Hello World. Meet Sparky. Sparky is my parents dog. I don't know what that makes him to me. I consider him my dog too. Sparky is a small Labrador. He is 3 years old but his fur is still soft like puppy fur. This photo is terrible because Sparky doesn't sit still. He loves to run and play. He runs really, really fast. I mean really fast. Retrieving a ball is his passion. Nothing will stop him from retrieving the ball quickly.
There are liabilities to that, Sparky sliced open his paw on some glass in the woods. He was bleeding profusely and still begging for somebody to throw him the ball. He doesn't know when to quit. He refuses to stop, because of that he ended up in the time out chair.
Tim helped tape up his paw. He could have used a stitch but in a pinch duct tape did the job. Lately, I have been a little like Sparky. I tend to look at the training log with no consideration for the rest of life's activity or the intensity of the activity. I don't get sick or injured very often. When I do I tend to deny it as long as possible. Ironman training has taught me to manage fatigue and discomfort well what can I say? Usually there is a "but I haven't even done any real volume" whine from me and an exasperating reply "It doesn't matter" from Tim. On that note, regarding the lack of training volume I so adore, Tim said "My heart bleeds for you." This makes me laugh. Tim works a lot more than me. The phone never rings at 4:55 a.m. telling him to stay home "on call". No, it rings a 3:00 a.m. asking him to come in a take a look at somebody who might have compartment syndrome.
Monday evening, I hit the deck after my run and came down with a fever. It was pretty miserable. This time I'll give the fever a little respect (but only this time;) I'm starting to feel a lot better but I am taking a few days off from the swimbikerunyoga routine as I don't want to miss out on more important fun times in the future.
Maybe "forced rest" is a good thing. It makes you appreciate a lot of other things. After sitting around watching my garden grow I can guarantee I will not return to my bike feeling burned out. For now I can catch up on reading, blogging, and enjoy the view from the roof top deck.
The view is not bad. Maybe we should have a party.
I have already mopped and polished the floors twice since we moved in. I tried to tell Tim maybe the floor polish was toxic and it caused the fever. He didn't buy it.
In a single man's house a wall like this is known as a "man cave". In our place it's dining with inspiration.
Is the treadmill a dreadmill? I doubt it. This is for use before dark, after dark, or while on call, only. "People Magazine" accidentally was delivered to our place. I admit to not putting any effort finding it's rightful owner. I decadently enjoyed it from the treadmill. However, I should probably not admit this in cyberspace. I could be incriminating myself.
Not long after the Tahoe adventure another adventure was in order. Tim and I made the trip to Michigan's Upper Pennisula to see my parents. It was a good time visiting with family. Despite growing up there, I always find new adventures especially with Tim. I was planning to bring my road bike but Delta wanted $200 each way. Boo. Thumbs down Delta, Boo . Fed Ex and UPS wanted almost as much. I think this is ridiculous. The typical cyclist plus bike and bike case weighs less than the average passenger. Luckily there is a bike shop with rentals 60 miles from my parents house. They didn't have a road bike that would fit me but they did have some super nice mountain bikes for both Tim and I. Whew, adventure on!
Some said we brought the rain with us. That is not true. Although, I did hear Tim say "bring it on." in reference to the rain and mountain biking. It is so fun to mountain bike in different parts of the county. The terrain is so different. In California, the challenge is the big rocks and ledges. In Northern Michigan, it's the little tree roots that grow across the trail. They look innocent but they are wet and slippery. I call myself a lazy logger. I tend to just mow over things using my big fat fork and fat front wheel. On the slippery logs you really do have to pick up the front wheel. I may have learned the hard way. There may have been a well deserved "I told you so" from the spousal unit.
