Good news, bad news

Which do I want first, the good news or the bad news?

We have just finished the first 7-mile leg of our first of two out-and-back Lake Arthur rides and I am fretting to Lou that I had to actually walk The Rocket up the last part of the last hill. Even though the hills are not that horrible. Even though I generally knew it was coming up and was generally prepared for it. This concerns me a little because one of the not inconsequential reasons I got The Rocket was to get some more gears (my Saratoga only has seven) and therewith be able to do hills somewhat better.

So Lou adjusts the seat on The Rocket and heads off for his first little spin on it to see what I'm talking about. When he comes back, he informs me there is good news and bad news, and which do I want first.

Obviously, the good news. I always want the good news first. That way, if a boulder falls on my head or the earth implodes, at least I can die happy.

Well, he says, the good news is that the hill problem is not my bike. Of course, that means the bad news is that it's me.

Climbing hills on a recumbent is different than on an upright. You can't get out of the saddle and you're reclining, so what you do is gear down and spin. That is already how I climb on my Saratoga, for the most part, but on The Rocket, I also push my back into the seat and, because my feet are elevated, I feel it more in my knees and in my abductors than I do on an upright.

I fight off my inner protestations, that of course it's the stupid bike, that of course I am doing everything right and am in fine shape. Because actually, it is good news that Lou can do the hills as well on my bike as he can on his. Or at least, initially, without testing it out on a real hard climb. That juggernaut is for another day. It is good news because there's not a whole lot I can do about the bike but if it's me, that's something I can work on. We head back and I fail on a different hill this time. Lou is riding a little behind me and trying to encourage me (which I tell myself not to hate him for) and he, too, fails to make it to the top because he is going at my pace. So at his suggestion, I go back down the hill and tackle it again. This time, I pick up a little more speed before I downshift, and downshift a little sooner and more aggressively, and I make it without much problem.

Today's ride: Sunday, March 25. Bike trail at Lake Arthur (Moraine State Park). 30 miles, almost on the nose. Tires hit the road at 12:15. Back at the car at 4:00. Highlight: Saw a gray pelican flying over the lake.

This is among my favorite bike trails. It starts on the North Shore of Lake Arthur at the bike rental concession and winds around the lake nearly to the boat launch, passing a campground and a beach. It's twisty and has some hills, but nothing too long or too hard, just enough to always have some variation. Most of the trail is within sight of the lake and there are several restrooms along the way but they were all still closed for the season except the one at the start point. It's about 7-1/2 miles out to the Outdoor Center, so before you know it you're halfway there. Once it gets to be summer, it's much better to come on a weekday because the trail is pretty popular, especially families with young kids, many on bikes, and there are a lot of curves, so you do the math. Near-collisions are frequent.

Briefly, a catchup ride from earlier in the week:

Monday, March 19. 11 miles. North Shore Trail out to the jail and back, then out toward Washington's Landing. Tires hit the road around 4:30. Back at my office at 5:50. Highlight: Passing the kids from the Manchester Craftsman's Guild photography class and one boy, about 15, clapping his hands when he sees me, saying, "I love that bike!"

Took a nice little spin with Karen, an old friend from homeschooling days (ha ha, Karen, I just called you old). Her tires were a bit low and she couldn't get the CO2 cartridge to work so we rode over to Bicycle Heaven, which is always worth a stop any day. Met the owner, Craig, who pumped up Karen's tires, and he told me he'd sold the Hurley recumbent that was upstairs last year but he has another one -- a Gold Rush, maybe -- on display and for sale in the back of the main room. Sometime I have to go back and look around when I'm not trying to squeeze a quick ride in and feeling too crunched for time to really enjoy the rooms and rooms of Schwinns and banana seats and the smell of metal and machines. Anyway, it is always nice to have some companionship. Karen mentioned maybe trying to ride the Tour de Frack, a Freedom Ride for Awareness and Community Knowledge, a two-week trip July 15-28 or so through drilling country. In fact, there's a training ride/community event next weekend on the Butler-Freeport Trail that I'm thinking of checking out. http://www.tourdefrack.com/uploads/7/0/4/5/7045073/march_31_poster.pdf

