Photos

I am still rocking the writer's block and nursing a deep-seated hatred of any time spent in front of a computer screen after the 40 hours I spend in front of one at work.  But I've been out and about and remembered my camera, so here are some recent pictures.

Feeding the new lambs on the in-laws' farm.  Ignore my double chin.


The mister competed in a mountain bike race and did fabulously right up until the bike broke.


You can't see where it broke because it was COVERED in mud.



My younger brother taking the mister's 30 year old moped for a spin.  He's single, ladies, and does his own laundry!


Artemesia in my garden.
 


The mister and I took a stroll at Minnehaha Creek.


We brought the dog.


We also brought him on a bike ride.




I learned to spin yarn on my new spinning wheel.  (I'm still learning.  I suck.)


And I knit.

Beagle on a Leash

When I was growing up my family always had a dog. Other than a brief foray into black lab territory, our dogs were always beagles.

Beagles are known for having that great aaarrrooooooo howl, an incredible sense of smell, and an insane amount of stubbornness.

Seriously, housebreaking my current dog, Charlie, took three weeks. Housebreaking a beagle, no matter which beagle, took over a year. Beagles are very smart dogs, but there is just no convincing them to do something they don’t want to do.

Because we lived in the sticks, we never bothered to leash train our beagles. We never had to walk them, we’d just open the door let them tear around the yard on their own.

This combined stubbornness and lack of training made the few occasions we had to put the beagles on a leash absolute torture. For relatively small dogs, they are very strong and no matter how hard they gag themselves, they’ll pull on the leash. We would end up towing them behind us the entire time because their little beagle noses were glued to the ground, sucking up every smell, and they didn’t want to go wherever it is we were dragging them. Our arms would ache after the walk from the constant pulling and tugging.

My brother once went on a bike ride with his girlfriend. When I asked him how it went, he looked me dead in the eye and said, “it was like dragging a beagle on a leash.”

My brother, my husband, and I are planning on riding the 65-mile Ironman at the end of April. My only goal is to keep up and not get beagle-on-a-leash status for myself.

Two weekends ago, the three of us went for a training ride.

I kept up pretty well with the boys. Of course, my husband had been fighting a cold for a week and had to keep stopping so he could blow his nose, but whatever. I held a pretty steady 17-mile-an-hour pace despite the massive wind we fought for the entire ride (it was either blowing sideways or head on).

But I made the mistake of starting the ride kind of dehydrated. And my super-power, if I have one, is to sweat faster than I can drink. These two things, combined with the wind, dried me out so much that by the end of our 15 mile trek, I was so dehydrated that blinking was painful, my lips were cracked and bleeding, and my calves were more cramps than relaxed muscle.

When I tried to get off my bike, at the corner of two very busy streets near my brother’s house, my left leg went “fuck you,” and refused to hold my weight. This would have been fine, had all my weight not been resting on that particular leg while I swung the other one over the bike frame.

This led to an AWESOME fall. I’m sure it was hilarious for passing motorists. This girl was fine riding her bike, but once she stopped on a sidewalk and had a foot on the ground, she just fell over.

I ended up with a massive bruise and scrape on my left hip, a scratch on my bicycle and a skinned knee.

My brother emailed me, congratulating on avoiding beagle-on-a-leash status and holding a good pace, and I flushed with pride, completely ignoring the next paragraph where he suggested I get some training wheels.

Then on Saturday the mister and I went for another bike ride. He planned the route and told me it would be a little bit longer than the last ride.

I wore less clothing than I had the weekend before, trying to avoid the sweating super-power problem. This was a mistake because I nearly froze to death. Fingerless gloves, lightweight riding tights, and a windbreaker were not enough to combat the chilly temperatures.

Eighteen miles into the ride, I called up to the mister, “Hey, how much longer are we going?”

“We’re at the half way point now.”

I took a moment to think this over. We rode 15 miles last week, this ride was supposed to be “a little bit longer,” we’d gone eighteen miles, and we were only about halfway. Apparently, I thought, we have different definitions of “a little bit.”

Then I exploded. I was frozen and exhausted and completely unprepared for the length of the ride. Without some sort of break, there was no way I was going to make it the rest of the ride.

I made the mister stop and buy me a sandwich. I sucked down a pop (real pop, not the diet kind). I stood under the hand-dryer in the bathroom until my legs thawed out. Then we got back on the bikes and started peddling again.

Twenty minutes later, the sugar and caffeine from the Coke metabolized and it was like someone hit the turbo boost. I felt refreshed, energized, and ready to go. Which was good because we had a four mile uphill climb ahead of us.

I made it the rest of the ride without throwing another hissy fit and I avoided beagle-on-a-leash status for another week.

