The Boothby Chronicles

Merry Christmas to All

2011-12-25T09:50:00.002-08:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Laying On Of Hands

2011-11-04T19:20:00.000-07:00

I 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

Nutmeg and Raleighdon

2011-10-23T06:59:00.000-07:00

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.

She was awfully cute, though.

3 months later we were married.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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!

Expensive tastes, this cat. She really MUST be "my" cat. Next thing, she'll be wanting a custom bicycle......

But here's the real story I wanted to tell.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.
Every day, when I look at the love of my life, this is still the girl I see:

Excuse me, I need to go give Nutmeg some chicken.

Round Two

2011-10-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

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.

So, Josiah and I “smuggled in” the bicycle.
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,
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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I walked up the hill. I heard Pansy Palmetto 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!

After my therapy appointment, I had the opportunity to try out my tow service, Better World Club, 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!

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?

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.

Then I made Jell-o.

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.

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.

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. Dr. Codfish hosted the Pie Run
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,

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.

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!

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.

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.
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.

So I hatched a scheme.

Mimi and I have this wonderful beach we love.

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 Kalaloch Lodge

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.

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!

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.

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. “

Some days, you just gotta believe!

THE GIFT

2011-10-14T19:53:00.001-07:00

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

“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.”

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:

• Surrender
• Acceptance
• Gratitude

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And this is truly where the gift comes in.

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.”

Without really thinking about what I was saying, I told him, “You know, Paul, I’m not. And here is why.”

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.

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.

So with this in mind, here’s the deal we get in life.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

The gift is in the learning.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Thank you.

Afternoon Recess

2011-10-07T15:41:00.000-07:00

The air is warm
Neighborhood sounds drift about the quiet house.

The bell rings.

Slowly at first, then increasing rapidly, the sounds of children fills the air.
Girls screaming in delight
Balls bouncing against the building
Swings squeaking in offset rhythms.
Boys yelling out their adventures.
The sounds run together into a sweet autumn melody.

School is back.
The children are back.

I lie here in the solace of my home, surrounded by a lifetime of memories.
As I listen, my mind drifts back to those days so long ago.
I smile and let the children’s song carry me into my dreams.

Again, the bell rings.

Slowly at first, then increasing rapidly, the sound of the children fades to silence.
An airplane flies overhead.
A bird sings.
A gentle breeze drifts through the house, and the wind chimes bring me back to now.

My heart is full.

9 September 2011

Let's Get Ready to Rumble!

2011-09-26T12:57:00.000-07:00

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 cisplatin and 5FU 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But that POISON!!! Those chemo drugs. There was that dread again.

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.

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".

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Round Two was underway and Boothby was in the center of the ring and ready to rumble.

Herding Cats On Pacific Rose

2011-09-12T10:09:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

I would like to report that after that it was a very uneventful ride.

It wasn’t.

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.

All of a sudden, there was no Mimi and no Amy.

We waited for them, then we all took off together. Suddenly, there was no Amy.

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.

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

“Well, where are you?”

“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.

So I ask Robin if he can “jet ahead” and try to reel Mimi in and I’ll ride along with Amy.

“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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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....

...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.

Life just doesn’t get much better than this.

I WANT MY BIKE, DAMMIT!!!

2011-08-30T19:57:00.000-07:00

OK, kiddies. STORY TIME FROM UNKL RALEIGHDON.

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.

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.

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.....

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?"

"PBP"

"Really? Does he ride with SIR? What is your husband's name?"

"Chris Ragsdale"

Oh him.........

Now I get it.

I did get my bike though.

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.

Life's a Shit Sandwich Sometimes - Deal With It

2011-08-20T04:37:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

What Megan did with that diagnosis, was use it against itself.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Well, of COURSE she does!! We would expect no less.

Through letting go without giving up the dream, new worlds have opened to her. I have so much to learn.

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.”

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.

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.

A Difficult Friday

2011-08-15T07:58:00.001-07:00

Oh, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Well, of course I will!

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.

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.

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.

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.

As my sponsor might tell me, "more will be revealed."

It Just Ain't Fair - How to Accept A Diagnosis You Don't Like

2011-08-12T03:37:00.000-07:00

Life 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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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!!!!!

So that's the way its gonna be, huh? Well, OKAY THEN! Let's dance. Boothby's ready.

Two rules:

1) No Whining
2) No Feeling Sorry For Yourself
3) Keep Your Sense of Humor

OK, that's three, but then, I do tend to use Pansy Math when it serves my purposes.

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!

If the doctor wouldn't have told Mimi not to let me drive for 12 hours, I'd be out on the bike.

Well, of course you would!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

A Really Nice Day With My Girlfriend

2011-07-09T19:42:00.000-07:00

Every 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.

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 polevaulting competition with bona-fide prize money involved.

And let me tell you, with genuine hand dipped fresh corndogs and root beer floats, ol' Raleighdon was one happy customer!

The women polevaulters were going at it when we returned from chowing down.

Which made Boothby just about as happy as a clam at high tide.

The pirates? Well, they're pirates. What can I say? They gots to eat lunch too.

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.

The Seattle skyline from Alki Point was exceedingly gorgeous today, with the deep blue waters of Puget Sound

And then there's The Sphere ("It's a mobile radar station mounted on a floating oil-drilling platform.

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.

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.

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)

Riding along the Duwamish Trail, I stopped to check the plumbing and stumbled upon some particularly beautiful blackberry flowers.

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.

I sure have an awesome girlfriend!

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.

And then we came to yet another fork in the road. After much debate, we decided not to take it.

And as I stood there contemplating the beauty of the day, this little ladybug sitting on the fence drew my attention.

And then, we climbed up Swift, not very swiftly, toward home.

Mimi designed this jersey. She isn't convinced it was the jersey I wanted a picture of.

she should know me better by now.

Finally, we got one more pretty view of Mt. Rainier from Beacon Ave. S, just before turning off toward the house.

A fine day with my sweetie!