Season opener

Didn't really ride through the winter this year as I did last year. Weather? The blush off the rose? A million excuses present themselves but the real reason -- more elusive. In January and February, I probably rode three or four times and none of them long or notable. I did manage to get a quick and miserable ride in two weeks ago just before work, out to millvale and back through construction and muddy muck. Sadly I didn't even enjoy it much. But this weekend -- hooray.
March 10 -- I did 25 on Saturday, the usual around town stint. happened upon Linda smith and her husband bob where the trail ends in south side, where they were watching a pair of nesting bald eagles. I will try for a pic tomorrow. I was thrilled and breathless and excited. I will be a frequent visitor. Also did the "new" hazelwood spur and hated it, as usual. The surface is terrible, even in the best conditions. Who would ever ride that for pleasure? Then dashed over to the aviary to meet Lou but he ran 13 miles and bailed on meeting me so i dashed back over to the otb bike cafe in southside and met him for dinner).
Sunday, march 11 -- we drove up to warren ohio, a bit less than 2-hour jaunt, and tried out the western reserve greenway. Flat, paved and fairly unremarkable in Trumbull county; a little more interesting on the Ashtabula side. A bird observation area at mile 10 of the 43-mile trail connecting warren and Ashtabula. Lots of beaver activity.We did about half and turned around because Lou was way overdoing it. It was marvelous to be back out on the trail. I rode the rocket but it would be a good choice for the Saratoga, which is probably a bit faster than the rans. And with all the road crossings, it's easier to start up from a stop and visibility's a bit better. It even occurred to me it would be a decent choice to do my first century on that trail if I were so inclined... No water or amenities on the trail at all -- a portajohn at the starting trailhead but nowhere else along the way -- and the stupid portajohn was locked. The trail did go through Amish country, especially up Ashtabula way. There was one elderly Amish grandpa looking guy riding a motorized enclosed little golf cart looking contraption in the trail. Never saw one of those before...

Signs of Intelligent Life

I can be a bone-headed person in regular life but throw one of my many obsessions into the picture, reason flees the room screaming and I am absolutely idiotic. Examples abound: when I sit on my bike and my wrist goes out, putting me in excruciating pain, but I decide to ride anyway even though I need both hands to ride that bike and it is a pretty bumpy trail and I rest my wrist on the handlebar and intend to stick with the planned 50-mile day. It takes me until Mile 5, when I have been in tears for 5 miles, and I hit an extremely rough patch, that I realize riding away from the car is a pretty bone-headed move. I could fill the endless space of the disinformation highway with similar examples, but really you don't care about them. My point is this: I did several smart things this week when it comes to biking. I turned back on Mile 5 of a road ride with Lou out in Ligonier and let him do the other 36 miles while I slinked back to the car, got out the easy ramble route directions from the book, and had myself a fine 27-mile ride that was actually fun and pleasant. Astounding. I did it because of Rational Reasons -- we started Way Too Late in the day, it was Very Hilly and it is starting to get Scary Dark earlier than before. Then, five days later, I decided to do only the 44-mile Tour the Montour ride even though we signed up for and intended to do the 62-miler. That was difficult to give up -- it only comes once a year and I really want to challenge myself and only wimps don't do the hardest possible choice available. But I had worked too many late nights in recent weeks with too little sleep and was headed to work right after the ride. And we got on the trail more than an hour later than I wanted. And Lou had already decided to do the veggie route. And really I suppose there is not an absolute need for life to be as difficult as I can make it when there are more pleasant and rewarding options. But I can't let myself think that way -- the only way I keep myself on the straight and narrow is to push myself. It's why I rarely take a day off biking; once I take one day off, it gets easier and easier to take more off. The excuses start to feel like valid reasons and suddenly I turn around and hear myself saying, "It was a little too cold today" or "Yeah, I was just too tired." But actually I am going to pull back from biking a bit and start throwing in more different forms of exercise that don't take every minute of spare time every day -- last week, I swam two days instead of biking. Two days, I hiked with Bandit instead of getting on the Rocket. I am trying to concentrate on making sure I mix in enough weight-bearing activities that I ward off osteoporosis instead of inviting it in the front door with flowers and a hug. But I did give the Rocket a bath today and her gears stopped squeaking. Tomorrow, I fix the bike computer and aim for a good 35 before work.

Knowing when to quit. Or not.

