How much pain can we take?

When do we say we’ve had enough? Or do we? We are strange creatures we humans.


I was thinking about this the other day as well wishes poured in to a friend’s Facebook page. She’s a kick boxer who’s been actively training this year for her first fight. At the very least it was to be her only first and only fight, but I wondered (myself having trained intensively for 5 marathons and vowing just before each one it was to be my last) if it would be***. For most people just the prospect of going into the ring to fight would illicit feelings of terror, but she was also excited and very much looking forward to the experience. 

We have an amazing ability to block away the pain when an event is exciting or emotionally stimulating. Look at mothers who go through the pain of childbirth again and again. Before having my first child I was petrified. As much as I wanted that child, I was terrified of the pain I knew was coming. But shortly after the birth, while holding my newborn son I could barely remember the hurt. And against everything I would have predicted I remember telling my husband at the time that I could do it again, and did.

During my first marathon, where I pushed through the pain of a ripped-off big toenail for the last six miles, I never would have dreamed I would consider even coming close to wanting to do another. Yet walking away from the finish line, with the heavy medal thumping satisfyingly against my chest I was already planning it.

I think the more enjoyable the experience (or perhaps the final outcome) the more likely you are to block the memory of the pain. I’ve fallen on my mountain bike and ended up bruised, scraped and scarred more often than I’d like to admit. I’ve had to limp out of a trail because I couldn’t ride due to a  particularly bad fall, yet I love being on the bike, and the moment I see those trails I long to get back on the bike and ride, even though falling is a very real and painful conclusion. My husband broke his collarbone riding a couple months back and all he can talk about is getting back on the trails. We must mentally produce some kind of “hurt beta blockers” that only allow us to recall the fun we had.

Lately I’ve been sidelined by heel pain (known among runners as plantar fasciitis). I’m unable to run any decent distance without hurting afterwards. I am trying to be good and give it time to heal properly by stretching, icing, and exercises and most importantly, not running. That last piece is the most difficult. I know if I run, it’s going to hurt, yet the satisfaction I get when running would overshadow any pain experienced…until afterwards. I am resisting, but there are times I’m sorely tempted.

And it doesn’t stop at physical pain. I’ve had my heart broken so many times, once to the point where I didn’t eat for nearly a week because I hurt so much, and still I continued to open myself up to the possibility of falling in love. Because as corny as it sounds, true and honest love is worth it.

Maybe it simply comes down this, “It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.”~Marquis de Sade.

***btw...For what it’s worth my money’s on “no”…;0)

Sometimes I'm Afraid to Blog

The title says it all.

I have a word document on my computer that contains the start of numerous blogs entries and a few finished ones. I just haven’t published them. There are many reasons for this. I’ve had a few not-so-positive experiences with some entries that I had been initially quite proud to post. By nature I am not a controversial person. I avoid confrontation like the plague, probably to my detriment. I know I should stand up for what I believe, but there are times when I just have to stand down and take the easy way out, even if it means not being able to share some of my opinions. I’ve lost a friendship because one person mistakenly thought I was writing about them and took personal offense to the post in question. At the time I had no idea that the snarky comments and then ignored emails had anything to do with what I had written. By the time he finally said something (via email) about it it was too late to mend what was left because he had made it very clear that he had made up his mind.

 This saddened me, and made me begin to re-think everything I posted. It is exhausting when you have to examine everything you write and then go back over it with a fine-tooth comb and question whether one of your readers could misconstrue what you wrote. I sometime go for weeks between postings because I am just too lazy to cleanse my entries. It defeats what I initially thought was one of the purposes of blogging.

I have many friends who also blog and I am guilty at times of reading more into what they have written. But I give them the benefit of the doubt, and recognize that their opinions are just that, opinions.

 I began to write fluffy, reflective posts that told a heartwarming stories, or reviews on places I’ve travelled to, or race reports. But a part of me resented having to compromise what I really enjoyed writing.

 I debated starting up an anonymous blog so I could write unfettered. I may still do that.

 So if I haven’t posted for a few weeks it’s not because I’m not writing. I am…I’m just sorry that you won’t be able to see half of it.

What keeps me young…

I’ve had people tell me that I don’t look my age, which in itself is quite flattering. Aside from the good genes I was fortunate enough to inherit (my mother looks amazing) I think the reason is because I refuse to age. At least on the inside. My inner age is closer to 23 than my real age (which is nowhere near 23).

The secret? I try to surround myself with youth. I have two teenage boys and I don’t hesitate to climb a tree with them or pull out a nerf gun for an all-out battle. Keeping up with them keeps off the years. I work in a college, and the majority of the students I see on a daily basis are under 25, most are under 20. Listening to them talk and hearing what they talk about keeps me in the loop when it comes to current trends in music and movies.

I participate in “fun” activities – some physical, some not, but most keep me smiling. There’s nothing like bar-hopping around the downtown wearing a red dress with 25 of my closest drinking club buddies, or hitting some scenic single track mountain bike trails with friends, or just running barefoot down the street and enjoying the looks I get (even now with the minimalist trend taking off like it has).

I embrace physical activity…I run, I bike, I swim, I walk, I ski, I stretch, I lift weights, I hula-hoop and I can tell when I need to do one of these to keep myself sane.

I love to play and challenge my brain daily…with board games, crossword puzzles, Wii and computer games.

I also like to learn constantly. The more I learn, the more I want to learn.

And most of all I love to laugh (at silly cards in the stationary store, at sit-coms on television, with my kids when they start speaking in crazy voices and with my husband who somehow has the uncanny ability to make me chuckle with two or three words) and I love to surround myself with people who make me laugh.