A Grand Six Hundred

2011-07-05T21:15:00.000-07:00

You rode 600 kilometers on a BICYCLE??? Well, of course you did.

Yeah, I did. And in doing so, I completed my fourth “R-12” through Randonneurs USA, 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.

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 California Triple Crown I am going to need to get to where those distances are routine. Now, I don’t really train. Training is for racers. ……

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 SIR 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.

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!

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.

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.

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…”

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.

Well, of course there is.

I get the tracking number. I forward the email to Mike. He replies back, “Do you mind if I put it together for you?”

“Gee, I thought you’d never ask,” I say.

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.

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.

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.

After a nice, relaxed drive from North Phoenix to Flagstaff, a nice dinner at the Beaver St. Brewery(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.

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.

0400 came much too early.

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.

Temperature check at 0445: 38F

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.

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.

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.

I met Richard on the Cascade 1200 a couple years ago and it was nice to see the familiar face.

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.

Near the top of the climb at an elevation of 8,046, the temperature has dropped to 27F.

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.

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 Bull Shifters 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.

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.

Well, of course there are.

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.

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.

Finally, we got to a viewpoint and I just had to get off the bike for a few minutes and take it all in.

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.

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.

Well, of course it is.

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.

“Like to support the local economy do you?” April asked.

“Well, yeah, but not quite that much.”

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.

And so, with a mixed feeling of sadness and anticipation, I rode on.

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…”

Well, of course we do.

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!

And so we ride on.

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.

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.

When I ride in, I see The Watchtower.

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 Nuun 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.,

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 Honey Stinger gels and another bite of PayDay chased down with a full bottle of Cytomax 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.

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.

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.

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.

As we rolled out, I started to get cramps.

Well, of course I did..

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.

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.

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.

Well, of course it wasn’t.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Now, Mike told me, we got to the “real climb.” And we did.

And we did some more.

And then after that, we did some more.

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.

Well, of course I was.

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.

I asked her about it later. She said she was tired of hearing about how many more feet we had.

It was full dark now, and the temperature was down into the low to mid 70’s and finally, we topped out.

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.

The first half was history.

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.

I needed to lie down. NOW. So, I did.

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.

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.

“Let’s ROLL.” I’m now the decider. Well, of course I am.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Time for shower. Then some sleep.

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.”

And silence.

Well, that was special, I think to myself, sure hope that is out of his system.

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.”

And silence.

And so it went.

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.

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.

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.

He was done. Or so he said.

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.

Mike had already told me they’re going to be tough miles. Well, of course they would!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But I did.

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.

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.

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.

Well, of course it is!

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.

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.

Finally, we got to the Happy Jack climb.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Well, of COURSE I did!!!

So I sat down on a rock for about five minutes. It was beautiful, a little piney wood park.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Well, of course.

A quick turnaround, a short hop down the sidewalk and another 50 yards through the correct parking lot, and there I was.

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!!!!

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.

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.

Well, of course I did.

It Takes Dedication to Be a Randonneur

2011-07-01T20:37:00.000-07:00

Well, it all starts like this. It rains a lot in Seattle. It isn't so much that it rains a LOT, but it rains FREQUENTLY. We have months on end where I never seem to see dry pavement, much less dry grass. This spring has been very difficult. First it was cold and wet. Then it was warm and wet. The sun would come out for a day, then rain again. By early February, the grass was nearly knee high and I thought I should probably mow it.

Well, I should mow as soon as I got home from that ride I was doing.

I got home, and it was time to cook dinner. Then there was the matter of washing the bike clothes. Of course, the bike needed cleaning, too. By that time, the sun was setting.

"A week or so went by and it was time to do another 300k. As soon as I'm done with that, I'll mow the lawn," I thought to my self.

Well, of course you will.....

I looked at the weather forecasts and there in mid-March and thought I'd catch a break about the 19th or 20th. One day of sun and back to rain. So I put on my rain coat and went for a ride. Wet grass will burn out a lawn mower engine, right?

After having only 3 days without rain in March, the grass was growing just fine, but wasn't getting any shorter. Mimi said nary a word. She's good that way.

April came around. I really do need to get out there and mow. Remember what I said about March? Well, April was worse. Beautiful weather for riding a bike. Not such great weather for mowing a lawn. Especially a lawn that has not risen to mid-thigh high. I hate the weedeater. It makes funny noises.

There were 27 days of below normal temperatures in April. There were three days it didn't rain. I was not feeling much like working in the yard.

In the meantime, however, I'd done a really fast Seattle Randonneurs 200k and had a great time on the SIR 300k. I also had some unfinished business with the Oregon Randonneur's "Covered Bridges" 400. It rained. A lot. Non-stop. I finished. Then there was Fleche. There was also a need to keep doing 100k's with Mimi. Also, a guy has to ride his bike to work, right?

May came. I needed to get the lawn mowed. But the weather was getting a little better. It only rained 16 days in the month, but it never really got dry. When it did, I needed to get a good ride in. I had a 600k to do. It wasn't going to be easy, so I had to really keep my tush in the saddle. So I rode on the best days I could. By now, the grass was waist high and I said that I would mow as soon as I got done with the 600. And the grass grew while I was gone.

I got home from Arizona and was pretty tired. Then it rained. If you've ever tried to mow waist deep wet grass, you probably understand my dill, Emma. This was going to be a problem.

Mimi asked me if I thought we should just roto-till the back yard and then seed it over. I thought about that. After some deep consideration, I thought that would be more work than mowing. I said that I didn't think roto-tilling was the answer.

A couple more weeks went by. The temperatures warmed up. The grass was now mid-chest high. As soon as I get my July 300K done, I'll mow.

Well, I guess that was the one that did it. Mimi came home one evening and asked what I thought about renting some goats. GREAT!!! Now there's a solution. They can eat the whole doggone back yard! Blackberries, ivy, weeds, grass, plum tree, fig tree, cherry tree. Mowing, pruning and weed control all rolled into one!

So she did.