I am not a Turnbacker. I get swept up in the moment, defined by the ride, consumed by the hunt and I do not give up when I should, when any rational person would say, well that's quite enough adversity for the day, thank you, I think I'll go sip an ice-cold liquid delicacy of some sort, knit a sock or two, and plan how better to seize the day tomorrow. No, I put down my head, block out the possibility of ditching and grind stupidly on, a cog eager enough to get bent out of shape by the wheel as long as the job gets done, rah rah sis boom bah. And so when the 50-mile hill ride went horribly wrong early on, when riding up the first hill I discovered that the derailleur was somehow out of whack from being transported on the back of the car and that half my gears wouldn't shift; and when my attempts to fix it only made the other half moan and complain, obviously I should have taken Polly's advice and stopped, gone back to the car with my little tail between my legs, snuffled my way home and taken my other, working bike on a shorter, shadier ride. But I rarely make the right call when I am on a bike, on the ride already bejeezus. And so Lou stuck more closely by than normally he would, and we finished the ride, all 47.22 miles, a not small portion of it uphill in the sun with the temp off the road at 102 and one of the not-insignificant hills hitting 12% grade twice before topping out. I have exercise-induced asthma that gets worse in the heat, and I did stop and use my inhaler several times. Honestly, I was ok until we got back to the car and I tried to get off my bike and suddenly couldn't breathe for several panicky moments without painful wheezing. Which was very odd to me -- how was it that I was OK riding uphill on my bike in the heat until I reached safety, and then collapsed? The human condition, I suppose, that keeps us striving upward and onward, that pushes babies to stand and then to walk, that keeps curious minds searching for God or meaning in the universe, the hand behind the pattern. That is what grander minds aspire to; I am plain pig-headed, too prideful to admit when I have bitten off an insanely big mouthful for myself. No, I'd rather choke to death on it than turn back and do the rational thing. But it was nothing a cold pepsi and some blasting a/c couldn't fix. And so I live to ride another day. My three most recent rides: Friday, May 18 -- 28 miles for me -- pump house to Boston, then a few miles on the yough, and back, accompanied by the delightful Lisa and Christina. Gorgeous day, terrific company. I suckered Lisa into the ride by picking one of her favorite routes, and she rode with us to McKeesport and back to start easing back into biking season. Like a rational person! We all have to build back up into last summer's shape, and I was really impressed with her for sticking to her plan though I know she was itching to ride all the way. Chris and I rode on through dead man's hollow, then past Boston for a picnic before heading back. At McKees point, Chris says, uh-oh, I have a flat. Having changed two flats, nearly successfully, in that week, I felt excited and confident about getting us on the road again. Except that she didn't have an extra tube (I had two, but the rocket has dual 20s, and Chris's has 26s.) Bad, Chris. Still, I had scabz patches, so I got the wheel off, took the tire off the rim, found the hole, patched it and reassembled it and it didn't really take all that long. Except that then I heard the tire still hissing. Patch didn't work and we were 4 miles from a bike shop (other direction). And I had to be at work. So I raced the six miles back to my car and drove back to get Chris, who hung out outside the eatn park waiting for me and reported that people in McKeesport are really hospitable. Nice to know, but Chris, next time bring some tubes. Saturday, may 19. 50 miles on the yough river trail. I get tired of always riding to the start of the yough trail and then back. It's a great ride but really I miss the trail, which is a pretty great, wooded, riverside ride. So Lou and I drove to cedar creek and rode to connellsville and back. I took the fuji, and it was my longest ride on a regular seat in quite awhile. So around 35 miles my butt started getting kinda sore. And I decided last-minute not to wear my helmet -- I always wear my helmet, thanks to Craig at work who tells me how stupid it is not to. And I almost wiped out bad twice last week. But on the trail, leisurely paced, not crowded and with the likelihood of unexpected hazards being microscopic, I forwent the helmet but didn't have a cap, so the sun was killing me. Stopped at the rivers edge campground right outside connellsville and bought a hat so that made the ride back much more pleasant. We poked around in connellsville for vegan food and found a Mexican restaurant, El Canelo, where the sole guy (waiter, cook and cashier -- undoubtedly bottle-washer to boot) made me a perfect taco with lettuce, tomatoes, rice, beans and guac. Lou had a jumbo chicken burrito and with drinks the whole thing (sit down and all) cost $13. Unbelievable. Lou gave him a twenty, no change necessary. Great place. Very friendly to vegans! Sunday, may 20. 47 miles in wash county. Above-mentioned ride in the heat and the hills and the non-compliant gears. Still, all in all a pretty spectacular ride. Four deer, two herons, two hawks -- one of my highest wildlife counts in quite awhile. Few obnoxious frack sites, good company with the meetup bike group called Grupetto organized by Bob Miller, a good guy to wipe out in the mud with. Note to self -- 50 miles in the heat and hills is about 15 miles too much for me. Next time, at least consider this. Or not.