Next week is our 45 mile ride. I’m hoping I can still keep up.

Critical Mass

On the last Friday of the month in cities around the world, bicyclists congregate at a particular place and time and ride as a group throughout city streets.

In Minneapolis the herd of bicyclists numbers in the hundreds and they run red lights, block traffic, and generally cause confusion. In recent months, the bicyclists have been aided by police officers blocking off streets and escorting the riders through town.

No one is really sure why the bicyclists do what they do.

Some claim it is to raise awareness regarding the unfriendliness of motorists towards bicycle commuters. Some claim it’s an environmental thing.

No one really has a clue.

It is not civil disobedience. Civil disobedience has a point. Read Martin Luther King, Jr.'s Letter from a Birmingham Jail. Yes, the civil rights activists were breaking the law, but there was a REASON for it. In this case: no reason. Just a bunch of people on bicycles breaking the law.

As a person who rides her bike to work relatively often, I understand that drivers are awful. They ignore bikers, they don’t pay attention, they turn right on red and clip your back tire because they didn’t see you. Some of them actually have violent feelings about bikers and will shout unpleasant things out their windows as they whiz by you at 20 m.p.h. over the speed limit. Believe me, I’ve been there. I've deliberately laid down my bicycle to avoid getting hit by a driver that didn't see me and nearly hit me as he pulled into traffic.

But there are bikers that are stupid too. They, too, run red lights, don’t stop for traffic, and ignore laws.

I understand that it’s a pain to start and stop on a bicycle. I get that it’s a waste of energy and inefficient. But, hello, you’re on a bicycle, surrounded by cars. I think a little extra caution is warranted because if you screw up and get hit, you’re a stain on the pavement while the car just has a dented hood. Plus, it’s a lot easier to stop a 20 pound bicycle than it is to stop a one ton car. Why would you play a game of chicken you’re guaranteed to lose? The laws of physics are not going to bend just because the biker doesn’t want to stop and unclip her shoes from her pedals.*

This is why I cannot understand the Critical Mass ride and its tacit acceptance by the Minneapolis police – why is lawlessness in bikers accepted? Why are they allowed to behave in a manner that is foolish at best? Why are they doing what they're doing; what is the point? Best I can tell, they’re just out to cause problems.

*There are special shoes and pedals that allow a biker to attach her shoes to her pedals – this is far more efficient than normal platform style pedals and reduces fatigue because having the feet attached to the pedals allows a rider to pull as well as push the pedal, incorporating more muscle groups. The only downfall of the shoe/pedal combo is that it requires significantly more grace than traditional pedals. The rider must learn to “clip in” while keeping the bike in motion and must remember to unclip before coming to a stop, otherwise the bike falls over and the rider is unable to get up because her feet are stuck to the stupid pedals. If you ever want to see what this looks like, come bike riding with me because I fall over pretty darned often. I will unfailingly unclip my right foot and then try to put my left one down on the ground, which, because said left foot is still stuck to the pedal, results in a spectacular tumble. My left hip has a semi-permanent bruise from me landing on it so often.

Accident Prone

I work in a small office. There are 8 of us. Sometimes 9 if our part-timer is in, which is rarely.

Three of us ride our bikes to work at least once a week.

I wear a bike helmet. This morning my boss, who also rides, was giving me kind of a hard time. I think he’s a wind-in-the-hair kind of fella.

“What do you need that for?” he asked.

I just looked at him for a minute, surprised he even asked. Then I replied with: “[boss], you’ve met me, right? In just the last year I’ve sprained my wrist, thrown out my back, torn a ligament in my ankle, required stitches on two different occasions, shut my hand in a filing cabinet, fallen down stairs, shut my head in the elevator door, and flipped backwards out of my desk chair. Why do you think I wear the helmet?”

“Point taken,” he murmured quietly, wandering into his office.

Bicycle Commuting

I’m getting better at bicycle commuting. I need to invest in a decent bag that goes on the bike itself and not on my back because now that the weather no longer sucks, I’m getting really really sweaty carrying my work clothes in a backpack. Icky. I also need to get some more shorts to wear over my tight bike shorts.

See, I learned a way to prevent some bike butt issues, but involves those padded shorts. They really do work but my ass is not up to that kind of display, thank you very much.

I’m still riding my bike to the train in the mornings but I enjoy riding it home all the way from work in the afternoons. The ride home is exactly 11 and 1/3 miles (from the basement parking garage in my building to right outside my door in my driveway. The first time I did that ride it took me over an hour. Today I did it in under 45 minutes. Every time I do it I shave a little time off but I think I’m getting close to the limit. There are a lot of stoplights on the ride home which means there's a lot of slowing down and pokey starts that eat into my mph average. I'm still averaging about 15 mph, though, which is pretty good. (Nowhere near as good as the mister's 20 mph, but that was for the Ironman, where the roads are closed and the bikers didn't have to stop or slow down at any signs or lights).