The North Country Trail goes all the way to New York. Mostly, it's used by hunters to access deer blinds in the fall. Tim and I came across a group of hikers. Tim said hello, he was prepared to be very friendly as it's the culture of the Upper Penninsula. The hikers smiled and said we were illegal. "You're Illegal. " They kept saying it. Their chests puffed up with pride and smug. "Bikes are illegal." I could tell it gave them great joy to reprimand us. They told us we could be ticketed. I wanted to say "I doubt it." They professed to be working hard to heighten the awareness of how damaging mountain bikes were. I wanted to say good luck. Clearly they were not locals. They were not true blooded "Yoopers" as nobody local would care. Yoopers mind their own business. "Yoopers" are also polite, which was why I managed to bite my tongue. What they didn't know is the Forest rangers are the only other people I have ever seen on the trail. They have never threatened me with a ticket. They smile and say hello. That's the U.P. way. I wanted to tell them that the those in authority didn't care. I had a feeling I would just get those in authority in trouble. Not worth it.
These people had too much smug for a town with no smog. They would be better served driving to the Detroit area and throwing paint on fur coats or something. Tim wasn't as annoyed as me. He promised them the next time we used the trails we would do so on foot.
The next day we returned to the trail. We hoped to encounter the group again. It would have felt very smug to fly by them on foot. We didn't. By golly, we had the entire trail to ourselves.
The hills were short and steep. A bit too steep and sandy to clear on a bike. Even for Tim on a carbon, hard tailed 29er, with gears. On that note, I had a dual suspension alluminum bike. Interesting Tim was rented the lighter, faster bike. I'm guessing the bike shop didn't want to risk him getting chicked.
Running was fine, you could make it up the hills and a few seconds later you got to fly down the other side. I love mountain biking, but I have a new found appreciation for not pushing, dragging my bike up things. I also love, love, love trail running.
Our bike adventures were far from finished though.
In case you are wondering that is an uprooted tree Tim's very muddy bike is leaning on. On Labor Day, we headed to Drummond Island for a very laborious bike ride. I had never been to Drummond Island and my curiosity was peeked. It's only an hour from where I grew up but a million more times as rural. It is close to Canada. Apparently in the winter there is a "one of a kind" mountain bike race it goes across the ice to Canada and back.
We found trails maps on-line for an extensive dirt bike and jeep trails. I didn't give much respect to the word "proposed" dirt bike trail when looking at the map. I developed great respect for the word "proposed" as Tim and I attempted to follow the signs for the dirt bike trail. Indeed the signs marked the trail but the trail had yet to be cleared. Not much pedalling could be done there. We didn't really want to ride anything as pedestrian as a jeep trail, but there wasn't much other choice. Pedestrian wasn't really the correct choice of words to use in describing the jeep trail anyway. See with the rain and the "busy Labor Day weekend use" the trail was a bit....destroyed .
I rode through or around about a million those pond sized mud puddles. At first, I was afraid to ride through them as the water came up above the crank. Tim told me to keep pedaling. I did and it was actually fairly easy riding as the bottom was firm. I got kind of confident and my spirits were high. I remember thinking you can't let a little mud get you down. It might have even thought I was kind of cool. About mud puddle #1069 things were different. My front tire started sinking in some soft stuff. I kept pedalling but the bike didn't move forward. I clipped out and put my feet down in the mud in the nick of time. My feet were submerged in mud. The front tire was stuck pretty and Tim had to help me pull my bike out. I could laugh a bit as I hadn't fallen over in the mud yet. I no longer felt confident riding through the mud puddles. Mud lakes really. I revised my tactic to riding on the narrow section between the mud lakes and the forest. The problem was I was riding slowly and I didn't have enough power to push the branches out of the way. At best they would slap may hands, arms, and face like switches. Worse, they would catch on my brakes. They would apply the brakes and twist my handle bars. Guess what happened when the brakes were on and the handle bars twisted? Somebody had a slow motion, twisting fall into a mud puddle. It was so like "PIG FELL IN THE MUD." It would have been funny had there not been 7922 mud puddles that loomed ahead. This is when the realization that there was no good way occurred. "There is no good way" The girl on the orange bike cracked. If she had her pink bike it might have been different. Tim tried to encourage her by saying that this was good practice for some stage race in the rain forest of Costa Rica. At that point she decided there couldn't be anything worse that riding through the mud for a week straight. In fact she yelled "Why can't we just be normal? Why can't we go on a normal vacation and ride Alp D'Huez ?" Ok, so normal will never be part of the equation.