The day of the redwing blackbird

On Thursday, Lou calls me at work: "let's go to Erie this weekend." So I call the kennel for Bandit, rustle up a motel in north east (that's a town, in addition to a compass point) and early Saturday, off we go. I am looking forward to a fairly flat weekend after the difficulty of last weekend's rides, and north is the way to go. In western Pa., the souther you go, the hillier it get. Both of us were in a norther mood. Lou's goal on the bike is to be able to cross another ride off the list in the Great Book of Rides. My goal is to rack up the miles, the more, the merrier. My general plan in life is to ride 75-100 miles on the weekends, and the same over the course of the week. I am not quite there, but I like to have the brass ring just beyond my reach -- all the more reason to celebrate when I push hard enough to grab it. 1st ride: Saturday, may 12. Cambridge springs, 34-mile route; 38 with doubling back, little side trips and the usual intermittent confusion of following a cue sheet. Driving north on 79 to Erie, I have always wondered about the erie national wildlife refuge that is marked on several exit signs around meadville and edinboro. http://www.fws.gov/northeast/erie/r5ernwr_wildlife.html Not enough to actually drive the 15 miles off the highway to visit, but still, I have noticed and I have wondered. The Cambridge springs ride starts at edinboro lake, goes through Cambridge springs, traverses the refuge (seneca division) and then back to Edinboro. The refuge is exhilarating, peaceful, bucolic. We didn't see the bald eagles that nest there, or the hooded mergansers or buffleheads. Or any of the 37 varieties of reptiles and amphibians that frequent the joint. But knowing they're there makes my heart sing in my chest, and yours should too. After the ride, it was about 15 miles to Erie and then 15 miles beyond to the colonial motel in north east -- we really lucked into that one. Clean, comfortable, spacious with a kitchenette -- and only $70 a night after taxes. And right on route 5, so we didn't have to load the bikes onto the car for Sunday's ride. Perfect! dinner at the Freeport inn, a quarter-mile from the hotel. Ok, they had no vegans on the menu. But I got a baked potato and some grilled veggies with some salsa on the side and really I couldn't have been happier. (I won't lie -- the prime rib looked great.) Lou wolfed down his chicken parm. 2nd ride: sunday may 13. We intended to do the 32-mile cruise through the vineyards, into new York and then a long stretch back on 5, but ended up doing only 20 miles of it and then driving to presque isle to finish off the day's adventure. The ride was fine, and pretty, and there were a few really gorgeous sections. But 5 was a little bumpy and I just love presque isle, so given the muther's day choice, I went with my heart. Did I mention 5 was bumpy? Well, when I got onto my bike at presque isle, I immediately felt it -- the dreaded flat, 2nd time in a week. So I hopped off my bike and told Lou to go on ahead, I wanted to fix it myself. 15 minutes later, he calls. Yes, I have the wheel off the bike. No, I don't have the tire off the rim yet. But I'm fixing this myself, dammit, go on ahead. Ten minutes later, I call him -- I can't get the $&@;)?$ tire off the rim. Just couldn't wedge the tire tools around the rim hard enough to dislodge the stupid mfer. Grr. Lou comes back and lets more air out of the inner tube, which makes it much more doable. Plus he puts the tire tools in differently than I had them. Once he gets it started, I'm able to do the rest. But my stubbornness cost me an hour out of an hour and a half ride. What, me stubborn? But I am a little hopeful that next time I'll be able to do it all by my lonesome. I sure don't want to get stuck by myself with an unfixable flat down in dead man's hollow... Highlight of the ride: lunch on the lake at north east township park. Gorgeous. wind-whipped. Sadly, no whales.