Things I’ve learned about bike commuting:

• A lot of drivers are jackasses. The biggest offenders: men in pickup trucks.

• The biggest danger is people pulling into or out of their driveways.
  
  
• The best way to avoid bike butt is to stand up at every chance you get. Stoplights, stop signs, long downhills where you can coast. Getting your butt off the seat helps prevent chafing and soreness.
  

• The worst thing you can do is tighten up your backpack straps too much because it will block your vision over both shoulders and you will have no way of knowing whether anyone is behind you when you’re trying to turn.

• Bike helmets make my forehead itch.

• Bangs are a detriment.

• If you put in nice earrings at work make sure you take them out before you put on your helmet and ride home because the dangly ones will get tangled in your helmet straps every time you turn your head and that hurts.

• Having a speedometer, even a crappy cheap one that doesn’t do anything more than tell you how fast you’re going and how many miles you’ve gone, is a huge motivator. I love trying to get a new top speed every time. All time highest top speed: 24.9 miles per hour. That was a long downhill with nothing but green lights and I pedaled my ass off.

• Shoes that clip into pedals are great for helping you ride efficiently but one must practice clipping and unclipping before one goes on a long ride because it’s a little tricky and if you try to do it at a stoplight for the first time you will fall down, get tangled up, and be really embarrassed in front of all the people in their cars waiting at the stoplight.

• Cucumber melon scented baby wipes make for a great clean-up tool if it’s a little warm out and you’re kind of stinky when you get to work.

• Get around buses at all possible costs because the diesel fumes they belch out will make you cough and gag for the rest of your ride home.

The thing that’s happened that most pissed me off: some jerk in the passenger seat of a red Chevy Tahoe yelled “danger danger danger” out the window as he drove by and startled the shit out me, causing me to lose my balance and bang into a parked car. I hope he gets hit by a bus.

Best Commute Ever

I rode my bike all the way home from my office. It took less time than the commute home on the train normally takes.

This means one of two things: I am in fantastic shape and pedal like lightning (not likely) or the public transit system here is remarkably inefficient and pretty much stinks (ding ding, we have a winner!).

Commuting, Exercise, Getting Yelled At: A Three for One Morning

In the interest of my ever expanding waistline, my budget, the environment and staving off boredom, I've started riding my bike to work occasionally. Well, not really to work, more to the train station and then I ride the train to work. Now that it's more or less warm (seriously, Minnesota, it's time to step up with the weather) I hope to ride more.

The last couple times I've just ridden my crappy bike to the train station, locked it to convenient pole, fence, or tree and gone on my way.

Today, though I rode the nice bike. The one the mister bought while home sick (huh?) for more money than my car is worth. He bought it for "us." Shockingly, he's been the only one to ride it. So, this morning I pointed out that if it is "our" bike, I get to ride it.

He really couldn't argue with me.

So I rode it. I biked the three miles to the train station, hopped on the train for a couple of stops, then got off on Hiawatha and rode the rest of the way downtown. It actually went really well. I need to get a better seat because I'm suffering from a serious case of bike butt, but otherwise it was a nice way to start the morning.*

I got downtown and since I know the price of that bike (seriously, we're talking astronomical here) I was not going to just park it on the street somewhere. I was going to bring it up to my office.

I figured this would be fine since:
(1) My office building is, well, the lowest rent in a high rent neighborhood. We're surrounded by the old Pillsbury building and the Fifth Street Towers, some of the swanker buildings downtown. My building is like the ugly stepsister: utilitarian, always a little dusty/dirty, unfussy. I wasn't worried about my bike dinging up the lobby floor.
(2) My boss has done it before.
(3) Why the hell not? It didn't even occur to me that this wasn't going to go the way I had planned.

Enter bitchy security guard.

From the way she reacted to me wheeling my bike into the elevator, you'd have thought I was dragging dead puppies and babies behind my bike, or smuggling meth in my waterbottle. I was walked from the building outside, down the CAR ramp for the parking garage, which strikes me as rather unsafe, and observed as I locked my bike up at the stands right by the entrance to the ramp. I think she was onto me because I was just going to go into the parking ramp, get on the elevator in the basement and ride it up to my office.

I'm totally nervous now that the bike will be stripped when I get down there and the mister will kill me.

*Bike Butt: that feeling you get in your ass end after a bike ride, where your flesh is bruised from the seat pressing against your pelvic bones, you're a little chafed and achy and, it's painful to sit or walk. Laying down and standing still are okay.