No Two Rides Are The Same

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One of the things I love about Southern Oregon is the mild winter weather. On one of these delightful weekends, the weather was warm, reaching the low 60’s at times. I took advantage of this wonderful winter climate and managed to log 63 miles on the Fun Wheels. We normally spend our time on the greenway, but yesterday, I wanted to try something different. We headed for the open road. On a bit of a whim, we decided to see if we could ride all the way to Jacksonville and back.

The day dawned bright and clear, but soon clouded over. A quick check on The Weather Channel’s app told me that rain was likely beginning at 3:00. We decided to get in gear and get a move on before the rain prevented us from heading out. Our anxiety was wasted; we experienced mild weather and got in a great ride. We even stopped along the way for lunch.

On another such weekend ride, we headed in another direction over some hilly terrain to another nearby town. It was a windy day and there were moments when we wished we’d just stayed on the greenway because it is so much easier than the hilly stuff we experienced that day.

Most of the time, though, we stay on the greenway, mostly because we don’t really have to think much and our biggest decision is how far we can go in the time have. I’m sure this will change as time goes on and as we become stronger riders, but for now this works for us.

Lately, I’ve noticed that every ride is different, even if the route is the exact same as the day before. Some days the ride is mostly effortless and I can ride forever. Even as we end the ride I feel as though I could go another 10 miles. On other days it is an effort to keep a 9 mph pace (slow for us) and it seems to take forever to settle into the right cadence. On other days, I never can find the right gear, though this happening is less and less. This Every-Ride-Is-Different phenomenon is exactly why I love cycling instead of heading to the gym. I like the gym. Don’t get me wrong. Strength training is important and I definitely need to do more of it. A trip to the gym always makes me feel a little like the hamster on its exercise wheel. When I’m on my bike, even a bad ride, makes me feel carefree and strong. Rolling out on two wheels helps me clear my head like nothing else does. I’m hoping my health and fitness last so I can enjoy My Life In Gear for a long, long time to come.

Monthly Rides

March 11 was the last day I rolled out without kids in tow. It was the day before my last surgery. Kids on a ride, while enjoyable, slows the pace significantly. My 17-year-old son keeps up very well, but he doesn’t always pay attention to his use of the path. It can be alarming the way he weaves around. He’s also been known to stop without warning. I hate that. My 11-year-old daughter, can’t keep up. With her, we slow the pace significantly and we shorten the distance. She’s able to make a 20 mile ride, but it has to include lots of stops, a plodding pace, and the promise of a park with a playground somewhere along the way.

Since my surgery, I’ve been out on a couple of rides, but they haven’t been long ones, because the kids ended up going along. The weather has also been nasty and, while I ride in just about any weather, pouring rain is one forecast I’d rather not encounter on my bike.

On Saturday, there was a break in the weather and I was able to get out and ride to my heart’s content and until my legs gave out. It was the most mileage in a ride ever. The SO and I logged 42 miles in 3:34:00. That’s a pretty steady 11 mile an hour pace. It’s not the fastest we’ve ever ridden, but considering it was my first long ride since surgery and in a month, I don’t think that’s too bad for an ole gal getting back in gear.

The fun thing about this ride is that it also included our first group ride with the Southern Oregon Velo Club. We’ve been members since last May, but have not felt confident enough in our riding skills or in our endurance level to attempt a group ride. A month ago, I found out that there is a group that rides shorter distances at a slower pace so I got on the email list in order to be notified of upcoming rides. Yesterday it finally worked out that we could attend a ride. The only problem is that the ride scheduled wasn’t going to be nearly long enough for our purposes.

To remedy that, the SO and I got up early and headed down the greenway on our own. By the time we met up with the other club members, we had almost 27 miles in. We rode 10 miles with the club, and then after an enjoyable stop at the Badass Coffee Company, we parted ways and headed home. It was a very positive first group ride experience and we learned some cool stuff. We also learned that as soon as we are able to get those road bikes. We’ll be ready to join the group that rides a little further at a bit faster pace. Without the road bikes though, we will slog behind the faster group.

By the time we got home, the SO’s legs were cramping up. I’m doing fine so far and am only mildly sore. Just lucky this ride, I guess, because that’s not always the case after a long ride. I hope we can head out for another long ride again today. Putting in 80-100 miles on a weekend would be a new milestone to celebrate.

This One’s For My Family, Especially The Ladies

Breast Cancer runs in my family…sort of. My mother, at 56, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She also had an uncle who died of breast cancer, a rare but possible thing, as breast cancer can affect 2% of all men. At least, I think that is number I remember reading in my journeys the last few months. As I’ve traveled this road, I’ve successfully laughed off the potential for fear, but I have on several occasions wished I paid more attention when my mom was going through this. The sad part is that I can’t just go back and talk to her about what went down. She passed in 2004. To the best of my knowledge, after her operation (she ended up having a full mastectomy), and her treatments, she never had a recurrence. Her cause of death, was not breast cancer, but complications of emphysema. I find this encouraging. I still wish I could talk to her about what she went through.

