tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16397400807348763342024-02-06T20:13:19.926-08:00The Boothby ChroniclesDonald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-64999867829438637892013-04-04T07:11:00.001-07:002013-04-11T16:25:35.408-07:00Donald's Pie Dough RecipeI know you all want it, so I am going to share it. of course, until you learn to feel the dough, it's not going to work anyway; but this will certainly get you started:
<pre>
Pie Dough
300 g (2 c) flour
170 g (1-1/2 sticks) salted butter
+/- 1/4 c iced water - really a little more makes a more workable
dough, but don't want it too "wet".
</pre>
Donald ALWAYS took a sip of that ice water. EVERY SINGLE TIME he made a pie.
And Donald's words after this pie dough was made:
As promised, I made a pie tonight, but it is really strange. The last time I tried to do this, I had the same problem with a dough that was tough to work with because I'm too focused on measurements, and not enough on feel.
But it looks good to me!
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh83wU1ZVk7ThokK1neMQ1IE_EaTGgOKBPf9xph6VGe-xeH9MISoYrlMEYm22815VnPOCsb3SSCI6hGoHS9tUVA3dKDSS_i88auKjzZ43keeFG92Oij5q5qdZy8dB7QksMhTF5joU5FICA-/s1600/pie0392.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh83wU1ZVk7ThokK1neMQ1IE_EaTGgOKBPf9xph6VGe-xeH9MISoYrlMEYm22815VnPOCsb3SSCI6hGoHS9tUVA3dKDSS_i88auKjzZ43keeFG92Oij5q5qdZy8dB7QksMhTF5joU5FICA-/s320/pie0392.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRbJg65bLD5syg5EyZStgdv2BA2rruiJvriOWBbSW2gbeGW7ZBZj7TUvk70vJ8nPBcahN2flMN3kWXsBSxCLm90EZj0iysqVroevrM_XgvOhnTxyGaMyLWOYVKU75kgsXYpiC9HN_K0F2U/s1600/pie2P0395.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRbJg65bLD5syg5EyZStgdv2BA2rruiJvriOWBbSW2gbeGW7ZBZj7TUvk70vJ8nPBcahN2flMN3kWXsBSxCLm90EZj0iysqVroevrM_XgvOhnTxyGaMyLWOYVKU75kgsXYpiC9HN_K0F2U/s320/pie2P0395.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YdyUweOz8RgHf5OFqhqC7AIKGgY03rtQC5HZNGs8-QE_gSa7IHH-Y1FyJrUi9LigZVhyphenhyphenljSeVq7ZairO909ABl8iwOc4zj__PX4H4bHygxv-fi4YVt7rkdWAn-0TOAnNje0-VrhNhZQS/s1600/pie3P0396.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YdyUweOz8RgHf5OFqhqC7AIKGgY03rtQC5HZNGs8-QE_gSa7IHH-Y1FyJrUi9LigZVhyphenhyphenljSeVq7ZairO909ABl8iwOc4zj__PX4H4bHygxv-fi4YVt7rkdWAn-0TOAnNje0-VrhNhZQS/s320/pie3P0396.JPG" /></a>
<BR>
and finally, how to eat a Raleighdon Pie<BR>
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/c4AStkhgmdw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Mimihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16062266088887216663noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-84322494043904453102012-11-10T07:18:00.002-08:002012-11-10T07:25:53.150-08:00Race Day on the Burke Gilman Trail (written in 2006)RACE DAY ON THE BURKE GILMAN TRAIL
<p>
I was out on the Burke Gilman Trail a week or so ago, riding as hard as I could, just trying to get the last few miles in so I could make my goal for the week, pulling along with a nice little late afternoon tail wind, when out of nowhere, this little kid on a mini-Schwinn with streamers and training wheels pulls in behind me. Red hair, freckles, and sneakers with no socks. No helmet, no mom or dad anywhere to be seen. I look behind me and he's giving it all he's got to stay on my wheel. I sped up a bit, he sped up a bit; I slowed down, he slowed down. I didn't know what to do, so I shrugged it off and just continued to ride my ride. About a block and a half from my finish line, the kid sprints out in front of me. Now I'm peeved. I don't mind pulling somebody along, but now they want to embarrass me? I kick it up a gear and ride hard to catch his 16" wheel, but he looks around at me, sticks his tongue out and gives me a raspberry, while turning on the afterburners.
<p>
Slowly, I manage to pull along side of him and we're neck and neck for a minute, but by now my quads are burning up. I've been on the bike for over a half hour and he knows I'm about to bonk. BAM! He kicks it up a notch. I kick up another gear and stand, but now I'm starting to cramp. No matter, I'm not gonna let this wheel sucker ace me out of my glory. He follows suit and is out of the saddle, pedaling his single speed K-Mart special with white knobby tires for all it's worth.
<p>
Just about that time, outta some shrubs to the left, here comes a dog. And he's coming fast. I hesitate for just a moment as this distraction causes me to lose cadence and as the kid crosses the finish line a wheel length in front of me, he whistles, yells "c'mon boy", and slowly turns down the sidewalk and into his driveway. I lower my head and slink off to my truck, carefully remove the front wheel from my light weight imported race bike, ease my bike onto the Yakima rack on top of the car, and slowly, ever so slowly drive off. As I turn the corner out of the park and sneak a peek while driving by the kid's house, there he is in the window, a smile on his face, petting his loyal friend on the head and eating a peanut butter sandwich.
<p>
Someday, I'm gonna beat the pants of that 5 year old.
<p>
Donald Boothby<br />
2June2006
Mimihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16062266088887216663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-84167650637700555852012-09-06T15:39:00.001-07:002012-09-06T15:39:54.078-07:00Photo Book<object width="425" height="425" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab" classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000"><param name="movie" value="http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-ui.swf"/><param name="flashvars" value="configXMLURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/config/config-share.xml&slideshowModuleURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-module.swf&projectGUID=0AatWjFi5bNWIu4A&swfName=slideshowFlashContent&showReplay=true"/><param name="menu" value="false"/><param name="quality" value="best"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><embed width="425" height="425" align="middle" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" name="wrapper" quality="best" menu="false" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" flashvars="configXMLURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/config/config-share.xml&slideshowModuleURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-module.swf&projectGUID=0AatWjFi5bNWIu4A&swfName=slideshowFlashContent&showReplay=true" src="http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-ui.swf"></embed></object><p style="width:425px;margin-top:0;text-align:center;"><a href="http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AatWjFi5bNWLuI&cid=SFLYOCWIDGET&eid=115">Click here to view this photo book larger</a><div style="margin-top: 10px; width: 425px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/photo-books" style="color: #6666cc;">Shutterfly</a> offers exclusive layouts and designs so you can make your book just the way you want.</div><img width="1" height="1" border="0" style="padding: 0; background: #ffffff; border: none; box-shadow: none;" src="https://os.shutterfly.com/b/ss/sflyshareprod/1/H.15/111?pageName=sharekey&c1=photobook&c2=blogger" /></p>Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-26900575820877193042012-08-07T08:02:00.001-07:002012-08-07T08:09:41.792-07:00The Art of Sculpting with StoneThe Art of Sculpting With Stone by Donald Boothby August 17, 2008
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It is a very simple thing. Pick a stone and place it atop another stone. Keep doing this until you are finished. This is the entire basis for this living landscape sculpture art. Stones may be obtained anywhere, but I have found the best sources to be along the rivers, streams and ocean shores in my travels. Each stone, though, has meaning. It has its own sense of being, its own purpose. In sculpting with stones, I try to achieve a natural balance that can only be found, not forced. Force always causes collapse, whereas a well balanced sculpture can often withstand gale force winds.
Included in this package is a starter kit for your garden. In it, you will find the following:
<BR>
A base stone. This stone is actually a tile, found on the beach in the Golfo de Taranto on the Italian coast.<BR>
A second base stone. This stone was found on the Tireannean Sea, also in Calabria.<BR>
Six smaller roundish sort of flat stones. These are the fun pieces that can give a bit of humor to a sculpture. They can also be used to guide the garden visitor’s eye away from the sculpture and to another feature you wish them to observe.<BR>
Photographs. These are mere samples of one way in which these stones were used as a sculpture in my personal landscape. These special stones have been used in over 20 permutations and in combination of various sculptures in my own garden in a variety of other arrangements.
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Stone sculptures are not considered a permanent fixture in the garden. I choose a living landscape of stone works which has a life of its own. It is like a dance with ever changing steps. It changes from day to day, with visitors to our home encouraged to participate in the dance. I am never offended when one of my “favorite” sculptures is altered. This is the whole focus of having a living landscape. So often, we have gardens where all of the materials are fixed. Every day, we look at the garden and we see the same plants in the same place, with the only change being that of the seasons. In sculpting with stone, we have a garden that changes on a regular basis and one never knows what they will see the next visit. Will it be the same? Not likely.
In this way of gardening, we impact very little. We need neither poisons nor vast amounts of precious natural resources in order to maintain a beautiful landscape and our sculptures can be used to augment many other garden features. Maintenance is relatively simple. Chemicals and pesticides are totally unnecessary and we need only water to enhance the beauty of the sculpture, yet today’s sculpture is but a temporary and fleeting thing. It is my sincere desire that you find joy and peace in your garden, and that these small tokens of my affection give you as much pleasure and inspiration as they have me in the years they have graced my own landscape.
Donald<BR><BR>
<i><b>
(this was given with a gift of stones for his brother)</b></i>Mimihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16062266088887216663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-23021986248499575762012-08-04T06:52:00.000-07:002012-08-04T06:52:15.625-07:00Donald was very talented - Poetry<pre>
COSMIC FIREWORKS
Like moonbeams in the fog
except
there is no moon
there is no fog
A radiant explosion without sound
the late autumn air crisp; clean; fragrant; pure.
First a mystic glow like the full moon
behind thin clouds;
Transforming to a starburst of pale green
becoming shimmering white rays turning pink as
their tendrils approach the horizon;
and between them,
fields of faint dark red appear
as if to warm the glaciers over which they play.
A star-studded white tornado dances amongst the
mountain ridges
as a night bird screeches its applause
somewhere across the still water.
Massive bands of green waves reflect their emeraldlike beauty
in Auke Lake
with a slight mist rising
as if to respond with their own aurora.
In the distance, snowcapped peaks with
brilliant blazes of ice-blue light above.
Midnight approaches like a false dawn.
No sun; no moon; only stars and nightsky.
frozen and silent;
earthplanet as spectator to the cosmos.
Ears chilled,
hands numbed,
eyes overwhelmed,
soul calmed,
I rest with a peace and realization of yet another
of life’s dreams fulfilled.
Goodnight, Juneau.
Donald Boothby
October 30, 2003
Ode to Rhubarb
Sometimes had it hot
sometimes had it cold
always sweet
always bold
sometimes over icecream
sometimes in jam
spread thick on my toast
no matter how we got it
we loved our rhubarb most
Raleighdon
6-8-07
MAC AND CHEESE
mac and cheese
if you please.
It'll do in a squeeze.
It don't make me wheeze
It won't give me fleas.
Its made in a breeze
just please don't freeze
my mac and cheese.
Donald Boothby
February 9, 2009
CROOKED BUTTONS
I button my shirt from the bottom
I always do bottom to top
my mommy says it should be perfect
much different, she says, than ol' Pop.
Now Pop, he does it all backwards
he always goes top straight on down.
Then walks around dressed up in flannel
buttoned crooked all day around town.
Then home he comes for his supper
and what does mom do, one wonders.
She cooks up a nice soup with barley
quite careful to ignore his blunders.
But me, does she give such leeway?
Oh NO! Here lies the trap.
If I get just one button crooked
there's sure to come a head slap.
Donald Boothby
February 9, 2009
QUIET DESPERATION
I the great noble Marine
Standing alone against the world.
I the scared little boy
In a grown man’s body.
Don’t worry about me, I can handle it;
Strength and endurance will carry me through.
I the great survivor.
Don’t look at my insides, they’re too real;
No peeks behind the masks allowed.
Weakness and shame cannot show;
This is the fear worse than death itself.
When all else fails read the directions?
No! When all else fails mask it with
drugs: The ultimate foxhole; the bunker which keeps even the
feelings away.
Slowly, slowly the walls begin to crumble.
Fear turns to panic turns to rage.
Find a new bunker – a new drug.
Mask the pain stuff the fear show the rage.
Anger is allowed
it's manly
it's deserved.
From nowhere a question begins to haunt the soul:
“WHAT THE HELL IS QUIET DESPERATION?”
In self there is no answer
In self there is no hope.
The disease has eaten away from the inside leaving a mere shell.
In one brief moment the question is answered.
Someone says, “we can”
Someone says, “we care”;
a new child is born
a child with no uniform – no masks.
Then, taking that first step, reaching out to take a hand
Lest I should fall….
Mistakes are allowed;
They are human
They are expected.
From deep within the answer is given:
“I surrender”
Donald Boothby
January, 1998
Seattle, WA
</pre>Mimihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16062266088887216663noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-63500867305691941402012-07-29T18:20:00.000-07:002013-05-29T12:31:00.407-07:00Donald is gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<center>Donald Edward Boothby</center>
<br><br>
Donald "Raleighdon" Boothby of Seattle, born December 3, 1950, died July 18, 2012 of esophageal cancer. He often described himself as the richest man he knew, because he was surrounded by love, lived life with joy, and left the planet with no regrets. He was boisterous, irrepressible, romantic and generous, with an infectious smile and attitude. He had a quick wit and an irreverent sense of humor.
<br><br>
He was passionate about cycling, playing the fiddle, and baking pies. The intensity of his joy in these hobbies inspired many to take them up. He cared deeply about his family and friends, and was a spiritual mentor to many. He is survived by his wife Mimi, sons Josiah, Tom and wife Megan, his daughters Elena Gianello, Elena Verdolini and Renin Oliver; his mother Evelyn, siblings Christine Faubion, David, Michael, and Robin Pierce, a large extended family and innumerable friends.
<BR> <br>
A potluck celebration of his life will be held at 1:17pm Saturday, August 11, at the Garden House, 2336 15th Ave S, Seattle Gifts can be made to Donald's fund to get exercise bicycles for Swedish Hospital https://community.swedish.org/donaldboothby
<BR> <br>
This post done by Mimi Boothby - it is his obituary that was published in the Seattle times on July 22, 2012
FYI, he only actually had two sons, but he "adopted" the two Elenas and Renin with his typical generosity. I am sure if he had lived longer, he would have adopted more.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-79621434778928295732012-04-15T18:09:00.000-07:002013-10-14T17:58:59.968-07:00My Ass Finds No Fault with New AsphaltMonday, I had the opportunity to catch a 20 mile ride with my son Tom who is in town for a computer mathmetical geek get together for 4 days at the UofW campus. I picked him up on campus and we started our ride from near U Village. I'm still keeping my riding to the flats, as I continue my recovery from long and difficult surgery and the complications from it. The road back is pretty slow, but at least I'm able to get out when the weather warms up to 50 degrees and it isn't pouring down rain or snow. Those days have seemed to be few and far between this winter.
<BR><BR>
At any rate, we took off north, in serach of a burger, fries and a milkshake. There just happens to be a great place about 10 miles away (PERFECT!!!) in Kenmore. I've wanted to ride over the new section of the Burke Gilman Trail, having read that it is finally open. As Dave Niehaus would say, "MY OF MY". I can't tell you to break out the rye bread and mustard, but it felt somehow very smug and satisfied as I rode through Lake Forest Park, reflecting back on how goddam difficult it was to get past the dumbass politicians in that most stupid of all cities. The pavement is a couple feet wider than the old trail. The renovations have stripped old vegetation and there are a lot of new plantings and little water ditches to maintain the wetlands effect. Riding along through that new 2-1/2 mile stretch, we heard a couple of bald eagles calling to each other. We never saw them, but it was nice to know that they are enjoying our new trail also. Especially right in the center of the Lake Forest Park "downtown" it was fantastic. All of the roots have been removed, nice smooth, wide pavement now in place and the intersections have new, wider curb cuts making it much easier to navigate around pedestrians without either of us feeling like we were at risk.
<BR><BR>
At the 10 mile mark, we needed some lunch, so we pulled across to the other side of Bothell Way and made our pilgrimage to Kidd Valley, where we reminisced about how this was one of our primary stops back when we were training for STP. Hard sometimes to conceive of things so far back. I was working at the top of the hill at St. Thomas Center (now the home of Bastyr University) and one day, had Tom and Josiah ride from home out to meet me there for lunch. Tom was 11 and Josiah was 13 and it was the first time they ever did a 50 mile bike ride all by themselves. And now, here we were, nearly 2 decades later, much older, somewhat wiser and not a whole lot more grown up than we were then, munching down our cyclists power food.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIOizti9Qk9AdJRIVUZ7y0SKnMGWkzuhSvQvWArj0iNQ5ZaMvKacHAZPHgyO72DHe2BEcnfmMx4ze86yr8QJeFbloeaZsw7X7WPZLVXtPXSr0YjBmz5lMHEsKODqydVSDBOwSM8RLAAcO/s1600/tomforblog.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIOizti9Qk9AdJRIVUZ7y0SKnMGWkzuhSvQvWArj0iNQ5ZaMvKacHAZPHgyO72DHe2BEcnfmMx4ze86yr8QJeFbloeaZsw7X7WPZLVXtPXSr0YjBmz5lMHEsKODqydVSDBOwSM8RLAAcO/s320/tomforblog.jpg" /></a>
<BR><BR>
Believe it or not, Tom was smiling, even if only on the inside. He gave me a gift certificate for Christmas promising to do a bike ride with me every month from January through June. In January, he drove down from Coquitlam, BC on the last weekend of the month and we did 10 miles together. It was supposed to be 12.5 but I pooped out. He went home, got the truck and came back and picked Mimi (who refused to leave me sitting by myself by the side of the road) and me up. In February, I put my bike on the train, rode Amtrak to Vancouver, BC (what a fantastic way to travel to Vancouver!!!) and we did just a 4.4 mile ride around their neighborhood, but at least we got it in. So when I picked him up at the UW campus on Monday morning, with the sun shining and the thermometer in the truck saying 50 degrees, both he and I were smiling pretty good.
<BR><BR>
After our burgers, it was time to head back. Hmmmmm. No wonder it had been so pleasant riding to Kenmore. That headwind started blowing into our faces and I remembered why I usually try to ride INTO the wind on the first half of a ride. As we rode through LFP heading south, I noticed that at one of the two intersections, the pedestrian signal post is placed sort of awkwardly, splitting the lane in a very uncomfortable place. I think the accesses are wide enough that it is not a huge issue, but just sort of gave me a little bit of mental pause, and made me file it away for future reference so I make sure I slow down a little extra as I approach it. It is the first intersection as you're riding southbound (Ballinger Way).
<BR><BR>
After riding all that smooth asphalt, It was tough heading back onto the old section of trail. Hopefully, there are some plans underway to do some more upgrades between the University District and there, as several sections still have a lot of roots growing up through the pavement and are just starting to get into a pretty serious state of disrepair (the half-assed patch done where the slide happened 2 winters ago is a good example).
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I do love the Burke Gilman Trail and look forward to a time when I can enjoy a nice smooth paved ride from downtown Issaquah to Golden Gardens Park. Now THAT will be a day worth celebrating. In the meantime, I'll just keep my sometimes very satisfied bum planted firmly in the saddle, enjoying the extreme pleasure of new asphalt every time it comes. Ahhhhhhhh. New asphalt AND a tailwind. If there is a heaven, I'm sure that is what it will be like.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-47520750762034327212012-03-24T18:05:00.000-07:002013-03-01T20:08:17.713-08:00A Nice Day In Seattle - Let's Take a Little RideWhooee! I'm way behind. I haven't posted any bike riding photos here for some time and here it is already nearly the end of March. Well, I suppose not doing much riding will tend to do that for a feller, but today, Mimi and I got to go out and do a 15.6 mile ride along the Duwamish Trail and out to Alki Beach and back. Here's a few of the photos I took along the way and afterwards.<br><br>Yep, we drove to the start line in MBR, my lovely F-150:<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VPhfgmfIhdSXf32f5HvOHTEJERAksyD8gNk5Ik4Nd0mPgGXwm1v2s7OHSA8IVlhJBQlZMjfIBVlcZbAid1P9pLNUGKBnWkRIKUNaDCrN4cHR-6O-2P_ngFZQ3BuRjAtxFp7oqNd55ML9/s1600/usandtruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VPhfgmfIhdSXf32f5HvOHTEJERAksyD8gNk5Ik4Nd0mPgGXwm1v2s7OHSA8IVlhJBQlZMjfIBVlcZbAid1P9pLNUGKBnWkRIKUNaDCrN4cHR-6O-2P_ngFZQ3BuRjAtxFp7oqNd55ML9/s320/usandtruck.jpg" /></a><br>
<br>After a quick potty stop, we were off along the Duwamish Trail, cutting across Harbor Island and onto the trail to Alki. We had to stop a few times to kiss and hug and enjoy the scenery.<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0nu-E2Tgw9JP-tyr6VWNXC3mWLiS7D39teXJgpXEm6-wdVk0rOietG4sjzvwXDzrChwq_u8KHVkRp7xUOz5rMqj8eXy8MPMwWMoVs_mnWOS-B97lSJINm25tCxFLHswFwmd5GLqI4gOP/s1600/mimialkiskyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0nu-E2Tgw9JP-tyr6VWNXC3mWLiS7D39teXJgpXEm6-wdVk0rOietG4sjzvwXDzrChwq_u8KHVkRp7xUOz5rMqj8eXy8MPMwWMoVs_mnWOS-B97lSJINm25tCxFLHswFwmd5GLqI4gOP/s320/mimialkiskyline.jpg" /></a><br><br>This one of our favorite (and one of the most photographed) vistas of the Seattle Skyline.<br>
<br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhs5OL-DbsD-uhgzpOrdRIAo4Z0B3OiOE2-m5jCOPa26wiBgknGFY_E8oDO_VcIcjMwiCaLBjM2PwAyCc2Fwaiax4bIcNrRVllmxHfPtQ9k58BQhxu_Bk18UYy2WY2kiFqiMIqqBt-6YZ/s1600/us.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqhs5OL-DbsD-uhgzpOrdRIAo4Z0B3OiOE2-m5jCOPa26wiBgknGFY_E8oDO_VcIcjMwiCaLBjM2PwAyCc2Fwaiax4bIcNrRVllmxHfPtQ9k58BQhxu_Bk18UYy2WY2kiFqiMIqqBt-6YZ/s320/us.jpg" /></a><br><br>North of Alki Beach, the trail was pretty wide open. This is one of the nicest MUPs in the area, but on a 72 degree sunny day in July, there ain't much room one can call his own. <br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi122MLynF6MifJS2ibt83oy3QTclhilUiIYJCrxHzedim5UWIz2OmWpWA9SPENLbqI1Q8KRDoJIiiyU7yJcffy6HSJPjq1Jb7iraUlPNWKGNPzv5gpe9TIxkPtpzEDtyQGsoH0MZACsBTB/s1600/olympics.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi122MLynF6MifJS2ibt83oy3QTclhilUiIYJCrxHzedim5UWIz2OmWpWA9SPENLbqI1Q8KRDoJIiiyU7yJcffy6HSJPjq1Jb7iraUlPNWKGNPzv5gpe9TIxkPtpzEDtyQGsoH0MZACsBTB/s320/olympics.jpg" /></a>
<br>The Olympic Mountain Range as seen across Puget Sound. It's always nice when our mountains come out to visit us - and those days have been few and far between this past few months. The beach wasn't very busy today. <br>
<br><br><br>I just had to ride at least as far south as my favorite house along Beach Drive. It's been for sale for a couple years now. Last year they had a sign that said, "Price Reduced" - I think it was down to $4.5MM. Any takers?<br>
<br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCMh_ZZUotptLSF5sti_hD5s-doVjiwA5mDoNbyu0bwBcpeCqy4lHEx4LODByl0cvelIf8SEVcLeqaRd2z2Cno2OOxfeY54tCdqrFWB_K5DuLyi4fX7UgHab_BktCfN0ALBhpMTf9ieY_o/s1600/dfavhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCMh_ZZUotptLSF5sti_hD5s-doVjiwA5mDoNbyu0bwBcpeCqy4lHEx4LODByl0cvelIf8SEVcLeqaRd2z2Cno2OOxfeY54tCdqrFWB_K5DuLyi4fX7UgHab_BktCfN0ALBhpMTf9ieY_o/s320/dfavhouse.jpg" /></a>
<br><br>Heading back north into the headwind, we had to stop at our favorite snack spot and have a cup of cocoa. Well, Mimi drank cocoa and I drank my Starbucks Frappucchino I'd been nursing til I could get it to room temperature.<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUxLBt-sVhIEoRt0_asZnCMnpYzqXa21XbYLKpht4exuxjMMEGnMAZCgMd-9SjfgG7GlXQJyW6ds5jD96Yr42gj8dQ4o9-yuXxClX3sh9FjtebRz4baI15MyzhZdG13YJwASHybf8vS3g/s1600/onthebench.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUxLBt-sVhIEoRt0_asZnCMnpYzqXa21XbYLKpht4exuxjMMEGnMAZCgMd-9SjfgG7GlXQJyW6ds5jD96Yr42gj8dQ4o9-yuXxClX3sh9FjtebRz4baI15MyzhZdG13YJwASHybf8vS3g/s320/onthebench.jpg" /></a><br>
<br>New asphalt has been laid through almost the entirety of T-107 Park on the Duwamish Trail. SCHWEET RIDING!!!<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40J_RT17LNi20lYN2eMxHtckrA8DWo-Xznw7EO1Rr3IGawRH2WEGs03y_JVIEJfyiDyssKBqlvD0ztJDSKuRTI89nERcqaR2lzeGMJW-KTAWBttJc8KAEz3Ja3WAaelI50Vpiaz1Jp_GU/s1600/mimismooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40J_RT17LNi20lYN2eMxHtckrA8DWo-Xznw7EO1Rr3IGawRH2WEGs03y_JVIEJfyiDyssKBqlvD0ztJDSKuRTI89nERcqaR2lzeGMJW-KTAWBttJc8KAEz3Ja3WAaelI50Vpiaz1Jp_GU/s320/mimismooth.jpg" /></a><br>
<br>There is a picnic table that we often stop and rest at, mostly just to enjoy the solitude and the views of the skyline of Seattle as seen through the industrial areas.<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZqrcgPJlnkEolnv4T5IRHUSqBrOCLeoBTLNDYnW0wLeU0FZ4472LWHV9W4BTYFSWWRJPCzlUyNdsogIwyHFEJAaJzrt5vj1Xj-eG15SOL7_nxQ2ggJJlOB-EZgIebwui0oSIImP-QWJC/s1600/restspot.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZqrcgPJlnkEolnv4T5IRHUSqBrOCLeoBTLNDYnW0wLeU0FZ4472LWHV9W4BTYFSWWRJPCzlUyNdsogIwyHFEJAaJzrt5vj1Xj-eG15SOL7_nxQ2ggJJlOB-EZgIebwui0oSIImP-QWJC/s320/restspot.jpg" /></a><br>
<br>After the ride, we needed to stop off at Swedish Hospital to pick up a prescription and I found a Camelia Bush in full bloom - just had to steal ONE LITTLE FLOWER for my sweetie.....<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGLN-pydqOPcBg0r_59PLOHSXddydpnWpB5y_M-HV51YoSeWa82aGoxft97jkMEFu5PKk8-WjK8jRbULjGpReepyRcHEizz24g2U4XYujCClDZzCqyUqaxOClIopCihqNLRDTuzv7u5rP3/s1600/holdingcamelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGLN-pydqOPcBg0r_59PLOHSXddydpnWpB5y_M-HV51YoSeWa82aGoxft97jkMEFu5PKk8-WjK8jRbULjGpReepyRcHEizz24g2U4XYujCClDZzCqyUqaxOClIopCihqNLRDTuzv7u5rP3/s320/holdingcamelia.jpg" /></a><br>
<br>...or should I say my "SheBeest".....<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVrcruz7H5tpHzK44uyG12l2IonWRwp5Yels2Kl-dT5jV5zmlfiu8omJhNY_f30ty14YFG5Ukobsy5Xe3b6QAFvAsZXrJn7j_Wiq3aqgqIOpaOM3DOV8DKxj8YLSVhCuHxyHfx7dFPDgn/s1600/camelia.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVrcruz7H5tpHzK44uyG12l2IonWRwp5Yels2Kl-dT5jV5zmlfiu8omJhNY_f30ty14YFG5Ukobsy5Xe3b6QAFvAsZXrJn7j_Wiq3aqgqIOpaOM3DOV8DKxj8YLSVhCuHxyHfx7dFPDgn/s320/camelia.jpg" /></a><br><br>Then long before we were done having fun, we got home and I thought it might be nice to take a little snooze amongst the daffy-dills.<br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy83Y5ru0aVH8G65ipEthl0dVoJ_HO9yzv7vE6n15sXCgpyE61avlPxZ7DIEpqAixYpmaWpgQEFXAi74q5dOVQE1BODAQhgEtB1nrKgWx57Hw_hdTbtdFjzIEFbfvdcVToDSQ5HSx9wdf-/s1600/donalddaffodils.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy83Y5ru0aVH8G65ipEthl0dVoJ_HO9yzv7vE6n15sXCgpyE61avlPxZ7DIEpqAixYpmaWpgQEFXAi74q5dOVQE1BODAQhgEtB1nrKgWx57Hw_hdTbtdFjzIEFbfvdcVToDSQ5HSx9wdf-/s320/donalddaffodils.jpg" /></a><br><br>Ride Safe<br>Have Fun<br>Get To The Finish Line With a SMILE!!!<br><br>Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-70899392049406400292012-03-23T11:06:00.002-07:002012-03-23T11:08:50.103-07:00I'm WaitingLiving with cancer has proven to be an interesting exercise. With the hundreds of visits to the doctor(s), poking, prodding, testing, reviewing and shooting me up with all kinds of wonder drugs that are supposed to kill this stuff off, it seems like I spend more time at Swedish Cancer Institute than anywhere else. And everybody wants to give me an injection of some kind. I feel more like a pin cushion sometimes than a human body.<BR><BR>
Now, for every appointment, there is this ritual. Boot up the computer (well, OF COURSE!!! What would life be like if we looked at the patient instead of a computer screen - I'll write (or rant) more about that another time, perhaps - to review the patient history? This ritual consists of a drug review. "Have you changed any of your medications since you were in last?" "You mean since this morning in the other doctor's office? No." That answer isn't good enough. Now we have to spend 15 minutes reviewing each of the medications one by one as they stumble through everything I've taken since August 29th when I first started treatment. Thank goodness, my hair hasn't fallen out because I have to tell you, this is enough to make me pull it out, and if it fallen out, then what would I do in my frustration? "Have you developed any new allergies?" "You mean since 8:00 this morning? None that I know of." I try to remain in good humor, but it isn't easy some days. <BR><BR>
Finally, it is time. They're going to give me something. Either a bag of dripping fluids, a shot of heperin in the gut, and most recently an injection of Neulasta. What is Neulasta®?