Even if I can’t stay young forever, I can certainly do the most to feel that way.  

One of these days…

…my body is going to scream “ENOUGH!”…but until that time I will keep pushing.

I often marvel at the resilience of the human body. If trained well it can take a lot of abuse being thrown at it. And even if it is not trained it can still take that abuse; it won’t refuse, but perhaps protest a little loudly.

On the past weekend I participated in The Swamp Donkey Adventure Race. This was the fourth year I’ve done this race. With each successive year the race organizers devise more and more challenging tasks to test our resolve and will to continue. For the fourth year in a row my team has finished upright and smiling (well…sort of grimacing really). It is amazing really. When we began this journey into adventure racing we had done a couple of city adventure races (mostly pavement/limestone trails) and found them challenging and fun at the same time. When the opportunity came up to try a full-fledged Adventure Race we eagerly signed up. What’s the worst that could happen? Famous last words…

The first year we barely knew what we were in for…riding heavy commuter bikes, relying on compass alone and disregarding a nearby trail that would have gained us extra time to complete the advanced course. By year three we felt like seasoned veterans with war stories to tell about getting lost and a team-mate slashing open his thigh but continuing the race despite the copious amount of blood running down his leg. Stitches should have been in order, but stubbornness and loyalty to his team kept him going.

So by the time we hit the start line this year we felt we could handle just about anything the race organizers could throw at us. We all had full suspension mountain bikes, a fiberglass canoe and more than a few hours paddling training. We had the experience and the training. We were ready. All things considered we did quite well. The race consisted of 11 km of bush-whacking (2:46), 8.5 km of canoeing(1:10) and 48.5(4:50) km of biking - much of it on single track trails and old logging roads. (+ transition times)

I am very conscious of fueling and hydrating during races. I have run 5 marathons and have always been able to put enough food/water into my body to keep it happy and not bonk. The adventure races are no exception. But you fuel differently in a race like this. You eat cookies and Pringles chips and pepperoni sticks. I figured I only took in about 1400 calories during the 9+ hours of racing – way less than I would have burned off. (Interestingly under no circumstances would I EVER be able to eat pepperoni sticks during a marathon but in this race there was no issue whatsoever.) My body took what I gave it and used it to the best of its ability. It adapts.

Because I am constantly doing some kind of physical activity, and aside from the paddling sessions, I didn’t actively train for this race. I cycle, I run, and I swim. I often take for granted my fitness level. And in doing so, I tend to take for granted my fellow teammates’ fitness as well. While none of us found ourselves unable to complete the race, it was difficult at times for us. My team is very empathetic. No one gets upset when delays happen. But we are stronger than we were last year, and the year before that.

Friends of mine were also racing but an 11th hour injury to one of their members resulted in a quick search for a stand-in. Unfortunately this stand-in had no time to train as he had no prior intentions of racing it. I worried about him because this race was once again tougher than previous years. Their team finished the short course (about 20km less than our race ended up with none of the technical biking required) about 30 minutes after we completed the regular. As predicted his body was not happy and although it got him through the race, it was apparent that he was going to be reminded of it for some time to come. The abuse we dole…:)

Three days later I still hurt in some places. My legs are weary and my bike commute is harder than it should be. But this will pass. The human body is resilient. When we put our mind to it, we can accomplish more than we ever thought possible.

BUT...I am still smiling.

More letters…

Dear High Schooler,

Wow, it seems like yesterday you were just entering grade school and here you are, thinking that you are all grown up as you enter high school. Slow down a little and enjoy the ride.

High school can be a scary and intimidating place. Remember how you feel this day, and keep that memory fresh for when you are in grade 12 watching the grade niner’s starting high school. Think about what would have made your day better, having someone show you where the cafeteria is, or directs you to the library, and then do it.

If you thought you made a lot of new friends in grade school and junior high, and all those people will continue to be your friends, think again. Teenagers are fickle and switch loyalties for the silliest of reasons. If you are looking for true, life-long friends, wait until you go to University.

Once again, you won’t be included in one of the “cool groups”. You will wonder how these groups form, and lose many hours of sleep wondering why they didn’t choose you to be part of their inner circle. But you will have your own group of two or three friends and this is what you will remember most from your high school years. Unfortunately you will change towns after grade 11 and have to start again from scratch, in a brand new high school.

You will shy away from team sports, but join the cross-country running team. Oh yeah, and you will hate it. No one will tell you how to train, so you will head out and run three or four miles after school. You will hardly be able to walk the next day, and you will recall that feeling each time you think about cross-country running. Thankfully the season only lasts for a month or two until winter sets in.

You will join the cheerleading squad. You won’t be the head cheerleader and you won’t date the captain of the football team. He won’t even know who you are, or see your cheers because unfortunately a girl named Candace will also join the squad. She is not as coordinated as you but she is tall and slim with strawberry blond hair and large breasts. She will be placed in the front row and during pep rallies everyone’s eyes will be on “Candy”. No, it’s not fair, but you have learned by now that life is anything but fair. You persevere.

You will form a Drama Club and it is here that your true talents will show. Your club will perform George Garrett’s “Sir Slob and the Princess” for surrounding grade schools, and you will travel to a regional Drama Festival where your club wins a bronze medal for its production of L.E. Preston’s one-act comedy “Last Weekend at High Ridge”. Your shyness will disappear, but only when you are onstage.