Since I cannot do that, and since there is likely to come a time when my sisters or nieces or daughters might want to know exactly what the family genetics holds for them, I am writing this post. I am writing this to let them know what my diagnosis is, and to inform them of my treatments so far. It is, of course, going to be a bit evident through it all, how I feel about it all.

Diagnosis

I have what the medical professionals refer to as DCIS or Ductile Carcinoma In Situ. In other words, I have tiny micro-calcifications in the duct of my right breast. These crystallizations are not visible to the human eye, and in order for them to be seen on my work up they have to be magnified a bazillion times. The term In Situ means that this particular form of cancer is non-invasive. Were it to progress it could eventually break through the duct and invade breast tissue. However, because, my cancer is In Situ, it hasn’t broken out and gone floating around either in my breast or anywhere else in my body.

Treatments

I’ve had three biopsies. Two separate bits of cancer were found. The first was intermediate grade. (Ladies, that will be important for you to tell your health professionals.) The last bit was about a millimeter in size and was of low grade. There’s been some question over the years as to whether the breast cancer gene (BRCA 1 and/or BRCA 2 mutations) exist in our family. To my knowledge, my mother was not tested for this. I know I have not been tested for it. I think this is important for you to know. I know some in the family are already asking. At some point, it might be a good idea for one of us to consider testing…yeah…I guess that’d be me.

Prognosis

My surgeon, after this last surgery informed me that there is almost zero chance of this metastasizing. However, since I have a diagnosis of breast cancer, my odds of getting breast cancer again in either breast is dramatically increased. Exercise and diet are going to be critical factors for me going forward. It is now even more important than ever that I get out on two wheels as often as possible.

Further Treatments

I meet with my Radiology Oncologist this week, to determine if radiation is necessary. I kind of suspect that it will be recommended. It’s not a foregone conclusion and radiation treatment is not without its risks. For example, I learned this week, that if I choose radiation now, and then I have another issue down the road, it will make mastectomy the only option. Though, I’m not so sure that’s entirely a problem, either. As for chemotherapy, not needed for me, because my cancer was such early stage and non-invasive.

So, Ladies, I’m going to encourage you to get your mammograms regularly. Regular exams do make a difference and early detection is the key to the cure. Daughters, you’ll need to start these mammograms earlier than the average person. You now have a grandmother and your mother with the history. Talk to your doctors, but I suspect, getting your baseline at 30 wonD’t be any too soon. If I’m around then, and you want me to, I’d be glad to accompany you for that first one. It sounds a lot scarier than it really is. I’m going to be okay. You will be too. Just remember, eat right, exercise, keep up on your scans.

Slowly Getting Back in the Saddle

As much fun as the surgical party was, the time spent convalescing wasn’t nearly as smooth this time around.  More pain, more fatigue, less weather that cooperated with me getting out on the bike, and more of the daily stuff of life that can just get in the way of feeling 100 percent.  That being said, I’m sporting a pretty wicked looking 4-inch scar.  I can, at least, still proudly announce that I do have all my original body parts. I’m certainly glad that it wasn’t worse than it was.

Two days ago, the weather relented, and I ventured forth on my first ride after this last surgery. My significant other, my son and I logged 17.04 miles in an hour and 26 minutes.  Not too bad for a first day out.  The SO kept asking how I was doing and telling me not to push too hard.  After my typical sucking air for the first 10 minutes, I was fine.  After the first 30 minutes, I was fully warmed up and having a great time.  The weather was perfect.  Of course, there are some who would not consider overcast and sprinkling weather as perfect, but I was ecstatic to be on two wheels again, with the wind in my face. The ground was mostly dry, large puffy clouds scudded across the sky, every now and then we were hit by a few sprinkling drops of rain, but nothing significant.  Fruit trees are beginning to blossom and trees are beginning to leaf out around here.  It was beautiful.  I was disappointed only by the fact that we started out late and due to time constraints had to head back much earlier than I wanted.

It was good we headed back when we did, though, because my body was screaming at me for going out that far and that hard after two weeks of complete inactivity.  I was pretty grateful for a few of the remaining pain meds that night.

A Hee Haw Life

This week reminded me of one of those That’s Good, That’s Bad” comedy skits from the variety show Hee Haw I used to watch as a child. The routine begins with one person asking the other how things are going. The person responds to the question with a statement about a disastrous event that just happened. The first person reacts with horror, “Oh no! That’s bad!” The other person then replies with “No, that’s good because…..”, and he states something good that came about because the bad thing happened. Then this first person says, “Oh, well, that’s good,” to which the person then mentions something bad that happened as the result of the good thing happening. This elicits the response, “Oh that’s bad!” and so the skit goes to its humorous conclusion.

This was my life this week.