I arrived home from my evening commute on Tuesday night to a herd of five goats. There was Ginger (brown adult nanny) and Daisy (black and white nanny with one horn) and three kids. Adorable little pests, they were.

Wednesday, my friend from North Carolina arrived. We met in the north end as he was arriving in town having ridden from 10 miles east of Stevens Pass that day and fully loaded. I escorted him from Kenmore, along Lake Washington and over some of seattles more fun hills to get to I-90 and home.

As we arrived, Mimi opened the garage for us. The herd was off chewing on leaves and berries, but as we rolled into the garage, they were much more interested in what we were doing than in mowing the lawn.

I believe the goat herd wants to join the Randonneurs and do a 100k with me.

I wonder who Mimi will get to mow the lawn now?

In retrospect, it really takes a lot of dedication and devotion to commit onesself to the randonneuring lifestyle. One needs to sacrifice a lot of other things if he or she wants to really give himself to long-distance, unsuppoted endurance cycling.

I believe sacrificing one's lawn to nature is a really good place to start.

Donald Boothby
July 1, 2011

Idle Musings of a Would Be Super Randonneur

2011-06-03T10:57:00.000-07:00

This is a trip that has been long coming, I suspect. I didn’t start out riding with the randonneurs with the hope of ever completing a complete brevet series. It was all so very, very simple.

October, 2003. Riding along the Burke Gilman Trail having recently returned from our second 3-week vacation in Italy where I had become enamored with the bicycles of the north, I began to hatch a plan. I wondered what it would be like to fly into Milan, buy a bike and ride it across the country to Naples or Sorrento, or even all the way to Sersale, where Mimi has several cousins. It was a romantic idea, I suppose, and quite an undertaking for a guy in his 50’s who had never ridden a bike more than a hundred miles before.

Sitting there astride my saddle, I began to hatch a “training plan” that I thought might work. I really didn’t know anything about training. I just like to ride a bicycle, but thought that if this was something I was going to do, I needed to become much stronger, especially riding up into the mountains. There simply is no way to ride across Italy without some pretty substantial climbing of long, sustained grades.

Western Washington, it turns out, is a pretty good training grounds, and while I had ridden the annual Seattle to Portland (STP) ride several times, I’d never done anything with a lot of uphill. With three knee surgeries behind me, my legs simply weren’t very strong, and on even moderate climbs, I found myself aching for days afterwards. I decided to take on a climber’s ride. I had read about R.A.M.R.O.D. before, and had a few friends who had ridden this one-day ride around Mt. Rainier. This 154 mile, 10,000’ of vertical event happens every July, and is limited to 800 riders. I’d heard about how tough it was to get a ticket, and part of my plan was to weasel my way into the good graces of the host club and see if I could talk my way into a ticket.

I visited the website for Redmond Cycling Club . I looked around their website and saw, in addition to their section for R.A.M.R.O.D., a listing of club members, including one Greg Sneed. Now, I knew a Greg Sneed from the insurance industry. A large guy, he had never struck me as the health nut sort who might go out and ride a bike around a mountain, but asked myself how many Greg Sneeds could there possibly be in the Seattle area? So I browsed through my business card pile in my desk until I found a card he’d given me (along with a bucket of Red Vines) a year or so before and called him.

“So, is this the Greg Sneed who is a member of Redmond Cycling Club?”

“That’s me, partner,” he said.

I was amazed to find out that he and his wife rode over 6,000 miles every year, had done this ride many times and led club rides. Greg invited me to the club meeting, offering to buy me dinner the first time. Hmmmm…….

As a recovering addict, I am well aware of that old “The first one’s free” line.

I wasn’t able to make the next club meeting but the day after Christmas, my secretary’s father (OK, already my ADMINISTRATIVE PROFESSIONAL’S father) John Keyser was in town and had brought his lovely Masi race bike along so we could go for a short, flat ride along the Burke Gilman Trail. I wanted to take him to Recycled Cycles since he loves old bikes, bike parts and pawing through bike junk. My kind of guy!

We showed up at Log Boom Park and there was a gang of folks getting ready for a ride. Suddenly, as we’re getting ready to roll out west, Greg and Ruth (Lovey, to her friends) went riding by on their lovely green and gold Erickson tandem. Greg stopped me to chat, inviting us to join the club. He said they were doing about the same thing John and I were, just in the other direction. We tagged on. Little did we know that the same thing we were doing only in the other direction was not quite accurate. Sure, 12 miles east instead of west, but then they turned up and off the trail onto a road that looked like it went straight up to the pearly gates to me.

After doing a couple thousand feet of climbing over some steep rolling hills, we dropped down into Kirkland where we all stopped to chat over coffee. Greg started introducing me to the guys and gals of Redmond Cycling Club and another club I’d never heard of. He told me about this guy who had done “PBP” and another guy who was a “super randonewer” and that Lovey was the first woman to ever do Cannonball. Well, I was too proud to ask what PBP, randonewer and Cannonball were, so I just nodded, acted totally in awe of these people and then Greg announced that I wanted to “come over to the dark side.”

Everybody chuckled and warned me to be careful.

Obviously, I was not nearly careful enough.

I went home and typed in r-a-n-d-o-n-e-w-e-r into a google search and it said “Do you mean Randonneur? Why YES! That’s exactly what I meant.

Like I said, obviously, I was not nearly careful enough.

In April, 2004, I had completed a “Populaire” of 100 kilometers, a 200k “brevet” and was involved in a team “fleche” as a member of Team Chaos. Five machines, 24 hours, no sleep and operating under this weird, arcane set of rules made up by a bunch of Frenchies who fancy themselves knowing something about cycling and how it should be done.

I’d met several people in the local Seattle International Randonneurs group and they were all very encouraging. Unlike racing cyclists, all these men and women just wanted to see everybody succeed at their endeavors. My plan was coming along nicely.

I felt a lot stronger. I had learned to work in a pace line. I had learned to climb a little better without hurting myself and I’d learned how to ride faster, longer and stronger, without aching for days afterwards. My knees were still a problem.