You will have your first real job in high-school – taking inventory in the school library at the end of the school year. You remember this job not for the plethora of books you need to document or the tedium of re-stacking them all, but for the lunch hour break each day when the librarian lets you go to the back room and watch an episode of “The Prisoner” series on VHS tapes. (“I am not a number. I am a person.”)

You will take driver’s education in the classroom with an instructor who has a glass eye. This will be the first time you’ve ever seen someone like this and it will disconcert you. Your practical instruction will be a woman who clutches a shiny red purse to her chest, and hovers her foot over the brake in the passenger side of the Driver’s Ed car. During the highway portion of training she will order you to honk at the pedestrians who are walking along the side of the road. This will embarrass you because these pedestrians are young men and you will feel self-conscious. During the parallel parking component she will tell you to back up farther…farther…farther until you bump into the car behind you. “That’s far enough” she will say and order you drive off without getting out of the car.

You will pass your driver’s test the first time but hesitate to drive anywhere because the only vehicle your family owns is a Dodge Club cab half-ton with a three-on-the-tree manual transmission. Your father will take you out on the back roads to teach you how to drive it and years later you will be thankful you learned to drive a stick early on.

Because you move in the middle high school you will miss standing up with all the people you went through school with from primary grades and up. You travel to attend their graduation and your four best friends (not surprisingly, three from the drama club) will surprise you with a school year-book signed by everyone in the class. You will be touched by all the kind words written by people you barely knew or hung out with.

If you are wondering why I haven’t mentioned any of your classes, it is because you excel in all of them. You are a good student and you will maintain an 80 average throughout high school. There isn’t much to say here except keep up the good work.

High school is a time where you begin to come into your own. There will be many lessons learned, and some of them re-learned. And most of these you will have to discover for yourself.

I’m proud of who you will become. And I admire your tenacity. You are stronger than you think. Remember that always.

You

P.s. In 25 years you will attend your High School Reunion. I won’t spoil it by telling you what happens but suffice it to say that you will be pleasantly surprised.

Letters to Myself - Grade School

Dear Grade-Schooler,

Welcome to the wonderful world of Primary School! You are going to do just fine – Trust me...I know this. In fact you are going to be a favourite of your teachers. Because you yearn to please you will do anything to earn their praise: clean the chalkboard brushes, offer to take copies of the colouring page to the office to be gestetnered. You will find that you love the smell of the ink when the pages are still wet. It will be a smell that reminds you of your childhood years from now.

You will make new friends, but you will remain steadfastly loyal to ones you already have. Be careful. You are going to be hurt by these same friends. Don’t reveal too much to them. Relationships can be cruel, and this cruelty starts young. Unfortunately this memory will follow you through to your adult years, but you will be stronger because of it, and learn how to treat people with respect.

You are going to have the cutest plastic lunch box with a thermos holder in the top half. This thermos is very prone to breakage and will not last long. Don’t worry; they sell milk in the gymnasium at lunch time for a nickel.

There will be a girl in your class who is rather destructive. She will break and kick down any castle or wall or building you decide to construct. You will not understand why or realize it at the time, but this will be your first of many exposures to special needs individuals. Try to be patient with her because many of your classmates won’t be.

There will be a boy in your class who will suddenly get up and wander around the room, bumping into desks and falling down. Don’t be alarmed. He has epilepsy and just needs to be sat down in quiet place until the episode passes. Please don’t make fun of anything he does during these episodes because he has no control over them and does not remember them.

Your mother will sew you beautiful matching skirts and vests that you will quickly grow out of. They will be donated to your church for their basement White Elephant sale. A classmate is going to proudly show up one day in one of these outfits, modeling it for all the girls. You will remain silent and smile at her enthusiasm, and understand that her mother cannot sew like yours can and that she does not have a lot of money for new clothes.

You will be caught throwing snowballs at recess and get sent to the principal’s office. He will make you and your friends sweat as you sit in the hard wooden chairs outside the room and then when he questions you, and you tell him the truth, he will try hard to hide a smile, and send you back to your classrooms with a mere warning.

You will develop a fear of math because your grade 5 teacher makes you recite the times table before letting you out for recess. Although you will still achieve higher than average marks in all of your math courses, this fear will stick with you no matter how much you practice your math skills.

You will be picked last at every team sport you play. You will be put in the outfield during baseball games because no one is able to hit that far. But regardless, you will come into your own many years from now in the form of distance running. All I ask is that you be patient.

Your love of writing and drawing begins here. A teacher who criticizes your drawing of a caveman shooting an arrow at a dinosaur will not discourage you. You won’t learn that the two didn’t exist at the same time until years later. You will continue to write stories and illustrate them – because you love to do so.

You will cultivate a long lasting bond with your grade 6 teacher, and still be in touch with him when you are 47. Although many of your classmates will say he’s mean and uncaring, you will see something in him that they don’t. You won’t try his patience like only 11 year olds can, and, although you know it may be unfair, you will secretly enjoy the special attention you get from him…new, un-chewed pencils, a book that you’ve been waiting to read, or an opportunity to stay in at recess and help him collate the hand-outs for the afternoon. Fortunately neither of you will realize that things will sadly change drastically over the years, and male teachers won’t be able to be alone with female students anymore for fear of many things. Enjoy this innocent friendship for as long as you can.

You will believe that your school will stand forever and you will visit it whenever you go ‘back home’. But it will outgrow its population and requirements and they will build a bigger one to replace it. New students will have their own school to build their history, but you will always have your memories.