First up, I returned to work (that was good). But the ex also decided that instead of bringing our daughter home according to our agreement, he was going to keep her. Without planning ahead and indefinitely. (For the record, his reasoning for doing this was not so off the wall, but the manner in which he did it was what created the stress.  Stress is not what I need as I’m recovering from surgery and returning to work.) That was bad. This did, however, give the Significant Other, and I some time together without the kids around. That was a little unexpected treat. I was able to get the family paperwork and finances done, also good. But because of the Ex’s bully tactics, I decided to seek out the advice of my attorney. That event gets mixed reviews. I love talking with her, because beyond being a fascinating person, she is so very reasonable, and has a great deal of life wisdom. The downside: it cost money at a time of the month where things begin to get tight for us. (Sure wish the SO could find decent paying work!)

On the way down to another appointment I had this week, something terribly wrong happens to my car. I barely get it parked, call the SO to come have a look-see and head up to my appointment. The SO gets the hood opened but has no idea what is wrong. Of all his fantastic qualities, vehicle mechanic is not on the list. Miraculously, a mechanic walks by, takes a look, and diagnoses a blown water pump. That’s really bad! Fortunately, my mechanic was able to come get the car and get it to his shop. He was able to have the vehicle repaired in less than 24-hours and $466 later, I have my car back. He was able to allow me to pay over two months, which definitely eases the strain that an unexpected mechanical problem can place on the budget.

In the midst of all this, after going back and forth with the ex about what exactly our divorce document means and him changing things at will, I had no confirmation from him that this self-appointed parenting time he’s taken the liberty of giving himself will ever end. I finally received confirmation and a pickup time and location is decided. 12 hours later, I receive texts from him wanting to bring the daughter back early. A full 24-hours early. It’s crazy-making but I’m certainly not complaining that I get to have my daughter back for which, it now turns out, will be all of Spring Break.

As all the rest of this is happening, I’m plugging along at my first week back after surgery, too exhausted to work out each evening. It’s also raining, so I can’t ride. In the midst of it all, the SO gets the word that his teaching credential was finally granted (a process that took almost an entire year) and the very next day, he receives a job offer at a wonderfully classy dining establishment (read tips and discounts on great food, ca-ching!). He can substitute and work this job so he will have work all year long. Very, very good news. He’s been out of work for a very long time.

Yesterday was the last day of work before Spring break, I packed the family up and headed north to pick up the oldest to bring her home. We planned a special night at Chuck E. Cheese. It is, after all, the closest thing to Disneyland in state and probably safer too, since I’m not sure my stomach can handle the rides like they used to.

For those who are not familiar with Chuck E. Cheese, let me explain briefly this bizarre dining experience.  Chuck E. Cheese is an arcade place where parents spend a small fortune for a bunch of gold-type coins imprinted with a rodent’s smiling face. These tokens are then used to play the arcade games which, in turn, earn the kids tickets.  These tickets can then be traded for prizes at the Cheesy Store.  The pizza is just pretend.  I believe it is really cardboard masquerading as pizza.

For my oldest kids (21, 18, and 16), Chuck E. Cheese was an opportunity to revisit some of their quickly fading childhood.  My youngest was ecstatic.  The SO was the most amusing. As serious as he sometimes comes off as being, it was surprising to see him enter into the fun. At one point, I heard the girls calling my name and I look over to see him on a mechanical horse race game. It was crazy hilarious to see this guy, nearly 50, on an arcade horse ride game. I do have a video, but out of respect, I won’t post it.

Chuck E. Cheese, however, was not such a good plan for me. Looking back, scheduling an evening at Chuck E’s after teaching 4th graders who’ve checked out for Spring Break (that’s not bad, but it isn’t easy) and driving 3 hours (usually not so bad, but my body was in pain) was probably taking on a bit much just two weeks after surgery. By the time we arrived at Chuck E’s, I was feeling pretty ragged. By 9:00, I was in pain and exhausted. And we still had a 3 hour ride home. My kids’ enthusiastic gratitude helped ease the pain, but by the time we got home my body was screaming in protest at the discomfort of the crowded Durango seating.  I was exhausted. Probably not the smartest thing to run myself into the ground like that.

This morning, I  planned to attend a ride with the local Velo Club. It would have been my first ride with a group larger than three. I’d been looking forward to it all week.  As my head hit the pillow last night at nearly 1:00 a.m., I decided not to set my alarm and take my chances with waking up in time for the ride. Upon waking this morning, I felt energized…for about three minutes.  I gave it my best shot.  I actually got up, got in my gear, checked the weather, then checked email. Due to the “iffy” weather they cancelled the ride. Personally, under normal circumstances,  I would have ridden in this kind of weather anyway, because I try to ride whenever I can except in pouring rain or when it is so cold there might be ice on the ground. Today, I took the excuse offered by the wimpy weather, the cancelled ride, and decided to try listening to my energy level by making today an easy, lazy day.

That was such a good decision,  I might just try it again tomorrow.

