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.