Grade School will be an educational experience and you will learn a lot, both inside and outside the classroom, about yourself and others. You will learn to question things and how to obtain the answers. You will learn humility, respect and honesty. These traits will carry you far. Now go off and enjoy the next six years!

Always looking out for you,
Your future self

The Supercycle

The other day I suddenly remembered an incident in my youth when my beloved blue Supercycle bicycle was stolen.

It was my very first two-wheeled bike and I was thrilled with it. It had a been a gift from my parents. The grips were a bright white rubbery plastic with finger grooves.
It was a single-speed and came equipped with coaster brakes, white fenders, a blue and white seat and had a pretty blue chain guard with the name Supercycle painted on it in white script.

I loved that bike. It was my equivalent to freedom, as every child discovers. I was a bit of a daredevil back, setting up obstacle courses to ride my bike through; small ramps and jumps and “water features”. I attempted a crazy stunt on a gravel hill that resulted in road rash on my elbows and picking gravel out of the scrape. But I always got back on. At the time, I was too young and we lived too far from town for me to ride my bike to school, but it was not too far to ride to the bus stop, which was about half a mile from my house. My friend David lived on the corner where the bus picked us up and said it was Ok to park my bike there while we were at school. This was a great arrangement because when we got home David would get his bike and the two of us would head off to find adventure before it was time to go home.

One day, I got off the bus and my bike wasn’t there. Gone. No one had seen anything. There was nothing I could do. I walked home, crying. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to steal ‘MY’ bike.

My parents consoled me but there wasn’t much they could do. I can’t remember if we ever filed a police report.

I got another bike, and this one never left my yard except when I was on it. I returned to walking to the bus stop because I was too scared this one would be stolen as well. (I know what you are thinking…Why didn’t you lock the bike up? Lock it?!?!?! What’s a bike lock? I grew up in an age where you weren’t supposed to have to lock your bike, or wear a helmet, so I did neither.)

About a year later David and I were out on our bikes and had ridden about three miles down the road to a local campground where they had a tiny sundries store that stocked the best fireball jawbreakers on earth.
They were cinnamon flavored, could barely fit in your mouth and they took hours to eat, burning your taste buds off the entire time. We were on a mission for fireballs. We left the store, clutching our small paper bags filled with sugar-laden junk and went around the back to sit before heading back home.

And there it was. Sitting in long overgrown grass along the back wall of the camp store was my bike…missing both wheels. David and looked at each other and our jaws dropped. We looked around to see if anyone had seen us. Now we were paranoid. It was as if we had just witnessed a murder and the bad guy was going to track us down. We ran to our bikes and pedaled those single speeds as fast as we could to the nearest house where we knew someone. Knocking on the door I begged to use the phone, and called my Dad, explaining in heaving breaths that I had found my bike!

He humoured me and came to pick us up and we drove to the camp store where David and I remained in the truck, slinking down in the front seat, while my father went into the store to make inquiries. Minutes later he emerged, walked around the back of the store and came back with my skeleton of a bike frame. He put it in the truck and we headed home.

He told us that they had no idea whose bike it was, that it had been there, wheel-less, for some time. The crime was untraceable, and the bike was unrideable.

Later that summer Dad found a couple of wheels to put back on the bike, but with the fenders they were too small and the bike suddenly looked goofy. It was relegated to our cabin where my brother and I rode to the local camp store for chocolate bars and pop. It was a good camp bike, but sadly remained forever tainted in my eyes.

Wining

Getting together with the girls for a glass of wine* is a wonderful thing. Unlike guys girls just don’t say, “Let’s hang out and drink beer.” Although I have many friends with whom I thoroughly enjoy quaffing back a beer or two, I do like the pretense of class (I say “pretense” because I don’t consider myself very refined or elegant) and holding a wine glass gives me that. Why does it seem to evoke visions of women in classy dresses smiling and laughing together?

And to be honest, it’s never just “a glass of wine”. If the bottle is open, it’s likely going to be empty by the time we are finished**. Now don’t get me wrong – it’s not as if we can’t sit and talk without alcohol.
We’ve done that many times over Gatorade after a race or coffee after a bike ride. But the act of purposely getting together for a glass of wine gives the gathering a sense of purpose.

More often than not for me, getting together for a glass of wine with a girlfriend(s) translates into, “I need to vent, let’s crack open a bottle of red spill our guts.” There’s nothing more comforting than sitting around with like-minded individuals, who know that you care about what they have to say, will listen to what’s on your mind and, more importantly, won’t judge you for any of it. I think that’s the crux. It’s a safe environment filled with trust friendship and the wine just adds another layer on top.

We don’t necessarily solve the world’s problems during these get-togethers, or even solve our own, although we do spread the wealth of good news, air our dirty laundry and contribute suggestions to get through the rough spots.

And as if we need more ammunition to drink wine, studies show that red wine is a wonder drug that leads to better sex, makes you smart, and keeps you thin. What more could a woman ask?

I cherish times like this. They are most often spontaneous, but in some instances may involve a bit of planning to accommodate all of our crazy schedules (training, kids, work, family). Regardless of how we do it, it’s worth it when you’re with friends.

(*substitute gin for wine if you wish, Bombay Sapphire to be specific)
(** if you have substituted gin for wine here please be advised that unless there are over 10 of us, or we have an 8oz bottle, it won’t be emptied – we aren’t crazy!)

Mountain Biking Grand Junction --> Lunch Loops/Tabeguache Trail

This was our last day of riding and for those who aren’t mountain bikers and wonder when this drivel will end; this will be my last post on the Utah/Colorado Trip.