Then Hurricane Charley hit Florida. I went away. I fell away from my cycling routine, though I managed to find time to rent a bike in Orlando and do a little bit. Then Hurricane Frances hit Florida. I went away again, and now it looked like a long term assignment. Then came Hurricanes Jeanne and Ivan. I pretty much didn’t see home from early August, 2004 until mid-2005. And in August, along came Hurricane Katrina.

My plans for Italy were to work hard for two or three years and then take a trip. I needed to take some language classes, too. With my work load, though, I found little time to spend on the bike or in classes.

Fast forward to late February, 2007. I found myself sitting on the ferry on my way yet again to Port Angeles to meet a pawn shop owner who had sustained a serious water damage loss. I’d met with him a few times already and didn’t much like him. I had dealt with dozens of pawn shops after all the hurricanes, and found their owners to be a real mixed bag. This guy, though, was one of what I perceived to be the sleaziest individuals I’d ever met. He owned a pawn shop and the local check cashing facility, and it always seemed like he was taking advantage of the hardest up of the hard up in our society. I dreaded the meeting. My cell phone rang. It was Col. James M. Martin, USMC Ret.

Jim is responsible for my being in the insurance industry. He gave me my start and helped me to become an adjuster, even when I didn’t want to do so. He paid me well, took care of me, gave me the tools I needed and encouraged me to continue to work my way up. On this day, I found out he was retiring. For good, this time. He had left our company to go to work as a staff adjuster in Inland Marine claims. I didn’t know anything about it. But he suggested it might be a good fit for me, and though I had retreated from any and all job leads previously, liking my company very much, I found myself drawn to this. A move away from field work. 7 miles from home. I could ride my bike to work.

On April 2, 2007 my whole world changed. I went to work in tall buildings. I found myself chained to a desk all day, every day. I had little freedom. I no longer had a private office. I had joined cubicle America for the first time in my life, and I wasn’t so sure I’d made the right choice. The trade off? I got to ride my bicycle to work almost every day. At the end of the day, I shut off the computer and went for a bike ride. SWEET!

My cycling took a huge upturn. In September of that year, I returned to Italy again, and my dream started to take shape again. Maybe I could do this.

And along came Pansy……

…..but that’s a story for a different day.

Late in 2007, my co-worker and friend Mark Jackson told me that Peter Beeson had convinced him he ought to try for an “R-12”. This involves riding a sanctioned 200 kilometer or more ride every month for 12 consecutive months. In October we did a 200k ride. We missed November and on December 3, 2007, we hit it again. I did a ride in January, but Mark missed out. We rode together again in February, but he missed March. By April, I had five months in, and all I was doing was trying to support him. I’d also gone to Oregon and ridden a 300k brevet for the first time and finished in just over 14 hours drafting off of a couple of tandems all day. I found I was starting to like the randonneuring style of riding. There is so much that is satisfying about it, and it isn’t nearly as hard on my body as a lot of other things I’ve done.

My knees were getting stronger. I found I could climb well, stand for long periods without hurting myself and make it to the tops of mountain passes in a reasonable time.

In December, 2008 I was at my desk, in my little cubicle supposed to be working. I had an alarm set for 10:00 a.m. I had the links all set up with a half dozen browser windows set for Active.com. I was determined to register for Death Ride. This was the big test I needed to complete for myself if I was REALLY going to be strong enough to get across Italy by myself. At 10:25 am, I got through. I was in. That meant I had to train.

On January 1, 2009 I did my first ever New Year’s Day century. That month, I rode over a thousand miles. By the time the Populaire came along, I had over 2000 miles in and was in mid-season form. I had finished my R-12 challenge and was riding strong and with confidence. I could do a 125 mile ride without feeling like I was dying the next day. Life was good. My friend Jennifer Chang had signed up to do the Seattle Randonneur’s spring 400k. I’d never done one before. I was walking into my office building one morning and a guy asked me if I was training for STP. I said that STP was nothing. If it was today, I was ready. I walked away thinking I sounded pretty cocky, and decided I should probably put up or shut up. So I signed up for the 400k. Three mountain passes in one day. Good training for Death Ride, I thought. The day started cold, got hot very fast and very hot before it was over, cooling down eventually as the evening turned to night. I finished just before midnight and felt like I’d really accomplished something.

The next day I could hardly walk. Mimi and I rode downtown and she said that she’d finally found out what it took for me to tire myself out to be able to ride with her, suggesting I should do a 400k every weekend. I thought not. It took a few days to recover and I knew I’d finally found a “challenge level” to cycling.

Death Ride, while hard, was not anywhere near the killer I dreamed it would be. I took that as a sign that I was probably physically ready for Italy.

In 2010 I decided to “take a year off” and reduced my cycling – but just a little bit. I still rode almost every day, completed 200k’s every month and started to volunteer a little more with the Randonneurs. It was time to give back a little bit.

And that brings me to 2011. I was asked about my goals for the year. Generally, they were:

* Ride up Mt. Tamalpias with Pansy
* Complete a Brevet Series
* Ride solo across Italy.

There are some others, but those were the really big ones and the others were pretty much just there to help get me to these three.

Life gets in the way sometimes, and so does death. Nancy Jean Fish, aka Pansy Palmetto had become a dear, dear friend over the past 4 years and on January 18th she passed away after a 7-1/2 year war with cancer that she won every day that she drew a breath. She won because she knew the cancer was going to kill her but she refused to let it defeat her. She rode over 8,000 miles in 2008 in a life challenge. For 24 consecutive years she competed in Eppie’s Great Race, despite the cancer that continued to ravage her body. As she lived, others around her were inspired by her strength and courage. As she participated fully in life, she was a support and friend to everyone she met. I was privileged to have gotten to share a few brief moments of life with her, and she gave me a gift that I will carry the rest of my days.

Unfortunately, we didn’t get to ride Mt. Tam together. Another day, dear, another day.