<i>"Neulasta® is a prescription medicine called a white cell booster that helps reduce the risk of infection (initially marked by fever) in patients with some tumors receiving strong chemotherapy that decreases the number of infection-fighting white blood cells. A sufficient white blood cell count may enable your doctors to administer chemotherapy according to their treatment schedule."</i> <BR><BR>
This according to their website. <BR><BR>
Now every time somebody wants to give me a shot of something, they have to explain the side effects to me. It reminds me sometimes of all those television ads that talk sweetly and serenely about all the good benefits of the drug, whatever it is. Then in a panicky, gotta get it all into the ad in less than 5 seconds, they rattle off the side effects which may include vomiting, diarrhea, constipation, heart failure, and in some cases even death. Of course, you should ask your doctor if (insert whatever drug you want to here) is right for you.<br><br>
So the other day, I got out of the hospital and the oncologist told me my white cells were a little low and he wanted me to come back the next day for an injection of Neulasta. SO I came home, brought up their website and looked for the possible side effects. These include:<BR><BR>
What are possible serious side effects of Neulasta®? Spleen Rupture. Your spleen may become enlarged and can rupture while taking Neulasta®. A ruptured spleen can cause death. The spleen is located in the upper left section of your stomach area. Call your doctor right away if you have pain in the left upper stomach area or left shoulder tip area. This pain could mean your spleen is enlarged or ruptured.
A serious lung problem called acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS). Call your doctor or seek emergency care right away if you have shortness of breath, trouble breathing, or a fast rate of breathing.
Serious Allergic Reactions. Neulasta® can cause serious allergic reactions. These reactions can cause shortness of breath, wheezing, dizziness, swelling around the mouth or eyes, fast pulse, sweating, and hives. If you start to have any of these symptoms, call your doctor or seek emergency care right away. If you have an allergic reaction during the injection of Neulasta®, stop the injection. Call your doctor right away.
Sickle Cell Crises. You may have a serious sickle cell crisis if you have a sickle cell disorder and take Neulasta®. Serious and sometimes fatal sickle cell crises can occur in patients with sickle cell disorders receiving Filgrastim, a medicine similar to Neulasta®. Call your doctor right away if you have symptoms of sickle cell crisis such as pain or difficulty breathing.
What are the most common side effects of Neulasta®?
The most common side effect you may experience is aching in the bones and muscles. If this happens, it can usually be relieved with a nonaspirin pain reliever, such as acetaminophen.<BR><BR>
More information than you wanted I'm sure, and I can assure you, a whole hell of a lot more information that I wanted.<BR><BR>
So the next day, I report for my dose. The nurse rattles off the "most common side effects" but not all the others, thank goodness. Then she asked me where I wanted it. Well, not really knowing where she was planning it, I asked her, "Well, as long as I don't have to drop my trousers, I don't really care, but since you are asking, where is the most common place to give it?" "Well," she said, "typically in the arm or the belly." Now, I went through daily heperin injections for a few weeks, every one in the belly and each one causing its own bruise. I decided that maybe I'd have it in the arm. She then informed me that a lot of her patients said that it didn't hurt as much if injected into the belly instead of the arm. "Well, okay, then. Let's go with the belly." <BR><BR>
As she stuck me there was a slight stick and sting. Not so bad, really. Not nearly as bad as all those heperin shots. I lay there, staring at the celing and got to thinking once again about those side effects, and that got me to wondering about medical researchers and the development of drugs. <BR><BR>
If the wonderful world of medicine is great, why can't they come up with an injection that the nurse can say, "Now this is going to sting at first and probably hurt like the dickens while I'm giving it to you. But don't worry, the only side effect of this drug is that it is going to make you feel like you are laying on a warm sunny beach in Maui for the next two days."<BR><BR>
I'm waiting.<BR><BR>
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Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-32309588626819055012012-03-12T13:27:00.001-07:002012-03-12T13:27:15.067-07:00Boothby is Cooking AgainSo I got up and went to treatment this morning and celebrating the fact I only had a single appointment today, came back home. I am feling pretty alright this morning, so was going to bake a pie with the Rome Beauty apples I'd bought Saturday. Having tasted one, though, they were a little on the dry side, so figured I'd make some applesauce. Then I got to looking at the Lover's Marmalade I made on Saturday and thought I might as well use up the rest of the bag of those, too. After quartering the apples and peeling the oranges, I got to thinking that maybe I could make something a little more long-lasting, and something I could share with a couple of friends. At first, I thought I'd do some Mandarin Apple Butter, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought I really liked those little mandarin peels in what I did Sauturday, so I modified it just a little bit and this is what I came up with. <br /><BR>
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<B>CITRUS APPLE MARMALADE </b><BR>
(Donald Boothby – March, 2012) <BR><BR>
3 pounds Rome Beauty apples (about 5 med sized)<BR>
6-8 small mandarin oranges (add a few extra if eliminating the grapefruit)<BR>
1 grapefruit <BR>
Juice from 1 or 2 small lemons (1/4 cup) <BR>
1 cup water 4 cups sugar 1 stick cinnamon (more if desired)<BR>
Core the apples, leaving the peels on. Cut into large chunks and place in medium sized sauce pan with 1 cup water and juice from the lemons. Bring to a quick boil and turn down to low/medium heat for about 20 minutes, stirring frequently. <br /><BR>
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Once the apples have cooked down, remove from heat and immediately run through food mill, discarding the peels. This should yield about 4 cups. Add a little water if needed to get up to needed volume. Peel the mandarins, leaving the peels in as big of chunks as possible. Cut peels into very thin julienne strips and cut to the desired length. Set the peeling aside. Peel the grapefruit, removing the white fibrous membrane on the outside and removing any seeds from both the grapefruit and the mandarins. <BR>
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Place the prepared citrus (if doing again, I think I’d add more orange and eliminate the grapefruit) into a blender and pulverize well. Should net 2 cups of finished pulp. Add more oranges if necessary to get up to the needed volume. Mix the oranges and peel into the bowl with the seived apples. You really don't have to do this, it's just pretty. <br /><BR>
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Place apples, sugar, citrus, stick of cinnamon and peel into deep, heavy bottom kettle and bring to a rapid, hard boil for 5 minutes, stirring constantly. <br /><BR>
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Reduce heat to low/medium and cook approximately 40 minutes, stirring frequently (use large wooden spoon if you can) until it reaches the jelly stage (begins to sheet of the spoon). Time will vary by the amount of pectin in the apples you are using. Place finished marmalade into sterilized ½ pint jelly jars and seal with new lids and rings. <br /><BR>
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YIELD: 3 pints.<BR><BR>
If you like to keep the marmalade nice pretty reddish-orange, use stick cinnamon. If you want it to be more “apple butter” colored, add 1 – 2 tsp. ground cinnamon instead of the stick cinnamon. You don’t have to use Rome Beauty, either. I chose them mostly for their color, but if you use Granny Smith, Fuji, Pacific Rose or other variety, you will get a lighter and more yellow-orange color instead of the deep reddish orange I got. <BR><BR>
<B>NOTE:</b> I don’t water bath my jams and jellies. I know all the cookbooks will tell you to, but I’ve been making this kind of stuff for over 30 years and have never had a sealed jar go bad on me. If you are the scientific type who believes in doing everything by the strictest food regulation rules, then water bath the finished jam for 20 minutes.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-91749720507744403262012-03-03T19:46:00.013-08:002012-03-03T20:03:00.586-08:00The Hunter - A Dream of HealingIn my dream last night, I was traveling on the train to Canada. I had been assigned to go up and inspect a piece of mining equipment that failed and found myself sitting with a family of First Nations people consisting of a young woman, three children and a very old man. His skin was deeply tanned and wrinkled, his eyes were bright and sparkled when he spoke. <br /><br />We were exchanging pleasantries and the family told me the following story.<br /><br />The old man had once been a part of a community in a remote section of Canada in which his community made its living and sustenance hunting and trapping. For centuries they had lived this way and until very recently had been a very prosperous people. When young boys became of age, they were taken out into the wilderness and left overnight. In the morning, when they awoke, there would either be an arrow or a rolled fur laying next to where they slept. If an arrow, the young boy was taken into training by the elder hunters and trained in the skills of hunting. If the young boy was visited with a rolled fur, then he would be taken in by the trappers who would teach their skills to him. In this way, the community was able to always have enough meat to feed themselves and enough furs to trade and purchase the other things they needed to live. <br /><br />When the old man was young he, like all the other boys in the village was taken out to the appointed spot in the woods and left with a small bundle and told to pray and fast and return to the village the next day. The next morning, however, he had been visited by neither an arrow nor a fur bundle. Instead, when he awoke, he discovered a small fox had curled up next to him and fallen fast asleep. He was very sad because this meant that he could never be either a hunter or trapper for his people. As he returned to the village, though, the fox followed him. At the edge of the village, the fox ran off back into the woods and the young boy was left to tell the elders his sad tale. <br /><br />In actuality, he became both a hunter and a trapper, but was given a special gift. When his family needed meat, he went out to hunt and always came home with an animal. He never needed a weapon, as an animal would seek him out and after they met, would voluntarily give its life to the young hunter. When the family needed furs to trade in the market, the young boy was dispatched to bring back furs and in the same way, the animals would voluntarily give of themselves. <br /><br />Over the years, the young man’s prowess became known throughout the region. The meat he brought back was always the most tender and freshest and of the best quality because the animal was at peace when it gave its life. His furs became famous because they never had trap markings or holes in them from where an arrow had pierced the flesh. <br /><br />Eventually, the young man left the village and sought to go out into the greater world to discover what was beyond the village’s known world. I never found out why exactly he left or where he had been all these many years but he had recently been called back to the village by the current elders as the village had fallen on bad times.<br /><br />Over the years, the village had fallen into a state of disrepair. The hunters and trappers had difficulty finding enough meat and furs to both sustain their families and trade with other villages. Many of the men had given up in despair and turned to alcohol which became a serious problem for not just the men, but for the young people. The women were experiencing an increase in difficulty with childbirth and had trouble maintaining the family in the old ways and there seemed to be nothing to replace the old ways with except hopelessness. The village dogs had gone wild and formed packs that would attack small children and all in the village were afraid of them.<br /><br />I decided to accompany the old man and his young family back to the village, thinking I would come back to my professional work soon enough. When we left the train, we had to travel a great distance overland in southwest British Columbia until we came to a place where we had to catch a small, open-deck ferry across the water to another piece of land. From there we had to walk a good distance before we finally saw the village in the distance. <br /><br />Suddenly there was a great noise as a pack of wild dogs rushed at us. The mother shielded her children, but the old man simply sat down in the middle of the road. As the dogs came nearer, they calmed and one slowly and with great caution approached us until he was nearly nose to nose with the old man. Sniffing, he sat down. The old man reached out and touched his head. As the two touched, a hummingbird landed on the dog’s head. It was 4:10 pm. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjdAFFQskX6BJQLssreveOFtVyiEN_6cjAVRQ9IH-rWaMLXNFX5u_EBxK1fHN22dXZI-qK91dz-oICJgMWWPzhVYe0FiY0yPfZTANjSySMmsLStoNZBF2XmfygPE_u6FFCkQPtpfpeoQ/s1600/ddog880.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjdAFFQskX6BJQLssreveOFtVyiEN_6cjAVRQ9IH-rWaMLXNFX5u_EBxK1fHN22dXZI-qK91dz-oICJgMWWPzhVYe0FiY0yPfZTANjSySMmsLStoNZBF2XmfygPE_u6FFCkQPtpfpeoQ/s400/ddog880.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715883895947070386" /></a><br /> <br /><br />At the same time this happened, I received a text message on my phone from Mimi wishing I was home because the most incredible thing had just happened. She had captured a lovely picture of it. On our front porch, a large, boxer-type dog was sitting calmly with a hummingbird on its head. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYz0pIGuDRnPQf3BOBMYvXGvWuHzC4leYgAKY7yv6FgTS0CF8uioKMV32OG2P7VTyR4AWLZSsp5rfhqtPGTp785Rjv_iMSGFfRvjPnw2UDTl4DDzcaLd9YGtqNnDs6qcxTjknGLWG84oo/s1600/boxer+and+hummingbird.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 113px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYz0pIGuDRnPQf3BOBMYvXGvWuHzC4leYgAKY7yv6FgTS0CF8uioKMV32OG2P7VTyR4AWLZSsp5rfhqtPGTp785Rjv_iMSGFfRvjPnw2UDTl4DDzcaLd9YGtqNnDs6qcxTjknGLWG84oo/s400/boxer+and+hummingbird.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715884422820593842" /></a><br /><br />There were sightings from all over North America at precisely the same time with dogs sitting peacefully as hummingbirds lit on their heads. <br /><br />The man rose and calmly led the dogs and his family back into the village where there was a great healing amongst the people.<br /><br />When I awoke, I lay for a long time re-playing this dream in my head, and a great calm washed over me as I finally drifted back to sleep.<br /><br /><br />NOTE: Paintings are by <a href="http://www.mimitabby.com/blog" target="_blank"> Mimi Boothby</a>Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-79236170338444769642011-12-25T09:50:00.002-08:002011-12-25T10:15:47.146-08:00Merry Christmas to All<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdQmArS08NCj33uhCoSJbs1lRPrRVDu80k0FJwrXfSRCP4aGFP2v7ika8QQEHmNntlAPoD53csVb8NWuRBxspR5Y9pkLeOQUneTGhxhkQtkVe2f0nALH-6uBXmvCz9zxYnvXanpQtw7s/s1600/IMAG1130.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdQmArS08NCj33uhCoSJbs1lRPrRVDu80k0FJwrXfSRCP4aGFP2v7ika8QQEHmNntlAPoD53csVb8NWuRBxspR5Y9pkLeOQUneTGhxhkQtkVe2f0nALH-6uBXmvCz9zxYnvXanpQtw7s/s400/IMAG1130.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690131332886012514" /></a><br />OK, so I'm not a Christian and neither are a lot of my friends, but I'm going to say it anyway and if it offends you because of the name, sobeit. I can't be responsible for your reactions to the word Christmas. What I can do, though is to wish for you that it is a day filled with joy, happieness and peace. But then, I sorta wish EVERY DAY is like that for you. <br /><br />We have usually tended to celebrate Christmas in a pretty traditional American way with a gathering of family, exchange of gifts, big meal and lots of laughter. Thank goodness I have a family that doesn't do bar room brawls every time it gets together for a holiday! I can't imagine it.<br /><br />This holiday season has been a bit strange for us, not quite knowing whether I would be here, and if so, what condition I would be in. With Tom and Megan off to the east coast to celebrate the season with Megan's family, we won't be doing our annual family gathering until the 30th, leaving Mimi and me a quiet house and no big family plans. I was asked what I wanted to do and it was pretty hard to really think of actually doing anything, being tied down to this 24-hour a day feed tube, pumping the calories into me and trying to gain weight. I told her I wanted to go out for Chinese Food. I was thinking of "A Christmas Story" where the Bumpis' dogs got the turkey and so they all had to go out to eat. I also thought of my friends Chris and Deena and something Deena told me about getting together with some Jewish friends for chinese food, and it just sounded right coming off the tongue. <br /><br />But having been hospitalized for so long, I found myself watching a lot of daytime and late night tee-vee and seeing the ads for all the new movies coming out. I thought maybe it would be fun to go to a movie and see what it is like to be out in public for the day. Josiah agreed to go with Mimi and me so we're off to see The Adventures of Tin Tin - in 3-D - and then later will join Chris and Deena for a nice Chines dinner at Hong's Garden in Renton. Still on a liquid diet I'm not sure what all I'll be able to enjoy, but ought to be able to eat some soup and sip tea and enjoy my small family and my friends.<br /><br />Whatever your day brings, whether it be Christmas or just another day on the calender, I hope you find time to give thanks for the many blessings you have received and hope you receive the warmth of family and friends surrounding you with love.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-81073648047626748192011-11-04T19:20:00.000-07:002011-12-25T09:48:12.203-08:00The Laying On Of HandsI am not a religious man. I am, however, open to learning and developing a manner of living along certain spiritual lines. 27 years ago on November 4, 1984 I walked into a small hospital in Seattle, and after a few days in their mental health unit, transferred into the alcohol and drug treatment center. It generated the most profound change that had ever taken place in my life. It saved my marriage. It saved me from the hell in which I had been living and forcing my family to live in. We were a family of hostages. <br />I had a lot of choices to make in life, and one of those choices was where I would go to find my recovery. I could go to AA or NA or I could try to find something else. At one of my first "outside" NA meetings, I heard a message from a young woman with long blond hair. "Let us love you until you can learn to love yourself." Being somewhat of the free love generation and not of the John Barleycorn generation, maybe I heard this differently. It doesn't really matter. The message was about love and hope. For all this time, I have surrounded myself in recovery with individuals who espouse this ideal, and they have taught me a lot about love. They taught me that love is not a noun. It is a verb. If you truly love someone or something, you will act out of that love. And it is not always a big thing. A hug, a handshake, a pat on the shoulder, an offer to do some small task like visiting a sick friend in the hospital. Doesn't seem like much, but it is.<br />After being diagnosed with EC on the 11th of August 2011, I found myself headed down a very rapid road to recovery. I have what I consider to be the finest oncologist, radiation oncologist and surgeon that I could have. But I have something much more. I have friends. I have family. I have a world of caring professionals. I have once again been taught some lessons about love and the impact of laying on of hands. We happened by my neighbor Sam Rainwater's house one warm late summer evening and I disclosed my cancer to this couple we've known for almost 30 years and whose children went to school with ours. We do not share the same religion, but we share some very strong common bonds. We have never been close, but we have always been good neighbors to each other. That evening, Sam did something nobody else had done. <br />I had been told by many with whom I discussed my cancer that they would keep me in their thoughts and prayers. Sam, however, ASKED me if I would mind him praying for me. What a unique request and one I found most touching. He then (of course I gave him permission) said he would like to pray with me right then. There we were on the street corner where I feel as much at home as in my house a half block away, with Sam, Geraldine, Sam's good friend, Mimi and me, with them laying their hands on me and praying for my healing. It was one of the most significant spiritual turning points in my life. No proseletizing, no plea for me to open my heart to Jesus or anything, just a simple prayer for the removal of cancer from my body, with faith that through prayer, it would happen. I think Sam knows better than to try to convert me, but just provided a simple act of love and grace, from his own experience and faith.<br />Fast forward to October 26th. We arrived at Swedish before it was even light out, with a 6:30 check-in time and 8:00 am surgery scheduled. I was in pretty good spirits, considering that I was about to undergo one of the most difficult and complex surgeries that is done on the human body and knew that the next couple of weeks were going to be quite painful, and the recovery time would be pushing me to probably not being able to return to work until close to the first of the year. I knew the risks, knew the statistics for full survival and recovery from EC and was prepared to be as aggressive as possible to beat this thing growing inside me. Mimi was there and held my hand until they rolled me away. I had planned to drift off to sleep with the vision of Ruby Beach and Mimi and I playing there together. It worked, I guess, because as I was waking up some 9 hours later, I remember walking through the woods on a trail back to the car. But what I remember most waking up is a hand on my arm and a soft voice saying, "Ah, you're back" or some such. The words weren't important; what was important was that hand. It felt so warm and I could feel its life energy move across my body, something that would be repeated a lot of times over what ended up being a 52-day hospital stay. <br />There were a couple of nurses, especially, who particularly stood out above the “duties” of their job. Shannon was my first nurse when I checked in for chemotherapy, not sure about what to expect, trying to keep myself strong and brave. This was very early on in the game and I didn’t have a clue yet about what was coming, but when she came into my room, she touched my right forearm in a reassuring way that let me know I was going to be okay. Throughout the week, she continued to check in on me, and in my long surgical hospitalization, came to visit me, held my hand and kept me thinking I was going to come through it all just fine.<br />Then there was Min. I think life change happens sometimes when we are at our lowest point and when I met this particularly gifted nurse sometime in November, I had been through a seemingly endless run of surgeries, I’d spent several days in ICU and when they brought me back to 10E, she was assigned to me. Now, the nurses were all very good, kind, patient, caring individuals, but Min stood out for how she attended so gently to my needs, staying with me nearly without interruption for 2 full days as Mimi remained at my bedside. For those 2 days, I received the most loving and gentle care any human could ever hope for. She later gave both Mimi and I birthday gifts, for Mimi a jade bangle and for me some jade prayer beads that have become a part of my daily meditation routine. She taught me things about love I didn’t think possible to teach and old man and my heart will forever keep a place open for her.<br />What impressed me most, though, was just how many people laid their hands on me with loving, healing touch. Each time a nurse came into the, they touched my hand or my arm or my legs, and it became so very clear to me that it is not the touch of one man or spirit, it is the touch of loving healing that is given by the multitudes of people who cross our path that give us what we have. <br />I began to pay more attention as the days turned to weeks and it seemed like every time I began to become discouraged, someone would pat me on the arm, shake my hand, kiss me on the forehead (Renin did this every single time she visited me!) or gave me some other small gesture of love and healing that renewed me. Some of the hands did things a little differently. My neice Megan and her husband Tommy came to visit for a weekend. On one of the days, she sat at my bedside, crocheting a cap that I thought was for Mimi. Nope, turned out while we visited she was putting her love into making ME one of her handmade caps. Beautiful but simple black and red (well of course it was!) with white accents to match Katrina. I noticed that every time they walked into our out of the room, Tommy reached out (except the time I had my toes exposed) and touched my foot somehow; most of the time it was just a little squeeze or pat to let me know he was there for me. <br /><br />Mimi, of course, was there every day with loving touches, massaging lotion into my feet and hands, arms, back and gazed lovingly into my eyes while she did this. Her love and care proved to me just how strong the bonds of marriage are after 32 years. <br />Tom came down from Canada and spent an entire week when I was beginning to lose hope. He not only touched me every time he came, but brought me a talisman that provided healing of its own kind. <br />Josiah spent several nights with me, one in particular that will be forever etched into my brain as he just attended to putting either hot or cold washcloths on me. I was so tired, weak and in so much pain and so distressed from the drugs that with each rag he layed on my forehead, I could feel that same healing energy I had felt in post-op, and by the time he left at 6:20 the next morning, I was feeling stronger, more positive and was "clean" shaven for when Mimi arrived at 6:30. <br />Chris and Deena came, and when they did, Deena brought me little things she had either made or found and just thought of me. Chris shook my hand and I felt that strong old bond of the randonneur course through my veins, giving me hope to get back on the bike soon and ride with them. <br />My NA sponsor, a sponsee and a few friends made sure to bring a meeting in to me a few times so I would remember how important my recovery is and how I got the spiritual strength to get through these hard times. Always with gentle hugs, a little hand holding and reciting of the Serenity Prayer and and usually with a pat on the arm as they were leaving. I always felt stronger when they left. <br />Sam came back to visit me in the hospital and this time, we got to visit for a while. I think he was actually there twice but I was pretty lost and confused for a few days and forget a lot. When we did sit and visit, though, I told him about the article I was writing and his inspiration and gift to me. I hope he can understand and appreciate what it means to a possibly dying man to have a man of faith pray with him. Somehow, I think he understands and appreciates it far more than I do.<br />To all of you who have touched me, either with the actual physical laying on of a healing hand or the cards, prayers, letters, notes on either facebook or bike journal, a hearty thank you. I did a lot of work over the past several years that built me up physically and I honestly believe that my physical condition going in one of the largest contributing factors in my ability to make it through 52 days in the hospital, five surgeries and come out the other side still prepared to accept any outcome that the future holds. While that physical conditioning was important, however, it is you, your support, your faith in me and your own spiritual condition that have been responsible for getting me this close to the finish line.<br />Now it is time to recover. Some folks have told me it is time to recover and get my old life back. One of the lessons I guess I needed to learn, though, is that it is not my old life. It is just my life right now, this very moment that is important. I look forward to living it to the fullest.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-56691462315655615432011-10-23T06:59:00.000-07:002013-03-01T20:19:42.706-08:00Nutmeg and Raleighdon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChR-REAahxVquNFKzwG6E32wAAVbEpl3lQwAfXToX0lUhyLGqle2eTPd6YLN4WsFvgGF6eKYTwcKTB6xe1WlXukL9d_7py6GJLBJZyKBoIqYc8ZrdDLEU0QeW97_LsCgfLtsmhA5T9SQ/s1600/nutmeg_kills_hat.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChR-REAahxVquNFKzwG6E32wAAVbEpl3lQwAfXToX0lUhyLGqle2eTPd6YLN4WsFvgGF6eKYTwcKTB6xe1WlXukL9d_7py6GJLBJZyKBoIqYc8ZrdDLEU0QeW97_LsCgfLtsmhA5T9SQ/s400/nutmeg_kills_hat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666690680896186130" /></a><br /><br /><br />When Mimi and I first met, I tried to get her to spend the night with me and she wouldn't, saying she had to go home and feed her cats. I said, "Well, I'll go with you then." for some reasson, I'm still not sure why, she let me. Heck, I'm not evern sure why I wanted to. She had a gazillion cats, she wouldn't let me smoke in her car and didn't even like to drink my wine. This relationship obviously had no future.<br /><br /><br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgyynjh1bFCgyNninO1FPpKHoE73Yfgage0Hw6d9Ltvg3TOsZceVJkMlwBAyBJ37dFuh-YL4KtChNeZ3mU78r6X_htUDkKzSBKMnEtjVTiI6xY6TKJk9dgWODLgiJsOUGlrQ3ea4Fat2F/s1600/weddingus.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgyynjh1bFCgyNninO1FPpKHoE73Yfgage0Hw6d9Ltvg3TOsZceVJkMlwBAyBJ37dFuh-YL4KtChNeZ3mU78r6X_htUDkKzSBKMnEtjVTiI6xY6TKJk9dgWODLgiJsOUGlrQ3ea4Fat2F/s320/weddingus.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />She was awfully cute, though.<br /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJsReQTgEkvYYfeddVA6svTERpcjFYer9LDC_ZE7wm011oXAPWJUXZDiXfnEBXq1Rk_372f0Rsa7Seo7vZnkiA-2hI7doWnUBiem4s8dO82iwPPiArk_fV1RjK3VMHlIEaNPu9eCQSlM3/s1600/mimiboise1971.