It didn't seem like the ride would ever end, but it did. The mud is washed washed off now so I guess it's time to laugh about. Mud aside, exploring a remote section of a remote island is really pretty cool. We wanted an adventure and we got what we wanted. We can't wait until the next Upper Penninsula adventure.
Sunday in Tahoe was great. It was quiet, calm, and cool. Everything seemed very still, including the water which behaved in such a unruly manner for our race the day before. Things were so still I felt almost as if I should whisper. The temperature was even colder than the day before but it seemed fitting in a true mountain town. It was the perfect morning for a hot, steamy cup of coffee followed by a nice bike ride on the Flume Trail.
We didn't really bring enough warm clothes. We basically layered all the clothing we brought on the trip for the ride. Tim still didn't have enough warm clothes but no worries. We stopped by a ski shop and bought him some knee high ski socks. Tim's not really the knee sock, shaved legs, type A kind of triathlete but if he wasn't wearing a long sleeve "cotton t-shirt" he would have looked the part ;)
One second thought, with a bike like that. I don't think "Type A" would be a very fitting label. I'm jealous Tim's bike is lighter than mine. Oh, I guess it deserves to be as it only has one gear and no rear suspension.
They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression. I'm not sure I agree. On Saturday the Flume made quite an impression but I was struggling and honestly I think I resorted to using my eyeballs as breathing holes. I was glad to have a second chance.
This trail has a lot of beauty and a ton of "flow."
Even though you ride close to the edge. You do not feel like your going to fall off.
If you don't believe me, there is other terrain to enjoy.
I like this though. Those rocks were fun to ride between.
I love the turns in the trail. So much fun, it makes your bike feel like it's dancing
I also love pictures, which is why I am posting so many.
I wouldn't want to risk forgetting one bit of this trip.
Advisers would say you should pre-ride the race course not re-ride it. However, if that is not an option, I highly recommend the morning after re- ride. It might be even better this way. Who knows?
Cheers to quite possibly the best weekend adventure ever!
Although I was riding close to the edge of the earth I did not fall off.
It's been busy lately. I haven't exactly moved mountains but I did move to the other side of a mountain....If it's Mt. Something, it counts as a mountain right? In that case I moved across a mountain.
We didn't really have an excess of time, money, or fitness handy but we still couldn't pass up Xterra Tahoe. The Flume Trail and Tahoe Rim trail are the best trails ever. Ever, ever, ever. Seriously, if I didn't mountain bike I would run the trails. I really loved Lake Tahoe. So much so I swallowed it up. It helped that the water was choppy. It really gave me something to give back during the bike's climb :) Barf, Not so bueno!
Despite being humbled and feeling generally not fit enough to be racing the course I really loved the race. I felt lucky to be racing. I made a ton of rookie mistakes with nutrition, pacing, and even threw my chain off twice. Here's what I believe, it's a lot easier to perform "perfectly or smart" when you are not pushed beyond your limits (climbing up a moutain, through sand at altitude). I swear I felt like death on the climb. The single track technical sections and descent were so fun I forgot my struggles and had a blast. I probably should have stopped having so much fun and sucked down my Camel back. It's all easier said than done. I did a million things mediocre that morning but the technical stuff and the descent I nailed. I made up time and had fun. That almost cancels out the mental self image I have of lying on the side of the trail begging for mercy as while I was supposed to be climbing.
The 10 k trail run was not so hard, but I ran on fumes. My time was a bit "blah blah blah." Considering I started spent it did the job. It was a really nice trail with very huge down trees to climb over and some rocks to run across. It seemed like a long 10K but then again I was tired and had bonked a long time ago, so what I think probably isn't accurate. Feeling so fatigued, I wondered why I wasn't tempted to quit or walk. Truth is I'm quick to recover from fatigue, but quitting....that feeling would really put a damper on the post race BBQ. One has to keep their priorities straight.
After the race Tim and I drowned our sorry souls in Sierra Nevada Ale. Beer is served to all of the finishers to ensure competitors sign up for next years race. We were lying facedown in the grass when I heard my name called. After struggling so much just to finish, I didn't really think I should be rewarded with a cup. Then I thought about it again. I got my a** handed to me. I'm taking that cup. That cup is mine!!!!!