And so, I was left with my brevet series. And Italy. The brevet series is mostly to keep myself conditioned to climbing and riding long and strong. A means to an end.

Life gets in the way sometimes.

Cancer is a devastating disease. I get very angry sometimes when I think of how it took my father away. And my father-in-law. And Pansy.

As I was preparing for the longer brevets, I started a regimen of deep massage designed to improve posture, undo a lot of the quirks my body gets from sitting long hours, riding a bike and all the other things that happen as we age. It is an 11-session routine.

In late March, I was on appointment #7 and Daniel started talking about things while he dug into my body – digging into my psyche at the same time. He asked me what made me angry. He asked me what I was lonely for in life. He asked me what I hungered for in life. He asked me what I was really tired of in my life and what I wanted to change. Then came the big one. He asked me what I was doing to be an elder in my community. I didn’t have a n answer that made me very comfortable.

Less than an hour later, I was on the phone returning a call from my sister in law. Carol had called me while I was on the bike riding up the hill to my appointment and I let it go to voice mail. When she answered, I knew something was terribly wrong. I thought first of my older brother. But it would prove to be something much more emotionally draining. My 25-year old niece, Megan had been diagnosed with Hodgkins Lynphoma.

Before the weekend was over, I knew what that was. I knew it was totally treatable, but that she was going to be going through an incredibly difficult next 6 months. She was married in October. In January both she and her new husband both lost their jobs on the same day with the same employer and in a time of terrible economic times, especially in places like Boise. And now, this.

I rode home that night and the decision was not difficult. Italy is out. I want to stay closer to home. I still need to kep myself strong, but I want to keep more of my vacation and more of my money and more of my time and energy closer to family this year. Italy will be there. But I can’t give up on all my goals. If I do, I’ll find myself moping about, frustrated and depressed, and it is crucial that I stay focused, physically active and clearly in the driver’s seat with my own health if I’m going to be a helper to my family.

I had ridden the 200k and finished in (for me) very fast time. The same happened on the 300k and even though I rode through 150 miles of rain on the 400k I did, I felt very strong, very fit and very pleased with myself all day and all night. I was ready for the 600k.

I started to look around for what I wanted to do. This would be my first ever, and perhaps the only time I’ll ever go for it. I looked first to the Oregon Randonneurs, since I really like how they organize their brevets. Scheduling was not right. Then I looked to Seattle Randonneurs. Timing was again not the best, but maybe I could do the early one the first weekend of June. Damn! The Men’s Retreat is the following week. I pretty much ruled that out, and looked to the later one…..wait, isn’t that Father’s Day? Owel. Maybe it was just a pipe dream anyway.

Then Mike Sturgill invited me to come to Arizona. C’mon down. Use one of my bikes. I’ll meet you at the airport. Stay at my house. Carpool to the start line. We’ll ride together. What could be easier. I looked at the ride. Grand Canyon????? I’m all over this. And the plan was hatched.

The bike was packed. It was shipped. It arrived finally and was all set-up for me when I got here. Now I just need you to pump me full of caffeine, point me to the start line and sit on my bike for something like 32-40 hours.

And so, I sit here, about 18 hours away from the start line. There is a wild fire 5 miles west of Flagstaff. Looks like we might be riding through a little bit of smoky haze. Maybe that will make for even more beautiful sunrise and sunsets? Who knows?

Tomorrow and Sunday, I’ll be spending a lot of time astraddle the saddle, contemplating how fortunate I am in life. I’ll be thinking of my desire to ride Mt. Tam with Pansy and how that will never happen. I’ll feel her on my shoulder. I’ll be thinking of Megan and the chemotherapy she is going through, and offering up prayers of healing. I’ll be thinking some of my friend Bob H. from Seattle who was such a great role model when I started out on the path to recovery. I’ll be thinking a lot about guys like Greg Sneed and Peter Beeson and Mark Thomas and Chris and Will and Pam and Dave and Joe and Dan and Ian and Geoff and Narayan and Mark Jackson and Greg Cox and Ward and Death Ride Bob and Don/Elaine and Team Chaos and Ralph/Carol and Jim/Ann, all the other randonneurs I’ve learned so much from over the past several years.

I don’t ride for my health, although by riding I’ve become healthier. I don’t ride for strength, though by cycling I’ve become stronger. I ride mosly because I love to ride. I love the feel of the wind in my face. I love the challenge of me and my machine against the elements. I love to push myself to the edge of my capabilities and feel the way my body reacts and recovers. I love the friendships. I love the solitude of being by myself in early morning and at sunset, listening to the whir of gears and songs of the birds. I love the smell of bacon frying as I ride past an isolated country home.

And yet, there is this gnawing inside…….can I do it? Am I good enough, strong enough, fast enough…..

I know the answer is yes, but there is always that doubt that I live with.

Life gets in the way sometimes. Every day, though, the celebration of life is worthy of pausing to breathe in and out and cherish. Ride to the top of that mountain and appreciate the vista. Accept that challenge and see if you can make it happen. Help a stranger and watch how others will reach out to help you.

Life is!

A Fast Chilly Wet Sunny Windy Beautiful 190 Mile Ride

2011-05-08T12:40:00.000-07:00

Ah, gotta love the Greater Pacific Northwet. We're still stuck in this cool damp (even for HERE) stretch. After the coldest (and one of the dampest) Aprils in history, we're at it again for May. Raleighdon, however, refuses to let the weather win. Despite forecasts of 'showers and sun breaks', he ventured out for a 300k yesteray, leaving the house at 3:33 am to get to the start line by 4:00 am. It's always nice leaving from the house since I can get all sorts of inspiration, like this wonderful art that my sis-in-law made for me:

I never really know what I'm gonna feel like doing on the bike when I get out there. Sometimes I just want to dawdle along, taking pictures, enjoying the scenery, playing with bugs in the moss or whatever, other times I just get a wild hare up my you know what and want to see just how fast I can do a ride. Well. By the time I was 40 miles into it yesterday, I knew I wasn't gonna have trouble making the 7:50 ferry out of Bremerton, but started wondering if I could make the 6:40 boat? That would mean hitting a time of 14:30 and my 300's this year have been taking me 15+, so not real likely. But I decided to at least make it a day just minimizing my time off the bike. Riding through lots of showers - when it rained, it was sudden, very hard and then suddenly gone. Blew right past my coffee stop in Tenino, did a 5 minute stop at the Rainier control and wrestled with blowing through Rochester, knowing I had everything on the bike I need except water and I can get that at a park. Somehow, though, the word PIE begs my attention, and I find it irresistable, much like the siren's song. There's just something about the Highway Diner in Rochester that makes it impossible to pass by.

and who wouldn't be tempted by something that looks THIS GOOD? (this is from a week ago, but you get the point):

Having rolled into Rochester before 10:30, even with all the rain and headwinds, I was totally motivated now. I spent almost a half hour sitting anc chatting with the locals, before heading off toward the next (and very, very informational) control where I was asked what the tandem axle weight limit for a bridge was.

Shhhhhh, don't tell anybody I gave up the secret:

The view of the waterway(Garrard Creek?) was nice, although still very very gray:

As I was rolling along, I came to another bridge over a small creek and found this concrete column standing out in the field, covered by moss and ferns. It reminded me of Bozo the Clown's hairdo

Seems like the moss and ferns have pretty much taken over this spring.

For a little while, the sun tried to come out and the temp finally got above 50 degrees for the first time:

Now, as I'd been rolling south and west, I was riding headlong into and through the little squalls, so they were there and gone followed by periods of either sun or just gray with wet pavement. But When I left Elma heading finally to the north and east and the tailwind started to push me, I found myself riding right about the same pace as the rain, so it just dumped on me for about 35 miles. HARD. All of a sudden, though, I got to Potlatch and the sun came out. Temp jumped to 55 and I was actually forced to take my raincoat off. But not before I visited a couple of my friends:

and took the time to set up a self-portrait

As I left Potlatch, I picked up a really fantastic 15 mph tailwind most of the way back to Bremerton. The views were spectacular, the pedaling almost effortless and I was treated to another beautiful day on SR-106.

and the mountains were simply amazing. Haven't seen them for a while. Here it is May and they're still showing fresh snow!

And I always love coming past the historic Dalby Waterwheel, relocated to its current location about 5 years ago by local preservationists. This waterwheel is said to have provided the first hydroelectric power in Mason County.

I don't think that gasoline was quite this expensive when that waterwheel was first built:

After rolling through Belfair non-stop (I usually stop for coffee cuz there's a really cute barrista I like to visit), deciding I probably had just ebout exactly enough liquid to get me the final 15 miles, I let the wind push me up the final 300' climb on Old Belfair Highway and rolled into Bellingham before 5:30.

Even with a sudden shifting of the wind, a sudden thunderstorm and a 4-block 125' climb, I made the quick descent to the finish line, ending my 300k in 13:42, the fastest I've ever done on that distance (at least for a brevet). Even had time to head to Fritz's for a german sausage and kraut sandwich before heading to the dock where I had to wait for my ship to com in.

And as they finally got ready to let me aboard the skies opened up one more time to remind me that around these parts, Raleighdon may be fast, but the weather is still boss.

After 190 miles, Katrina was mighty happy to take a little rest.

and that's just about all I have to say about that.