Party In The Surgical Ward

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This last Monday I headed backed to one of the local hospitals for my second excision biopsy. There were several names this particular procedure has been called and, since each time a nurse came in to talk to me or polk me with a needle or I-V,I had to repeat what procedure I was having done, I got really good at pronouncing all the hard words. I was in for my second wire-isolated lumpectomy…except what we are dealing with are not lumps…they are micro calcifications. They are so tiny they cannot be seen by the naked eye, thus the wire. The surgeon has to do his best, by going into the body guided only by my radiology images of the wire placement and of the wire itself. To make matters even more interesting, the new section they discovered is resting deep at the back of any tissue, right on my pectoral muscle. All this means is that I was up for a day of good times at the hospital. I was,if nothing else, pleased to receive my second pair of purple slipper socks! This time, at least I knew what to expect. It shouldn’t be too bad. Or so I thought.

Since I knew I was in for a bit of a wait, I decided to take advantage of the fab new hospital fashion they have going these days. Gone are the old threadbare cotton hospital gowns that cover nothing and expose everything. They now have paper hospital gowns. That’s right, folks, save a cotton plant, kill a tree.

The nice thing about these paper gowns is that they are lined and they do provide good coverage even for my large, lumpy, old carcass. The best part is that these gowns come with their own climate control. They just hook into this shop-vac type tube which hooks into something behind the bed somewhere. Then you turn on the tube and set the temperature for either warming or cooling, as you desire. Last time, I wasn’t quite looking forward to the process like I was this time, so I didn’t take full advantage of all my hospital accommodations. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I hooked up the shop vac and turned it on full force.

Now, I’m sure this situation is just ripe for euphemism and innuendo, but since this is a family friendly forum I’ll leave the strangeness of this type of modern fashion device to your imagination. I will say this, the air from shop vac going into the gown was not in the least bit flattering to my figure and it did absolutely nothing for my already very fragile body image. It wasn’t long before I was pulling the hose out of the gown and begging the nurse for an early dose of sedatives. In all honesty, I can see some value to these gowns. At minimum, if one were incontinent, they could use the warm air from the hose to dry things out before their surgery. Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.

The best part of the day was when I got to go to imaging. The same techs were there this time that worked on me last time, so we got all the small talk out of the way. It wasn’t long before they were telling me their darkest secrets. Okay, I’m just kidding about the dark secrets part.

If you’ve ever had a mammogram or have had one described to you, then all I can say is that this wire placement process was like having the mammogram of all mammograms and having it last for.ev.er. Imagine having any certain tender part of your anatomy stretched and twisted and smashed between two flat plates of glass while you strike some freakishly bizarre America’s Next Top Model pose. Then imagine Dr. Radiologist has to leave the room to consult with Dr. Surgeon in order to determine the best wire placement possible while you hold that pose, in compression, the entire time. Then imagine they are discussing this situation for nearly 15 minutes. It may have been more, I stopped worrying about it when my arms went numb.

Now, lest you think I am complaining and that I’m implying in any way that any of the fantastic medical professionals who treated me were anything less than incredibly skilled and competent, let me assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. I’m very pleased with the care I’ve received all along the way. This instance being no exception. The most stressful aspect of my kind of cancer is getting ALL of it. Remember, my surgeon, who truly is amazing, needs that wire to be accurate and he needs accurate images. They were actually discussing whether I needed two such wires, and if so, what was going to be the least obnoxious and most effective method of inserting said wires. My attitude about this is “Please take all the time you need and while you’re at it, how about another round of those sedatives?” The professionals handling my treatment are so compassionate and wonderful. They truly were concerned for me and my comfort. (I must have really looked ridiculous!) All I can say is that I think everyone is going to be very pleased when medical science develops “softer” means of getting images of all our softer body parts.

In any event, while I was in the room attempting my pose for my audition for America’s Next Top Model Senior Edition, my eye wandered over to the window sill. Lo, and behold, there on the windowsill was a spatula. Okay, now that was weird. Well, me being me, I just had to ask. I just couldn’t let that much weirdness go by without comment. Again, because this is an attempt at a family friendly forum I’m not at liberty to give you all the specifics. Yes, they do use the spatulas in the radiology department. No, they are not making cookies. I did get the specifics from the techs, and the story was so fascinating I didn’t even notice that the needle and wire had been inserted. While, I can’t exactly say that part of my day was over before I knew it, I can say that great fun was had by all. Furthermore, I now know that the kitchen spatula is truly a multipurpose tool.

Of course, after imaging is when the real fun begins. That’s when I get to meet up with the anesthesiologist and plan my cocktail for the afternoon party in the surgical wing. I was fortunate enough to have the same Dr. Cocktail as the last time, and since last time was such a great trip with no nausea on the back end, I opted for the same recipe. I was good to go.

Moments later, I was being wheeled into surgery. I remember greeting everyone (it was a big party they set up just for me) and someone making a comment about the surgeon’s choice of music. They strapped the massaging leg warmers on me and as that I-V cocktail began to take effect, I remember closing my eyes and going to my happy place. I was riding. Effortlessly. Fast. Free. On that $8k S-Works Specialized road bike I saw in the shop this last weekend. I wasn’t dreaming about work this time, like I did last time. The wind in my face felt fantastic! The climbs were effortless. Life was good!