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJsReQTgEkvYYfeddVA6svTERpcjFYer9LDC_ZE7wm011oXAPWJUXZDiXfnEBXq1Rk_372f0Rsa7Seo7vZnkiA-2hI7doWnUBiem4s8dO82iwPPiArk_fV1RjK3VMHlIEaNPu9eCQSlM3/s320/mimiboise1971.jpg" /></a><br /><br />3 months later we were married. <br /><br />I was NOT a cat lover. I tend to favor dogs over cats since they just have a way of always keeping life entertaining. Our dog Mooch was a great example of this. When our friend Jim was teaching Josiah about roping calves, Mooch had a calf of his own in mind.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rvBmcqstz-VfDHh-x2QUG7iMar06OGnUNhFF8qBL53kgyyqdufTP5REHSVP01UWbqtx0B7yI-5HBIqrgOwOwt17jL0_nElxAP0iqVhzDom0dwn-a2A4mwgEZCdG3XVOXTLuWO5UWM9s/s1600/Leg+Humpin+Dog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rvBmcqstz-VfDHh-x2QUG7iMar06OGnUNhFF8qBL53kgyyqdufTP5REHSVP01UWbqtx0B7yI-5HBIqrgOwOwt17jL0_nElxAP0iqVhzDom0dwn-a2A4mwgEZCdG3XVOXTLuWO5UWM9s/s400/Leg+Humpin+Dog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667051393652867586" /></a><br /><br />mostly, though, I'm just not really into being caretaker to critters. Too much work, can't leave when I want, all the usual excuses. Over the years, we've had many of Mimi's beloved pets (and my goldfish) pass on to the great on beyond, and it is always sad. <br /><br />Like Lumpy. Mimi took the boys off to Florida, leaving me behind to take care of the cats. While she was gone, the pregnant mama decided it would be a good time to give birth. Could she wait a day or two until somebody got home who actually knew something? Hell no!! She had to do it with me, the one who doesn't like cat puke, cat screeching and all the attendant difficulties to tend to her every need. the result? This litter of furballs that crept all over the house making a general nuisance of themselves. The boys fell in love with one (well of COURSE they did!) and named him LUMPY. Lumpy was the biggest of the litter, and his name fit like a nurse's rubber glove. Unfortunately, he was about the same color as the bedroom carpet. I, of course, wear glasses and don't usually put them on to go to the bathroom. As I walked across the room, I stepped on Lumpy. Poor Lumpy. Poor ME!!! I've never heard the end of that one, to be sure.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qgve9lbuUtvoOqduzW8L3RCAUp733EhpJGP0DRJJ50iMgNLBYKopp9MCL3STR4ZJqOT3CWVoajma4Tk37M94vr5uBaX-b-FSkM-pub0ZhRctjwfnzYwANdXtVpWaWvEe75qmGgsS15k/s1600/Lumpy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qgve9lbuUtvoOqduzW8L3RCAUp733EhpJGP0DRJJ50iMgNLBYKopp9MCL3STR4ZJqOT3CWVoajma4Tk37M94vr5uBaX-b-FSkM-pub0ZhRctjwfnzYwANdXtVpWaWvEe75qmGgsS15k/s400/Lumpy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667052338170668194" /></a><br /><br /><br />We recently lost our 16 year old Barbie Q, who was a lovely little kitten until some of my nieces kids terrorized her and she was never the same after that. We miss her terribly, though, as she was always the one who welcomed new kitties into the house. <br /><br />During the past 33 years, I went from resistant acceptance ("Love me love my cats" was the operative phrase at our engagement) to peaceful co-existence and even to limited friendships with a few of these furry beasts who always like to puke up hairballs on my side of the bed as a "gift" to me when I get ready to crawl into bed at night. Lovely! And then, too, they also like to bring "offerings" into the house. Enza, the mighty hunter, loves nothing more than to bring her kill in to share. I'm not sure, but I think she wants me to make rat soup.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrI1qG26ntxg-094Xdy8rFLV2_HYjGwxNgsihDhrDsmPbLNNFlX34EXYeT7QrGRwFO3kR3zgLS78AEiyUaWnhdSNGXThX57vDRGt2G98KQc2P7L5lhi6DkuJXAilTJ17GtcNwIzl22WbI/s1600/enzamouse.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrI1qG26ntxg-094Xdy8rFLV2_HYjGwxNgsihDhrDsmPbLNNFlX34EXYeT7QrGRwFO3kR3zgLS78AEiyUaWnhdSNGXThX57vDRGt2G98KQc2P7L5lhi6DkuJXAilTJ17GtcNwIzl22WbI/s400/enzamouse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667056733228313314" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />About a year and a half ago, we were on our way to the Co-op. The lot was full, so I parked across the street in front of the pet store. BIG MISTAKE. She got out of the passenger's side and said, "Ohhhh, they have kittens. Can we go in and visit them?" "Sure. Why not?" I said, somewhat begrudgingly. <br><br>We entered the store and there was a huge stack of metal crates. In the upper one, was a little tabby kitten, nothing spectacular or particularly unusual. I looked at her and said, without any aforethought and totally unprepared for what was coming out of my mouth, "We'll be taking that one home." Mimi and the clerk (who knows us) sorta laughed it off, and Mimi said, "He's just kidding."<br /><br />But I insisted, for some reason that we were going to adopt that kitten. I didn't understand what was coming out of my mouth. It was very confusing. Why would I do such a thing? She was just a plain, ordinary, kitten, like every other furry little beast I'd been forced to go in and look at over the years. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPpCUv5vWQgLirKkPeJ8tXXWLdO8W8Y8eQ1gyo-OEbsNuPccSetn-GP6GJBsNnpvfPVRS0o9AEfxOwe45HoWQ9mAeWlJnpFqQJKEoEjFMSMupcS-LIJc4mim4vlRvdDC6_IQy9QXrmLw/s1600/Nutmeg+and+Raleighdon.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPpCUv5vWQgLirKkPeJ8tXXWLdO8W8Y8eQ1gyo-OEbsNuPccSetn-GP6GJBsNnpvfPVRS0o9AEfxOwe45HoWQ9mAeWlJnpFqQJKEoEjFMSMupcS-LIJc4mim4vlRvdDC6_IQy9QXrmLw/s400/Nutmeg+and+Raleighdon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667117978910265666" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />But, for whatever reason, adopt her we did. The tops of her ears were a brown much the color of ground nutmeg, hence her name. <br /><br />I'd told Mimi for many years that if I ever had a cat, I'd want one I could train to jump up on my shoulder and ride there like a pirate and his parrot. I also told Mimi shortly after bringing Nutmeg home that I wanted to try to get her used to riding free in the car, so we could take her with us easily. We traveled to Portland car shopping once and took her along. We took turns driving as we headed down the highway. Nutmeg decided the safest place was to climb up on whichever of us was not driving and wrap herself around our neck. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHPAXAhnmmU6iIYjbMtvPnRnIdqwd9-muxzGdjiKkx1XAdJSyt7mwYX844py6oXllQNEzwC1vHxmCsdC61K01yokiDHTVOyct8Dlv0kzVLOAmVMaoJd_wGUTLk9e00IoKo6ZjDYK7Upk/s1600/IMG_1456.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHPAXAhnmmU6iIYjbMtvPnRnIdqwd9-muxzGdjiKkx1XAdJSyt7mwYX844py6oXllQNEzwC1vHxmCsdC61K01yokiDHTVOyct8Dlv0kzVLOAmVMaoJd_wGUTLk9e00IoKo6ZjDYK7Upk/s400/IMG_1456.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666689436338135666" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6cekrosg9Cu9gL2lvnAgXazgeWKqETdThF27VGdPahvn7ITHx1mTDhYd3yQVkCB5bEGZLDLA977wzaaUbh7oMosgPXljz2vtlTII9c6D37e7LwsHxVjD0sddMsscWb17fZcL46papQo/s1600/IMG_1454.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6cekrosg9Cu9gL2lvnAgXazgeWKqETdThF27VGdPahvn7ITHx1mTDhYd3yQVkCB5bEGZLDLA977wzaaUbh7oMosgPXljz2vtlTII9c6D37e7LwsHxVjD0sddMsscWb17fZcL46papQo/s400/IMG_1454.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666689289843261682" /></a><br /><br /><br />She rode that way for a long, long way. A few months later, out of the blue, she "pounced" Mimi, jumping up on her shoulder. She doesn't particularly like being picked up, and the only way we can carry her is over the shoulder. She will, however, jump up onto our shoulders (especially if she thinks we'll give her a piece of dehydrated chicken breast ($17/3 oz pkg). Hell, I'd probably jump on your shoulder if you'd give me a steak for a treat! <br /><br />Expensive tastes, this cat. She really MUST be "my" cat. Next thing, she'll be wanting a custom bicycle......<br /><br />But here's the real story I wanted to tell. <br /><br />I came home the hospital after my second round of chemo and the next morning, Sunday, I woke up not feeling very well. I was planning to ride my bike to Sunday Starters in Fremont (breakfast NA meeting). Not feeling very strong, and barely awake, I thought I had better take a shower and see if I could get woke up. Chemo tends to leave me feeling pretty crappy for a few days afterwards, and I go on some pretty intense emotional roller coasters from time to time. As I stepped out of the shower, I saw my image in the full length mirror and suddenly my legs looked like strands of spaghetti. I suddenly felt very weak and puny. I've worked so hard over the past few years to build strength, and here I was losing ground. Mimi tried to console me over "first breakfast", but to no avail. I found myself in tears at one point, and my way of dealing with the world when I want it to kindly stop so I can get off is to curl up in a ball and put a blanket over my head. It only ever lasts for a moment, and that is about as much feeling sorry for myself as I ever allow. <br /><br />Then I start my surrender/acceptance/gratitude routine and the world comes back into focus. I was having THAT kind of a moment. I left the breakfast table, went to the sofa, and crawled under a blanket. I was snorting and sniffling and having a very productive pity party when Nutmeg came over, sat down in front of the sofa and began to cry. I lifted up the edge of the blanket and she climbed in under it with me, stretched out the full length of my chest and began to purr. I could feel her healing energy through the ribs and right into my esophagus, the cause of all of this crap that was draining me of my strength and energy. As I lay there with her radiating her warmth, my world was made better in that instant.<br /><br />I suppose the moral of the story for me is that even in our darkest moments, we can find some peace, solace and comfort if we are open to it. Sometimes, we don't even need to reach out and take the hand that is trying to comfort us; we just need to let that hand of love embrace us and not run away from it.<br /><br />Since that morning, I have thought a lot about this weird little kitty and wondered what she knew that morning when we walked into the pet store. Did she sense something? Did I sense something? I've thought about Steve Jobs and what he said about connecting the dots. I've been doing that for a long time, knowing that every one of life's experiences brings me to the exact momennt in time I am living. I think a lot about the interconnectedness of everything around me and am filled with wonder. <br /><br />Life is very interesting. Especially if we can somehow spend just a moment or two reflecting on what makes it special for us right now. Today. This minute. Just this one brief moment in time. What surrounds you that makes you feel special? What or who is there, reaching out their hand or their paw in friendship to give you the boost you need? How can you give that back? What little thing can you do that will let that person, that pet, that teacher, that nurse, that whomever, that you know and appreciate them? <br /><br />Mimi really was cute, and I know how very special a person she is, and am grateful today for the gift she gave me as, over the years, I have come from resistance to surrender, from surrender to acceptance and finally from this acceptance into gratitude, allowing me to love back. Over the years, she has been the constant companion in my life adventure. She has shared her self with me, and shared her love of her faithful companions, never wavering, yet never forcing. As a result, today I have another loving companion in this silly little cat who knows me and knows when she needs to nurture me. <br />Every day, when I look at the love of my life, this is still the girl I see:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWLNuPcqtCWW1LCbT-DI8ynY5momJPB3JVYfAHX5x-r3FRe6bO_KSCp-tSgYk_RMuyUapaQXrrkTl76y_RCWBvuu4rtkCnpWY1CC1qstaAv2lCGnQ4PnofuPbnNG4zyt-EAOSCbElieg/s1600/she+really+was+cute.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWLNuPcqtCWW1LCbT-DI8ynY5momJPB3JVYfAHX5x-r3FRe6bO_KSCp-tSgYk_RMuyUapaQXrrkTl76y_RCWBvuu4rtkCnpWY1CC1qstaAv2lCGnQ4PnofuPbnNG4zyt-EAOSCbElieg/s400/she+really+was+cute.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667062444486201634" /></a><br /><br /><br />Excuse me, I need to go give Nutmeg some chicken.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-35799680008826149452011-10-22T11:46:00.000-07:002011-10-22T13:30:01.546-07:00Round Two<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG68SKY6Fv_9NHUqPp3BMHrPm3AgJ4sxMT5lf0untI3bx_RQ02OheEbeFLpnr8E-sP7UaQWUYOxhVgHQ3Rsa-jPWg8MNlfLFZvgSX4Xm0fddgSfoBR9fzNH3oWcaeG4jAIDLhGvZLaVNk/s1600/muhammad-ali.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 375px; height: 388px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG68SKY6Fv_9NHUqPp3BMHrPm3AgJ4sxMT5lf0untI3bx_RQ02OheEbeFLpnr8E-sP7UaQWUYOxhVgHQ3Rsa-jPWg8MNlfLFZvgSX4Xm0fddgSfoBR9fzNH3oWcaeG4jAIDLhGvZLaVNk/s400/muhammad-ali.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666408051206088242" /></a><br /><br />Well, where did we leave off with this little tale? Oh yeah. Donald (aka Raleighdon the Bold) had just jumped up off the stool and answered the bell, ready to score some punches to this cancer crap that wants to knock him down and out. <br /><br />So, Josiah and I “smuggled in” the bicycle. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivac3TWWU4xjaYqAwW2yLHY5I72WjaTln6UPXmsiG-JbiZZctaqK0wxiBltz2KLtpMyan0Z87wXI6NnowFA_2Wiu7OPD5w-vQvARvcLaZMUF4ItDtt0d2yJ7I0BZp01BNrwjDNLT7IGE/s1600/Ready_To_Ride.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivac3TWWU4xjaYqAwW2yLHY5I72WjaTln6UPXmsiG-JbiZZctaqK0wxiBltz2KLtpMyan0Z87wXI6NnowFA_2Wiu7OPD5w-vQvARvcLaZMUF4ItDtt0d2yJ7I0BZp01BNrwjDNLT7IGE/s400/Ready_To_Ride.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666400600999951682" /></a><br /> Nobody gave us any resistance, in fact the nurses on Swedish Hospital's 12-E Oncology Unit actually encouraged me. None would hop on and give it a try, but they were all impressed at the set-up. We had the music playing. We had unpacked everything and after a nice hearty lunch, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqQYviuSTC1SeOIzE9yImn18iOwS-C8J5RNlZKn5mENbbYe3pkG8gM8qjuOZh5E_Y-MAZV-IsutbZcosnLaPdKWczlaKCTw31WPOxPb2Ux0oy0gmDzb95xnbCSwOaIUIi5NkfTp8UbLM/s1600/hOSPITAL_CHOW-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqQYviuSTC1SeOIzE9yImn18iOwS-C8J5RNlZKn5mENbbYe3pkG8gM8qjuOZh5E_Y-MAZV-IsutbZcosnLaPdKWczlaKCTw31WPOxPb2Ux0oy0gmDzb95xnbCSwOaIUIi5NkfTp8UbLM/s400/hOSPITAL_CHOW-2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666400268018709234" /></a><br /> finally the nurses came in and got me going with the pre-hydration, then the steriods and then the chemo drugs. It wasn't long before I was chasing Josiah out of the room and settling myself in. <br /><br />In Round One, the fatigue of the drugs really hit home for me on Wednesday afternoon and for about 18 hours, it was all I could do to get out of bed. This time around, for whatever reason, I did much better with maintaining a high energy and high spirits. I had lost very little weight, didn't puff up like a balloon with water retention after the steroids and discovered the wonderful world of ATAVAN! One of the things about cancer treatment is that it opens one's world to pretty much anything that will fight off the pain, fight off the nausea and fight off the demons. I found Atavan to work very well on these last two, simultaneously. Every night, when it came time to sleep, I took an Atavan which kept the nausea down and allowed me to get quite a few calories in late in the evening and drift off to sleep and wake up refreshed the next morning. What could be better?<br /><br />On Wednesday, the hospital's cabbies came and took me away for my second PET/CT scan. I'd been down this road before and found it to be the most uncomfortable of all procedures, having to lay in a dark room after drinking a nasty tasting barium drink that made me feel bloated, then after a 45 minute “nap” having to lie again in a room all by myself while this machine whirred, buzzed and moved around me, keeping my arms overhead and not moving so much as an eyelid. This is tough for a guy like me who can't sit still for a minute without itching, twitching or bitching. <br /><br />This time was somewhat better, though, since they had some handholds for me, which allowed me to relax better. I found I was able to almost go into a meditative state and take my mind off of the little issues that were coming up. All of the things I have learned in the past were now starting to come back to me and I was beginning to draw on some of my deep inner resources I hadn't thought about for a long time.<br /><br />I heard not long ago in a recovery meeting that this individual's recovery moves at the speed of pain. I like that analogy, and think it is a bit true in my life, as well. It seems like I've gained a vast amount of some skills over the years that I tend to take for granted, and it is only when I am visited by a great pain that I have to dig down, truly discover them and focus on how to apply them to the situations at hand. Something about lying around in a hospital bed for a few days gives me a lot of time to focus on that kind of thing.<br /><br />Thursday morning, Mimi came in early as we were anticipating Dr Kapsule coming in and giving us the results of the PET/CT scan. Just before 7:00, in came this wonderful, silver haired doc, wearing a smile as big as a Dutchman's pair of britches, and he told us the news was really, really good. The more he talked, the more the news sounded good, but not quite as good as we wanted to hear. He was talking about this as being a Stage IV cancer, not Stage II as we thought, but with the shrinking of the lymph node in my neck, they had to assume that somehow, that node was cancerous and the chemo was killing it off. He said Louie Louie would be coming in to visit us on Friday to go over the surgery schedule.<br /><br />I was left with a mixture of elation and depression. Elation because the tumor had shrunk by almost half and the lymph node in my neck showed as normal now, but depressed because I was really a “Stage IV” patient, and I've read all the statistics; I know the odds; I don't want to face that reality. I knew I needed to.<br /><br />I started to think about the gift again (see my last article), and how this was an opportunity to learn new and wonderful things about myself, an opportunity to grow both emotionally and spiritually, even as my physical body was doing something other than what I wanted it to. I had to reframe my thinking, and spent most of the day Thursday and Friday working through it all in my mind and heart, remembering my agreement with myself that I would not feel sorry for myself, I would not whine and I would keep my sense of humor. Both of those rules needed to be enforced, and I am the only one who could enforce them. I started to look that nasty foe Cancer in the eye, looked deep within myself and found that it is a weak, pathetic, piece of shit disease that can only gain in strength as it saps me from mine. I got on the bike. I rode. I gazed out the window at my office and Puget Sound. I took naps and dreamed of pleasant things. When I woke up, I reflected on the good times I've had and laid on my back envisioning myself next year doing a lot of them again. I started (again) making plans. Cancer got weaker with each moment.<br /><br />Louie Louie came in late Friday afternoon to talk to Mimi and me. He wanted to do a mediastinoscopy to rule out any involvement of the lymph nodes in the chest. OK, fine. Just another day of surgery. Seems the debate twixt him and Kapsule about continuing treatment included the need to rule out any spread that could not be seen on the PET scan, otherwise they may be doing a surgery that would leave me weaker and not kill the cancer. Not the best approach. OK, doc. I'll take your word for it. I really don't have a choice here, since both of them have been down this road many times and I never have.<br /><br />Saturday came and it was time to go home. After getting settled in, I decided I needed to ride to the store. Loaded up 35 pounds of groceries at Red Apple and Mimi and I rode back to the house, giving me my first outdoor ride in October, about 9 miles, half of it with my bike fully loaded. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslsnQmV9wg-BJLYGSIFVhPO7pfXiZUtF8-Rxg8rjYu-z0ut5A-RRylMvVIk-ErUX71FZBOIx4L2znMYA0oSTk77kVXgtCUfCV7x6UBjnkJuf6WB3nZH9-jk-tDfhNeocN9KHQOUHFttk/s1600/HOME-AGAIN.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslsnQmV9wg-BJLYGSIFVhPO7pfXiZUtF8-Rxg8rjYu-z0ut5A-RRylMvVIk-ErUX71FZBOIx4L2znMYA0oSTk77kVXgtCUfCV7x6UBjnkJuf6WB3nZH9-jk-tDfhNeocN9KHQOUHFttk/s400/HOME-AGAIN.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666399992080103538" /></a><br /><br /><br />Then came the first knockdown of the round. I thought I had cancer on the ropes and was working to the body really well, figuring I'd start coming on with a few uppercuts in the next few days, but out of nowhere, I took a right hook to the jaw that lay me out on the sofa and that was where I stayed from noon Sunday until sometime Wednesday. Talk about taking the 8-count. <br /><br />By Thursday, I felt good enough to try to ride my bike again – this was the first time since December, 2008 that I had taken more than 2 days off the bike in a row and it felt very odd, not even wanting to ride, yet wanting to be on my bike in the worst of ways. This was another of life’s little lessons coming at me. Sometimes it is more important to listen to the body than it is to listen to the heart. I decided to ride to work with Mimi, then ride to the Renton Highlands for my therapy appointment. <br /><br />Right after receiving this diagnosis, I had gone back on anti-depressants in anticipation of a severely decreased level of physical activity and when I do that, it is equally important to be working with a professional to maintain my mental and emotional balance. Dale (aka Happy Trails) has proven to be an excellent match for me, seeing through all of my little defenses and listening very well to my cues so that she can help coach me through some very tough times. Her office is in a quite inconvenient location – for anyone other than an endurance cyclist who loves nothing more than pulling a 1-mile 12% grade first thing in the morning, that is. <br /><br />Unfortunately, on this morning, just as I was crossing over Sunset at North 3rd, a guy yelled at me from his car, “GET OFF THE FUCKING ROAD, ASSHOLE!” This as I was trying to move across traffic to navigate into the left turn lane so I could do exactly that. Very bright guy, indeed, and obviously well versed in the law as respects bicycles and their rights and duties. As I was fantasizing about making an about face, chase him down, pull him out of his POS car (and it really was a POS!) and beat the living crap out of him, my chain broke, leaving me in the middle of a busy road and nearly falling off before I could dismount and walk through the light. Every other vehicle, of course, treated me with extreme patience and confirmed my belief that for every 100 or so very good people there is one asshole. Sometimes we meet up and life gets “interesting” for a moment in time. <br /><br />I walked up the hill. I heard <a href="http://pansypalmetto.blogspot.com/"target=_"blank">Pansy Palmetto</a> cackling and telling me “This is God’s way of telling you that you’re trying to do too much.” Thanks, Pansy, much appreciated. NOW you tell me!<br /><br />After my therapy appointment, I had the opportunity to try out my tow service, <a href="http://landing.betterworldclub.com/?gclid=CL3xgauL_asCFRJShwodDgjxkg"target=_"blank">Better World Club</a>, for the first time. Like AAA, our new service will come and tow your car, help you get in if you space out and lock your keys inside, jump start your truck if you are smart enough to leave the key on, the door open, the heater fan running and music playing for 4 hours (not that I’d ever do THAT!), but they will also come and “tow” you and your bike if you have a breakdown. They were great! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCL7Pi2ES9AhBYBckxXGt5H7T-EryOzrZJdeB9rJ5A_ii7JNibK9DoR0HqkTCs0B7SReCdSZH3gfQGfUhoOI1dxQ16AoyCUeST7o6wuEM1SZmK7_1-ZeV9c8rDaAcsliRHVJOQGorL8os/s1600/The+TOW.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCL7Pi2ES9AhBYBckxXGt5H7T-EryOzrZJdeB9rJ5A_ii7JNibK9DoR0HqkTCs0B7SReCdSZH3gfQGfUhoOI1dxQ16AoyCUeST7o6wuEM1SZmK7_1-ZeV9c8rDaAcsliRHVJOQGorL8os/s400/The+TOW.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666406109122872754" /></a><br /><br />Fast response time, courteous service and drove me and my bike right to my garage. Within 45 minutes I was home, taking a nice hot bath. And had a nice 15 mile bike ride to show for it, as well as a grand adventure. People kept telling me they hoped the rest of my day went better. Thinking about it all, though, I thought the first half had gone exceptionally well. I’d ridden and felt better for it. I’d had a nice chat with Pansy. I’d had a great therapy appointment and an adventure. What could be better?<br /><br />Well, what was NOT better was the nausea. Talk about a pity party. If ever I was going to get through this I had to stop feeling like I was going to throw up every time I tried to eat anything, drink anything or even brush my teeth. After Round One, I’d had very little nausea, but this time was different; it just seemed to go on and on. It was just this constant feeling that cancer had hit me a really good body shot to the kidneys, followed by a punch straight into the solar plexus. Nothing seemed to be helping. I knew I needed to gain some weight, but was finding it difficult to do with wanting to throw up every time I even thought about food. <br /><br />Then I made <a href="http://w3.kraftbrands.com/Jello/"target=_"blank">Jell-o</a>. <br /><br />I don’t know what it is about this magical food from my childhood, but it worked like a charm. Cherry jello with cut up peaches. I made it and waited impatiently for it to set, then ate a big bowl. It was like manna from heaven. I went to bed feeling quite comfortable for the first time in a while. An hour later, I was up, eating more jell-o. I did this throughout the night, and by morning was feeling much better. Thanks, Mom, for teaching me about this wonderful, cheap and tasty treat so many years ago.<br /><br />And there was the fatigue. I wasn’t sure if it was the cancer or the chemo or the radiation. Mimi told me it was all three. REALLY? Wow! I guess that made sense, but it seemed like the radiation and chemo should have been done working their magic by now. Cancer seemed to be having its way with me in the middle days of this round, and I was just trying to take some strategy from my hero Muhammad Ali and play some rope-a-dope with it. Lean back into the ropes and take the punches, allowing some cushioning and letting my body rest while it got hammered on. He did, after all, say some of the most important things that continue to influence my life: things like, “It's the repetition of affirmations that leads to belief. And once that belief becomes a deep conviction, things begin to happen.” I believe I can beat cancer. With every punch I absorb, I think to myself that it really isn’t so bad. I’m stronger. I’m tougher. I can win. <br /><br />After a week of feeling the blows as cancer and treatment continued to pummel me, we went out and rode a 100Km ride, giving Mimi her 1,000Km milestone for the year with RUSA and our 10th consecutive month of these 100Km rides together. <a href="http://drcodfish.blogspot.com/"target=_"blank">Dr. Codfish</a> hosted the <a href="http://permanents.seattlerando.org/2011/09/pie-run.html"target=_"blank">Pie Run</a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSg2wHcJKvWrRUImcShGoVyUOZW25rimzIrgjbDFn54_4V_gQxOjAA4zcN0LvaTEmJ4H57I-E-tuxKl45MfsnS_UOYNTvjiIyrH2vRnitTs5Xpr-EzDepPk-6IY2M2bBDpRubV69roqA/s1600/Pie+Run-DR_CODFISH.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSg2wHcJKvWrRUImcShGoVyUOZW25rimzIrgjbDFn54_4V_gQxOjAA4zcN0LvaTEmJ4H57I-E-tuxKl45MfsnS_UOYNTvjiIyrH2vRnitTs5Xpr-EzDepPk-6IY2M2bBDpRubV69roqA/s400/Pie+Run-DR_CODFISH.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666401138520435666" /></a><br />and a little dinner afterwards. We did it and finished it. At the end, I felt like I often feel after a ride three times that long, and Mimi had to drive us home. It was a beautiful day, riding with friends to the edge of the rain, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3y_k5OgbN9jE6RWSnCfu6_UIwv1ut0CoFF3yJvvMX5jrPAjMZ0fP-92oAitQ4hnmWoARbVmoLBEinE16OewE3-2b88aL7NG8bK-y_KMUl6236qldgQfwzsBOMQIkm4SbBFLUH9c0sZdk/s1600/ride-buddies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3y_k5OgbN9jE6RWSnCfu6_UIwv1ut0CoFF3yJvvMX5jrPAjMZ0fP-92oAitQ4hnmWoARbVmoLBEinE16OewE3-2b88aL7NG8bK-y_KMUl6236qldgQfwzsBOMQIkm4SbBFLUH9c0sZdk/s400/ride-buddies.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666405760347734210" /></a><br /><br />turning around and coming back, finishing in bright warm autumn sun. For a few moments in the day, I was able to completely forget about cancer and just enjoy the moment. These seem to be fewer and farther between right now and I was feeling pretty punchy by the time we got home. <br /><br />The next week, I slept at least 9 hours and sometimes 10 hours every night, and on Monday had my first general anesthesia surgery of this treatment course, the mediastinoscopy to remove and biopsy some of the lymph nodes in my chest. By the time we got the results back on Thursday, we’d met with the surgeon, met with a neck surgeon (who told me the way I ride is just crazy) and met with my oncologist who sprinkled holy water on my esophagectomy, calling it the “mother of all surgeries” and totally rejecting my idea of doing hernia repair surgery at the same time. I’m telling you, these guys go to 12 years of medical school, spend their whole lives dealing with cancer patients and all of a sudden they think they know everything! Sheesh! <br /><br />With the news that all my lymph node biopsies came back “normal” AND the report that I have a lot of “extra” lymph nodes and they are all “healthy urban lymph nodes”, we were pretty ecstatic and ready to start punching back a little bit. And then I got one of the coolest gifts I’ve ever received. Cousin Margy had made me a quilt. I came home from a bike ride to find a package waiting for me. It was soft and squishy. “Whee,” I thought at first, “another tee-shirt or sweatshirt.” I’ve received four really awesome tees from friends and family that have become my principal wardrobe, letting me wrap myself in their love every time I put one on. What a surprise to open the gift and find this gorgeous hand-stitched quilt, with my cousin’s love in every single stitch of the needle. “Donald’s Wild Ride” is the name of this beautiful piece of art. I wrapped myself in it. I went to the sofa and sat there and wept tears of joy and gratitude. I’ve got the best handlers a guy could ever hope for.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkR60FhsMdg3PsMX3Z8yB77aHdseduDoRMW4lm8GTSy9d0m9kQMDlnKxDrXkkPMsIhlCDKNQMe75isscK22Cs02R7xsMO3JrJywQ_Ov_rdltIzK0GtwzI5TIFGBRFAKxaKw_Z4Wu2dVs/s1600/IMAG0986.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkR60FhsMdg3PsMX3Z8yB77aHdseduDoRMW4lm8GTSy9d0m9kQMDlnKxDrXkkPMsIhlCDKNQMe75isscK22Cs02R7xsMO3JrJywQ_Ov_rdltIzK0GtwzI5TIFGBRFAKxaKw_Z4Wu2dVs/s400/IMAG0986.