We had only the morning to ride and had arranged a late check out to allow ourselves a couple hours on the trails and still have time to get back to the hotel for a shower before hitting the road home.

This was our third attempt at riding the Lunch Loop Trails. Finally success! The last time we’d pulled into the parking lot we encountered riders with mud-encrusted bikes. They’d been unable to dodge the rain that started mid-way through their ride and had to get back to the trail head in pouring rain and on wet trails. They’d advised us that the trails were still really slippery and muddy and that we could do our bikes some real damage (not to mention the trails) if we ventured out. That was the day we gave up and headed to Moab.


This time we were in luck. It was overcast and breezy but with the promise of a sunbeam or two. Again, we consulted the trail map to see where we were going to ride. The book we had promised more trails than we had time for. And once more, one of the locals came over with advice. Mountain bikers are just so friendly and accommodating! Everyone we met was all too pleased to chat with us and share stories of the trails they’d ridden. The guy told us that almost everyone rides the Pet-e-Kes trail up to the ridge. It is a newer trail. Before it was built riders had to be content with riding the uneventful dirt road up to the top. The trail builders have done an amazing job in making the trail challenging enough for the ride up. Most of the ascent is a twisty switchback ride that goes around the outside of some steep hills. The trail is certainly wide enough to ride, but the corners were sharp and I had to dab multiple times and sometimes stop altogether.
I know if it was a flat trail I would have had no issue manipulating the corners but something about a seeing a drop off out of the corner of my eye psyches me out. I need to get over that. Once up at the top we had a bunch of choices. The trails are well marked – much like the 18 Road Trail system in Fruita, and it would be nearly impossible to get lost. Still, we had taken a picture of the trail map just in case we needed to consult it at a later time.

From Pet-e-Kes we took the High Noon trail up to a short piece called the Lemon Squeezer. There was a black diamond on the sign which indicated it wasn’t for novices. The boys wanted to give it a go, so I let them lead, and followed behind. From what I could determine one would require a Danny Macaskill bike and Danny Macaskill skills to ride this section flawlessly. Needless to say, I have neither so I walked most of this trail.
Once through the Lemon Squeezer, which Bob valiantly attempted to ride (and from our point of view, quite successfully all things considered) we joined up with Raven Ridge. This is a scenic trail that runs all along the ridge overlooking the parking lot and Grand Junction in the distance. There are some technical parts in the first half, but the rest is just a beautiful ride along the rim. From there you hook up to Curt’s Lane which was a slightly tense descent at the end of the ridge with hairpin switchbacks all the way down. The wind was howling the day we were there, thankfully blowing us into the hill and not off the side. I rode most of the switchbacks down except for one hairy one where I had to stop and physically pick up my bike and place it in the opposite direction. I am constantly amazed that people are able to ride this. Maybe with practice some day I could but right now I feel like more of a hobbyist than anything.
The last run down to the parking lot was bittersweet knowing we had to leave that afternoon.


As we loaded the bikes onto the car we found a lone Corona in the cooler. Sharing it the gnarly boys and I promised to come back soon and ride again.

Mountain Biking Fruita – Prime Cut, Kessel Run and Joe’s Ridge

Another day, and yet another different riding experience.

We reluctantly left Moab as we really wanted to ride some of the Fruita/Grand Junction trails that had been rained out earlier in the week. We arrived in Fruita to a beautiful sunny day and a jammed 18 Road trail head parking lot. (We had arrived the day before the Fruita Fat Tire Festival. The parking lots reflected that. If only we’d planned better we’d have been able to partake in the festivities.)

What I found interesting is that in Moab the ratio of men to women was about 5:1. In Fruita men completely outnumbered the women – more like 25:1. I only saw two women in the parking lot, and only 1 on the trails when we were out. I’m sure there must be more women riders in Fruita.

We geared up and went over to the trail map to see how to proceed. The way many of the trails in this area are set up are out and back (or more aptly up and down.) Some of the local riders recommended that we take the Prime Cut trail up to the top as it’s a pretty singletrack that climbs gradually to the upper parking lot. Most people park in the lower lot and then ride up the trails. It is much nicer to end the day on a downhill than to have to slog up to the top to finish the ride.

Prime Cut was a nice warm-up, not too technical but had enough rocks and twists to keep me on my toes. The funny thing was I was laboring for breath with every twist and turn. I had to remember that I was 4500 ft above sea level (and still climbing), and my prairie-raised body is used to 800 ft. When we got to the top parking lot we stopped for a breath and a sip and a check at the map to see which trail we were going to take down. A bunch of riders came whipping into the parking lot and saw us consulting the trail map. They came over and asked if we wanted to ride with them. They were heading over to ride Zippety Do Dah. We’d read about it in one of the trail books and it was described as having an intense pucker factor (as much of it is along a ridge) with extremely steep downhills. One of the guys said that you ride many of the descents so far back on your bike that your seat is in your chest. We opted not.

We decided to have some fun and ride the Kessel Run down to the parking lot. It had been wildly endorsed by fellow riders from home who had ridden it last year. Like the famed Millenium Falcon that made the Kessel Run in 12 parsecs you can make this run in less than 15 minutes . It’s a fast flowing trail that slaloms up and back through a dry creek bed. It’s full of twists and turns as it sweeps back and forth all the way down the hill. The first time down I got into the rhythm about half way down. Sadly it was over before I knew it.

The second grind up we decided to see if the road was any easier. I found it wasn’t, as it was a direct climb to the upper parking lot with no opportunity to rest. At least with Prime Cut there were spots you could rest and swoop to the other side before starting to pedal again. The road was straight, dusty and boring. You live and you learn.