And the next thing you know, the party’s over. They’re handing me my regular clothes, telling me not to make any major decisions or bathe for the next 48-hours and sending me off with nothing but a big patch on my chest and prescription for pain meds. Kinda makes me wonder if it was something I said.

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A Windy Saturday in March

It was shaping up to be a disappointing Saturday.  Face it, during the school year, for a teacher, the best and most wonderful day to ride is Saturday, weather permitting.  Sunday rides have to be shortened due to getting ready for the week.  Rides during the week must be shortened due to running out of daytime.

This Saturday, was beginning to look like it was going to be a wasted one where riding was concerned. The weather was perfect, but the night before, my Significant Other broke a spoke on his back tire.  We both thought one or the other of us had hit a rock, but no, it was his back wheel. It shortened our ride that evening significantly.  Since we were six miles out with no other transportation available he rode the six miles home on it. On the return trip I watched his rear wheel wobble more and more with each mile. We definitely needed to head into the Bike Shop for that repair.

To make matters worse, my bike was creating all sorts of annoying rattles, creaks and squeaks.  In particular, there was this loud and very irritating click, click, click on every down stroke of my right pedal.  My bike most of the time, is entirely silent when I ride, so I was fairly worried that it was complaining so loudly to me on this first ride off the trainer.

The combination of these woes, cut our ride short on Friday night.  It also meant that our first objective Saturday morning was to get the bikes into the shop to see what and how serious the trouble was. We feared the worst, that our bikes wouldn’t be back out of the shop until Monday.

I can go into all the details of what exactly was wrong, but that’s boring for most people and I don’t yet have all the vocabulary to adequately convey what was wrong.  In the end, what we thought was going to mean missing a weekend of riding really only ended up delaying our Saturday ride, by a couple of hours.  The guys at Marty’s Cycle and Moore literally dropped what they were doing and fixed both our bikes right there on the spot.  They didn’t have to do this, but we are so grateful they did.  About an hour and $47 later, we were walking out the door with our bikes healed.

We wasted no time getting on the road, since we heard rain was on the way.  I figured we still had about 20 miles to go to make our hundred for the week, so we needed to get on the road quickly.  After some waffling about whether to take it easy on the greenway or hit the hilly road and head out in the country, we opted for the road. We definitely took the more difficult option.  The roads between Central Point and Gold Hill are not for the weak.  In fact, there are several really intense, long hill climbs on Old Stage Road between Scenic Avenue and the I-5.  These climbs weren’t made any easier by the presence of a very strong headwind and the fact that we were riding hybrids instead of road bikes.  Even in our marginal fitness condition, we would climb those hills faster on a road bike.  Which, makes me really want a road bike very soon.  This in turn depresses me, because I don’t believe that will be my reality for at least another year.  But I digress.

We inched up those hills at a whopping 5-6 miles per hour.  It was the toughest 5-6 mph I’ve ridden to date. Every muscle in my legs burned (this is good), I was fighting for every breath, and I even felt as though I might vomit at one point (yeah, that’s probably not so great).  Then suddenly, about halfway up the climb, I hit the right gear and, crazy as it seems, I was able to almost rest while I climbed.  I was still pushing hard, but I caught my breath and kept going. I felt a small amount of comfort when after glancing back I realized the Significant Other was suffering just as much as I was.

The downhill on the other side made it all worthwhile.  Except that the headwind slowed our descent significantly. We were still having to push even when going downhill.

It was a crazy ride.

Upon arriving in Goldhill, we stopped in at a little dive bar called the Longbranch Saloon.  It clearly was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon.  We tied up our mechanical horses and stepped into the local watering hole to quench our thirst and gear up for the ride back.

Instead of coming back the way we came (read, we chickened out and tried to get out of facing those hills again) we opted for the Blackwell Road route home.

I’ve heard that one of the cycling rules of the road is that you always have a map and a repair kit with you.  At minimum, you should know where you are going, shouldn’t you?  We had the repair kit, but we had no idea where we were going.  All I knew was that if I took Blackwell Road in far enough it was going to come out somewhere near I-5 and Central Point and I could probably find my way home from there.  The SO was following me blindly, trusting that I knew where we were going.  Little did he know…

Blackwell Road proved to be just as challenging as Old Stage Road in its own way.  The climbs weren’t as steep, but they were longer.  Trying to avoid the work, and really wishing by this time that we had some more level terrain to deal with and no wind, we turned onto Tolo Road.  Around the corner, there it was, another hill and beyond that one, another.  At this point, my entire body felt like mush and I wondered seriously if we were going to make it home without having to get off and walk…or call for help. Just as we wondered if we should turn around and head back we saw Scenic Avenue in the distance and knew we were within 3 miles of home.  From the intersection ahead, the ride was going to be a nice downhill ride leveling off once we reached town. We knew we were going to be okay.