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666390247533079506" /></a><br /><br />I was now starting to get rid of the nausea, starting to pick up a little more energy (and gaining a half-pound a day) and riding almost every day again, even just 10 or so miles. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaj_3q4cWf-o2xuIhy7cMi0oCZr8sZ9N1FzaiMfd4NGr5ELs0qt74TZfhTdnqb-vv5G7CTHPwhAVx6mUZIiDFVxT1n_qjMyYZcDE-x_lc-YQPGI9Va-CZSyh-xgkmdZDPaHBF76WM0aO8/s1600/RIDING_DAILY.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaj_3q4cWf-o2xuIhy7cMi0oCZr8sZ9N1FzaiMfd4NGr5ELs0qt74TZfhTdnqb-vv5G7CTHPwhAVx6mUZIiDFVxT1n_qjMyYZcDE-x_lc-YQPGI9Va-CZSyh-xgkmdZDPaHBF76WM0aO8/s400/RIDING_DAILY.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666406407254603874" /></a><br />Little jabs, some good body work and not trying to punch myself out to the point of exhaustion. That was the strategy all my handlers were giving me, and it was starting to work. I knew, though that I needed to take a little bit of a mid-round break. I’d been knocked down pretty good earlier in the round, and needed to be careful not to work so hard in this round that I can’t make it to Round Three, which is going to be really tough.<br /><br />So I hatched a scheme.<br /><br />Mimi and I have this wonderful beach we love. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkC91s8VHFy8fTGyvfLTolV6tNH5MLhgHBERz0DpRZtrkAMcM0Mnpq7U-ekX1H_FD9cvcD30zzWgIg6zAPwB3TTdUKpg0GXupFbCCV9izhpkvTcmX7NQidUcLD8OMO8QdAdbu7bq_ZIRY/s1600/IMAG1013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkC91s8VHFy8fTGyvfLTolV6tNH5MLhgHBERz0DpRZtrkAMcM0Mnpq7U-ekX1H_FD9cvcD30zzWgIg6zAPwB3TTdUKpg0GXupFbCCV9izhpkvTcmX7NQidUcLD8OMO8QdAdbu7bq_ZIRY/s400/IMAG1013.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666390955520257250" /></a><br /> I’ve spent a lot of time up and down the California, Oregon and Washington coasts, and visited beaches in lots of other places, but Ruby Beach is one that I love more than most. I think since I discovered Seal Rock on the Oregon Coast, this is the place I have found that brings the greatest pleasure. It has all of the things I love about the ocean. It has some old grown forests to wander through; it has sea stacks (some of the Quillayute Needles); it has a nice quiet stream; it has wide, long expanses of beach to walk; it has beautiful driftwood and lots of smooth stones. It is “our beach” – I have no memories there except with the light of my life. We took two days, essentially checked out of contact with everyone and went to <a href="http://www.olympicnationalparks.com/accommodations/kalaloch-lodge.aspx"target=_"blank">Kalaloch Lodge</a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmE6S-Qf7nyaE29-JhchLcSAWlghWrVpq9llIkfibFhSyn_Zw5NiWO4MGzyWIwt41eUAIWZl6dEkaYJpfzhw31mkhQk7x97Yhb64i7hAcPot3-QfpSPtTiFGd2ki9aA9ifFV3I2ghPCPA/s1600/IMAG0972.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmE6S-Qf7nyaE29-JhchLcSAWlghWrVpq9llIkfibFhSyn_Zw5NiWO4MGzyWIwt41eUAIWZl6dEkaYJpfzhw31mkhQk7x97Yhb64i7hAcPot3-QfpSPtTiFGd2ki9aA9ifFV3I2ghPCPA/s400/IMAG0972.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666391453309878610" /></a><br /><br />for the night, then the next day, spent time at Ruby Beach. The entire time, we spent our time just holding hands, sitting together and reading/painting, playing on the beaches, watching eagles, and taking turns driving and playing disk jockey with the music we had on board. A truly wonderful honeymoon and exactly what any sensible doctor would order. Even if he would not agree to let me get my hernia repaired at the same time they’re removing my esophagus, gall bladder and all the lymph nodes on one side of my neck. <br /><br />Coming home, I stepped on the scale Friday morning only to discover that I am now within four pounds of where I was at the start of this little boxing match. Every doc I meet tells me I look really good. I am rested and thinking that I can score a knockout here in Round Three. Like Muhammad Ali, I can not only beat my opponent, I can pick the round. I am the (second) greatest! <br /><br />I think I just heard the bell ending Round Two. Everything is done and it is time to sit on the stool, take a sip or two of water, let my handlers do their magic and get me ready for Round Three. I feel really strong. I feel really positive. I’m ready for whatever takes place in the next three weeks. <br /><br />As I sit here, reflecting on my hero, this is another thing he said that has shaped how I view life: “Life is a gamble. You can get hurt, but people die in plane crashes, lose their arms and legs in car accidents; people die every day. Same with fighters: some die, some get hurt, some go on. You just don't let yourself believe it will happen to you. “<br /><br />Some days, you just gotta believe!Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-36585119302744528482011-10-14T19:53:00.001-07:002011-10-14T20:01:27.981-07:00THE GIFT<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYhlltw1wPk6mZ7UPeujHHBPfoW5LYZU7QQtP34fhsGU7axjRy2nUTlZyqpqvTz_cNsGUAdIUwALKsbB3tgwuTCXOdrhb6auCgKWPoQcrxo2ojE2G2kYV81Dy4zg6FoJ_ibrrMvQkGgE/s1600/IMG_9433.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYhlltw1wPk6mZ7UPeujHHBPfoW5LYZU7QQtP34fhsGU7axjRy2nUTlZyqpqvTz_cNsGUAdIUwALKsbB3tgwuTCXOdrhb6auCgKWPoQcrxo2ojE2G2kYV81Dy4zg6FoJ_ibrrMvQkGgE/s400/IMG_9433.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663548214965144722" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"When one door closes another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us." These words by the inventor of one of life’s most troublesome inventions, Alexander Graham Bell, have rung in my ears for years. Is he right? Is he wrong? Who knows. <br /><br />So, on August 12th at 9:48 a.m., I received a call from Dr. Sanford. The results of the biopsies were positive and I was assured that I had esophageal cancer. There was no surprise. I had already started to deal with the shock and grief that Mimi and I had received the day before when I had my endoscopy and I started to process this new information. I was now a cancer survivor. For the rest of my life, regardless of how long or short that may be, I would be a cancer survivor. <br /><br />Anger. That was the first real emotion. I wanted to rage against the disease. I wanted to attack it like I attack a long steep mountain pass on my bicycle. I screamed. I cried. I pouted. I paced the floor and wanted to upend all the furniture in the room, throw a chair out the living room window just to hear the crash of glass. This all lasted for about 5 minutes. Then I got on my bicycle and rode to my doctor’s appointment and started working on a solution.<br /><br />I read many years ago that if I focus on a problem, the problem will increase but if I will focus on a solution, the solution will increase. I set my mind to this task. I’ve done long endurance rides before. I am a Super Randonneur, after all. I’m a tough guy. I am Superman. I can do anything, surmount any odds, overcome any obstacle, bounce back from anything that knocks me down and kick the crap out of anything or anybody that gets in my way. <br /><br />Yeah? Well, here’s a newsflash, Boothby. Cancer just doesn’t give a shit! It doesn’t care how tough you are. It doesn’t care how many miles you rode this year or how many pretty little medals you have hanging on the wall. It doesn’t care how much money you have, or how many friends you have or what religion you practice, what color you are, where you come from, how pretty your mama is or even how young or old you are. The only thing cancer gives a shit about is killing you and doing it as fast as possible, even though it is a suicide mission. The only way cancer can win is to kill you and kill itself in the process. Now, that there is one hell of a message to roll around in my brain for a weekend. And I did.<br /><br />By Monday morning, I had myself pretty well worked up into a dither about it all, and after telling my co-workers what was going on, started to set a process into motion for a solution. Over the next week, I began a process that, at least so far, seems to be working for me pretty well. It is the simple application of some of the spiritual principles I have learned by working a 12-step process learned over the years by my involvement in Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous. In the readings at any NA meeting, there is a statement that says, <br /><br />“There is one thing more than anything else that will defeat us in our recovery; this is an attitude of indifference or intolerance toward spiritual principles. Three of these that are indispensable are honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness. With these we are well on our way.”<br /><br />Well, over the past 27 years, I have tried to apply these to my daily life as much as possible and have really broken my recovery process down to a simple, oftentimes very difficult process:<br /><br />• Surrender<br />• Acceptance<br />• Gratitude<br /><br />So here I was faced with my second terminal disease. If I truly accept that the disease of addiction is one for which there is no known cure and that I must remain vigilant on a daily basis to keep it in remission, then can I not apply this same principle to the disease of cancer? It’s worth a shot.<br /><br />Surrender? Not me. Marines just don’t surrender. We march forward to take the hill. Giving up just isn’t a strategy that wins wars. Or is it? In recovery from the disease of addiction, I have learned that surrendering hasn’t meant giving in to the enemy; it has meant letting go of control and allowing my Higher Power to do for me what I was unable to do for myself. As long as I struggle for control, I cannot surrender into a process of finding a solution. This battle rages on inside of me every day, and I have become used to dealing with each of life’s challenges by first surrendering my control and then working within the bounds of my knowledge, experience and strength to find a solution. And it is almost never done alone. <br /><br />Acceptance? Once I begin to surrender, it is far easier to become accepting of a solution. In the first step of AA or NA we learn that we are powerless over our addiction and that our lives have become unmanageable. If we stop there, it is a feeling not only of powerlessness, but one of hopelessness, so critical to develop new ways of thinking and reacting and feeling and doing so that we build hope. This is done by coming to rely on something or someone outside of our own self-centered being that can help us to make the necessary change in our life. Once we learn to do this with removing the obsession to drink or consume other drugs, it becomes possible to apply the principles to other aspects of our lives. If we develop a manner of living that keeps us doing this on a daily basis, we can have a pretty good life and achieve miraculous things. <br /><br />Gratitude? Now here’s the biggie. It happens differently on different days; sometimes easy and sometimes not so easy. Here is where “THE GIFT” comes in. On a daily basis for many years now, I have maintained a ‘gratitude list’. It is different every day, but most days it starts out with the fact that I have a roof over my head, a refrigerator full of food, a warm jacket and a good pair of leather shoes to protect me from the cold winter. It includes the love of a good family. It includes the fact that I have all five of my senses, good health, a good job and am surrounded by a whole lot of people I can call my friends. It often includes the fact that I was born in the USA, a white male and grew up in an intact family, albeit one with many problems. I reflect on the incredible advantage I have had over so many other people and try to remember that if not for a lot of other people who have sacrificed much, I would not have the fantastic life I have today. <br /><br />I try to start my day off thinking about the many, many blessings in my life and in that way, as the day’s stresses mount, I can keep them in perspective, remembering that no matter what happens today, I am still part of a very elite part of human life on planet earth.<br /><br />And this is truly where the gift comes in.<br /><br />About 2 weeks after I received my diagnosis, I was meeting for a consult with my dentist. I “owed him” a 1-1/2 hour appointment to do some corrective work I’d been putting off, and wanted to see him and figure out how to schedule this, as time was short before starting cancer treatments. We sat in his office for over a half hour. He very generously gave me his time to talk not just about my mouth, but he also probed a bit into the rest of my life. He, too, is a very active endurance cyclist and before we finished, he said to me, “Don, I’m really sorry you have to go through this.” <br /><br />Without really thinking about what I was saying, I told him, “You know, Paul, I’m not. And here is why.”<br /><br />I proceeded to tell him that nearly 27 years ago, I had begun a process of recovery from addiction and that I had learned that each day is a gift. The only thing I had asked for was an opportunity to live life on life’s terms and this is one of those “life’s terms moments” that I needed to be able to surrender into, accept as simply a new challenge, trusting the outcome to be what it is meant to be regardless of whether or not it is what I want or hope for and remain grateful for each and every moment of my life for the gift that they are.<br /><br />Over the next week or so, I began to explore this gift thing. I’d been in recovery for about 2-1/2 years when my father died of lung cancer. I spent about 2 weeks in central California with my mother and 3 of my 4 siblings. A most interesting time, to say the least. While I was there, I attended several NA meetings and one night, there was a speaker who talked of being a “grateful, recovering addict,” a phrase I’d heard many times. But he spoke of this gratitude in a different way. He said he wasn’t just grateful for his recovery, but for the disease itself. I tried to wrap my head around that and it wasn’t easy. How can we be grateful for a disease that wants to kill us? He talked about his life in recovery and the gift of the spiritual principles that now allowed him a freedom not just from his drug use, but a freedom to make incredible changes in his own life and become a part of a solution in the lives of those about him. He had become a responsible and productive member of his society for the first time in his life and without the disease of addiction; he would never have learned these tools. And from that base, an inner peace is gained. <br /><br />So with this in mind, here’s the deal we get in life.<br /><br />Each and every moment is a gift. It is our choice whether we open the gift. Each person we meet provides us with a gift. It is up to us whether we accept or reject this gift, which is not always easy to even see, much less accept. Each and every encounter we have, every one of our experiences is a gift. What we do with that gift is entirely up to us. <br /><br />I began to think about this after I left Paul’s office. I think what I had told him probably confused him just as much as it had me, though I am confident he went home and looked at his wife and children differently and told them he loved them with just a bit more understanding than he had when he left for work that morning, just as I did when I got home that night and greeted Mimi when she arrived home from work.<br /><br />That chance encounter with a man I’ve seen for several years, always in a professional sense, got me to thinking more and more about the gifts of my life. <br /><br />Granted, this gift of cancer came with some pretty dark wrapping, and I really didn’t want to accept it. I wanted to push it back under the Christmas tree for another 20 years or so. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t for me, but for somebody else. I wanted to do anything other than touch that black ribbon and untie the bow. I wanted to do anything else rather than remove the bright red foil wrapping of this gift, but I knew that I must, if I was going to be able to surrender into a solution, accept my life for what it has now become and somehow manage to become grateful for the disease of cancer, not just grateful for the cure.<br /><br />This is no easy task. How does one become grateful for something that wants to kill them? It is really quite simple; just not very easy. It is done through faith. It is done through trust. It is done through a knowledge that just like every other challenge in life; the outcome will be exactly as it is supposed to be, regardless of what I WANT. It is done by exploring the gift of the moment. And when I was able to see this last bit that I started to get it. Explore the gift of the moment. Living a day at a time. Living an hour at a time. Living sometimes a minute at a time, and then learning to live a breath at a time. In something I read recently, the teacher is discussing “mindful breathing” and says that with every exhalation is a death. If this is true, then with every inhalation is a rebirth, right? <br /><br />Without the recent diagnosis of esophageal cancer, I would not have the time to relieve myself from a lot of other daily stresses that prevent me from focusing on my spiritual lifestyle. I’ve learned much over the past 27 years, and tried to apply it to my daily life. Recently, I have had an incredible opportunity to apply these principles on a moment to moment basis, coming into a clearer and ordered loving relationship with the woman with whom I have lived for the past 33 years. I’ve been able to re-explore my own belief systems in a way I’ve never been able to before. I’ve gained a clarity of mind and purpose that I never knew was possible. I have watched as my oldest son has gone through some of his own transformation and we have developed a closeness I never dreamed we would get to have. I have learned that I am a man who is much loved and respected. <br /><br />The gift is in the learning.<br /><br />I have learned a lot of life lessons over the past 27 years that are being reinforced daily as I continue to recover from addiction and apply those same principles to my work in surviving cancer. I have learned to listen more (and maybe one day will learn to speak less). I am learning to say “I love you” more and “fuck you” less. I have learned to turn off the noise and truly hear the silence. I am learning new lessons every day about letting go and accepting the hand of a friend gently offered. I am learning that it is okay not to be superman some days. I am learning more each day about the importance of community and of giving back what has been so freely given to me. <br /><br />I have spent hours and hours (far more than my family would have hoped, I’m sure) learning to be an endurance athlete. Those lessons I have learned about hydration, nutrition, determination, making my way to the finish line despite wanting to give up, learning to help others and allow them to help me become a finisher and a winner are carrying me along nicely on this newest and hardest brevet I’ve ever ridden. My friend Larry, with whom I trained for and rode my first STP and shared many hours talking about recovery and cycling, used to say to me that a lot of days, staying sober was just like riding a bike up a long, hard mountain pass. Some days one had to just keep their head down and keep spinning, not looking too far out up the road and becoming discouraged by what lay ahead. Wise words. Neither of us has ever found a need to return to drinking or using other drugs to become something other than who and what we are. <br /><br />I have learned that there simply is no “I” in this life I live. There is only we. I have never had an original thought, and everything I talk about is something I have learned from one of you. By being willing to surrender into recovery, I gained insight into myself and others. By accepting who I am, what I am, where I am and the process of life as I walk through each moment, I have become a man who can be proud of his accomplishments, yet am daily humbled by how little I know and how much I have yet to learn. It seems that the more I learn, the more I know how little I truly know. This, then, is my gift, and I share it willingly with you.<br /><br />By remaining grateful for the incredible bounty of my life, I am able to remain clearly centered and focused on what is in front of me, having faith that regardless of the outcome, I will be well cared for and lovingly supported. <br /><br />I don’t know if Alexander Graham Bell was right when he talked about doors opening and closing, but I do know this one thing to be true in my life. The only constant is change, and it is unavoidable. If I fear change, I fear what is not, not what is. If, on the other hand, I remain open to change, whatever it may be, wherever it may lead, whatever the outcome, and embrace it with open-mindedness and willingness, miraculous new worlds can open for me. Those new worlds are not out there someplace; they are here, deep within. It is up to me to reach out, pick up the gift, carefully and lovingly open the wrapping and see what lies inside. <br /><br />Thank you.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-24181027038637173572011-10-07T15:41:00.000-07:002011-10-07T15:42:40.690-07:00Afternoon RecessThe air is warm<br />Neighborhood sounds drift about the quiet house.<br /><br />The bell rings.<br /><br />Slowly at first, then increasing rapidly, the sounds of children fills the air.<br />Girls screaming in delight<br />Balls bouncing against the building<br />Swings squeaking in offset rhythms.<br />Boys yelling out their adventures.<br />The sounds run together into a sweet autumn melody.<br /><br />School is back.<br />The children are back.<br /><br />I lie here in the solace of my home, surrounded by a lifetime of memories.<br />As I listen, my mind drifts back to those days so long ago.<br />I smile and let the children’s song carry me into my dreams.<br /><br />Again, the bell rings.<br /><br />Slowly at first, then increasing rapidly, the sound of the children fades to silence.<br />An airplane flies overhead.<br />A bird sings. <br />A gentle breeze drifts through the house, and the wind chimes bring me back to now.<br /> <br />My heart is full.<br /><br />9 September 2011Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-59972888123632256262011-09-26T12:57:00.000-07:002011-10-05T16:26:37.361-07:00Let's Get Ready to Rumble!Well, Round 1 of this little match between me and my #1 opponent of the year, Esophageal Cancer (EC) was a bit of a back and forth battle there for a while. I like to think of myself as a tough old buzzard, but there is just something about laying around for 5 days with constant infusion of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cisplatin">cisplatin</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fluorouracil">5FU</a> that tends to take just a bit of an edge off a guy's game. OK, I'll admit that I may have over done it just a LITTLE bit going out 23-1/2 hours after leaving the hospital and doing a 65 mile ride with my pals, but thinking back, I wouldn't do it any other way. The weather was perfect, I felt really good and I took it pretty easy throughout the day.<br /><br />What a difference a day or two made, though. On Monday, I rode about 25 miles and still felt pretty good,but by the next morning, it was all I could do to get off the sofa. The chemo had given me some pretty severe mouth sores which was making it difficult to eat. By cooking a big pot of oxtail soup, I was able to get something in me that was high calorie, high protein and actually was able to stimulate my appetite by cooking. Thursday morning, I took my bike out of the car in Renton, rode 3.5 miles to Starbucks and had to rest for a half hour before riding back to the car. I did take on one little challenging hill - a whole 70' "climb" to a water tower that left me feeling weak-kneed and out of breath. I went home exhausted and feeling very strange. I mean, REALLY!!! I'm a guy who has worked myself to the point where I can comfortably do a 200 mile ride and feel strong at the finish, enjoy a nice dinner and get up the next morning refreshed. Here I was barely able to get back to the car after 8 very flat miles. It was very confusing to my legs and brain.<br /><br />The next week was somewhat better, as the sores went away and I could suddenly eat pretty much anything and everything I wanted. I managed to ride every day to my radiation appointments and I wasn't losing my hair or my weight. "Hell, there's nothing to this chemo/radiation stuff," I thought to myself. But I dreaded the next time I had to go through it, knowing I had 2 more weeks of daily radiation to go through, I'd been cautioned by the oncologists that this was going to produce the worst heartburn I'd ever experienced and I was going to be sunburned inside and out, in a lot of pain and that it was a cumulative effect. GREAT!!! Just what I always wanted to do.<br /><br />DREAD. That was the big word. I had to overcome it. I've had some friends who have "bravely battled cancer", "lived with cancer" and all those other wonderful terms given to this shit disease that sneaks up on us from out of nowhere and takes over our entire lives....and I don't mean just the person that has the disease, I mean their entire families sometimes. I know I have to put on my "bravely living with cancer" game face. I know I have to remain positive and upbeat and have a good attitude because people with a good attitude survive better than those without. Well, I think this may be part true but is probably also part bullshit. Cancer is cancer and it kills its host. What a weird thing. An organism that can only survive by killing itself. My head spins some days with this garbage.<br /><br />So Round Two was scheduled to commence on the morning of the 28th. It was now the 21st and I was at home DREADING having to go back into the hospital. I knew with certainty that I HAD TO change something and as I sat and pondered it I came up with an idea. If I could move from dread to acceptance and from acceptance to joyful anticipation, I could do this thing. No small task. How does one go about having joyful anticipation when they know they are going to voluntarily subject themself to injecting a series of poisons into their body that is going to, a) make them vomit their guts out, b) constipate them to the point they have to take all kinds of crap to make them crap that they never gave a crap about before and don't even want to think about much less ingest, d) leave them with mouth sores so bad they can't eat for days on end while people are yelling at them to get 3000 - 5000 calories every day, e) kill not only the bad boys in the body, but all those beautiful, strong, vibrant and hard earned muscles in the legs that have worked so well, f) turn the brain into cream of wheat, and g) leave the patient with the doubt that it is working at all. Dread was all that and much more. So I did some thinking about it all and came up with a couple of ideas. First up was how I was going to do this hospital visit.<br /><br />I've been trying to make a charitable donation to them - a recumbent style stationary bicycle that would be able to be used by the patients. I'd talked to the nurses, who loved the idea. I'd talked to the Nurse Manager for the unit and found out I needed to work through "The Foundation", which made perfect sense. I gave her all my contact information, the make and model I thought might be appropriate (like I know anything about bikes, right?) and she was to have somebody from "The Foundation" get back to me. Have your people contact my people and we'll do lunch. That's about how it felt when I had not heard back from anybody in 2 weeks. Well, screw them, I thought. I'll just take my own bike in. This became my mission. I ran it up the flagpole with Josiah, who loved it. We plotted and planned. Weather has been pretty good. I'll hook my trailer up to the back of Katrina, put my suitcase with all my goodies in it aboard and load up my wind trainer. Now, I generally hate riding indoors, but thought under the circumstances, this would be better than not riding at all. So now I had at least one thing I could joyfully anticipate.<br /><br />But that POISON!!! Those chemo drugs. There was that dread again.<br /><br />Another little bike ride, some more exporation of the inner sanctums of the brain wherein all three remaining cells argue about which one is going to drive the bus today and came up with a new term, MAGIC ELIXER. I tried it on for size. It didn't fit at first, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. OK, so these are poisons, right? Their very intent is to make the cancer cells sicker than they make me. So if I could view this not as a poison, but a magic elixer that is going to save my life, I could do this thing. Acceptance of the drugs is really not a problem. Hell's Bells! I'll accept anything right about now that will rip this thing out of my body including reading "Personal Surgery For Dummies" cover to cover and scheming on how to get the right mix of general anesthesia to knock me out for the operation while allowing me to walk in my sleep well enough to conduct surgery. I came up with a couple of sleeping pill combinations I thought might work.<br /><br />After three days, I had successfully begun to joyfully anticipate my return to the hospital and started to talk to my friends and family about this. At first, most of them looked at me sorta weird and all "well, we'll see" while nodding and giving me their encouragement. I honestly can't say what was going through their minds, but when I talked about it in my cancer support group on Thursday, I was met with a nice mixture of skepticism, doubt and encouragement from my fellow "survivors".<br /><br />A quick aside. My job includes use of a very antiquated data management system called WINS. I have to change my password every 20 days or so. The password has to be unique, consist of both numbers and letters and can have no character in the same position as the last password. Quite challenging some times. Right after I got my diagnosis, I had to change my password. CANCERSUX2. As I was going out on disability, my supervisor wanted my passwords so they could get some of my work done. I read it off to him. I don't think he was nearly as amused as was I.<br /><br />The weekend came around. Mimi and I had a very pleasant day together, rode to my home group, Sunday Starters, and afterwards rode home along the trail, through the back of the Arboretum, along the lake and up the hill to home. It was a very warm day and I picked the shadiest route I know so Mimi wouldn't get too overly warm. It was one of the longest bike rides I had done since my big 100k the day after leaving the hospital. I was riding along a ways in front of her up the hill by Frink Park and started to get a little pissed off. I'd been averaging nearly 1,200 miles per month through July, but had cut back to about 750 miles in August and now was down to not even breaking 500 miles for the month. The more I thought about it the more pissed I got. But then I got to thinking to myself that I had spent the first 2 days of the month in the hospital, had ridden every single day except one since then, had ridden to 10 of my radiation appointments and put in OVER FOUR HUNDRED MILES for a month that included two 5-day hospital stays. Attitude adjustments are really necessary. It isn't the facts, it is how I view those facts that is critical to my wellbeing.