Singin' In The Rain

2011-04-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

OK, I’ll admit to being a bit over the edge. I’ll even admit to going to extremes just so I can ride every day. Hell, that’s why I bought studded tires for one of my bikes. Winter can be so much fun, and it can be such a great challenge to force yourself to ride every single day, no matter the conditions. Once you’re on the bike, the rest of the world and its problems just sort of fade away. Inclement weather riding forces us into a much closer relationship with our surroundings and being encompassed in the harshness of it all can make us feel very much alive. As long as we are prepared, that is. I often think that anybody can get out there on a nice sunny 70 degree day and ride south for a while with a 10 mph wind pushing them along from the north. But can you look out the window, see the puddles getting deeper and say to yourself “Oh BOY!!! What a great day for a bike ride?”
Often, the question arises about what one should use to ride in the rain (and I get asked frequently for some odd reason). I've only ridden 4,000 miles in and around the Seattle area since January 1st this year, so I'm probably only minimally qualified to discuss it, but when I hear somebody from the Midwest talk about buying a $10 clear plastic raincoat and chop the arms off of it so you won’t become too warm, I tend to scoff just a bit. Some folks just don’t understand what it is like to ride in the rain day in and day out, year after year.
If you plan to ride on any kind of a regular basis in the northwest, GOOD equipment is essential to being successful. I gauge “success” as the ability to look out the window on a cold, dark morning and not shudder in fear that you should probably just stay home. I’ve spent considerable time and energy finding out what works for a guy like me and thought maybe I should share that. Your comments and suggestions, of course, are welcome (even encouraged).
First of all is wool, of course. All we have to do is look to the east, and I’m not talking about Chicago and New York. I mean across the Atlantic to Ireland, Scotland, England and other places like that. What are the old timers wearing? Quite literally, they are wearing the same thing they’ve been wearing for centuries. WOOL. Why? Because it works! I won't be without it. I can get wet but not be uncomfortably cold. Also, unlike the synthetics, I can ride all day long and not end up smelling like I haven’t bathed in a month. There are a lot of “new” wools out that even a guy like me with very sensitive skin can wear. Some wool makes me itch like crazy. But this merino wool stuff! OH BABY!!! I’ve become a true believer.
REI has a great selection of heavy wool kneesocks - check out their snowboarding section for the Smartwool line. Best damned investment I’ve made, I think. Those and my Ibex wool knickers keep me pretty well taken care of downstairs. I also have some merino wool long johns for really cold days. Of course, our rain patterns here are such that we quite frequently have days where it will rain a little and stop; rain a little and stop. Rain pants don't work well, other than for 5-10 mile commuting purposes. For commuting, I have a pair of “Illuminite Intrepid” rain pants that have a mesh lining so they at least breathe a little bit. The ankle zips are worthless, but with ankle straps, I’ve found they work pretty well. They also have reflective material and sometimes I’ll use them on a cold, wet night as an added layer and added visibility thing. What I’ve found, though, is that once my legs are wet (from either rain or sweat) and inside the rain pants, they simply never dry. Then I end up chilled, especially when I stop for any more than just a few short minutes. In wool knickers and knee socks, when it stops raining, you'll dry out some. I also use good neoprene shoe covers. If you're out for more than 3-4 hours in the rain, you're going to get wet. I've heard about the Lake MXZ series winter shoes and am thinking of getting a pair for next winter to do product testing on them. At about $250, though, I hesitate just a little bit. For now, I use my good SIDI Dominator shoes, wool socks and a good pair of shoe covers. I like the Potenza booties I have, and another one made by Perlizumi. The Potenzas tend to keep me warmer in cold weather, the Perlizumis keep the water out for a little longer. Both have Velcro closers at the back instead of zippers, which have always seemed problematic to me.
OK, that's south of the border stuff. Now let's talk about upstairs.
I just completed a 400k last weekend of which 240k of it (approx. 150 miles) was in constant rain. OUR kind of rain. That constant, misty, penetrating, drizzling rain that has a way of increasing from time to time into a downpour and saturating us from head to toe and skin to bone. That kind of rain that just sorta settles in over the horizon, making the hills disappear, and making it difficult to see anything around you. Yep 150 miles of THAT kind of rain. It was between 41 and 51 degrees for the entire time. I had my new Showers Pass rain jacket on. It is a product that is developed IN the northwest BY northwesterners and FOR northwesterners. We know rain. And this company (I have absolutely no affiliation and am not a stockholder) knows what we need because they live and ride here. This jacket is simply the gold standard. I'm on my second one, having worn the other one out. I ride a lot and am hard on my equipment. Yeah, yeah, I know. I should be more gentle on my gear. This new one ("elite 2.0") is incredible. With an Ibex wool undershirt, a long-sleeved Seattle Randonneur (I'm sure you've seen our blue jerseys around as you are out riding) jersey and that jacket, I was totally comfortable, never cold and clammy and when I arrived at the finish line at 2:45 a.m., my jersey was DRY! Granted, it had quit raining about 8:30, but I never got more than lightly damp even at the height of the rain. My feet? Yes. My legs? Yes. My upper body? No. And I was never either too cold or too warm. Mama bear might have been too cold and Papa bear too warm, but like baby bear, I’d found a combination that was just right.

Yes, you can cheap your way through. But why would you want to if you’re going to be out in the rain for extended periods? Why not try to be comfortable? If this is a sport you love and you are going to do moderately and regularly in OUR climate, do yourself a favor and invest well in your future. Riding in the rain doesn’t have to be intimidating or scary or something to be avoided. It is a part of cycling in the northwest that should be embraced and relished. We live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet and I try to make myself get out there right in the middle of it just a little bit every day.

Now let’s talk about gloves!

This is one of my favorite topics, and I made a really cool discovery a year or so ago. Remember that I ride daily and I ride long distances often.

I have two pair of Ibex Kilometer gloves - one medium, one large. ($60/ea)
I have a pair of Ibex wool glove liners ($25/pr)
I have numerous pairs of fingerless gloves. ($25 - $45/pr)

I also have a couple other pairs of long finger gloves, one Novara and one Specialized. Compared to Ibex they're JUNK. Especially when wet.

So here's my trick. When I'm going out on a long ride and it is raining, I wear a pair of my Ibex K's with glove liners or a pair of fingerless w/ glove liners (if it is above 50F). I carry my other pair (the smaller one) in a ziplock bag. IF it stops raining, I remove my wet gloves, wring them out as best I can, fold them neatly in half and put them in my jersey pockets. There, they stay warm and I am not even aware they are there after a couple of minutes. IF it starts to rain again, I remove my dry gloves, which have now been keeping my hands nice and warm, replace them to the safety of their ziplock and put the wet gloves (warm, remember?) back on. I have been doing this successfully all winter and never had an issue with cold and uncomfortable fingers.

I also have a pair of cheap $8.00 wool fingerless gloves I got at REI. In really cold weather, I pull these (extra large) OVER my long finger gloves and though it is bulky, I'm warm. Some folks like Lobster claws, but I found them very unwieldy and it is impossible to layer with them (at least for me).

In case of emergency when you're out on a long wet ride and the temp drops and your hands are soaking wet and getting really chilled and you've got a long way to go to get home, stop at the nearest mini-mart and buy a pair of extra large dishwashing gloves. Pull them on over whatever you're riding. It looks really, really dorky (sorta like the rest of me) but it works!
See ya on the road, folks. I’m not difficult to recognize. I’m that geeky looking guy with a grin from ear to ear, riding along with a smile from ear to ear, singing in the rain. Wave when you go by. And don’t forget to smile. Let those folks in their cars know you’re out here because you WANT to be.

The Time Of Our Lives

2011-04-20T16:58:00.000-07:00

Somebody asked me a while back what I think about on those long, long days and nights when I'm out there for hours and hours on my bike. Well, this is what I think about.

On my morning commute yesterday, Mimi and I were riding together. She said something and I became angry. We parted at Myrtle and Flora, a place we separate often, only instead of parting with a loving kiss and hug, it was with tension and hurt feelings. Later, I was riding my bike home from work. By myself. As I rode through the International District, I saw a young couple, obviously very much in love, walking arm in arm up Main Street. As I rode along, I thought back so many, many years to when Mimi and I were first together and how we used to look at each other this way. I remembered how I felt, and how she made me feel every time I saw her. Even if we were a block apart, oh how my heart raced just at the sight of her. It often still does.

I rode on up the hill.