We rode the hardest 25 miles we’ve ever ridden since beginning our cycling adventures.  We hit our highest speed on a downhill of 29 miles per hour, which means we were flying on our bikes, and dead if we’d fallen. We returned home tired, but happy, because we’d pushed ourselves way out of our comfort zone and succeeded.

We stepped up to a new level in our riding.  Hill work is now going to be a regular part of our riding.  It has to be. There’s nothing more painful at first, but it is so rewarding when you crest that hill knowing you still have gears left to shift and energy left to ride.

When we got home, I turned to the SO and said, “You know, that was a really hard ride.  How many people do you know that could have stayed with us on that? I think, other than the guys at the bike shop, I know about two.  Those two would have dusted us, but other than that…I can’t think of  anyone who could have done 25 miles uphill both ways like we just did.”

Not too bad for an ole fat lady pushing 50.

 

 

The Way To Start A Week

I lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico for a brief couple of years in the early ’90’s.  During that time I fell in love with the Southwest and with Byrd Baylor’s books, The Way To Start A Day, being one of my favorites.  This last weekend, due to school budget cuts, ended up being a three-day weekend.  Since we had Monday off and since rain was forecast for later that afternoon, the Significant Other and I decided to try something new.  We avoided the ease and predictability our beloved greenway and ventured forth on the open road. It was an excellent choice for so many reasons.  I’ve documented our ride in words and pictures, with Baylor’s book as my inspiration.  I’m calling this The Way To Start A Week.

 


The way to start a week

is to get up early on Monday morning while others sleep,

and greet the sunrise with a smile and a cup of coffee; cream, no sugar.

Revel in in the cloudless blue of the early morning sky,

feel the chill March morning air,

inhale the fresh scent of dew and cedars.

Give thanks for being alive and having the ability to enjoy it.

Take your time dressing, but not too much time, the day awaits.

Find your favorite bike shorts and

slip on the Bontrager tights that were well worth

the hundred bucks you spent on them.

Slip into the cold weather gear given to you by a friend

who no longer cycles, and be glad for her again,

since she saved you hundreds

and extended your riding season significantly.

Fill the water bottle,

grab the camera,

select the playlist,

and with your favorite riding buddy, find a road you haven’t traveled before.

Venture forth.

As you ride, be glad that you can.

Even if it is cold.  Even if it is hard, with the cold air biting through your

Balaclava, freezing your nasal passages and numbing your fingertips through gloves.

After about a mile stop,

take some pictures,

and take off the first outer layer.

Things heat up fast on two wheels.

 

After about 4 miles, stop for more pictures, a water break and to take more pictures.  You’re in no hurry.

Decide to head to a historical old town.

It isn’t far now.

You’re over halfway there and feeling good.

The hills that you could climb a year ago are nothing to you now

You’re stronger and less fearful.

The occasional car whizzing by no longer intimidates you.

You can do this.

And you enjoy it.

 Upon entering the town

select a place to enjoy a leisurely lunch while gazing out the window at passersby.

Laugh and enjoy the fact that you have overcome

caring about how you look in public places when

wearing padded pants

and sporting helmet hair, though you still quickly check

the rear view mirror of the nearest car to make sure

you don’t have bugs in your teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

During your meal, you laugh and smile,

enjoying delicious sandwiches with thirst-quenching beverages.

The miles make them taste all the better.

You observe the retired ladies, dressed up for lunch…

they must be in their 70’s or 80’s.

You think of your grandmother, who always dressed up

even to go to the grocery store,
It’s not a given, but you’re on the right path.and you hope you live long enough to do the same.

Anything can happen…
unexpectedly…

so you decide to live life…

to the fullest of your ability and today is part of that plan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way home, you skip the easy road,

the one you rode in on,

and you opt for the one ahead

that sports a rather long hill.

You take it.

You make it.  And you’re not even riding your fastest bike.

A year ago, you had to walk up stuff less daunting than this.

Not this time.

You feel the burn…

you inhale each breath and

experience the pounding of your heart

growing stronger with each rotation of your pedals.

Nothing feels better.

You’re healthier than you were.

You’re happier than ever.

You are your own person.

 

At the top, you celebrate this realization.

You take in the valley you call home.

The rest of the ride is almost entirely

a straight drop down to your doorstep. 

It’s Monday.

You’re riding in the right gear,

no matter what the road

and it is an exhilarating adventure.

This, you whisper to yourself as you ride up to your home,

is not just how you start a week…

It’s how you live a life.

 

Bike Hoarders

I hate the show Hoarders. Beyond the fact that I feel this program capitalizes on human despair, misery, and mental illness, it just hits a little too close to home for me. In my last marriage, I was married to a hoarder. It didn’t help that from childhood, I myself have been a bit of a collector or, to be more direct, a hoarder. The truth is, the show makes me very uncomfortable. While my hoarding was never that extreme, I see the situations on TV and often think that under certain circumstances, maybe, I could have ended up like that. It kind of makes me shudder.