<br /><br />Sunday evening the weather changed. Josiah was here for the night. We'd get up, have a nice breakfast of eggs and hashbrowns, ride up to the hospital and while I was getting tucked in, he'd go back to the gargage and bring up my trainer, then go get the bike and set it up. If anybody said anything, he was to say, "Hey! His doctor approved of it." Not exactly a lie, since Kapsule told me he wanted me on my bike as much as I could be. He was no more or less specific and left it up to me to interpret his meaning. Poor guy. I could just wait to get THAT call! "You told them WHAT???" Sorry, doc. Won't happen til the next time. You know it is much easier to seek forgiveness than permission, right? I live by that credo.<br /><br />Now when I say the weather changed, I mean the rain hit and with a vengeance. Monday morning dawned with a full on downpour with winds out of the southwest. Normally, this is just another day on the bike for me. Right now, though, I'm not really too excited about going out in a downpour and putting myself at risk of catching cold or worse. We called Mimi. She came home and we loaded everything into the truck and she drove us to the hospital. I took Cayuse instead of Katrina and locked it in the garage. Josiah and I walked my suitcase and trainer up to 12 East and deposited them in the visitor's lounge and went off to Kapsule's office for the pre-admit bloodwork and meeting with the doc. After getting the labs done, the nurse came out and told me to just head back and get tucked into bed. All my labs looked pretty good.<br /><br />So now it was off to get some secret magic elixer. I got into my jammies and gown, unpacked my suitcase, set up my cy-fi bluetooth speaker and got myself some tunes going. I was setting myself up in my little "apartment", choosing to view it not so much a hospital room, but a personal suite. Josiah went and got the bike. NO PROBLEM. Nobody questioned him. By the time the nurses came in, I was unpacked, had some nice classical music going and was feeling about as comfortable as a guy could be. I was happy to be here! It worked. When the nurse came in with that bag of cisplatin, I welcomed it into the room. Once she was done and out of the room and Josiah had departed, I lay there and felt this elixer coursing through my system, seeking out the dna it was supposed to work on and knew that everything was going to be just fine.<br /><br />Round Two was underway and Boothby was in the center of the ring and ready to rumble.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-83461391757388800162011-09-12T10:09:00.000-07:002011-09-12T11:02:34.695-07:00Herding Cats On Pacific Rose<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinijM42cF8l7yr1ObSdv1jKukeygnohXAUuwlA_d6XCdFfX_sc6BGg4WwPUTSKOvQSUtMXwdCbcvom2GuZQhyoh_nymr8xNuTVOPNKVqOdpb9bkNKaQreCC16HJooUvStfIm6Px0nMAoY/s1600/SAM_0455.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinijM42cF8l7yr1ObSdv1jKukeygnohXAUuwlA_d6XCdFfX_sc6BGg4WwPUTSKOvQSUtMXwdCbcvom2GuZQhyoh_nymr8xNuTVOPNKVqOdpb9bkNKaQreCC16HJooUvStfIm6Px0nMAoY/s400/SAM_0455.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651521923821272482" /></a><br />When life gets interesting, it pays to get interested in living it. September 3 was that kind of a day. It really wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be something really simple; something easy something uncomplicated. Boothby always has a plan. Not always a good one, but a plan, nonetheless. And the plan today was to make sure that he could get a couple other folks out for an easy 100k so that he could be certain that the lovely and talented Mimi could be sure of getting her “P-9” ride in. <br /><br />Now, this all goes back to sometime in December. Boothby was sitting around the house one rainy afternoon pining away the day and feeling sorry for himself because it was raining hard, had been raining hard for some time and he’d only been able to get a 35 mile ride in. Poor baby! Well, here he was wandering aimlessly about the house when out of the blue, Mimi says to him, “You know, this new RUSA thing comes at a really interesting time. I was thinking of doing more 100k rides next year.” Well, let me tell you, the first thing ol’ Boothby thought was that this stranger who looked like his wife was either a stunt double hired by his pals or she was some evil long-lost twin who had killed the real Mimi and hidden the body. This was just NOT what he would expect to hear. Of course, after a couple of very carefully placed questions, he found out she was really interested in getting a P-12, completing a ride of somewhere between 100 and 199 kilometers every month for 12 consecutive months. No easy feat, that.<br /><br />So, in early January we started out. We amassed a gang of 8 or 9 riders to go out and brave the ice and sub-freezing temperatures and did this flat route that I’d helped to design for Seattle Randonneurs called Pacific Rose. A very simple, pretty straightforward course that is almost half ridden on bike trails, with a majority of the rest being on fairly low traffic streets and much of them with bike lanes or sharrows. The only climbing is about 500’ or so during the last 5 miles. After a little more than 6 hours, there we were with our first month out of the way, and we’ve continued along ever since, finding some other really nice rides including one of Susan France’s permanents called the “Snoozeville Populair.” Of course, I couldn’t be satisfied with that. I had to also do a 300 kilometer or more ride every month for the whole year. <br /><br />Everything was going swimmingly until the last month when life suddenly became very interesting and challenging for us. First I had to abandon my quest for that 300k every month, then I needed to abandon my quest for 100 consecutive months of at least 200 kilometers or better at least once a month. But, when Mimi told me that this goal for the P-12 just wasn’t the most important thing for her right now, it shook me up a little. I discovered that, for some unexplainable reason, it was even more important for me. Suddenly, it became a sort of must do goal, and I really wanted to see her complete this for herself. After all, this is the woman I love more than life itself, the single most important person to ever influence my walk through every hardship of life and it was important to me, even if she was willing to let go. So I organized a ride. Same course, different day. <br /><br />Then people started to respond. I started to count heads of those who said they might like to come out and play and before I was done, I was printing up almost 20 control cards. Of course, I knew Dr. Codfish was coming up from Olympia because we’d ridden together a few weeks ago and he said he might just want to do this. And I knew Amy was coming, though we ended up changing from Saturday to Sunday and I feared she might have other commitments. Then Lyn told me she was coming. And the emails just kept coming in. I was thrilled when I got an email from Pam saying that she and Will would join in on their tandem. Thrilled because he’d just come back from Paris-Brest-Paris and I wanted to hear about his 1200 kilometer adventure. After I got that email, I sent a note to Chris Heg asking him if he was back, hoping he might be able to join me, too. “Nope. Still in Norway.” Darn! I was surprised to see him at the start. He didn’t exactly lie to me, just told me a very, very simple truth, planning the whole time to be on that ride. He arrived back home sometime around bedtime the night before and was here for a 100k today. These randonneurs are very interesting folks, indeed. <br /><br />One guy showed up who had never ridden a rando event before, and another guy showed up who had done a couple of permanents, but always by himself. Both got to meet a bunch of the finest folks in the area and ride the day with them. Peg and Kris came up from Olympia. And then, just before we were about to leave, Robin showed up. When he rolled up, he said, “Hey, Boothby. I’ve got something for you.” He reached down and started fiddling around with his shoe. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing. Digging for some toejam? Hiding donuts in his socks? WHAT??? Nope. He took off a little white and red disk and handed it to me. “That’s your timing chip for PBP. You’re going to need it in 4 years.” I just about lost it.<br /><br />Ralph and Carol also showed up on their tandem, leading us off right at 9:00 for a rocket ship descent down Holgate with Will and Pam right on their heels on their tandem. I easily hit 42 mph going down this hill and the tandems were leaving me far behind. <br /><br />We were all hanging out together in the mid-morning sun with everything going just fine until we got to Harbor Island where the salmon enter the Duwamish River from Elliott Bay and the fisherfolks were lined up elbow to elbow reeling them in as fast as they possibly could. We were joking about why we quit fishing and all was right with the world until all of a sudden, my pedals would not turn around. I looked down. I couldn’t see anything. I back pedaled and the chain came off. NOW WHAT? I pulled off and discovered I had sucked up a spool of jumbled up fishing line discarded by one of the fisherpeople. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmIiIOxO_Vxgmr8TM5wuFM7qiOZXG7S4qzD2oeho2c7GhT4wAR_1lRGr4UKhwLqQNkroaDG0zlhIyRxBwhdYbDTCLyBwfNaC9CunpaZJk2OVeMedO4WVuC6zbNeNaNJ2nXnmRnwrm_SPY/s1600/SAM_0459.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmIiIOxO_Vxgmr8TM5wuFM7qiOZXG7S4qzD2oeho2c7GhT4wAR_1lRGr4UKhwLqQNkroaDG0zlhIyRxBwhdYbDTCLyBwfNaC9CunpaZJk2OVeMedO4WVuC6zbNeNaNJ2nXnmRnwrm_SPY/s400/SAM_0459.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651532872986635954" /></a><br /><br />It was in my pedals. It was in my chain. It was in the cassette. It was in the rear derailleur. It was a fine mess. As cyclist passed me one by one, each with their own smart alecky comments about my nice bird’s nest, Mimi, Geoff and I tried to extract it. Lyn took pictures. After 15 minutes, we had it cleared enough to ride on. I reflected that it took just about as long as to clean out a fishing reel when I had a “real” birds nest years ago out fishing for trout in the streams of Western Washington, thinking to myself it is not a darned wonder I quit fishing. Sheesh!<br /><br />I would like to report that after that it was a very uneventful ride.<br /><br />It wasn’t.<br /><br />With two construction detours and several people not knowing the area well, we had folks heading every which way. Mimi, Robin, Amy and I were riding along together south of the Post Office facility in Tukwila. Robin asked me if I liked funny stories. Well, of course I do. He started to tell me of his PBP adventures.<br /><br />All of a sudden, there was no Mimi and no Amy. <br /><br />We waited for them, then we all took off together. Suddenly, there was no Amy.<br /><br />We waited. I told Mimi to go on ahead and try to catch up to the gang, making sure to turn off the trail at 196th. She did very well and even called me from 212th to tell me she had missed the turn. . But I’m getting ahead of myself.<br /><br />Robin and I rode back to find Amy. When we didn’t find her, I called about a half hour later. “I’m lost,” she said<br /><br />“Well, where are you?”<br /><br />“I’m near the Tukwila Park and Ride.” Great. That’s just back a ways. We rode there and waited. I called her in my little voice. I even whistled. No Amy. Finally, I see her riding toward us. From the wrong direction. She’d turned back north. <br /><br />So I ask Robin if he can “jet ahead” and try to reel Mimi in and I’ll ride along with Amy. <br /><br />“Hey, I’m done jetting,” he said. That was when I found out he’d only been off the airplane since 5 pm yesterday. He did take off a little bit faster though.<br /><br />Amy and I rode on. Just about the time we were approaching 196th, Mimi called. To avoid undue delays we rode down to 212th to pick her up so the three of us could at least ride together. Once we got back on course everything went off without a hitch. Well, almost. <br /><br />We knew we were well off the pace and when we hit the second detour, I just took us over to the Interurban Trail, figuring we might see some of the earlier riders as they’d be making their way north by now. We had to go almost 5 miles south yet. I found it a bit odd that we never saw one of them. Then as we rolled into the control a Giu’s Market, there were the tandems and a couple other singles. I figured we could ride out with them and went to get an ice cream. Mimi came out of the store and looked like she was a race horse headed for the barn as she said, “You don’t mind if I ride out with Sue, do you?” I knew she really wanted to finish and do it with time to spare. “Naw, go on.”<br /><br />So I thought I’d ride out with Dr. Codfish and Amy and we would be able to ramble our way back. Just as they, Kris, Peg and I were rolling out, my phone rang. It was Chris. They were at a different place and wanted to know what to do. Now this posed an interesting dilemma. Lucky for us all, the Permanents Coordinator was with that gang (who had been the lead pack earlier – still don’t know what happened there) and he was able to make the executive decision to use that as an alternate control since the mileage of the detours had made up the distance. I rode over to meet up with them, since Dr. Codfish, Amy, Peg and Kris were well ahead of me now. FINE! Be that way.<br /><br />I found Geoff who told me Robin had gone off in search of me. Now I was really confused, so I rode back to the store, but never found him. On the way back, I did find Chris and eventually we had a gang of about 6 or so headed north together. Lord, almighty! I can’t think of a day or a ride when I’ve seen so much cat herding. We eventually caught up with Amy. Seems Dr. Codfish had dropped her like a hot potato somewhere. So I let the rest of the gang go and rode with her, then Chris dropped back and we chatted a while. I was really glad to have the slower pace, since I’d been working pretty hard to keep up with Geoff’s gang at 18 mph. 12-13 felt a lot better to me, especially as it was warming up pretty good. <br /><br />Chris took off after a while and Amy and I chatted our way along until we arrive in Tukwila and stopped for a few minutes to let Peg and Kris show up so we would be able to ride the stretch through Renton together and not have anybody getting lost. I really enjoyed this part of the ride, ambling our way through Renton, onto the Cedar River Trail and chatting pretty much constantly. I think that was what I needed more than anything, just a nice easy day with lots of conversation. <br /><br />Somehow, we managed to catch up to a lot of other folks and we ended up with 7 or 8 of us heading out together from the last info control, with Geoff, Amy, Kris, Peg and me finishing the last several miles together until we got to the one big climb of the day, at which point everybody just sorta rode off into the distance as Amy and I continued to work our way to the finish line.<br /><br />Arriving at The Station, we found that most of the riders had either come and gone or were still hanging about, feasting on tamales and beer....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjiqzmFBPL-Gmr9jwoJQeqxsI_eHM5Jjd12E89_jtVPdcZgs17nXlT7GLU2eaDqV7LYc9YsEmqxkm376ThjT9GSVuQcp6yG9Fw_pKMHbcsjXt6_-Hm1ID9461SKeYGHMjgwlrKdSsmz0/s1600/IMAG0786.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjiqzmFBPL-Gmr9jwoJQeqxsI_eHM5Jjd12E89_jtVPdcZgs17nXlT7GLU2eaDqV7LYc9YsEmqxkm376ThjT9GSVuQcp6yG9Fw_pKMHbcsjXt6_-Hm1ID9461SKeYGHMjgwlrKdSsmz0/s400/IMAG0786.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651534423614980770" /></a><br />...or sipping lemonade or iced coffee. For almost an hour, we hung out in the shade enjoying the company of the day, listening to a couple of Robin’s adventures from PBP and savoring the late summer warmth of a beautiful Seattle afternoon. Finally, it was time to head for home.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MmzEzacOh2CkL9EfpA9sCK8OdFDdyFGWK5VFNzdxpVLXT8Oq36PgWRirPYw5fLrrof1fDqZPfuZttaHA7pjltd4-OaMB2zJmC2IU3UxlkKLSMCJsjImWkMhy9GkyUgxC9NaNcFi0NRI/s1600/IMAG0787.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MmzEzacOh2CkL9EfpA9sCK8OdFDdyFGWK5VFNzdxpVLXT8Oq36PgWRirPYw5fLrrof1fDqZPfuZttaHA7pjltd4-OaMB2zJmC2IU3UxlkKLSMCJsjImWkMhy9GkyUgxC9NaNcFi0NRI/s400/IMAG0787.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651534817057682850" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Life just doesn’t get much better than this.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-4998557880848929852011-08-30T19:57:00.000-07:002013-03-01T20:29:57.239-08:00I WANT MY BIKE, DAMMIT!!!OK, kiddies. STORY TIME FROM UNKL RALEIGHDON.
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<br />As most of you probably know, a lot of my season goals have taken a very quick and unexpected turn for the different. I've had to make some serious life adjustments (as an adjuster, this is what I do best - or worst depending on which claimant and/or insured and/or supervisor and/or coworker and/or broker you talk to) that included setting aside my 300k per month for 2011 goal, then this last weekend letting go of my R-100 pursuit. I know, I know, there is no medal for R-100. I was 37 months into it and although I felt strong enough and even had a buddy willing to fly from Tucson to Seattle to ride with me for a 200k, I knew that it was more important that I come to terms with some changes going on. The quickest route to acceptance is through self-determination rather than having somebody tell me I can't do something. So, I determined that I'd rather do an 85 mile non-brevet style ride, relax, enjoy the day with a good friend and eat lots of pie, drink lots of coffee and generally screw off, in advance of checking into the hospital at the butt crack of dawn Monday morning.
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<br />Sunday was spent with family, getting my son's car up and running, washed, driven (with expired tabs) to my house for more work, storage or selling, and then doing a very nice little loop with #1 son, followed by a fantastic dinner and evening spent screwing off, and a good night's rest.
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<br />Monday morning, and here's where the story starts, included Josiah and I riding 6.7 miles to the hospital with not quite 500' of climbing involved. A very nice morning spin to get the legs under me and prepare me for a long day. I checked into Swedish Hospital at 7:24 and by 8:30 was tucked into a temporary bed where a lab tech came in and placed an IV in my left arm - right where my arm band and my "FIGHT THE PHOMA" support wristband for my niece was. She made a little bloody mess and was trying to clean it up, diluting it and making it worse so she decided she was going to cut my id band off. In the process, she cut my wristband and felt horrible. After a few hundred "i'm sorrys", she finally left and we joked about that all day, what an auspicious start to the morning. Now, mind you, RALEIGHDON DOESN'T TAKE LIFE LYING DOWN. He fully intends to negotiate long and hard in an effort to get a stationary bike installed in his room or a trip to PT every day to spin for a half hour or so. He's got it all planned oot, as he is wont to do. So next up on the agenda was the dietitian, Lara. She comes in. She looks vaguely familiar, but not really. So she gives me her talk about weight loss, diet, all the good stuff. She is ADORABLE! Obviously very athletic, gorgeous, long flowing brunette hair, dressed to the nines and extremely attentive. I think to myself this is a great opportunity to start the negotiations. So I start my argument. You do realize that the best way to stimulate appetite is to exercise and what better way than cycling. Yada yada yada. I go on and on and on, as I am wont to do.....
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<br />She finally cuts me off and tells me that she might not be the best person to talk to since her husband is and "avid cyclist" himself. Now sometimes when folks tell me this, I find out the guy rides every weekend 10 miles to meet his buddies at the tavern for the football or baseball or basketball or whatever ball game is on teevee and then 10 miles home. But then Lara called herself a widow. The only people I know who refer to themselves this way are either rando wives, racerboy wives (or racergirl husbands) or actual widows. She didn't put out that she had lost her husband physically, so I assumed her hubby was probably a racer. Then she said that, in fact, she'd just had to be alone for the last 10 days while he was off on a big ride. Raleighdon starts adding up days........."Really? Where was he riding?"
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<br />"PBP"
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<br />"Really? Does he ride with SIR? What is your husband's name?"
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<br />"Chris Ragsdale"
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<br />Oh him.........
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<br />Now I get it.
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<br />I did get my bike though.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNfuP7-kJCzXItEdSsvtsoaKjsSzg-LWpTR8Cq-2HeginVH6h1KpJlV_fEbZnrtP4PEiVTaJvXVa4d6TRjAOs0QEPbBGvjSrwL1huNgowhyvYeDTP-Y-iSCjXiyLc24kkUipYZ-OwBTAG/s1600/bikeraleigh.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNfuP7-kJCzXItEdSsvtsoaKjsSzg-LWpTR8Cq-2HeginVH6h1KpJlV_fEbZnrtP4PEiVTaJvXVa4d6TRjAOs0QEPbBGvjSrwL1huNgowhyvYeDTP-Y-iSCjXiyLc24kkUipYZ-OwBTAG/s320/bikeraleigh.jpg" /></a>
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<br />For anyone unfamiliar with PBP, that is Paris Brest Paris, a 1,230 kilometer (765 mile) ride in France, the oldest and most prestigious cycling event in the world. Chris finished this year with a time of 44 hours 36 minutes. You do the math.
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<br />Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-8984505962935397322011-08-20T04:37:00.000-07:002013-03-01T20:33:15.423-08:00Life's a Shit Sandwich Sometimes - Deal With It
<br />What do you do when life deals you a shit sandwich? I mean, really. It isn’t like it is always fair. Or that it should be.
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<br />A couple weeks ago, I made my second trip to Boise this year to spend a little bit of time with my niece, Megan, who was diagnosed earlier in the year with Stage 3 Hodgkins Lymphoma. At 26 years old. Life had really dealt her a shit sandwich, and I knew it was going to be a long year for her. I wanted to reach out and take it away from her. I wanted to kiss her on the forehead and say, “It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” I wanted to grab my magic wand and make everything better. I couldn’t do any of these.
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<br />Now, I’ve been in active recovery for 26-1/2 years. I came to terms with powerlessness over the disease of addiction a long time ago. I have had to recognize my own limitations time and again but this was different. This was one of the kids I’d gotten to see come into her own in the past several years, a young person with incredible promise, astounding personal strength and a heart so full of love that is was frightful at times. I never get enough time with her. As I sat on the sidelines, all I could do is be a cheerleader. Here is just a little bit of what she has taught me.
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<br />First, it isn’t worth it to get pissed off about the little things. This is huge, really. I spend a lot of my time worrying, fretting, raging a the world, tilting at windmills and in fear of not getting my way, not having control of any situation and angry if things don’t work out the way they “should”. Well, life just doesn’t work that way all the time. True, if I work hard, if I do the right thing, if I treat people the way I want to be treated, if I live according to my own spiritual principals, things usually work out pretty well, but there are still a lot of bumps and bruises along the way, and when those little mouseturds of life wind up being in my path, I still tend to find the longest pole I can to vault over them. What Megan taught me the other day was that it just isn’t worth yelling at somebody because he didn’t do the laundry exactly how she thought he should. Interesting concept. Especially since I know HOW everything should be done……my way!
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<br />Well, my way wouldn’t necessarily include walking into the doctor’s office at 25 years old and having him tell me I have cancer. My way wouldn’t really include having my whole world tipped over on end just as I was starting into a new marriage. My way wouldn’t include trying to brush my beautiful red flowing hair in the morning and watching it come out in handfuls. My way wouldn’t include a 6-month series of treatments that left me sick and weak and not knowing if I was coming or going. My way would be to rage against this kind of news. My way would be to pick up a coffee cup, throw it across the room and hope that it crashed and banged and made a huge mess, because it is only in making a bigger mess than I feel, that MY WAY works. Only it doesn’t.
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<br />What Megan did with that diagnosis, was use it against itself.
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<br />Megan grew up with a dad who is a little bit like me, and even more extreme in some ways. When she had left her childhood home and made a home with her new husband Tommy, she began to experience some of the same rage I have dealt with my whole life. What she has done with it fills me with a much deeper understanding of what it is like from the other side of the relationship, that of a loving child who grew up has internalized the rage of a painful childhood. By integration of the emotional upheaval and directing it into positive healing processes with her father, Megan has begun not just to heal from the cancer, but insisted upon healing emotionally at the same time. Through the process, she is coming out of the treatment process not just cured from the cancer, but with a more wholesome relationship with her father and better able to deal with all of life's other challenges.
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<br />Hearing what she has put into place took me back so many years to when Pop was first diagnosed with lung cancer and a little bit of the process he and I were able to go through, only here was a 26 year old kid, just starting out in life and it wasn’t the old man dying but her need to do emotional healing as she was preparing to live. I have been reminded the past several months of that line from Shawshank Redempion, “Either get busy living or get busy dying” and Megan’s drive has been pretty incredible to watch.
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<br />Another thing Megan taught me was just how critical it is to be able to be true to our own values and stay involved in the process of life, no matter what. And she taught me what a blessing it is to continue to give, even when it seems like we should be the ones reaching out and taking. Both visits I have made, here we were invading her home which she shares with her husband and another 30 somethings single guy with whom both Megan and Tommy have a very close relationship. What does Megan do? Does she expect them to wait on her and take care of her? Hell no. She is up and about, DOING stuff. Keeping her body active and her mind engaged. She is up making dinner, playing games, making sure “the boys” have what they need. Now, to someone from the outside, this might seem incredibly selfish on the boys’ part and foolish on hers. A little watching, though, and I was able to see how important it was for her. It was about normalcy. It is about maintaining the routine that is comfortable to her. Sure, there have been “those” days. And I’m sure on “those” days, Tommy and Marshall have been there doing what it took to make sure Megan had what she needed, but when she’s up and about, she is all about taking care of other people and to take that away would be unthinkable.
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<br />Then there is the dedication to a dream, coupled with the need to either give up or let go. Now, I’ve said for years that giving up and letting go are two very different things. Megan certainly helped to reinforce that for me and prove my point. Here is a young woman who was forced to drop out of culinary school because she was about to go through 6 months of intense chemotherapy. Tough to manage class schedules around chemo appointments, especially with very limited course offerings and the extreme discomfort brought on by chemo. OK, so what does Megan do? Well, she goes out and gets a couple of jobs. Working in restaurants – not a field of employment known for their generosity and flexibility. She is so good that they work with her to allow her to work around her doctor’s appointments, allowing her a pallet for her developing artwork of cooking new and exciting things. And she excels.
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<br />Well, of COURSE she does!! We would expect no less.
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<br />Through letting go without giving up the dream, new worlds have opened to her. I have so much to learn.
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<br />It’s kinda funny – not a funny ha-ha but a funny aha – I set this article aside for almost 2 weeks and what happens? I receive my own cancer diagnosis. So, now I am going through much of the same thing Megan went through earlier in the year. I called her, reluctantly because I knew it was going to really hurt both her and me when I did. Sure enough, the first few minutes of the call were about tears, cussing, shock, anger, frustration, rage, pain and I’m sure for Megan, some pretty unpleasant memories of her own process that has to be still fresh. But what was the first thing she said when we wiped the tears away and started to talk again? “You know, an airline ticket to Seattle is only $110. I can be there any time.”
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<br />I’ve now been through the first round of consultations, have scheduled an appointment with a mental health therapist to deal with mood swings I haven’t experienced for many, many years, set a process in motion to be able to take several months off from work so I can get my body back to its good old way, and am amazed by the comfort I now get from watching my young niece deal courageously and with purpose through cancer treatment. Little did I know how much I would need her strength. Little did I know how valuable her teaching would be. I can only hope that I am able to face the next several months with the determination, drive and courage that Megan has taught me.