Our second run down was Joe’s Ridge. Fittingly named, it runs along a ridge for most of the bottom half of the trail. I was able to ride most of this except for one steep descent. Normally it wouldn’t have fazed me, but this descent was along a gravelly ridge with the sides dropping off at a startlingly steep inclines. I did begin to ride the hill, but my rear tire was sliding back and forth so much in the gravel that I was afraid it was going to go over the edge. It wasn’t a “Death on the Left” kind of drop, but I could envision myself taking a long ugly gravel slide all the way down if I fell, and I wasn’t up for that. After that the rest of Joe’s was totally within my skill level. At the bottom it connected with the lower half of Kessel Run so I got the chance to give that one another go. This time I was quicker, smoother and much more coordinated than I was the first time down. Unfortunately, this was the last run of the day.

I will put this on my wish-list for the next time we come back. There are so many other trails that I still want to ride I think we need more than a week there. And I want to do Kessel again – What a blast!

Lower Porcupine Singletrack (LPS) and Porcupine Rim

Porcupine Rim, according to all the things I’ve read, is the second most popular ride in Moab. It definitely has some the most breathtaking panoramas I have ever seen. This trail is only part of what is known in the area as The Whole Enchilada; which encompasses several trails including Burro Pass, Hazard County, Upper Porcupine Singletrack (UPS), LPS, and Porcupine Rim.

We were in Moab in April, and everything above LPS was still deep in snow. We were shuttled up to the highest possible starting point, LPS, and even then there was a dusting of snow on the trails. The majority of the ride is downhill, but that certainly doesn’t mean it’s easy. Quite the contrary.

This kind of riding was more familiar to me, complete with lots of tight singletrack through small shrubs and trees, mud, rocks and roots. It took me a while to get my riding legs back after a day on smooth wide open rock. The trail was technical but not discouragingly so…yet. After some twists and turns and some awesome views of the Castle Valley from up top the mesa the trail emerges into a double jeep track. This section is like a rough rocky road. We began the flight down, and I call it a flight because the speed creeps up on you if you aren’t careful, and you can hit air during certain points of the ride.

This is where I scared myself multiple times. The lines that most riders pick are easy to spot by the tire tracks. On the rockiest and roughest drops the easiest lines are usually to the immediate left or right of the road. There were a couple times when I came flying around a corner and was unable to veer to the outside lines. My bike dropped once, twice, three times…and these weren’t small drops…Again the only way to explain it is to throw in a video. 27 seconds in demonstrates this style of riding. (note that I did NOT ride the “diving board” drop that is shown 4 times in this video)



Even though I didn’t have to pedal much my quads were burning from hovering over the seat and manoevering the downhill. There was a section of rock that appeared to be an easy slope. Near the bottom a bunch of riders had stopped for a bite to eat before tackling the next section of trail. It was here that I took a tumble. I had approached a bench-type drop that seemed straight forward. What I didn’t know as I went over the edge was that the next step curved inward instead of being a flat rock. I guess I didn’t have enough speed to keep rolling over it as my front tire stopped dead and I flew off the bike and onto my left shoulder and side right into the rock base. Ow!! My first fall on rocks. (It’s much harder than the sand and soil I’m used to falling on ;0))There were cheers as I rose, gave the thumbs up and got back on my bike to continue.

At about the 10 mile point the trail began to narrow back to more singletrack and started to wind around the canyon rim. I was told that there is no shame in walking your bike through some of these sections. And I did just that. Riders ahead would yell out “Death on the right!” when a particularly steep drop was coming up. This was my cue to dismount and live.



Although I didn’t ride many parts of the Porcupine Rim section I watched with envy as other riders manoevered the tricky trail seemingly without effort. I kept telling myself that they ride this stuff all the time.
Once we were past the scariest parts I was able to ride the rest of the trail back to the highway. I would love to ride this trail again. My favourite part was actually the middle section where we were flying down drops and steps. There was little time to think so instinct took over. It's amazing what instince can do! What a ride!

It’s as easy as riding a bicycle...right - not at Slick Rock

Ok, so I know how to ride a bicycle....or at least I thought I did before I went to Moab. Then I realized that I didn’t really know very much, and I would have to re-learn what I thought I knew…and then I realized I would have to do this each time I rode a new trail.

Moab is a playground for mountain bikers. There are a plethora of trails, too numerous to name all of them, and each comes with its own rider requirements.

My first trail was Slickrock – a Mecca known around the world by mountain bikers. It wasn’t supposed to be the first. I was supposed to be gradually initiated into desert riding by an introductory ride in Grand Junction Colorado on the Horsethief Bench Trail. But insistent rain for two days, which renders most trails unrideable due to slippery rock or sticky mud, and an encouraging sliver of blue sky to the west, forced us to discard those plans and head to Moab, hoping to salvage at least part of a day’s ride. It was still pouring when we arrived. Inquiries at the local bike store emerged with the information that the only rideable trail when it is raining is Slick Rock. Because we didn’t want to wrestle tents in the rain we decided to give it a go, hoping for the skies to clear up before we set up camp.

The parking lot was full of riders, gearing up, tweaking bikes and lingering around, which gave the LBS full credibility. Slick Rock has a two mile practice loop which is recommended you ride before heading out on the 10.6 mile proper. This is so you can gauge whether or not you have the technical ability to ride the rest of the trail. (There are no bow-outs once you hit the trail and it’s nearly impossible to walk out of Slick Rock) We headed out in the pouring rain, following the white paint marks. The first 500 metres were great. I was grinding up the steep slopes and gliding down the other side.