What’s different for me, is that while I do have the tendency to hoard (think: a garage full of stamps and scrap booking and craft supplies or a closet full of shoes and handbags), I am also a neat freak. My hoarding was always somewhat contained because of this. Even so, in my last marriage, my hoarder husband and I managed to create a disaster that almost looked like an episode from Hoarders. It took me almost 5 years of dedicated effort, numerous truck and trailer loads to the local Goodwill or landfill, the help of many people and the dedication of one wonderfully and meticulously ordered man. My life now, while not entirely minimalist, is drastically changed. It feels great.

Old tendencies do die hard, don’t they? Since starting on this cycling venture, I can see my hoarding temptation begin to rear it’s ugly head. To begin with, one can never have too many cycling shorts…or jerseys. The desire to bury myself in all the cool cycling gear is something I have to resist every month on payday. My strategy? I pay all the bills for the month right away, and since there is never any money left over for such delights, my inner struggle is abated…temporarily.

My desire for gear and cycling accessories, which can easily amount to a small fortune, is nothing compared to my recent desire to accumulate bikes, an “illness” that can easily cost a large fortune. I take responsibility for my own weaknesses. Lately, I’ve fallen off the wagon and given into my hoarding desires once again. I’ve become a bike hoarder.

My demise began innocently enough with the purchase in 2010 of my hybrid bike; a Specialized Ariel Elite. You can see pictures of it all over this blog. I call her Ariel, and she is still my first love. Of course, The Beau had to have his own bike so he purchased his own hybrid, a Specialized Crosstrail. This brought the household bike total from zero to two in about six weeks. That Christmas, my daughter’s own Hot Rocks Specialized bike joined our fold, followed this last summer by my son’s Specialized mountain bike and my college daughter’s beach cruiser. In a very short time, our family became a 5-bike family. This really isn’t such a hoarding problem, because, really, one bike for each member of the family isn’t such a problem as long as you have the garage space, is it? (Never mind, that I did rent a small storage unit to store camping gear and Christmas decorations so the bikes would fit in the garage.)

The trouble really started when a friend of mine decided she wanted to try riding with us. She was able to get her semi-recumbent bike from her ex and, since she is an apartment dweller living in a third floor apartment, it just made sense to store the bike in our garage. She gave me permission to ride it at any time. I took her up on that and have discovered a new love.

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This crazy-looking bike is a miracle bike. If you ever had any image issues or hang ups about how you look to the world this bike gets you past that instantly. Anyone riding it looks completely ridiculous. Anyone riding it also elicits envy from onlookers because not only is the bike all sorts of fun to ride, it looks like it is all sorts of fun to ride. Let’s face it, on a day to day basis we envy those who are having fun when we are not. When I’m on that bike, I’m having all the fun, everyone else? Not so much. Yes, 10 miles on that bike and I was striking a deal with my friend to officially take ownership of the Fun Wheels. This is where my bike hoarding really began. I now had two bikes for just me.

That was sometime in December, 2011, I believe. In January, I saw this cool YouTube vid where people had taken a picture of a bike in NYC everyday for a year and gradually watched the bike disappear. So, of course, this sounds like a brilliant thing for me to try. I began scouring Craigslist, and by the end of the day I acquired a rusted, vintage, blue Schwinn 3-speed. Perfect for my “Year of The Bike” garden photography project.

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I now had three bikes of my own, while everyone else had only one.

It gets better. Ever since last August, when my daughter purchased her beach cruiser with the balloon tires, I’ve been wanting one. One might ask, “Why?” I would respond to this inquiry with the explanation that I am learning that bikes are like shoes. You need a different one for each different occasion. The beach cruiser is a different kind of fun than Fun Wheels, and Garden Bike, though it is cute and cool and has gears, is too small and completely unrideable. I want a balloon-tire cruiser with a step through bar and a dorky basket on it so I can ride down to the corner liquor store or neighborhood sports bar for some adult beverages. (Wait. I forgot. I am not drinking hard liquor anymore since my diagnosis, and the soft liquor is the death knell to my 50 Less By 50 plan.) Revision: I’d really like a dorky looking beach cruiser around so I can ride it to the gym or grocery store for milk and bread or maybe even ride it to work. But I am way off the beaten bike path here.

Just this last week, I happened to visit a friend’s house. As I drove up, I noticed this cool, old, single-speed Huffy with big balloon tires in the front yard. Jokingly, I said I wanted the bike, obviously thinking that my friend would then tell me the story about how she got the bike and all the fun she’s having on it. Instead she said, “Take it!” Clearly, I thought she was joking. I mean, bikes are becoming more the rage now. Even in my small not-so-progressive city where most people still drive everywhere, even to the corner store, there is a small but growing bicycling contingent. Just yesterday, the weather broke. I saw someone on a bike at every corner as I was running errands. Beach cruisers, like my friend’s, can run $250 or more on Craigslist. I know, I’ve been looking. Daily. Here my friend was, offering me this great looking bike for free. Turns out, a friend of hers had abandoned it and she was tired of it sitting in her front yard. The Beau was stunned when I turned to him and asked for help putting it into the back of the Durango. The Youngest was just as shocked when she saw us unload it after arriving home.