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<br />I think the major lesson here for me is that when life deals you a shit sandwich, you just need to slather on a little more mayo, close your eyes and with faith that everything will be alright, and take a big old bite. If that sandwich doesn’t kill you, you’ll be stronger for the experience.
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<br />Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-83450916334131274072011-08-15T07:58:00.001-07:002011-08-15T09:04:00.357-07:00A Difficult FridayOh, I realize it really hasn't even started yet. This is going to be one long, long dance, and we are just starting to cue up the music. I sit here, alone at home for the first time since Friday morning.
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<br />At 9:48 a.m. Friday, August 12, 2011 I was given the big prize. No, that isn't the day I got to mail off my application for my Super Randonneur Medal. I can't do that until the 25th. No, this was when the phone rang and Dr. Sanford awarded me the news that the biopsies had come back positive for cancer. He was totally professional, totally detached and about as matter of fact as anybody could be. I accept his news, thinking how much I appreciate his frankness and at the same time, am glad he's not my 'real' doc.
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<br />10:12 a.m. I am on the bike. I ride off towards Doc Schuster's office where I will meet Mimi. 11 miles with almost 1,000' of vertical. Pounding my way up every hill I can find. I'm angry. I'm sad. I knew this was going to be the result, but it doesn't make it any easier.
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<br />11:45 a.m. I meet Mimi at the doctor. She's waiting in the lobby when I arrive. She's eaten, I've just picked up a sandwich. I force down what I can, but eating just doesn't feel fun anymore. I love to eat. I love to cook. Food has been a huge part of my existence, having grown up in restaurants and worked in them for a long time. Our family gatherings are food-centric. I love the smell of baking bread, baking pie, making a batch of fresh strawberry jam. Of course, I love to ride past the bakery and feast my eyes and my stomach on fresh maple bars. As I sit with my turkey and provolone sandwich and orange soda, though, something just seems wrong. I know I have to eat, I just don't want to. I force down about 2/3 of it and angrily, but silently throw the remains in the trash. Now, I'm really pissed. If I can't enjoy food, what the hell is the point? I keep my dark thoughts to myself for now.
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<br />We finally get put into an examining room and Doc Schuster is out in the hallway pulling some samples. We nod and exchange pleasantries. "It isn't the news I wanted to hear, but it's fixable," he says to me from across the room. A few minutes later he comes in and we talk. He talks. I cry. He hugs me. We ask questions. He has already talked to Dr. Henry Kaplan and Dr. Brian Louie and informs me they're going to be my team, filling me in on what great docs they are in their respective fields. He wants me in their office soon.
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<br />I question the need for surgery. Can't we just do chemo? Nope. Won't work. Need to cut this out, and do it quickly. OK. So what's the recovery time? 4-6 months, but that's "non-athletic" recovery. Because of my conditioning, I might be a lot faster.
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<br />Well, of course I will!
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<br />As we leave Schuster, we're on the phone to Kaplan's office while walking to Minor and James to pick up the DVD from my tests which we will walk over to Dr. Louie's office. First, we're told Kaplan can't see me until the 26th - until Mimi says Gary wants me in there quickly. Suddenly, we have an appointment for 6:00 p.m. Tuesday the 16th. Louie's office is pretty much the same; first they can't see me until next week sometime, until some shameless name dropping gets me an appointment on Tuesday at noon. In a whirlwind of activity lasting about 3 hours, my entire next week is thrown into a series of appointments with men I never wanted to meet.
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<br />Once it is all done, it is time for a little sanity; a trip for coffee with Elena and Igor. We sit in the back yard, sipping sweet hot coffee, munching cookies and chatting, with the birds singing overhead, the sweet smell of the garden surrounding us and talking about life plans for the next month (and next few years). It all seems so normal, and in my mind it all seems so artificial. It is like I am watching a movie, not really a part of it all, but simply observing.
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<br />Ken comes for dinner. Lots of laughter, but lots of seriousness, too. Then when he is gone, it is time to get ready for tomorrow's 100k bike ride.
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<br />10:10 p.m. I crawl into bed. Mimi turns her light off. I lay there with mine on. I'm a little bit afraid of the dark tonight. Can't explain it. Don't really feel like I need to. Just am not ready to have the lights turned out quite yet.
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<br />As my sponsor might tell me, "more will be revealed." Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-88005216934701136102011-08-12T03:37:00.000-07:002011-08-12T04:24:46.124-07:00It Just Ain't Fair - How to Accept A Diagnosis You Don't LikeLife ain't fair, huh? So who said it was supposed to be, Bub? HUH?? What about them apples? I'm life. How do you you like me now?
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<br />Thursday morning, 8:30 a.m. Upper endoscopy. Nurse takes me back into this little room and starts to prep me. Asks me if I have any questions. I share a few of my concerns. Is it gonna hurt? I mean, really. When they shoved that freaking garden hose up from the south end, my whole ass end ached for days, and this thing doesn't look much different. She's very calming; very helpful; very soothing. Explains the procedure and tells me probably the worst I'm going to feel is a sore throat for a couple days. She's right. It's now 3:30 am Friday morning and I feel like I have tonsilitis.
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<br />I tell her some of my fears. I mean, really. Just a year and a half ago, this was sorta the beginning of the end for Papa. It was just after Christmas and he kept throwing up; couldn't keep food down. Two weeks later he was in a hospital and never came out. OK, so that's my biggest fear.
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<br />Before the morning was over, I'd had the scope done and had been told that the good doc had found what he thinks is probably esophageal cancer. Biopsies will be back in 7-10 days. Whoopie freaking goddam!!! Ain't that special. After getting dressed, I head out to the waiting room and the nurse glances over at me. Is it my imagination or is she looking at me differently than she was an hour ago?
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<br />So he wants me to have a CT scan. Well, sure. Why not. Personally, I'd rather have a Krispy Kreme right now, but I suppose if I can't have a donut I might as well have a ten thousand dollar scan of my entire body. Ya want fries with that? It is about that time that my endurance cycling skills really come in well.
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<br />The tech brings me over a barium sulfate solution to drink. Tells me it is flavored, but might not be very pleasant. Hell, this stuff tastes like an Orange Ensure Plus. Got any more of these, partner? This isn't any worse than what I drink at midnight on an all night ride. Well, as a matter of fact, he DID have more. Two of these things in me in short order, then off for an iodine injection and then watch the little bubble man on the screen as he tells me to breathe in and hold, breathe out. I was reminded of our little buddah exercises we've been doing and chuckle. Who knew I'd need it now.
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<br />So many unknowns. So many quetions without answers. Read the internet. Look at signs and synmptoms. Look at all the information. The rest of the day is lived in a little bit of a fog. There is certainly some shock, but not much. I think I've known for a long time. This goes back. Way back. 1984. St. Francis X. Cabrini Hospital. 7th floor. Morning movie time. I sit and watch some yo yo doctor telling about all the different ways to die from alcoholism. It is the esophageal hemmorage that gets my attention. I think to myself what a horrible way to die. What a painful way to leave. I've lived with acid reflux problems for several years and if I don't take my one little pill every day, I have horrendous reflux episodes and can only barely imagine what it would be like to have all that crap hemmorage out into the body. YUCK!!!!!
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<br />So that's the way its gonna be, huh? Well, OKAY THEN! Let's dance. Boothby's ready.
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<br />Two rules:
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<br />1) No Whining
<br />2) No Feeling Sorry For Yourself
<br />3) Keep Your Sense of Humor
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<br />OK, that's three, but then, I do tend to use Pansy Math when it serves my purposes.
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<br />The rest of the day is a sort of a blur. Stop at the store. Buy a flat of strawberries to make jam tonight. Go home. Why does my house look so different all of a sudden? Why does the mess in my office bother me so much? Why do I feel like I have to do something about it all of a sudden (I don't, of course)? Why me? Why now? Well, why NOT me and why NOT now? What makes you think you're so special? You've had 60 really great years. You've got a wife who is your best friend. You have two really great sons who love you. You have a whole host of really great friends. You're one of the most fortunate men on the planet, so don't go giving me any of this whiney baby why me bullshit!
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<br />If the doctor wouldn't have told Mimi not to let me drive for 12 hours, I'd be out on the bike.
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<br />Well, of course you would!
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<br />At a little after 3, Elena and Igor come over with Anna and after a quick espresso and cookies, we're off to the park. I don't believe I've ever spent an hour at a playground surrounded by little kids that was any more poignant. Life. Lots of it. Watch the kid on the swing hogging it, while shooting hostile looks at the littler kid patiently waiting his turn. Mimi makes some remark about what a little shit he is. I respond back that a lot of life's lessons are learned on the playground. Soak in the laughter around me.
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<br />Life is so very precious. Or is it? Maybe it is just a little part, or maybe this is all there is. Who knows? Maybe it is my turn to start to find out. Maybe this, maybe that. The thoughts just turn around and around.
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<br />Bedtime. Falling asleep is easy; staying asleep, not so much. As usual, I'm up in the middle of the night. Here I sit. Work laptop on my lap. Open emails from claims unanswered. Somehow, they just don't seem important to me right now. Processes. Tasks. Regulations. Timelines. What is going on in somebody elses' life just doesn't seem to make much difference tonight. I need to do some things. I need to attend to some tasks of my own, and I'm not even sure how. But I'm okay with that. I'm okay with this process.
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<br />What's first? Well, I've spent the last 26 or so years learning to just "do the next indicated thing" and for right now, that just means taking little steps and letting a process work its way. Both internally and externally. I lay here trying to sleep and feel my body. Feeling my body on a cellular level is different. I feel like little spiders are working their way through my body, building a dark web. Well, I got news for you, ya little shits! I ain't goin down without a fight. I got me a big old can of bug juice I'm gonna hit you with and I'm gonna hit you hard. I've got a whole lot of riding to do and a whole lot of loving to do and a whole lot of pies to bake, jam to make, donuts to eat and cancer to beat.
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<br />So if you little cell killing assholes want to tangle, let's get ready to rumble! I learned how to do this from Pansy Palmetto, the most manned up woman in the universe. Acceptance, my ass!
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<br />Disability. That's a funny word, now, isn't it? Long term, short term, blah blah blah. Hey, maybe I can get one of them handicap stickers for the window of my car. I'll mount it on the handlebars of Katrina when I ride in to work in the morning! Work? Will I have time to work? Will I be able to work? Will I WANT to work? Will I be able to put my heart into my work? How do you juggle 8-4 with a bunch of other appointments to take care of? Should I pay off the mortgage from my 401(k) so Mimi isn't left with that if I don't beat this thing? All these random questions just keep cycling through my noggin. There aren't any answers, just questions.
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<br />That, I can accept. I don't really need answers. OK, they'd be nice, but they're not really important. Just put one foot in front of the other. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't do something stupid in between. That has worked for a while now, and needs to continue to be my mantra.
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<br />Life is a juggling act. It feels like I've been trying to keep 6 balls in the air for a long time and the harder I try to keep them going, the faster they move, making it ever more difficult to keep them from dropping. I have to remember the rule. If you need to, toss them higher. That way it takes longer for them to come back down, more time to focus on another one. Simple.
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<br />Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-12436027724485883692011-07-09T19:42:00.000-07:002013-03-01T21:11:14.612-08:00A Really Nice Day With My GirlfriendEvery month, Mimi and I take one weekend and just sorta hang out together. Sometimes we do something very, very special. Others we keep it real simple. This is "our weekend". Today I dropped Kirke and Kathy at the start line for STP, came back home and went back to bed for an hour or so. After spending a good part of the morning with Mimi painting and me catching up on some of my RUSA volunteer work stuff, we hopped aboard Cayuse and Cavaletta and headed off north. First was a stop at Bike So Good for some minor work on both bikes. <br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9L3ODPf4aCDQjerCgMC4hcNYnDRE_nRNSUwqvDJG0rs7zOI_SenM36F0j7JLfiAAjwMHcp7I_2vlBirJ95WY6Qx9nuoNPUhLjxoExL1IYXeiYtJMLYlLnM44LOqrU9SeI14HejQqypDx/s1600/dbikeparked.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij9L3ODPf4aCDQjerCgMC4hcNYnDRE_nRNSUwqvDJG0rs7zOI_SenM36F0j7JLfiAAjwMHcp7I_2vlBirJ95WY6Qx9nuoNPUhLjxoExL1IYXeiYtJMLYlLnM44LOqrU9SeI14HejQqypDx/s320/dbikeparked.jpg" /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpIwvG9IRUEoiAAD-xPnWXhM0tJZN1Azl8nLu9SQIOdY_CspATtLTBr5iZqoH_DX1aDoe_fNkAHDSR5O8907oqWMZr-mbaGLfK38EzwlX9xtWVgUk-tdNzNLZJUg8sl7c1ZS90_OYz5JS/s1600/bikesogood.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpIwvG9IRUEoiAAD-xPnWXhM0tJZN1Azl8nLu9SQIOdY_CspATtLTBr5iZqoH_DX1aDoe_fNkAHDSR5O8907oqWMZr-mbaGLfK38EzwlX9xtWVgUk-tdNzNLZJUg8sl7c1ZS90_OYz5JS/s320/bikesogood.jpg" /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLktCEhyXVA7aohLNYwaOahoL-zgwOq0K-FquXka_ypP17oo56ptb1f8eJ0YLt5Tho2UBsqnjhTsvveALkXe5naXI39Ye_SudLNFIenvkcMvwR2P5jfDW5yPDKIXRXvlHvgySw16AbUA8/s1600/mebikesogood.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLktCEhyXVA7aohLNYwaOahoL-zgwOq0K-FquXka_ypP17oo56ptb1f8eJ0YLt5Tho2UBsqnjhTsvveALkXe5naXI39Ye_SudLNFIenvkcMvwR2P5jfDW5yPDKIXRXvlHvgySw16AbUA8/s320/mebikesogood.jpg" /></a>
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<br><br>Then it was off again. After a brief stop at the cat rescue place to visit the homeless critters, we rode around Alki where we stumbled onto one of the early Seafair weekend gigs, complete with seafair pirates, food stands, and even a pole <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaD-xQAMErxty2fwIXJQpReIKxEB-VL4jcT-8eHGIkDejRHTChkii-2z8wLw1P-c1YMIS_o1qbtnDmqYfnzNp7kDjaSvCl3Gc2rdsznQfHZ2AtZY1ZKRF4AjxGtiZ8DNkaay_IwP7EgaF2/s1600/vaulters.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaD-xQAMErxty2fwIXJQpReIKxEB-VL4jcT-8eHGIkDejRHTChkii-2z8wLw1P-c1YMIS_o1qbtnDmqYfnzNp7kDjaSvCl3Gc2rdsznQfHZ2AtZY1ZKRF4AjxGtiZ8DNkaay_IwP7EgaF2/s320/vaulters.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMc3P8if0FdobKTKsAeqstK6mOu0xZNNNIFPOE1je1ZSAJOnC1c-VtozSfzdxoenixCuGIZ9YuXtB4v2148YJkEHxMC972MOjeoniqvAQVfdnl4nt_jNyuXj6goyJ2A3owBLufysBr1zj/s1600/morevaulters.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMc3P8if0FdobKTKsAeqstK6mOu0xZNNNIFPOE1je1ZSAJOnC1c-VtozSfzdxoenixCuGIZ9YuXtB4v2148YJkEHxMC972MOjeoniqvAQVfdnl4nt_jNyuXj6goyJ2A3owBLufysBr1zj/s320/morevaulters.jpg" /></a>
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vaulting competition with bona-fide prize money involved.
<br>And let me tell you, with genuine hand dipped fresh corndogs and root beer floats, ol' Raleighdon was one happy customer!<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxvHDsu0PfoEWDuaX_2yt27Ci6o5LQ09nhSnp5ggG1Jm_BxoIDfcUNxXbDxRub97UcKoDzLOc6pyB5a5lRJS3aLc2AXA3PLiFac6L5IsN6qN2FOI5lgFP3abdcOVWRL7EjrGiAQ41AJt2/s1600/happycustomer.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxvHDsu0PfoEWDuaX_2yt27Ci6o5LQ09nhSnp5ggG1Jm_BxoIDfcUNxXbDxRub97UcKoDzLOc6pyB5a5lRJS3aLc2AXA3PLiFac6L5IsN6qN2FOI5lgFP3abdcOVWRL7EjrGiAQ41AJt2/s320/happycustomer.jpg" /></a>
<br>The women polevaulters were going at it when we returned from chowing down.<br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDKduskJjCGsOVg6BzKzOsrCbCWYamZLZTQu2Y-qKdHw5jJ0_6ct5K7JlUNxu35ALx2nTK9nOEH98Db5bfIPP6lijQosbpQnGFbkOK9Qy_TlVZovafERjxXpBuhpIMn4lANtQYOaSBFAb/s1600/womenpole.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDKduskJjCGsOVg6BzKzOsrCbCWYamZLZTQu2Y-qKdHw5jJ0_6ct5K7JlUNxu35ALx2nTK9nOEH98Db5bfIPP6lijQosbpQnGFbkOK9Qy_TlVZovafERjxXpBuhpIMn4lANtQYOaSBFAb/s320/womenpole.jpg" /></a><br>Which made Boothby just about as happy as a clam at high tide.<br><br><br>The pirates? Well, they're pirates. What can I say? They gots to eat lunch too.<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwXk9h5SyDlI7rLtS6pe5wXxmCrI4pJPUnf7ZHVNV-h6AX7lBKrSdbXaqCG0wJKmkvT8KJ6gbuLcEHoE32v43Q4Bt12m9_TU6V7GQh7Gh3RTVaTxUHxdrn8G5S7STF3f1PduV3ebpGu4x/s1600/pirates.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwXk9h5SyDlI7rLtS6pe5wXxmCrI4pJPUnf7ZHVNV-h6AX7lBKrSdbXaqCG0wJKmkvT8KJ6gbuLcEHoE32v43Q4Bt12m9_TU6V7GQh7Gh3RTVaTxUHxdrn8G5S7STF3f1PduV3ebpGu4x/s320/pirates.jpg" />
</a><br><br>Pretty much everybody was having a good time watching the scenery today.
But after a while, it was time to head to Blue Bottle House and then mosey toward home.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_92aQULm_71DdbuIw4iT2L_rUnX20EbvF6NCq4hXBKyR8nav5sxR-o_NI_C0YrKTu9_aG1Uk1AHFgKFznwtndMfjM5SEGs3vQYRV_pRb6km8Z2s7ynGVPpgPlCZXDjsvGJCUPbEKfwV4P/s1600/bottles.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_92aQULm_71DdbuIw4iT2L_rUnX20EbvF6NCq4hXBKyR8nav5sxR-o_NI_C0YrKTu9_aG1Uk1AHFgKFznwtndMfjM5SEGs3vQYRV_pRb6km8Z2s7ynGVPpgPlCZXDjsvGJCUPbEKfwV4P/s320/bottles.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZuSxWD-TZ40dBRDUrgZ9PhTKxMSDU7V8T99efMTCutjyQAYsJxIcCDi9wqdMk-1ZcuiXQnTD70mCD9fgVAlCqacm4BLr7zjEg6zpFIEnmRRseLR_xQoj1tf_mH6zZDylOsdU6yMMSYA3Z/s1600/usbottles.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZuSxWD-TZ40dBRDUrgZ9PhTKxMSDU7V8T99efMTCutjyQAYsJxIcCDi9wqdMk-1ZcuiXQnTD70mCD9fgVAlCqacm4BLr7zjEg6zpFIEnmRRseLR_xQoj1tf_mH6zZDylOsdU6yMMSYA3Z/s320/usbottles.jpg" /></a>
<br>The Seattle skyline from Alki Point was exceedingly gorgeous today, with the deep blue waters of Puget Sound<br><br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE2vuHX8eap1OavAgs5vIlFWgh8oneFWiw5b2L1GawJzW-4rrg0kKI1aNQGg62hCRg6Q0-yBh70bISHD5vtARFGrdWBXQU02gQceiObNt9MYHkiUR-eGXrr8knNKYhiOiciUwTXrfprnM/s1600/skyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE2vuHX8eap1OavAgs5vIlFWgh8oneFWiw5b2L1GawJzW-4rrg0kKI1aNQGg62hCRg6Q0-yBh70bISHD5vtARFGrdWBXQU02gQceiObNt9MYHkiUR-eGXrr8knNKYhiOiciUwTXrfprnM/s320/skyline.jpg" /></a>
<br><br><br>And then there's The Sphere ("It's a mobile radar station mounted on a floating oil-drilling platform.<br><br>The Sea-Based X-Band radar vessel is operated by the U.S. Missile Defense Agency and operates in the Pacific, watching for ballistic missiles.<br><br>Boeing won a $27 million contract for the upgrade and maintenance work to be performed at Vigor Shipyard, formerly the Todd Pacific Shipyard in Seattle.<br><br>The radar will not be operating while in port. The public is required to stay at least 100 yards away from the vessel." - source: Seattle Times)
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<BR>Riding along the Duwamish Trail, I stopped to check the plumbing and stumbled upon some particularly beautiful blackberry flowers.<br>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiuGULelveFk7Xu1pCKPw0qt1axF_Sjt35ofvIsO_rM7y-YVlCrBVmm4JQ7uq7hx7Mwk5apxrC4PtmD2Ppd8oQiZ94YkSMI7zpbUqeQV9j8SlmDsGxl5LFwzbPa0joj_vxIim3uk-DHCHT/s320/beautyflowers.jpg" /></a>
<br>While I was doing that, Mimi was on the other side and hollered "HEY, Let me have the camera." She wanted to take a picture.......of blackberry flowers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXS2pn7np2xzDhDjrH73UsuW0Nshagd1v86nNJcT1E3NHVaJnwiljs0L7BhjW0To3t1G4qjreDUG45mpciEik8TYkb3sSKq33TQZsADYuSM1E9Pamw2Uz8P2DdpK1B7kREt3eaAXK5VYR/s1600/moreblflowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXS2pn7np2xzDhDjrH73UsuW0Nshagd1v86nNJcT1E3NHVaJnwiljs0L7BhjW0To3t1G4qjreDUG45mpciEik8TYkb3sSKq33TQZsADYuSM1E9Pamw2Uz8P2DdpK1B7kREt3eaAXK5VYR/s320/moreblflowers.jpg" /></a>
<br>I sure have an awesome girlfriend!<br><br>Off we rode again, crossing the First Ave. S. Bridge where we got to see another great view of Mt. Rainier and the Duwamish River.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDlKQqveozDwmQtuyAVBik1jdSH0rgoyQUPtpkUGtZJIKjkPCU59KZrKBf31xiSGViX5wOjco2U6J1R4DMXpRljSVx2UCD1XPlp4JXdHsU83Y46u0Afr6Db0gnUtEtEuJojMpVJFDiW0X/s1600/mtrainier.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDlKQqveozDwmQtuyAVBik1jdSH0rgoyQUPtpkUGtZJIKjkPCU59KZrKBf31xiSGViX5wOjco2U6J1R4DMXpRljSVx2UCD1XPlp4JXdHsU83Y46u0Afr6Db0gnUtEtEuJojMpVJFDiW0X/s320/mtrainier.jpg" /></a>
<br>And then we came to yet another fork in the road. After much debate, we decided not to take it.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnuSQFiBtzj9jywMG7QpzL9AeQSpSokt0sN_5M5Dc4xs8LTiYIjbemZywE_AG1iYEX6R-_YdviOAa1NzeAPkKJfJ8-Rjczm6gffxXsIUhOGiQHxN0J2ph0iISEwEqhOEz0TpA5ajU75AZ/s1600/fork.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnuSQFiBtzj9jywMG7QpzL9AeQSpSokt0sN_5M5Dc4xs8LTiYIjbemZywE_AG1iYEX6R-_YdviOAa1NzeAPkKJfJ8-Rjczm6gffxXsIUhOGiQHxN0J2ph0iISEwEqhOEz0TpA5ajU75AZ/s320/fork.jpg" /></a>
<br>And as I stood there contemplating the beauty of the day, this little ladybug sitting on the fence drew my attention. <BR>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZcNLteUr3i0Ixr2_dv_mSVwhcxwwGQM306fo-I9XzaNXbXQgz-cwp-hxty1zWSjE4HGl4SOByLspTPdE4j2KAkrC2GEHX-prVJFOzD_W-06apepfLgzXF7Sw3hZ4ifXIj12D0JbzEePn/s1600/ladybug.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZcNLteUr3i0Ixr2_dv_mSVwhcxwwGQM306fo-I9XzaNXbXQgz-cwp-hxty1zWSjE4HGl4SOByLspTPdE4j2KAkrC2GEHX-prVJFOzD_W-06apepfLgzXF7Sw3hZ4ifXIj12D0JbzEePn/s320/ladybug.jpg" /></a><BR>
And then, we climbed up Swift, not very swiftly, toward home.<br><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQJsmTf2qfMNIeRdve5dsrezzOnpcHlOLi0m5i3RmFz946OOW4lNYNIbjALpxUx9xLTpikz5cem0RtY1J2ph9kukhL1yEdST0OYutUJ9Ioh6PdAdzy83vyZhwR3qCRya2lIeoZCjHlP1T/s1600/swiftnot.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQJsmTf2qfMNIeRdve5dsrezzOnpcHlOLi0m5i3RmFz946OOW4lNYNIbjALpxUx9xLTpikz5cem0RtY1J2ph9kukhL1yEdST0OYutUJ9Ioh6PdAdzy83vyZhwR3qCRya2lIeoZCjHlP1T/s320/swiftnot.jpg" /></a><BR>
Mimi designed this jersey. She isn't convinced it was the jersey I wanted a picture of. She should know me better by now.<br><br>Finally, we got one more pretty view of Mt. Rainier from Beacon Ave. S, just before turning off toward the house.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnylqMnRz9cz69BuWXAwDnhBrpBko70Ry33c6AKR86WRXQTBszctYS1JN7dwBQcjQHMBYSXE9nnZDgaBpI0b6jQcmO2ogdQqZAvKJtBnL84BI8v3HdMj8nLQrjipeNnjkoDJybAucvy7iM/s1600/alohamtview.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnylqMnRz9cz69BuWXAwDnhBrpBko70Ry33c6AKR86WRXQTBszctYS1JN7dwBQcjQHMBYSXE9nnZDgaBpI0b6jQcmO2ogdQqZAvKJtBnL84BI8v3HdMj8nLQrjipeNnjkoDJybAucvy7iM/s320/alohamtview.jpg" /></a>