It was disconcerting at first. My first instinct when I see wet rock is to put my bike away. Granite, which is what I normally ride on, is deadly slippery in the rain. Slickrock isn’t. The nature of the rough sandstone actually promotes rubber gripping. You can ride on a camber that defies belief and your tires will stick to the side of the hill. This took some pretty big leaps of faith for me as I rode across some slopes that were literally sheeting with water. But as promised, the rock held onto me, or more aptly, my bike.

Then we came to a steep downward slope that dipped and disappeared half way down then reappeared with what looked like a sharp curve to the right at the bottom. I braked, stared down the hill and for the first time in my riding history I froze with fear. My riding partners, Clayton and Bob, had flown down the hill and were waiting for me patiently, but nothing would move except my heart which was beating erratically and out of my chest. Nothing I could do could coax my body to get on that bike and ride that hill. Nothing. So I stood there, staring at the hill and getting more and more freaked out. I started to shake, but I’m not sure if it was with fear or from the cold as the rain was now pouring down. Clayton called up to me several times, telling me that he knew I could ride this, but all I could do was shake my head and refuse to move. So he came back up and told me that we could go back to the parking lot and wait for Bob to finish the loop.

Following Clayton and feeling dejected and miserable, but mostly angry with myself I cautiously began riding back to the trail head. There were another couple of steep slopes that I had ridden up on the way out. They gripped my tires and nothing would let go. I’m not sure what switch flipped in my brain but I stopped and decided that I would not, could not, be bested so soon. The practice loop hills are nowhere as steep or as long as the main loop. If I wanted to ride at all, I had to beat that hill. Turning around we made our way back to the dreaded drop. It was still as steep and the rain was still pouring down. Clayton led the way and stopped at the bottom. He coached me as I reversed my bike back as far as the rock would allow so I could mount the bike and clip in before I reached the hill. Then moving my body back over the rear tire as I’d been taught, and applying steady pressure on the rear brake I maneuvered very slowly down the feared hill. I released the brake at the bottom and coasted through the turn at started up the next hill.

To get a sense of how steep these hills are fast forward to the 57 second point of this video:



Two or three of these hills later I was riding with a confidence that had, up until that point, eluded me. After half an hour the sun began to break through and the rock immediately dried up. We met up with Bob who had ridden the loop once and then started back so he wouldn’t miss us if we decided to ride back out.

It was getting to be late in the afternoon so we reluctantly agreed that we needed to go and check into the campground, and get the tents set up before evening, and before it rained again, which unfortunately, it was threatening to do. So after about three miles of riding the practice loop I was ready for the real thing the next day.

We did the full loop the following day in beautiful sunshine and I am happy to report that I rode every single downhill but one (the last one was at the end of the ride, extremely steep, and I was getting tired – not a great combination). Watch the video in its entirety to appreciate the stark beauty and vastness of the area. It is very difficult to not look around while riding so we made many stops along the way to check out the vistas.



Of all the trail that week this one was by far my favourite. I can’t wait to go back. And I will go back!

Saying Farewell to a Faithful Friend

I’m a hasher (drinker with a running problem) and we are notorious for our double entendres, our rude and crude songs, and our ability to run-drink-repeat. So it made me giggle a little when I picked up a new commuter bike last week and found out it was called a Bad Boy. Oh what I can do with that little number!

My last bike, the Yokota Ahwahnee, is about 20 years old and has never been the easiest bike to handle. For one, the frame has always been much too large for me. Bike shops size differently today than they did in 1989. After riding single track on a nimble and light mountain bike I would find the Ahwahnee unwieldy and clumsy, even on a flat city street. I never felt like I was in complete control. As well, it is HEAVY! I used to lug it up and down the stairs to my apartment and a couple of times nearly toppled backwards from the weight. But the bike has been very kind to me over the years. I never once experienced a flat tire or lost a chain. It was nearly indestructible. I took it on a number of adventure races and it never let me down, even when I had to hike it on my shoulders for a 1 km slog through a beaver-dam swamp.(I, on the other hand, may have let it down a couple of times due to its substantial bulk). I’ve recently done some internet searches on my old bike and they all came back with descriptions like “dependable” and “solid” and “great bike for the price”. It never complained by my lack of chain oiling or gear adjusting. Things just worked. When I bought it in 1989 it boasted what was then a state of the art chromoly frame. I guess that was to justify the price, which was for me then a fortune. I’d never spent that much on a bike before.

The Bad Boy was actually slightly less in today’s dollars which makes it such a great deal for me. The manufacturer’s website describes my new bike thusly: “The Cannondale Bad Boy comes in a number of models and specs but all are ideal for urban cyclists. The Bad Boy is fast and very maneuverable and also robust enough to take the knocks from drains and curbs.” Another website describes it as “Fast, black and bad.
A bike that can take aggressive handling at high speed yet is sturdy enough to last in city traffic.” I’ve already ridden it to work on potholed city streets and can attest to its maneuverability and ease of handling. Two rides in and I already feel safer on this bike. It’s as if my Bad Boy is protecting me.

So it’s time to bid my old companion adieu and reluctantly welcome into my life its replacement. I say reluctant because I’m going to miss the Ahwahnee in a strange way. It has a cool and unique paint job – pale green with purple accents – that I have yet to see on another bike. Unlike the flat black “ninja” Bad Boy, the Ahwahnee stands out no matter where it is parked.