That’s how we scored this beauty:

20120303-104424.jpg Sure, it needs some work. While the bike looked great just standing there in the yard, we discovered that it needs some serious cleaning, oil, and new wheels. I’m getting new grips, a new seat and a beautiful, white, dorky basket on the front. I’ll do more to improve it eventually, but this is about all I can afford right now. I dropped the Blue Cruiser off at my local bike shop yesterday, and it should be ready next week. Total damages are still significantly less than the same bike in good repair sells for on Craigslist. I can’t complain about that.

I now have four bikes of my own. We’re now an 8-bike household. I’m definitely a bike hoarder. With this last acquisition, a small seed of hope is sprouting in my hoarding, little, rationalizing brain. Maybe, I’m not really a hoarder at all. Instead, maybe I’m really a Bike Magnet!

If that’s the case, I’m now going to focus all my magnetic powers on that road bike I want. I saw one in the shop yesterday. Beautiful. My favorite colors even: black and white. Of course, I’d change the white bar tape to another color, like black. White handlebar tape never stays white. The price tag on this beauty? A mere $7,000 and some change. Yeah. Since the readership on this blog isn’t large enough to garner sponsors who will gift me with products for review, and since I am a single mom with limited financial resources, four children, and two (almost) in college, I’m going to need some serious magnetic power in order to get that bike from the stand in the bike shop to the stand in my garage.

I think it’s good to have dreams, even if they are of the pipe variety.

Afterward:
I left this post as a draft on my cell phone. Before 10, this morning, the guys at the bike shop called informing me that the bike was ready. We went out for a long ride and picked up the Cruiser after. I’ve included an “after” picture below. I think it looks beautiful!

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New Year’s Resolutions, Revised

I’m a great one for setting goals and New Year’s Resolutions are no exception.  Back in the day, I’d write them down making sure they were measurable and achievable.  Most of the time, back in the day, I was able to realize all  these goals I so dutifully recorded.  Things sure have changed. Oh, I still set goals, alright, but with each passing year, the goals seem more difficult to achieve. I’m lucky if I can set one priority a year and make it happen.

In 2010, I made it my goal to purchase my bike.  I achieved that goal.

In 2011, it was my goal to put a thousand miles on my bike.  I didn’t meet this goal until February of 2012, but I got close. That was good enough.

This year, my priority, is losing 50 pounds by my 50th birthday, which is in June. My mantra has been “50 Less By 50.”

Well, it was my priority, until, the first week of January.

Sometimes life has a way of circumventing the most noble objectives.

In brief, my life was clicking along just great.  In December, I was called back to have further images taken after a routine mammogram revealed some areas of concern.  On January 6, I found myself lying prone while I endured what I now know is a stereo-tactic needle biopsy.  On Valentine’s Day, I was in the hospital for a wire-isolated lumpectomy, the results  of which revealed ductile carcinoma in situ, or DCIS…cancer.  At the time of writing, I’m awaiting an additional surgery which will likely be followed up with radiation.

No chemotherapy.

No free boob job.

I’m not contagious.

And…given that DCIS is completely curable…I’m likely not going to die.  At least, not right now, from this.

My overriding emotion these days?

This is really messing with my 50 Less By 50 plan.

Actually, that’s not entirely true.  My overriding emotion is gratitude.  You see, cancer, in particular breast cancer, is not the death sentence it used to be. Even so, cancer, really is no laughing matter.  I know this.  I know people who’ve suffered and died from some form of cancer.  I have immediate family members who have suffered through cancer.  It is not a pretty nor is it humorous and were it not myself involved, I’d definitely refrain from the gallows humor.  I’ll go off on how early detection is critical, and how women should absolutely make sure they keep up on their exams at a later time, but right now I’d just like to take a moment to be grateful.

Cancer caught me by surprise, and as any potentially life-threatening disease will do, it has forced me to re-prioritize my life.  Yes, I still have my 50 Less By 50 Plan as a priority, but somehow it just isn’t the most important thing these days.  In the last three months, I’ve learned a great deal about breast cancer and some of the approaches we now have available to treat and cure it. That I live in a day and age when I can benefit from so much research and the medical advancements made just in my lifetime, doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the many, many things I am grateful for.

As I take the next step in this interesting journey through 2012, each day I find myself revising my New Year’s Resolutions.  50 Less By 50 is still a priority, in fact, even more so since exercise and healthy eating reduce one’s risks.  But, if I don’t quite make it by my birthday, or if I just need to allow myself some time to rest, I’m going to give myself permission to do it.

Two days after my surgery, I was on my bike.  Of course, it was inside on a trainer.  I made it two miles, in just under 10 minutes before I just couldn’t go any further.  Two days before my surgery, I’d completed a ride that logged me almost 40 miles for the week.  Yeah.  This thing is really messing with my workout plans and my riding goals.

I just have to let that be alright for now.

I am going to make it.