The cable guy

It is Saturday midmorning, may 5, and I have not been on my bike much in the last week -- late nights, mad men and a snake encounter. So when Lou says, We need to go shopping today and get the house in order, I say, well maybe you do. I need to get on my bike. He has been riding to work every day and he feels like a change of pace. We'll take Bandit for a walk, he says. Why do we even have bikes, I say in absolute frustration. He laughs. That is a good thing about Lou. And so we head out to butler county for a spin, described in our "road rides of wpa" book as a casual ride for the intermediate cyclist. Where does the fat guy on the back of the book get off calling 32 miles mostly uphill a casual ride? Some people just outright lie, like when I had to get a shot as a kid and Dr. Thiers would say, This is gonna hurt me more than it will hurt you. I knew it wasn't true, but a girl can hope. Our first ride of the weekend: a cruise starting in saxonburg, home of the cable guy, John Roebling, a German immigrant who, there on the site of what is now Roebling park at the saxonburg history museum, invented wire-wrapped rope eventually instrumental in suspension bridges, electric toothbrushes and cable tv. Well, part of that sentence is true. I wanted a nice, gentle ride with a few modestly challenging hills to get me warmed up for the following day's ordeal. This was, ahem, a tad more taxing than I bargained for -- as in 32 miles of fairly relentless uphill, some of it quite steep. Highlight: the elk farm, which I would have enjoyed even more if they hadn't all run away from the fence when I stopped to gawk and coo at them; and if it hadn't been at the base of a daunting uphill. I didn't want to stop but, hey. Elk. Seriously. Low point: we kinda went right on victory road up a very steep grade only to find out a little past the top that we were supposed to go left on victory. Oh well, another notch in the belt.

The Bikeubator

I used to listen to my iPod when I rode, losing myself in Lyle or Paul or Keb Mo or Bonnie, just as I do running on the treadmill or driving long distances alone, a way to help the time shoot by and think as little as possible about the physical exertion of what I was doing. On the trails around here, 2 songs takes me a mile, so I would make a playlist for my rides knowing about how many songs it would take me to power through. There was the occasional day when I was riding with someone, or hadn't charged up, or would be on roads with cars and trucks and so would forgo the soundtrack. Eventually, I found myself listening less and less to music and more to the inner soundtrack I always have spooling through my brain and I realized that one of the things (just one of the very many things) that I adore about riding my bike is how much it heightens my senses, clears my mind and relaxes me into thought. I watch for wildlife, think about family and friends, postulate about the future, rehash the past and formulate plans of attack or approach for present entanglements. I'm an insufferable idea person as it is and, while I carry out only a teeny percentage of my ideas, that doesn't tamp down my enthusiasm for dreaming up more. Today on my ride I was thinking for the gazillionth time just how cool is the Student Conservation Association, for which two of my kids work, and wishing I was 20 so I could go live in the woods and work on trails and teach kids about the environment. And then it hit me that there might be a place for a Senior Conservation Corps, that provides training and opportunity for older people to plunge into some useful community projects. I don't know that it would be residential like the SCA is. I don't know that there would be funding for stipends like SCA offers. I don't know how it would work, or if there is already something like it. But I thought it was worth considering and maybe worth developing. The other thing I thought about was the loss this week of banjo maestro Earl Scruggs and poet Adrienne Rich. And I thought it might be interesting to put together a Book of Lives: 365 Deaths of People We Should Care About. Every time I do the obits page at work (these days, about once a week), I often think the stories are the best in the paper that day, even if I have to chop or water them down. Like Patience Abbe, the 11-year-old travel writer, who observed on my pages that "In Paris, women with children can always find a seat on a bus, no matter how first the others are." Or words to that effect.

Today's ride: Thursday, March 29. 24 miles of City trails, North Shore to the Strip, 31st Street Bridge to Millvale, Fort Duquesne to Fort Pitt Bridge along South Side to Hot Metal Bridge. Highlight: Lunch with Sandi at Little Bangkok; the stupid loss of an hour (a fourth time!), weeks after Daylight Savings Time, because I apparently didn't change the clock on my bike computer.

There's a spot of construction on the trail on the North Side just before the 31st Street Bridge. The trail is still closed right in front of PNC Park though it looks like that construction must be getting pretty close to complete. Over in the South Side, I was headed back to work when I noticed two guys running toward me, one in an orange shirt and a waddly gait -- sure enough, it was Lou. "I know you," he said in passing. I was surprised he was running because it was after 5 and he still had to ride home in the wind and the approaching dark. He called me at work a couple hours later and informed me he had done a "triathlon" -- he ran, he biked, he ate a turkey pita. I may do a "real" triathlon tomorrow. I could run on the North Shore, ride over to Oliver Bath House for a dip and then ride back. Something to think about. Happy trails.