<br>A fine day with my sweetie!Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1639740080734876334.post-47464427621661348412011-07-05T21:15:00.000-07:002011-07-19T21:25:41.404-07:00A Grand Six Hundred<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fzOrbGjJpwFJZOnEegit1nPmqGE8SW3uIpLRelYj77nXbxhk1GM-M6O1PGgzipDUacnMbZSb9pSu8IFMOygGlOmvh6-Q-aHnohxGPq8_bBtK0EfOE3TLWoOHVdk3pKH78PDFHJEBnW0/s1600/Boothby+at+the+Grand+Canyon+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fzOrbGjJpwFJZOnEegit1nPmqGE8SW3uIpLRelYj77nXbxhk1GM-M6O1PGgzipDUacnMbZSb9pSu8IFMOygGlOmvh6-Q-aHnohxGPq8_bBtK0EfOE3TLWoOHVdk3pKH78PDFHJEBnW0/s400/Boothby+at+the+Grand+Canyon+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631270458985708258" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />You rode 600 kilometers on a BICYCLE??? Well, of course you did. <br /><br />Yeah, I did. And in doing so, I completed my fourth “R-12” through <a href=”http://www.rusa.org”>Randonneurs USA</a>, finished my first full brevet series so I can buy myself a pretty little pot-metal medallion, rode my sixth consecutive month doing one ride of at least 300 kilometers or more, fulfilled a dream that has been with me since I was 7 years old and more importantly, strengthened the bonds of friendship with one of the nicest guys I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet and hang out with. <br /><br /><br />I started out the year already planning for 2012 and know that if I am going to be strong enough to complete my quest for the <a href=”http://www.caltriplecrown.com”>California Triple Crown</a> I am going to need to get to where those distances are routine. Now, I don’t really train. Training is for racers. ……<br /><br />So I was thinking about how to get tougher. And then there was that P-12 thing through RUSA and Mimi wanted to do it. I was excited about her wanting to increase her own cycling, and this got me to thinking that when I started a commitment to do a 200k every month, they were pretty tough for me. I always finished, but usually I was toast by the end. Now, to go out and do a 200k is routine. I can usually finish with a pretty good result and not be too tired or require a lot of recovery afterwards – unless it is something like <a href=”http://www.seattlerando.org”>SIR</a> punished me with this spring on their opening brevet of the year with a few monster climbs – including a 12-14% nearly mile long climb at the very end. <br /><br />I commenced to announce to the world that I was going to complete one ride of at least 300k every month in 2011. People nodded and told me what a great idea that was. Well, of course they did!<br /><br />So I found myself riding along on a 400k in Oregon in the rain and the cold and the wind and the typical day to day misery we’ve been stuck with here in the Greater Pacific Northwest all spring and muttering to myself that if this was a 600k I’d never be able to complete it. I needed some sun. I needed some heat. I needed a break from the gray, dreary, dark, dank, moldy, mossy, soggy, muddy, flooded northwest. I needed more than one day in a row of sunshine. I needed to get dried out. <br /><br />When my friend Mike Sturgill invited me to Arizona to ride the Grand Canyon 600 with him, I pretty much jumped at the chance. I delayed giving an answer because Mimi told me the moon wasn’t right and she didn’t want me to make any travel plans until after Friday because the moon was void of course. So I made my decision, didn’t tell her and waited until Friday to book air fare, rental car and hotel.<br /><br />Then Mike sent me a message that I didn’t need a rental car. He’d come pick me up at the airport. I didn’t need a hotel. I could stay with him and Cindy. I didn’t need to bring a bike, even. I could ride one of his. I took him up on the first and second, but couldn’t get my head wrapped around riding an unfamiliar bike for 375 miles. Thanks, but no thanks. Gary Prince also offered to let me borrow one of his bikes so I didn’t have to tear mine down. I really do have incredibly great friends. This randonneuring world is just something else. “Here, Boothby, here’s my $5000 toy. Go play with it…” <br /><br />Katrina is the bike that has gotten me through everything, and she’s going to Arizona. She deserves the sun time, also. She’s just going to need some modifications, and I think of maybe painting her when we get home, since her coat is starting to look a bit worn. I get her into the shop. Bob and I discuss what we’re going to do, how we’re going to do it and the schedule. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time,” Bob says. <br /><br />Well, of course there is.<br /><br />I get the tracking number. I forward the email to Mike. He replies back, “Do you mind if I put it together for you?” <br /><br />“Gee, I thought you’d never ask,” I say. <br /><br />Shipping is over Memorial Day weekend. Not a worry, I’m told. I’ve got a drop dead date of June 1, want it there May 31 if possible. NO PROBLEM, I’m told. <br /><br />May 31 arrives. Tracking form says package delay due to misrouting. The last place they could show the bike was arriving in Portland. PORTLAND??? New delivery date of June 1 is scheduled by UPS. June 1 is my travel day. I worked all day, checked the website several times only to find “out for delivery” but no confirmation as of when I take off for the airport. Just before takeoff, I get a text. Bike has arrived! Whew. Now I can relax. Well, of course I can.<br /><br />I get to Mike’s house and there is Katrina waiting for me. In the time it has taken me to fly from Seattle to Phoenix, he has put my bike together, adjusted it, stashed it safely in the garage and driven to the airport to pick me up. I totally don’t deserve this kind of treatment. I’ll take it, though.<br /><br />After a nice, relaxed drive from North Phoenix to Flagstaff, a nice dinner at the <a href=http://www.beaverstreetbrewery.com>Beaver St. Brewery</A>(reservations recommended for a busy weekend night), we were back to our motel and had everything ready to roll and were bedded down before 9:00 pm. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVU8eLyMzBXRuiSutDWq-vz78ofVNE6QcetRK9p211egLvCsc9TS1njy3BsrPjL1VwW4TcVcO1Uw2-ffNKiRWZ-KL664_3BbbFKQFCwXzyJLhvLjufctHv8e5IO2ggwKFi0pj6A8qJvEo/s1600/IMAG0048.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVU8eLyMzBXRuiSutDWq-vz78ofVNE6QcetRK9p211egLvCsc9TS1njy3BsrPjL1VwW4TcVcO1Uw2-ffNKiRWZ-KL664_3BbbFKQFCwXzyJLhvLjufctHv8e5IO2ggwKFi0pj6A8qJvEo/s400/IMAG0048.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631275496538529634" /></a><br /><br />As I drifted off to sleep, I was still doing mental jumping jacks, hoping I would be fast enough, strong enough, have enough stamina, be able to keep myself fed and watered in the desert heat and my last conscious thought was that I was finally going to get to see the Grand Canyon. It didn’t matter if I finished a 600K ride – I was at least going to get to the rim of the canyon.<br /><br />0400 came much too early. <br /><br />Cindy had packed us each a bowl of dry cereal of our choice. Mine was multi-grain Cheerios. We also had some hard boiled eggs and I had four green bananas. I’m such a creature of my routine that it really throws my head out of the game when I don’t have my oatmeal with raisins, chopped nuts and cranberries for pre-ride breakfast, but I had been planning toward this, and knew I’d just have to get the first 50 miles under my belt. I can do it. I’m a tough hombre. <br /><br />Temperature check at 0445: 38F <br /><br />15 minutes to go time and I’m nervous as a three-legged cat in a wolf’s den. Do I have enough clothes on? We are climbing to over 8,000’ right off the bat. But what about later? What to do with all those clothes as the temperature rises? So many unknowns. So many doubts. So much fear and yet with a veneer of self confidence since I’ve been on tough rides before. I’ve lived in the desert before. I’ve never died before.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3nJZeYjUcop3sqf6yMmWy1M0Oc6LGT5lmejJSLTkIjNQrBkwdeWorQK1ax-TezhA-tZUeH4eAsdGJLKoVey4vWz-7JVJClGkIp0aQtoy5v00BHQpdtivycL4q4rUn32rdXtrjc_SxPg/s1600/Start+Line.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3nJZeYjUcop3sqf6yMmWy1M0Oc6LGT5lmejJSLTkIjNQrBkwdeWorQK1ax-TezhA-tZUeH4eAsdGJLKoVey4vWz-7JVJClGkIp0aQtoy5v00BHQpdtivycL4q4rUn32rdXtrjc_SxPg/s400/Start+Line.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626092020317870578" /></a><br /><br /><br />0500 and we roll out. About 14 of us altogether. One guy hears me chatting to another rider and hearing I’m down from Seattle, asks me if I know Gary Prince. He’s buying some wheels and other stuff from Gary. We admire each other’s bikes. I look around as we’re getting underway and see there are actually at least 3 bikes here with fenders. Not a mudflap to be seen. Not a cloud in the sky. Not a hit of rain in the air. Dry, crisp mountain air greets us as we roll quietly through downtown Flagstaff and I think this would be a lovely little town to come spend a couple of days sometime. Then we wait for the train to pass. And we wait. And we wait. And we wait. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpuOkRIYHdlhgu1-I5Yn50PclFn6UHr-I8M1mVbtmWn3QM9xWyk1CoglnIqvrX7t0hoKHYYQFkLFXbqf-kqgOkj4vjvSqZL68WBMS1mBbJBJ-OAYQjCIRX-ZoO-CrWtYwFiE9X96KZPw/s1600/waiting+for+the+train.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpuOkRIYHdlhgu1-I5Yn50PclFn6UHr-I8M1mVbtmWn3QM9xWyk1CoglnIqvrX7t0hoKHYYQFkLFXbqf-kqgOkj4vjvSqZL68WBMS1mBbJBJ-OAYQjCIRX-ZoO-CrWtYwFiE9X96KZPw/s400/waiting+for+the+train.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626092023220097954" /></a><br /><br /><br />I knew it was going to be a long one when four locomotives were pulling it. And we waited some more. Finally, two more locomotives pushed the end by and we all rolled along again. This was when I ran into Richard Stum. <br /><br />I met Richard on the Cascade 1200 a couple years ago and it was nice to see the familiar face.<br /><br />We’ve been riding along for about a half hour or so when Mike and I start to exchange data from our computers about the temperature. A couple other riders join in. We can never agree on what the REAL temperature is, but I know from experience that my VDO is always the most accurate measurement. That has been verified by many, many miles and passing a lot of bank thermometers. I think Mike has the same thought about his, but I don’t say anything. I want him to stay with me for at least a few hours. He did say he was going to ride with me, after all. Well, of course he will.<br /><br />Near the top of the climb at an elevation of 8,046, the temperature has dropped to 27F. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWNLxMUkfVzhge48xYZejUN1nXSpy2tYNWuJ28vvfZ_xuPuLFFJAobQVBIqUJghV-4WC4OzQzmdEk5cJzq8W2dY_Z9Jey7z9T0OZY-s84T8uM9FGMIIjLmqql2-mi6srToKAjDV0Akj0/s1600/chilly+morning.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWNLxMUkfVzhge48xYZejUN1nXSpy2tYNWuJ28vvfZ_xuPuLFFJAobQVBIqUJghV-4WC4OzQzmdEk5cJzq8W2dY_Z9Jey7z9T0OZY-s84T8uM9FGMIIjLmqql2-mi6srToKAjDV0Akj0/s400/chilly+morning.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626094132224799266" /></a><br />Several people are remarking about how uncomfortable they are. I ride along thinking about how good I feel. My toes are a little chilled and my face feels the cold, but since I’ve been living with January weather all year, maybe it doesn’t faze me as much as it does some others. Well, there’s that and the fact that I have my wool base layer, wool arm warmers and my Seattle Randonneurs lycra jersey on. I’m SUPERMAN! I’m feeling really good as we top the hill and start the descent. I know this is going to be a fast descent. I’ve looked at and studied the profile. I’m ready. All is going really well and suddenly I’m spun out. No more pedal. I backpedal a half-stroke and the chain wedges between the rear stay and cassette. DAMN!!! I slowed a little and coasted, trying to get it jarred loose, but no luck. All I could do was watch the gang pedal off down the mountain while I stopped and fixed it. When I did, I checked and, sure enough, I’d hit 51.50 mph. First time ever on Katrina over 50. I took the opportunity to “mark my territory” in fitting ceremony. The last time I got to do this was coming off Stevens Pass several years ago. Then I stood there and took in the grandeur of the mountains.<br /><br />Back on the bike, I caught up to another guy who had dropped off the back. Scott was riding along at a nice pace, so we ended up chatting most of the way into the first control where I caught back up to Mike. Tom and April, two other <a href=”http://www.bullshifters.org”>Bull Shifters</A> are waiting for us, and I try to make my stop as brief as possible. Walking across the slick tile floor in the store, though, I lose my footing on a wet spot and go down hard on my butt and my left hand. I think to myself that this can’t be good, but there doesn’t seem to be anything seriously wrong, so shake it off and go on. The butt doesn’t bother me again. The hand would plague me for the rest of the ride and for several days afterwards. <br /><br />I force down a banana, chug-a-lug a Starbuck’s Frappucchino and dump another one into the water bottle with my Spiz which is nearly gone. The temperature is quite comfortable now, rising into the low 70’s and by the time we go through Tuyasan (pronounced Scion) we’re down to our summer wear. It is now the Four Mustkeers, Me and three Bullshifters. Tom is the quiet one and tends to hang off the back. Mike does most of the work at the front with April and I swapping places on his wheel. We’ve started at 7,000’, dropped to about 5,000’ and now in order to get up to the rim of Grand Canyon, we have to climb back to over 7,000’. Mike and I have talked about the profile and route. He tells me there are some rolling hills we’ll have to deal with inside the park. <br /><br />Well, of course there are. <br /><br />As we roll up toward the gate, I’m a little off the front, mostly from excitement, I guess. I’ve waited a long time to see this place, and it is all I can do not to just go flying right about now. A $12 entrance fee later, and I’m in Grand Canyon National Park. Traffic seems heavy to me, but my tour guides Mike and April keep remarking how deserted the park is. <br /><br />Our route comes to West Rim Drive. I still haven’t seen the canyon, but know it is just over “there” somewhere. Finally, we get to a gate and ride around it. NO MORE CARS. First a little sweeping descent followed by a 6% climb, and then I come around a bend and there it is. I am amused by the difference in what I’m used to. All my life, I’ve had to look up to see the grandeur of the mountains, or out to the horizon for the splendid sunrise or sunset, but now I had to look down. Deep down. I mean REALLY, REALLY deep. I could see the Colorado River far in the distance. It was a deep almost emerald green. Mike was telling me something about how cold it is because of how it come out from the bottom of Glen Canyon Dam now, but I was only half listening as I continued to try to keep tears from welling up. <br /> <br /> Finally, we got to a viewpoint and I just had to get off the bike for a few minutes and take it all in. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTmuJzz1CGrPvYzK_n_s0Stn3a9kWnFJlpHfb3lPeGI77BBSo6h10S-w57Kyj-5r41lUEqraXA-gy-0fr0YyIl5BXUmZm2HyKWAciDMg0BZmjXfK1Xq1MtAVeHG1EDxt9QFghngle7lI/s1600/Boothby+at+the+Grand+Canyon.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTmuJzz1CGrPvYzK_n_s0Stn3a9kWnFJlpHfb3lPeGI77BBSo6h10S-w57Kyj-5r41lUEqraXA-gy-0fr0YyIl5BXUmZm2HyKWAciDMg0BZmjXfK1Xq1MtAVeHG1EDxt9QFghngle7lI/s400/Boothby+at+the+Grand+Canyon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269805608597170" /></a><br /><br /><br />I know I’m on the clock riding a brevet, but this may be the only time I ever get to see this magnificent place, and I plan to enjoy myself. Fortunately, April, Tom and Mike were very patient with me, much as a mother might be with a young child. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4PZ5fKy05PXgP6CLpkS_LJrstG6nA92B4Trl_2RB1hO2L7baJ3NIWC5DD01qAgBdRQbebsQYCNwSjc-1lld1dAbYASdHFOFE7xSvUH5AJiQaH2D01JV6ofZgW9IsjeuRfPtmj8Es5fIA/s1600/Three+Musketeers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4PZ5fKy05PXgP6CLpkS_LJrstG6nA92B4Trl_2RB1hO2L7baJ3NIWC5DD01qAgBdRQbebsQYCNwSjc-1lld1dAbYASdHFOFE7xSvUH5AJiQaH2D01JV6ofZgW9IsjeuRfPtmj8Es5fIA/s400/Three+Musketeers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631271120395505202" /></a><br /><br /><br />I stood on the edge of a cliff staring deep into the earth, feeling extremely small. This is a feeling I’ve had so many times before; sitting on the rocky cliffs of the Oregon Coast and watching the roaring surf crash over the rocks below me with such power and force that gigantic logs a hundred feet long are tossed about like toothpicks; sitting on the crater rim of Mt. Saint Helens when it was re-opened to the public after the volcanic eruption in May, 1980; sitting in a hotel room as a hurricane raged overhead. I am overwhelmed with the hugeness of this place, the smallness of me, and then start to think about how small this place is in comparison to all that is. It must be time to get back on the bike and ride. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUp9erPYA0PMs1BcEA19YcnJaMISmMVWRTt53iDEpyx63_hnNFd4C8fhHEDqxhKLSDLI67UaN6DS6BpSd0wlC558JSLjcu2CYcoIc2eTkJFZ1T2Gl1nsdLVrvkz64Vtw32o4s_B4Ohox4/s1600/Katrina+at+the+Canyon.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUp9erPYA0PMs1BcEA19YcnJaMISmMVWRTt53iDEpyx63_hnNFd4C8fhHEDqxhKLSDLI67UaN6DS6BpSd0wlC558JSLjcu2CYcoIc2eTkJFZ1T2Gl1nsdLVrvkz64Vtw32o4s_B4Ohox4/s400/Katrina+at+the+Canyon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631271750471768642" /></a><br /><br /><br />Well, of course it is.<br /><br />After a few more small rollers, we got to the control at Hermit’s Rest and spent a few minutes drinking sodas, eating treats and enjoying the squirrels who come and beg from the tourists. I had put sunscreen on but not brought the tube with me. I’ve always been good with a single application in a day, but both April and Mike told me I might want to reconsider that approach in the Arizona desert in June with temperatures going to get up into the mid-90’s before we’re done. I decided I’d buy some at the gift shop and April told me I might want to reconsider that option, as the price was really, really high. I told her it was okay because I like to support the local economy when I am on brevets. I went in and bought Mimi a little trinket – a pretty little butterfly pendant on a chain, and bought Elena a kitchen magnet to go with her collection. This was when I discovered I’d lost my credit card. Well, of COURSE I had! I had about $80 cash, so wasn’t worried too much, then after heading back out to the bike, remembered I needed sunscreen and went back inside. SIXTEEN DOLLARS? YOU GOTTA BE OUTTA YER FREAKIN’ MIND!!! I didn’t say it, just thought it, went over to the snack bar, bought a coke and went over and begged some sunscreen from Mike, who had it out and waiting for me. <br /><br />“Like to support the local economy do you?” April asked.<br /><br />“Well, yeah, but not quite that much.”<br /><br />We rode on. I really didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stop and explore each and every vista. I wanted to get off and walk my bike along the dirt pathway from one end of the canyon rim drive to the other. One nice thing about brevets is that they have introduced me to some beautiful places I would never have seen, even in country I’ve lived in all my life. One of the bad things about brevets is that I don’t have enough time to linger. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmul8Wv6fv31mx1upiNk4XEgTdP1OCdWR5Ry3rMqLXqpKM2bOrqZrDkcy46sWEnqJlaqA4srcRQft5LXgkEHH_mKuPmeXRDhzxhyphenhyphenvmm4hdV_qKVd1g0LeuC0XapcB7OB8XWRMVtRhv-LE/s1600/IMAG0060.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmul8Wv6fv31mx1upiNk4XEgTdP1OCdWR5Ry3rMqLXqpKM2bOrqZrDkcy46sWEnqJlaqA4srcRQft5LXgkEHH_mKuPmeXRDhzxhyphenhyphenvmm4hdV_qKVd1g0LeuC0XapcB7OB8XWRMVtRhv-LE/s400/IMAG0060.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631284233118952866" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGOz9Ed9bifE99Frh99OHPmhQS3cL4Vhh5enkrYhCKdYkXwoYT-P-jKDXwnrA21OwD54IgGtdKhG2uyZtM9P3TZqo1pUYBhTfh-d3vSD3jWusvgwLGodST6zA5iSuzODr-WoY5JkkMeQ/s1600/IMAG0062.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGOz9Ed9bifE99Frh99OHPmhQS3cL4Vhh5enkrYhCKdYkXwoYT-P-jKDXwnrA21OwD54IgGtdKhG2uyZtM9P3TZqo1pUYBhTfh-d3vSD3jWusvgwLGodST6zA5iSuzODr-WoY5JkkMeQ/s400/IMAG0062.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631283836364378386" /></a><br /><br />And so, with a mixed feeling of sadness and anticipation, I rode on. <br /><br />I was still doing okay. Now, I must say that Mike had told me several times over the past few weeks that “….we pretty much get a free first hundred miles…” <br /><br />Well, of course we do. <br /><br />That “free” 100 miles included over 5,000’ of climbing and a lot of rolling hills. By the time we got close to the control at Desert View, I was starting to fade, falling off the back on the climbs and starting to worry that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with Tom and April. I know Mike has said he’d ride with me the whole time, but these Three Musketeers I’m riding with have known each other a long time and put a lot of miles in together. I tell Mike he really doesn’t need to stay back. He tells me to mind my own business. Ok, fine. Have it your way, then! Somewhere, we stopped for something to eat. And Sturgill ate and ate and ate!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirFvnhG2GBvb4L9bBEIAMi0Na99smtKTH1sjcpqH5vcuGPBiMaKXDVXc03oY9Bc-Bd8kALYJZqX_Y0QNAt1teqbIqTV9Q9ADJMmyfb5deorLpXmGRfHWQMNjUh2zAmgFXwQAkpRsYZrx8/s1600/Sturgill+Eats+and+Eats.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirFvnhG2GBvb4L9bBEIAMi0Na99smtKTH1sjcpqH5vcuGPBiMaKXDVXc03oY9Bc-Bd8kALYJZqX_Y0QNAt1teqbIqTV9Q9ADJMmyfb5deorLpXmGRfHWQMNjUh2zAmgFXwQAkpRsYZrx8/s400/Sturgill+Eats+and+Eats.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631285601436364834" /></a><br /><br /><br />And so we ride on. <br /><br />On the last climb coming into Desert View, I’m done. I’m not overly hot, but I need something and don’t know what it is. I’m not even a third of the way and food doesn’t sound good. I let the gang go and suffer up that last hill into the control. I think this is about the time it hit me.<br /><br />Most of what I’m doing is at 7,000’ above sea level. I could be doing these same rolling hills close to home. AT sea level. Big difference. <br /><br />When I ride in, I see The Watchtower. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5QXJn3Vam9rydlDiAQ9uvlVsiFdfFbkSRCeY5ywp6M_YZz5r2Iwp1RsvkplgIwut30w91vLXTpX7uXD3kpN3WrIEgPYSKA-sXuIOecJcG9-LPNedskMO7lMK8fdJDSCB-uLbFXOnW4c/s1600/IMAG0070.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5QXJn3Vam9rydlDiAQ9uvlVsiFdfFbkSRCeY5ywp6M_YZz5r2Iwp1RsvkplgIwut30w91vLXTpX7uXD3kpN3WrIEgPYSKA-sXuIOecJcG9-LPNedskMO7lMK8fdJDSCB-uLbFXOnW4c/s400/IMAG0070.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631272579301695410" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />I really wanted to go see it, but mostly wanted to dunk my head under a faucet, lay down and take a short nap and then spend the rest of the day hanging out exploring the beauty of this remarkable place. I don’t care if I finish the 600k. I’m not feeling like such a super randonneur all of a sudden. Instead of heading over to The Watchtower, I followed Mike over to the General Store, got a gallon of cold water, poured a bit of it over my head, filled my bottles, drank a full bottle down with some <a href=”http://www.nuun.com”>Nuun</A> and tried to eat a PayDay bar, my old standby. I suddenly felt nauseous. It was just about 36 hours ago I’d told Cindy I’d never ridden myself to the point of being physically ill. Two bites was all I could get down.,<br /><br />Off to the bathrooms. I rode a total of a hundred yards. I felt dizzy. It was still only about 80 degrees out, and I was actually loving the warmth and the sun. I ran through the statistics on my computer, though. 100 miles with over 5,000’ of climbing, temperature swings from 38F down to 27F and back up to 80F, and a saddle average of 19.6 mph. And I hadn’t eaten enough. A couple of <a href=http://www.honeystinger.com>Honey Stinger gels</A> and another bite of PayDay chased down with a full bottle of <a href=http://www.cytomax.com>Cytomax</A> and I’m ready to go – but not before laying down on a shelf for a minute. “Don’t get too comfortable,” April warns. Well, of course I won’t. <br /><br />Reluctantly, I agreed to ride out of the park. I didn’t want to say anything, and I think it was a good thing that I had a 25 mile descent ahead of me. Mike had told me it was a really fast descent into Cameron, but he’d also said it was like riding into a sauna. More like a blast furnace! The scenery going down that stretch of road was really awesome, with the Little Colorado off to the Left and huge mesas off to the right and the road going constantly down and down and down, about 3,000’ down in fact. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGCfoRcO1k1eowuIeDNUMJJuLWi81ijpA2P7bXxZcbxfzvbeBQQqLGqX8dlOUUvzSJr31DWynAa47piLg3CnYNxUp-qquUNHnZnM1smGIU8ha4HhlqXr-FMkKyi4Ro9GD_tusgvNPAHw/s1600/IMAG0078.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGCfoRcO1k1eowuIeDNUMJJuLWi81ijpA2P7bXxZcbxfzvbeBQQqLGqX8dlOUUvzSJr31DWynAa47piLg3CnYNxUp-qquUNHnZnM1smGIU8ha4HhlqXr-FMkKyi4Ro9GD_tusgvNPAHw/s400/IMAG0078.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631274785011248946" /></a><br /><br />As we got down into the valley, we picked up a pretty nice tail wind. We’d actually had quite a bit of tailwind most of the morning and had been remarking that we’d pay for it later. Now I knew just how that payment would be extracted. I now saw 95 degrees for the first time. it was about 15:00 and I was coming to the hottest part of the day’s ride with 3,000’ of climbing ahead of me. <br /><br />We were only a mile or so from the turn onto Hwy 87 and as we approached the intersection, I could see the road we were going to be on. This is going to be one tough go for the next few hours. 99 degrees, a strong wind coming straight into my face and nothing I've eaten or drunk seems to be very comforting. I want Ice Cream. I settle for a Twinkie and some Cheetos.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcX21L8ibwR659N8J5uc12CI4Xc0Kbv5qSHM-cVmutIfVJFCW3h0euWWwtbRYCUC4YOHc2yZqSO8MZFOsKtauNWlMlLiE-QkTXvNo0u4AQtVra4mxth15LJMlSQwEpD3zMYNQTTjSRrlU/s1600/IMAG0073.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcX21L8ibwR659N8J5uc12CI4Xc0Kbv5qSHM-cVmutIfVJFCW3h0euWWwtbRYCUC4YOHc2yZqSO8MZFOsKtauNWlMlLiE-QkTXvNo0u4AQtVra4mxth15LJMlSQwEpD3zMYNQTTjSRrlU/s400/IMAG0073.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631273557379527458" /></a><br /><br /><br />As we rolled out, I started to get cramps.<br /><br />Well, of course I did..<br /><br />We have a climb now of about 35 miles and 3,000’ of vertical. I am used to doing shorter and steeper climbs, so have not really worried about this, the first of what I know are going to be very difficult climbs, but as we leave the control I start to count the liquid I’ve consumed. So far, I have been through 16 bottles of fluid, and although my urine tells me I’m not severely dehydrated, I feel like I’ve swapped bodies with a lizard. My skin feels flaky. My mouth is starting to get sore. I’ve got cotton mouth that won’t be quenched with V-8, Coke, water, Spiz, Gatorade, Cytomax or Margarita flavored slushies. Nothing helps. I bought a pack of Dentyne Ice and am chewing gum to try to keep my mouth somewhat moist – mostly to keep me from breathing IN through my mouth as much. It isn’t helping. <br /><br />We leave the mini-mart. It is 8 miles to the next place to get water. It is a pretty steady 2% climb for the first 3 miles, then the grade steepens to 4 – 6%. For a northwest boy who has done a spring 200k with over 10,000’ of climbing, a tough 300K with several long, steep climbs and a 400k in Oregon that included a 15% wall of pain that will not soon be forgotten, that doesn’t seem like much. Now, however, I have to factor in not the climb but the temperature and the wind which is blowing into us from about 2 o’clock, so we can’t even get a good sheltering pace line to work well. Did I mention that the wind was blowing? This was no gentle ocean breeze coming in off the Pacific with the smell of salt air to tantalize the imagination and make me feel like I’m on a vacation cruise. No. This is a wind straight out of the depths of hell. I feel like the devil has taken a great big breath and is exhaling right into my face. I count pedal strokes and try to calculate how many pedal strokes per mile. How many times do I have to spin before the next watering hole? Everybody is quiet as we work our way up the mountain.<br /><br />For a while, we were in a sort of a staggered line, with Tom and Mike swapping places on the right side sheltering April and me as much as possible. I did my best to try to get out in front and pull a little bit, but nothing was really seeming to work. <br /><br />Well, of course it wasn’t.<br /><br />We rode into the next watering hole. I found a bag of Cheetos was about the only thing I could eat. I’d had a Twinkie at the last stop but food really didn’t sound so good. If not for Spiz, I’d be out of the ride by now, as that was really the biggest source of calories that was keeping me going. V-8 tasted good, but upset my stomach. I wanted ice cream, but was afraid it would really upset my stomach. So I ate some 3 week old pepperoni I had left over from my last 100k with Mimi, fed some of it to the local convenience store dog and got ready to ride, nibbling on Cheetos.