This was a disadvantage for a friend of mine who purchased the exact same bike the exact same week I did. She had the worst luck with her Ahwahnee. She’d locked it outside her apartment building but being new to the city neglected to lock both (quick-release) tires to the bike rack as well. The next day she came outside and both wheels were missing. She went back to the store and had them both replaced. Then she decided that she was going to play it safe and keep the bike on her second story balcony. Unfortunately the thief must have REALLY wanted that bike because it disappeared off her balcony a week later. Another trip to the store and a new, but different, bike came home with her. This one lasted her for many years but I think it’s because she kept it indoors - purportedly under lock and key.

Mine however, stuck to me like glue. It hauled books and back-packs to and from work and school, it went on some beautiful bike rides through my city’s scenic parks and it pulled children in bike carriers. But the Ahwahnee won’t be going too far away when it leaves. It plans to spend its retirement years at the lake in Ontario and take a leisurely ride now and then during the summer months when I come and visit. So long for now old friend, but not good-bye; I have a Bad Boy to ride.

Renewal

Spring gives me an odd sense of renewal. As the snow melts and the daylight hours extend into evening you can’t help but feel transformed. It always feels as if I get another chance to begin again. Not that I want to start over in anything. Life is pretty good right now and I want for very little. If spring could grant me one wish it wouldn’t be for myself. It would be for other people, who are not as happy or satisfied with any or part of their lives. I would wish for them contentment, the ability to let the cards fall as they may and to see the beauty in their day-to-day life. Clarity in a waterdrop. Vibrant colours in a prairie sunset.

Who am I?

I’ve often wondered what kind of mom I come across as to my kids’ friends. My younger son came up to me after school one day and told me that he had shared some home-made fudge with a friend of his, who, when he found out that I had made it told my son, “Your mom is pretty cool.” (I’m relatively sure that ‘pretty cool’ doesn’t have some other junior high school meaning even though I do know that “yer mom” does).

That got me thinking about other “cool moms”. When I was just starting high school I used to think that some of my friends’ moms were pretty cool too. My friend Kim’s mom was uber-cool. All Kim’s friends used to call her “Mom”. She was understanding and often overlooked things that my mother would have freaked out had she known. Like the time Kim and I baked and ate the better part of a lemon cake before going to a beach party where we liberally chugged vodka and orange juice. I don’t need to say that the rest of that night was pretty ugly, but Kim’s mom just laughed at our stupidity and knew that this was a very hard lesson learned. (I haven’t had vodka and orange juice since without being painfully reminded of that night.)

Then there was Judy’s mom. She was another of those ladies whom everyone just called “Mom”. We were always welcome at Judy’s house and there was always a crowd there. Her mom never seemed to mind and usually ended up chatting with whoever was hanging out in the kitchen. She fed us and if Judy couldn’t borrow the car, which wasn’t very often, she would drive us where we needed to be. She trusted us to make the right decisions, and I think because she endowed with such trust, that we were loath to break it.

Years later my family moved a couple hours north to an even smaller town, and I started dating a guy who was 6 years younger than me. Jody wasn’t old enough to get into the bar so I used to buy us beer and we would sit at his house and watch movies on weekends. At first I was apprehensive when he decided to introduce me to his parents, especially considering our age difference. I fully expected to be met with very frosty and suspicious attitudes, particularly from his mom. I couldn’t have been more wrong. They welcomed me into their home with open arms, and hugs each time I came through the door. Jody’s Mom and I shared a love for cross-stitch and over the year that Jody and I dated, his mom and I exchanged gifts that we’d created for each other. When Jody left for University we agreed that we would part ways. I decided to live by the adage, “If you love something set it free…” His mom and I got together a few times after that but then I moved to another city. We lost touch. I often wonder what happened to Jody, and his amazing parents.

Knowing how I felt about these laudable ladies makes me wonder what kind of Mom I will be as my kids grow older, and hope that even if I have to be the heavy, I will also be hip.

Random Thoughts to Start 2011

Most people who know me also know that I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. If I’m planning to make changes in my life, I’ll make them immediately. I don’t need a specific start date – “today” is always that date.

We got what was considered a “snow day” at work earlier this week. (In reality a water main broke outside the building and they sent everyone home). One of my co-workers who has been around for at least 10 years told me that this is the first time he could remember that they had to close for anything like that…let alone actual snow.

Sometimes I don’t think I do enough, other times I think I do too much. So I guess that makes it pretty much even then…?

My cell phone battery seems to have less and less charge on it these days. I thought the newer batteries weren’t supposed to do that.

While having beers with friends and family members the other night the talk got around to parenting and how no one is every truly prepared for the job. My boyfriend stopped the conversation and said, while pointing at me, “If you want to see an amazing mother look no further.” Of all the compliments he’s given me, that one will remain one of the most special.

It never ceases to amaze me how people can hold onto bitterness/grudges. In my opinion there’s no better waste of time or emotion, and in the end, the only people it really hurts are those bearing the grudge. I know from personal experience how liberating it can be to just let it go and move on with life.

I have been trying to write a blog about “My Ditch” – the lowest point in my life. And I honestly couldn’t think of a time in my life when I felt nothing but despair or hopelessness. So I scrapped it. I guess that means I am pretty lucky. There’s something to be said for a positive outlook on life.

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the past year of blogging. I explored topics and things that I’d never thought about before. I’ve been inspired by others’ writings and I’ve met some pretty interesting and amazing people, sometimes only “cybernetically”. Here’s hoping 2011 holds much of the same.