begins the second day, which starts with a nasty little climb that isn’t really that little. There follow a number of these things until you descend to Cape Mendocino, and ride along the coast for 10 miles or so. This section is notorious for having a soul-crushing headwind. You round a bend and you see it – The Wall. I’m pretty sure every ride in Norcal has something called “The Wall”, and each probably deserve the name. This one is probably 24% for about ¼ mile, then drops to probably 20% for another ¼ mile. It’s not all that bad, but it’s definitely an epic ¼ mile, and if one were to go all crazy at the beginning and try to hammer up it they would soon find themselves walking. It’s long enough that you need to measure your effort a bit. Anyway, you then have a nice fast little descent and then hit “The Shadow of the Wall” which is probably 5-6 miles, starts out quite steep, and then levels out to a nice tempo climb. I like this one. It starts to seem interminable, but then you’re at the top and you have a fast descent back into the town of Ferndale, where you started the day before. An epic two days.

Anyway, I love this ride, me and my dad try to do it every year, although I haven’t made it up there the last two. This year the weather was a bit . . . wet. The first day ended up being pretty nice, cloudy but dry. Dry, that is, until we got to the top of Panther Gap. Then it decided to get really cold and wet for the descent. It’s not a very fast descent, and has a number of 10 mph hairpin turns. So it takes a long time to get down and by then I was pretty much freezing. Rather than loading up on cold cokes at Honeydew I contemplated the rather murky looking coffee and decided I’d rather just get on with it and get to camp and get dry and warm. As anyone who’s done much camping will tell you, setting up a tent in the rain sucks ass. But then I was dry and warm, although it seriously limited the afternoon activities. Usually we go for a swim in the Mattole River and relax in the sun with books and, in my dad’s case, his guitar. This time around we were confined to our tents with books. C’est la vie. We walked through the rain to dinner. I think I must have walked through some Poison Oak, as my ankles exploded in it four days later as we were driving across Wyoming (I’ll get to that part, maybe not today). Anyway, after stuffing myself with cheese ravioli and listening to my dad try to explain to a group of people why reality TV isn’t real, we walked back to our tents in the rain and called it an early night.

You know the sound of rain on a tent fly? I think it’s a great sound, you know, when I’m in the desert or something. When you’re in the desert and it’s raining at night you know you’ll be greeted the next day by clear skies and dust-free trails. Now, Humboldt County is not the desert. If I had to classify it I’d probably call it rain forest, but that’s a gross exaggeration of course. Anyway, all night long I heard the rain falling steadily on my tent. I slept surprisingly well, and woke up to . . . rain still falling on my tent. I’d talked myself up about riding in the rain before falling asleep, and I was determined to have a good day riding, regardless of rain or wind. It seemed to be letting up as we walked over to the Grange for our pancakes and bad coffee. We packed up wet tents, put on wet shoes, and jumped on wet bikes. The clouds must have dumped all their rain during the night, because it was surprisingly dry! A pleasant surprise, indeed. Not only that, but the stretch along the ocean was calm and gorgeous. The Wall felt easier than in years past (although my 58 year old father dropped me on the way up – curses!). We kept a good pace up the Shadow and passed lots of people who’d set out earlier than us that morning. Mostly-dry roads made the descent back into Ferndale fun and fast.

And then . . . it was over. It’s one of those things where you feel both victorious and a little sad that it’s time to pack up and go home. It was my last ride in California and with my dad before packing up all my crap and moving out to New England. It was fun, but also a little sad. The entire plan for our move out here was built around me getting to do that ride, and I’m so glad I did. Anyway, as my dad said, those mountains will still be there the next time we do it.

The Wall!

Ahh . . . the ocean. No headwind is a big plus!

Cold, wet descent into Honeydew.

Rockefeller Grove = big trees and bad pavement.