<br /><br />The heat, while I was still thankful that it was hot instead of rainy, was starting to dry my brain out. I was having trouble judging the distance between my front wheel and the rear wheel of the rider in front of me. I think I actually touched wheels with April at one time, but I couldn’t even be sure of that. All I could be sure of was that it was only a couple miles until the next watering hole – and my bottles were nearly empty again. <br /><br />I have now been through 22 bottles of fluid, not including the three V-8’s, the two Cokes, the Henry’s Premium Root Beer and the Margarita flavored slushy. With all that, I feel like I should be sloshing, but my lungs hurt, I’m coughing and there simply is not even anything pretty to look at (except April, of course) to distract me. <br /><br />We rolled up near the next watering hole and I saw a lone cyclist sitting out front. It was Richard Stum. He’d been waiting for somebody to catch up to him, he said, and looked about like I feel and says he feels worse than I feel like I feel. He was obviously one hurting unit. We’re all looking like some hurting units right about then. I went into this dumpy, dreary, dark, dismal and depressing mini-mart. I looked around. There was absolutely nothing in that store I wanted. Somebody was smoking. I wanted to throw up, but was afraid to say anything. And there, in a corner, in all of that darkness, I saw it. There along a wall was a small blue case with a glass top. I have seen this case before. I knew that inside that case was the answer to all of my problems. There, in that little blue box were frozen little boxes of the very thing I needed. I looked deep within that frozen case and saw it. A Haagen-Daaz chocolate bar with dark chocolate. I’ve not had any chocolate all day since I had a “Kind” bar about 8:00 am, knowing chocolate in this climate will melt faster than a coyote will kill a chicken. <br /><br />Quickly, I opened the case, but ever so slowly I reached in, allowing the coolness to rise up to meet my face for a brief moment. Ah, how good that felt. I wanted to crawl in, lie down and just eat my way through the entire case. Of course, I didn’t. I grabbed myself a bar, paid and departed to the Group W Bench, where I sat and chatted with Richard for a few minutes and let that ice cream slowly absorb into my system. I really, really wanted another, but was afraid to do it, so went back, got another pack of gum, got my bottles full and got ready to ride. Leaving out, we were now a gang of 5. I knew there were at least 3 behind us still, maybe 4, and either 4 or 5 riders in front of us. <br /><br />Now, Mike told me, we got to the “real climb.” And we did.<br /><br />And we did some more.<br /><br />And then after that, we did some more.<br /><br />There was one difference now, however, the sun was sinking low on the horizon. I could look behind me and see the wide open desert below and we were starting to come into some scrub junipers, so the air started to pick up some fragrance. The temperature dropped to 90, then to 88 then to 80. That happened pretty fast, and then I had to call for a pee stop. We all pulled off. Tom and April had dropped back with another flat, so it was a good time to pause, let them catch up and get geared up for the night. I was having trouble mentally, but physically, I was starting to feel stronger. I SURE DO LOVE ICE CREAM. Mike said something. I don’t know what. Later we talked about it, and he couldn’t remember what. I snapped at him. He looked hurt. I apologized. He’s done so much to help me, and I was getting cranky. <br /><br />Well, of course I was.<br /><br />And we rode on up the mountain. Only a thousand more feet of climbing to go now. then 900’, then 800’. At every 100’ marker, Mike and/or I would announce it. At the 300’ mark, April took off like some circus performer who had just been shot out of the cannon. I mean she was flat out GONE! This, not 3 minutes after telling me I didn’t have to race up the hill, it was a long way to go still to go to Flagstaff. <br /><br />I asked her about it later. She said she was tired of hearing about how many more feet we had. <br /><br />It was full dark now, and the temperature was down into the low to mid 70’s and finally, we topped out. <br /><br />From there to the Flagstaff City Limits sign, it was a pretty sweet ride. Tom was pretty quiet all day, but he’d become really really quiet and it seemed like he was having as much trouble as me. Richard had left us behind. Mike came back to the front to guide us through town. I thought we’d never get there, and if I ever go back, I’m not sure I’d be able to figure out where we were. It seemed like we did a complete circle to the east and around the town before circling back to the motel. Finally, we’d made it. 209 miles. <br /><br />The first half was history.<br /><br />Tom and April announced that they, too, were history. Their car was there, their bed was in Camp Verde and they were not riding 63 miles before they slept. I desperately wanted to ask if I could ride in the car with them. I didn’t, of course. <br /><br />I needed to lie down. NOW. So, I did. <br /><br />Five minutes later, Susan Plonsky had my control card filled out for me and gave it back, telling me I needed to get ready to go. No, I need to rest. I ate some chili, drank a Starbucks Frappucchino that was in the cooler, envied Mike because he found a San Pellegrino orange soda, watched him wolf calories like there was no tomorrow and thought to myself that this was the difference between a super randonneur and a guy like me. He rolls in and just packs the stuff in. He knows how to keep the tank fueled. I’m such a rank amateur. <br /><br />After about a half hour it is decision time. We have to decide. Are we going on? He says he’ll leave it up to me. We weigh our options. We can sleep here and get up super early in 38 degree weather or we can ride on, do the descents from here in the dark but still pretty warm and still hit the big climb tomorrow before it gets hot. Or we can ride on. Or we can DNF. My choice. He’s good with whatever. It has been a tough day. Even he says its been a tough day. <br /><br />“Let’s ROLL.” I’m now the decider. Well, of course I am.<br /><br />Richard, Mike and I gear up, and light up the night over first some mild rolling hills, then a sweeping descent through Oak Creek Canyon followed by a pretty steady 4-5% descent into Sedona. I had managed two little 5 minute power naps, had some caffeine in my system and the temperature had come down. I felt good. I was alert, energized and having a ball. The descent was fast, steep and winding so we had to be a little careful not to go into the switchbacks too hot, but with temperatures now in the upper 40’s and low 50’s, I was enjoying the coolness and quiet of the night. I only wished it was light so I could see the magnificence of Sedona, so I imagined it. I’ve been there in the daytime and tried to picture some of it in my brain, remembering the glorious day I spent here last year with Mimi, I took my bike for a little exploration while she sat and painted. <br /><br />Getting into my memories, thinking of my many friends in Arizona who have opened their homes and their lives to me and made me to feel like such a welcome part of their gang was helpful. Thinking back to all the friends I’ve made in randonneuring, he encouragement I’ve gotten from guys and gals in the club. Thinking about my friends on BikeJournal. Thinking, of course, about that one ride that I believe will always be one of the most significant rides of my life when I rode to the top of Mt. Diablo with Nancy Jean Fish, aka Pansy Palmetto. I rode through the night thinking about all of these people. <br /><br />I started to think about my family and how important they are to me, and how important I have become to them. I thought about a day some 26-1/2 years ago when Mimi deposited me on the doorstep of a hospital and told me never to come home. I thought about how we came back from that low point in our life together and how I got a new opportunity to become the father I always wanted to have; to have a chance to become the husband that Mimi deserves and that is what took me through the night. I was thinking about my sons and something that one of them wrote to me several years ago about how important it had been that I role modeled a follow through to complete the challenges I took on for myself and chuckled that I might not be such a great model if tomorrow was anything like today. <br /><br />We had about 18 miles to go when we hit a series of hills that brought my attention back to present. I thought we were done with the big climbs, but NOOOOOO. That would be too easy. We made a left turn onto Cornville Road. We passed through what purported to be a quiet little village which had several signs asking us not to speed through their town. Well, at 5-7% I didn’t see much chance of that happening. In the next 12-1/2 miles, I recorded 950’ of climbing, with just a few descents to make me wonder why they couldn’t just build a bridge or two over some of those 100’ deep ditches. Finally, though, with just a mile to go before the next turn, we crested the hill and cruised at 30 mph plus down to the freeway entrance. Richard was off the front and missed the turn. NO WAY was I chasing him. Fortunately, even though he couldn’t hear either Mike or me hollering at him, he was able to hear my loud whistle and looked back just in time to see us exit to the right and onto I-17. Two short climbs, one nice descent, pass one exit and take the next one. I’d studied this on the drive north. Before I knew it, the 6 miles of freeway was behind me, Mike was pulling into McDonalds for some burgers and fries while I rode next door to the mini-mart for some dry noodle soup. <br /><br />Time for shower. Then some sleep.<br /><br />Mike, I was soon to find out, snores. Not like a lumberjack, no siree. Lumberjacks snore in deep, husky rhythmic breathing that sounds just about like their chainsaw. No. Mike snores like a thunder storm. It is quiet. Still. Peaceful. The room is bathed in semi-darkness and I’ve left just a very slight opening in the curtains so I can see when it starts to get light. Suddenly, without warning, “BRAAAACHKH, huuuuuuuhnnnah.” <br /><br />And silence. <br /><br />Well, that was special, I think to myself, sure hope that is out of his system. <br /><br />After a few minutes of lying there listening to my heart to see if I can detect any extra beats like my doc told me to pay attention to, and that helps me to drift off into a dream state, seeing in my mind’s eye that wonderful dead tree where I’d parked Katrina so many hours ago. Oh, how I wish I could have spent more time there, and about that time, “BRAAAACHKH, huuuuuuuhnnnah.” <br /><br />And silence. <br /><br />And so it went.<br /><br />For about an hour. I put a pillow over my head and it helped a little. I got up and went to the bathroom and saw Mike there, sprawled out on the bed in nothing but some shorts on, arms splayed out to the side, feet dangling off the bed and once again, BRAAAACHKH, huuuuuuuhnnnah. And silence. Well this is going to be a lot of fun, I thought to myself.<br /><br />Crawling back into bed, I put two pillows over my head and held them in place. I guess it worked, since the next thing I knew, there was a sliver of light coming through the window and I was waking up. It was 6:25 A.M. Our wake up call was for 7:30. I’d gotten just over 2-1/2 hours of pretty solid sleep, and as badly as I wanted to go back to bed, I knew if I did, I’d never leave and finish the ride. I walked to Starbucks for coffee and pastry instead.<br /><br />At 7:20, Mike joined the land of the semi-alert and we quickly got our gear together and headed to Denny’s for breakfast. He ordered a monster omelet with potatoes, toast and who knows what. It took up a whole plate about a foot deep and in less than 5 minutes it was gone. In the meantime, I’d ordered French toast, 2 eggs and 4 strips of bacon. I wolfed down the eggs, picked at the French toast and nibbled the bacon. I ate less than half my breakfast. Mike ate the rest of the bacon. Finally, along came Richard. <br /><br />He was done. Or so he said.<br /><br />Saddle sore issues have probably caused more endurance cyclists to drop out than just about anything I’ve heard about. If you can’t sit, it is hard to ride for 104 miles.<br /><br />Mike had already told me they’re going to be tough miles. Well, of course they would!<br /><br />Mike and I suggested double shorts and a heavy dose of some kind of butt cream. Richard wasn’t convinced, but finally with enough coaxing, he agreed to give it a try and ride around the parking lot to see how it felt. Mike and I finally rolled out a little before 9 a.m. The temperature was 80 degrees and before we’d gone a mile, it was 84. Before we hit the base of what Mike called the first ramp it was 90. I could see it wind over the mountain far ahead. <br /><br />The desert is a very deceptive place. What looks like a mile is really several. I had already been through half a bottle of Cytomax and it was 13 miles to the watering hole. I was getting really nervous. The temperature at the base of the climb was 90 and it jumped very rapidly to 92, then 95, then 97, then 102. Then back to 97 – 99 and that is where it stayed for a long, long, long time. I was having to stop about every mile and a half to catch my breath. I couldn’t keep my mouth moist and my lips were cracking, despite the heavy use of lip balm. Cotton mouth was turning into raw spots under my tongue and throat and I was seriously beginning to doubt my ability to make it, but not wanting to say anything, as Mike was being such a great encouragement and ride partner. Sometimes, I’d catch up and pass him, and I could see he was suffering too, but I couldn’t be sure if he was suffering like I was. I was afraid to say anything for fear of starting a failure discussion. He sure didn't LOOK like he was suffering all that much.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0UJ6nViU87hz-8q3Y6YFFU04jpIlNcLy8IUTJKoGUYz3T7ygNr5ujOsnxPDams8gR7jTTgRU4GeUGqrbN3khqtcFHoKjFjl6q1rMgYE4zXt79tM7RC2RPiUR4e0fmhtQaalC3sGnO1U/s1600/IMAG0081.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0UJ6nViU87hz-8q3Y6YFFU04jpIlNcLy8IUTJKoGUYz3T7ygNr5ujOsnxPDams8gR7jTTgRU4GeUGqrbN3khqtcFHoKjFjl6q1rMgYE4zXt79tM7RC2RPiUR4e0fmhtQaalC3sGnO1U/s400/IMAG0081.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631276030974540386" /></a><br /><br /><br />So on we rode. Up and up and up into the sky. As badly as my mouth felt, my legs felt great; I felt really strong. My stomach was not bothering me. It was an extremely odd sensation to feel so very good and strong in one sense, and feel like I’m dying in others. The heat actually felt good. It was hot, but as it warmed my joints, many of the aches and pains I live with daily disappeared. Once again, though, as the temperature rose, I started to feel like my pores were not really working because there wasn’t anything left to sweat out. I watched this fantastic mountain in front of me draw ever closer though, and was pleased to find that this was 13 mile rock. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKuTXaGmDJu0O6z-sdXDlCUDvY4w7IHM9jOABgWv1zwOL7IE0EuxLY9bRkIMEFqhGWq0m7j4kOcacjrQpBWFpJbDSwAHPPDbI2xNWyUw5FLt79DZatxvps2GVjbilk_UffMHgo1sE3yY/s1600/thirteen+mile+rock.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKuTXaGmDJu0O6z-sdXDlCUDvY4w7IHM9jOABgWv1zwOL7IE0EuxLY9bRkIMEFqhGWq0m7j4kOcacjrQpBWFpJbDSwAHPPDbI2xNWyUw5FLt79DZatxvps2GVjbilk_UffMHgo1sE3yY/s400/thirteen+mile+rock.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631277759761739154" /></a><br /><br />As we rounded the bend, I saw Mike ahead pulling off and pointing to the side of the road. I had less than 3 ounces of water left.<br /><br />There, sitting in the shade were 4 or 5 gallon jugs of nice cold water. There was also a plastic dish with some fresh oranges, a few bananas and a couple of bottles of Gatorade. I took a few minutes to sit in the shade to eat an orange. One of the things I like about endurance cycling is when I get far out and away from the crowds, find a quiet place and can sit there feeling like I am truly a part of my surroundings. I belong there. I have a place, just like the rest of the critters.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhioDvRt_5_9FCmPYT_4daPTYbLFwba4Ogri3vBOjohTFUWXxb3D8H4i_ejK6SIgSO6xGSwYqBMkXBwrXq74HlQ_ThQ4LhgQlVAt8fTMJl_iCliJ15zNBAPTP029Im1Fx5XQ2WPm_kgdVM/s1600/thirteen+mile.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhioDvRt_5_9FCmPYT_4daPTYbLFwba4Ogri3vBOjohTFUWXxb3D8H4i_ejK6SIgSO6xGSwYqBMkXBwrXq74HlQ_ThQ4LhgQlVAt8fTMJl_iCliJ15zNBAPTP029Im1Fx5XQ2WPm_kgdVM/s400/thirteen+mile.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631278121305388146" /></a><br /><br />I’m always filled with just a bit of sadness when I have to face the fact that if I’m going to have hope of finishing, I have to move on. <br /><br />But I did. <br /><br />We rode on up the next part of the climb, now at 7 - 8% for 4 miles, and I started to feel like a burro, slowly plodding my way up the side of a ridge, just putting one hoof in front of the other, over and over and over. The temperature, though, had dropped to 92 degrees. Mike told me it would get cooler as we got near the top, and finally, there was our sag van. Lara had set up a nice lunch stop and Joey, who had caught up to us while we were sitting at 13-mile was sitting in the shade eating. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXF6ebF-Q-jqmhTG6Eh3qfHHYjir_6Q5DfZ5M3aPcScYgZNaGe0s5BjMpIq53Ctu_eJEGuvjSrOIcaJEF3BxIdhPfNPTBZSzrZQXprM0T0aRLxOcfqQBs6V_7Qkeuyk7dtqfL-Xan_so/s1600/IMAG0086.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXF6ebF-Q-jqmhTG6Eh3qfHHYjir_6Q5DfZ5M3aPcScYgZNaGe0s5BjMpIq53Ctu_eJEGuvjSrOIcaJEF3BxIdhPfNPTBZSzrZQXprM0T0aRLxOcfqQBs6V_7Qkeuyk7dtqfL-Xan_so/s400/IMAG0086.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631276991906449938" /></a><br /><br /><br /> I found a container with fresh strawberries and papaya. I would have consumed that whole dish, if I didn’t know there were at least 3 and maybe 4 guys back there. <br /><br />The best news of the day was when Lara told us that Richard was back on the hill; she’d seen him at 13-mile and he didn’t stop, just kept coming. It was now nearing noon. We’d been in the saddle for almost 3 hours to get 25 miles, and with 80 to go, I was doing counting in my head. I’d hoped to be done by 5:00 but could see that was not going to happen. There’s one more big climb ahead, and Mike tells me it’s a long and hot one. <br /><br />Well, of course it is!<br /><br />Richard caught up to us just about the time we were leaving and took a very short break so he could ride out with us. Together again, and we forged our way onward. Just because we were at the top, didn’t mean the climbs were done. From that point on, we seemed to stay at 7,300’ the rest of the afternoon, dropping down about a thousand feet once on a very sweet 40 mph descent, just to be treated with another monster hill. By now, they were all monster hills. The grades weren’t bad at 4-7%, but with the lack of sleep, heat and time in saddle, it was starting to add up. I wanted shade, but there was none to be found. I wanted a bed, but it was far away.<br /><br />We stopped at the Long Valley store, where I saw Mike eating something disgusting and holding a coke that was as big as a basketball. I didn’t want to sit. I wanted to go, so told them I was going to soft pedal on, and mounted up after a quick potty stop. A mile up the road, I realized I’d forgotten to fill one of my bottles, and stopped at the campground to fill up, where I met the park ranger who told me I was “crazier than a shit-house rat.” I told him my wife usually just called me a dumb-ass, and he said I was that too. We had a few good laughs together, exchanged pleasantries while he filled my bottle for me, and off I rode with him telling me to be careful. <br /><br />Finally, we got to the Happy Jack climb. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gEv-7KyXhlmSWzz1PyJWi1u01ZIIcm1zmfC55yiQtWzCmYluLb26vNrhUenF-JwGPfcPsx91FrODU2QAt-9N1gsi_Jmj67VXsXELvaeLSuz7Pm0maYN4QuMjFaJs4f-OkQQKvVvJ87U/s1600/Sunday+Climb+to+Happy+Jack.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gEv-7KyXhlmSWzz1PyJWi1u01ZIIcm1zmfC55yiQtWzCmYluLb26vNrhUenF-JwGPfcPsx91FrODU2QAt-9N1gsi_Jmj67VXsXELvaeLSuz7Pm0maYN4QuMjFaJs4f-OkQQKvVvJ87U/s400/Sunday+Climb+to+Happy+Jack.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631278557978446866" /></a><br /><br /><br />This was the last really big one. Mike and Richard had caught up to me and I let them go, content to just drop and spin my way to the top. There was starting to be a little bit of a cross tail wind with occasional gusts that blew across my face, cooling me and bringing all the wonderful scents of the pine and it felt good to by myself for a little bit. As I finally approached the ranger station, Mike was waiting for me and Richard had gone on. No need to stop now, just a mile from the top of the climb. “Let’s roll,” I said. I just wanted to be done now. This was the highest elevation of the day, but I knew it wasn’t all downhill to the finish, with a lot of rolling hills still to do, temperature still above 90 and fatigue starting to really take over, I was less worried that I couldn’t finish, but started to think about time. I didn’t have a lot left in the bank and was feeling more sluggish by the minute. <br /><br />By the time we rolled into the Mormon Lake Store, I was seriously in need of some calories, but now nothing tasted good. My mouth was burned and raw, my throat inflamed and I was having to sip water ever couple minutes in order to be able to swallow and just about everything except my butt was killing me; I was starting to have aches in my mid-back and upper neck. If I had to do this for two more days, I thought, I’d never make it. How could I ever do a 1200? Well, that wasn’t something I needed to worry about. Not today, anyway.<br /><br />We caught back up to Joey who had taken a wrong turn and added on about 15 miles. I looked at my cohorts who all looked worse than I felt, but we all knew we were nearing the end, with just a couple hours to go now, most of it flat and slowly descending into Flagstaff. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xJAF7i6lVxL4a9u_BJMVN47kbidJJ5lw0xqQbIhikKYRNwpoL_4g9-hIgKhUkM4dYpnIi5Znv0-ISMr5oNqq5ufsp0tjB2mK76fzJ1Ru-KPpcwkx0rfwRhwJ8i0QVAzu-3_8qUJdjM0/s1600/IMAG0093.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7xJAF7i6lVxL4a9u_BJMVN47kbidJJ5lw0xqQbIhikKYRNwpoL_4g9-hIgKhUkM4dYpnIi5Znv0-ISMr5oNqq5ufsp0tjB2mK76fzJ1Ru-KPpcwkx0rfwRhwJ8i0QVAzu-3_8qUJdjM0/s400/IMAG0093.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631279188144874066" /></a><br /><br /><br />Mike, Richard, Joey and I rolled out together, with Joey quickly off the front and becoming a small dot on the horizon and then disappearing. I guess the disappearing act is part of being a wizard. <br /><br />After the left turn, we cruised along Lake Mary for several miles with the wind slowly turning from a tail wind to a strong cross wind from the left and eventually a straight on head wind. The sun was dropping low into the sky and just about the time we left the lake we got into some long, shallow rollers again and for the first time in a long time, traffic started to get heavy. Well, of course it was! That meant we were approaching a city. Hmmmmmm, must be getting close to Flagstaff again. <br /><br />We rolled along, with Richard setting the pace about 17-20 mph, the sun in our eyes, starting to filter through the pines and the evening forest perfume starting to take over and much more pleasant than the fumes from the cars blowing by us at 60 mph. With about 8 miles to go, I announced that I would be dropping off the back at about the 5 miles to go mark, because I really like to finish these things alone. Mostly, it is about time in my head, especially when I’m doing something this difficult for the first time. It is time to thank the cycling gods for the safe passage, reflect on the ups and downs (quite literally, sometimes) and just relax and enjoy the finish instead of hammering in so I can shave a minute off my time.<br /><br />With a little over 5 to go, I bid Mike and Richard a fond farewell, Mike and I shook hands, thanking each other for 370 miles of fun and hard work and then I dropped my speed and watched them disappear into the nearly setting sun. <br /><br />Less than a half mile later, I felt a familiar coarseness in the ride and thought I maybe should stop and check the tires to make sure I didn’t have a flat. I did. And I did. <br /><br />Well, of COURSE I did!!! <br /><br />So I sat down on a rock for about five minutes. It was beautiful, a little piney wood park.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPWcefQqIppLb88gPJy5AHO_xH-5QyNehtn5KpGyor5psSNdjBqzeLlYiQ7TlOKrfKQzkrLNbpOpbl1bGmCCEv7JU8ecGgireX5Ze2cYHTrgsoADG9pYm3MO-V0YxKeNi3C5ZuJpeUnk/s1600/IMAG0094.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKPWcefQqIppLb88gPJy5AHO_xH-5QyNehtn5KpGyor5psSNdjBqzeLlYiQ7TlOKrfKQzkrLNbpOpbl1bGmCCEv7JU8ecGgireX5Ze2cYHTrgsoADG9pYm3MO-V0YxKeNi3C5ZuJpeUnk/s400/IMAG0094.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631280060920851346" /></a><br /><br /><br />I’ve lacked the ability to sit outside in the evening much this year, and it just felt so wonderful to sit there and look out to the west at the sunlight filtering through the pines, smelling the evening aroma and listening to the birds. I felt like I could sit there forever, just taking in the serenity of the moment. Eventually, though, it was time to move on. Time to change the tire and get down the road. That was when it hit me. <br /><br />Before the ride, Mike and I were in his garage getting our gear together and I was concerned because the pump hanger on my seat tube had never been a problem when I had fenders on the bike, but without fenders, I was worried the pump would drag on the rear wheel. He said I could just leave my pump behind, since we were going to be riding together. It sounded like such a great idea. <br /><br />As I stood there, looking down at the flat tire, the spare tube and rim tools spread about me and thought about all this, I became really glad that I had not listened to this one piece of advice from my good friend. I chuckled as I pulled my little mini-morph out of the front of my handlebar bag and aired up the rear tire to about 75 pounds for the final few miles.<br /><br />Three little rolling hills later, I arrived at a nice descent, a quick right hand turn and then with the sun blinding me, made my way in front of oncoming traffic. Into the wrong parking lot.<br /><br />Well, of course.<br /><br />A quick turnaround, a short hop down the sidewalk and another 50 yards through the correct parking lot, and there I was. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGkiCOHvcwCmVjVRqMOv1qxUPEvEwYVzAjmu6-9rFq_TdLV7Th9HJzAvK0w4dA-DbITebS-WWxHqI80I8w1KbZmIOqqS9f3FFwL-VhbkG0qh4Ec-tJ79mj_ujovmfYmKg6GNhstBzEQI/s1600/BOOTHBY+FINISHES.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOGkiCOHvcwCmVjVRqMOv1qxUPEvEwYVzAjmu6-9rFq_TdLV7Th9HJzAvK0w4dA-DbITebS-WWxHqI80I8w1KbZmIOqqS9f3FFwL-VhbkG0qh4Ec-tJ79mj_ujovmfYmKg6GNhstBzEQI/s400/BOOTHBY+FINISHES.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631281260426404290" /></a><br />I was done. In 38 hours and 5 minutes, I had completed my first 600k. At 60 years old, I believe I was the oldest of the six who finished. AND THERE WERE A DOZEN DONUTS AT THE FINISH LINE........I'LL TAKE TWO!!!!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxYLz88kklSYc_akWn867HPYhz_O47_4sRYnXMyTb5TtsgYkIj9IwGqc6zbfewNaZHKtvIgrl0zQsVE-LSU-bsn5xKGwpRcnbgCynriCtwPd7Px6mDaUo8bb1dpMULmCORAkRChdHGVw/s1600/Proper+finish+line+food.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxYLz88kklSYc_akWn867HPYhz_O47_4sRYnXMyTb5TtsgYkIj9IwGqc6zbfewNaZHKtvIgrl0zQsVE-LSU-bsn5xKGwpRcnbgCynriCtwPd7Px6mDaUo8bb1dpMULmCORAkRChdHGVw/s400/Proper+finish+line+food.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631281817776367938" /></a><br /><br /><br />A few days later, I checked the results. I emailed Susan to thank her for throwing a great event and letting me come along to play. I looked at the times. I wasn’t the lanterne rouge. And my good friend Mike, though I know he had come in well ahead of me, posted a finish time matching mine. We rode together, and it was important to him that our finish times reflect that.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLglWSRrFp3kVVHJk8t46YUQiFYXqXW3cYl0BkUIGOB4KPJ6fx5ETDYg6WOJ3jKZn77rYgwiKdgOHnVD66AhvDxqC91bxk850X_54nSvEwiY9viM3GSIUqxH6YOOom-cDrkgXPe-rbuJU/s1600/IMAG0069.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLglWSRrFp3kVVHJk8t46YUQiFYXqXW3cYl0BkUIGOB4KPJ6fx5ETDYg6WOJ3jKZn77rYgwiKdgOHnVD66AhvDxqC91bxk850X_54nSvEwiY9viM3GSIUqxH6YOOom-cDrkgXPe-rbuJU/s400/IMAG0069.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631282200167314946" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In the end, I finished. I was now a super randonneur. I’d done the work to get there, and knew as I lay down that night that I would sleep better than I had for several days. <br /><br />Well, of course I did.Donald Boothbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08808947741131671617noreply@blogger.com2