I turned south on Beacon Avenue and by the library, I saw another young couple. This couple had a small child. The father was carrying the child and the mother was watching them as they strolled along, her arm through his. The couple clearly had a single focus. That child. As I slowed and watched them, I thought about that magic autumn of 1978 when we were expecting our first child, that incredible night when Mimi told me it was time to go to the hospital and the next few months. I chuckled to myself about how precious that time was. It still is.

I continued to ride towards home.

Just past the fire station, I saw a dad and his two young children riding along on the sidewalk on their bicycles. As I again slowed to watch them, I noticed the younger of the two children struggling while the older child rode off ahead and dad barely able to decide which one to pay the most attention to. He looked at me and smiled. I looked at him and smiled back. I gave him a thumbs up. I thought back a few years to 1992, the first year I trained my sons and rode with them on their first STP. What a time that was! How proud I was when we all crossed the finish line together. How proud I still am. How proud Mimi was, and how supportive she was when we went out every weekend and rode our bikes all day instead of working around the house.

I rode on along the hill.

Somewhere south of Columbian Way, I was riding along and noticed a very old couple. Leaning into each other. Looked like if they didn't hold onto each other, they would fall down. As I looked at this old couple, I thought about the morning. I thought about my life and how very precious my wife is and how precious every moment of every day is. My eyes started to tear up a little and I thought it must be because there was a headwind.

In a brief seven miles, I had re-lived 33 years of marriage by watching others about me. I went home and took Mimi for a walk. We strolled along, arm in arm, and as we did, we talked of our lives together and how much we mean to each other.

Life is fragile. I don't want to waste it.

I Love Newcomers to Randonneuring

2011-03-26T16:58:00.000-07:00

The route starts from the Beacon Hill Red Apple and just like at Thanksgiving when they paint the window with turkeys, now it is with easter chicks:

I arrived a bit early, so headed over to The Station:

(photo imported from FB profile page)

where I found this sign:

They were hot and freshly made (heck, it was 8:30 in the morning!) and JoseLuis Rodriguez told me I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try one. So I did. Lawdy, Miss Claudie! That was sooooooooo good, and just excellent pre-ride food, along with one of there outstanding Mexican Hot Chocolates. Dave arrived just as I got back,

and after taking care of the obligatory paperwork, we were off, right at 9:00.

Of course, this is a course that starts with a 38 mph descent from Beacon Ave. down to SODO on Holgate. I was a bit concerned since I didn't know how he'd do, but after we got down to the bottom of the hill and were headed out toward Spokane at 17 mph, I figured we'd do just fine together, especially when he started telling me he sure hoped he wouldn't slow me down (as I was choking and trying to keep breathing!).

We made a quick stop in South Park for a wardrobe change and Dave took a bit of a spill when his skinny tires got caught in some sort of terrain. Luckily, no serious damage, and off we went, chatting a mile a minute and then the rain started. For the first 30 miles it was one of those Seattle mystery rains where you keep feeling the drops, but never get wet. Then south of Kent, it started to be a bit more serious, but never enough I needed my rainjacket.

Now, Dave is a big guy at 250# and he was really worried about "the hill" at the end. This course has about 900' of vertical gain, over 550' of it in the last 5 miles. Only the first little section right after MLK is very steep at all, and he just made it up that like a champion.

After a quick stop at Casa Boothby (2 blocks off the route) to grab a piece of forgotten paperwork for the ride, we were off again and finished strong in just 5:17. a VERY respectable time, especially for a first time rider.

JOB WELL DONE, DAVE. WELCOME TO RUSA AND SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL RANDONNEURS!

After the finish, we lounged about The Station, where we each did a fine job of wolfing down another three tamales and chased it down with some coffee.

If you happen to be on the north end of Beacon Hill, head across the street from Red Apple, take a left down 16th Ave. S (north) and head that half block toward The Station. Best dingblasted espresso on the hill, nice rotating art display, great pastries, and a small selection of beers. Of course, now with these tamales, I'm even MORE of a regular! Tell JoseLuis "that crazy biker" sent you. He'll treat you right, trust me.

M: 71.57
T: 05:14:47
A: 13.64
TT: 05:17:13*
E: 1,285

*that total time/saddle time is a little deceiving - I didn't really only spend 3 minutes off the bike! The saddle time includes my 4 miles riding from home to the start and 4 miles back home. The total time includes JUST the time for the permanent route itself.

R.I.P. Showers Pass Rain Jacket - You've Been Great

2011-03-21T20:39:00.000-07:00

There are three things a fellow needs to ride his bike every day successfully in Seattle. Wool, more wool, and above all, a good Showers Pass rain jacket.

Well, I suppose there are some other things that somebody might need, but what I’ve found the past few years is that with these three things, I can go out on the bike pretty much every day, in any inclement riding conditions, and while I may get wet and the weather might be cold, I’m not going to be uncomfortable. Some might dispute my choices, but let them ride a few thousand miles in my saddle and then let’s talk.

My love affair with my Showers Pass rain jacket was pretty much immediate from the first time I wore it. It was Christmas 2007. We were going with our bike club down to the Oregon coast for New Year. Mimi had bought one of these jackets for herself earlier in the year. I’d changed jobs in April, making it possible to bike commute pretty much daily, but my old rain jacket was just not very waterproof, and it didn’t breathe very well. She had ordered me one for my Christmas present, but it didn’t arrive in time. She called somebody, telling them we were going out of town (I didn’t even know about it) and when we arrived at our hotel, the desk clerk said to me, "Mr. Boothby, I think we have a package for you."

Now THAT was some gift delivery.

In 2008, I rode 337 days. In 2009, 362 days and in 2010, 364 days, missing only four days in the last two years and haven’t had a day yet in 2011 without riding. In that amount of time, I’ve ridden over 33,000 miles. Most of those miles are in western Washington and riding through the winter, it doesn’t rain every day, but it is almost constantly either very wet or very cold. On January 1, 2010 I rode a 125 mile ride from Olympia to Brinnon, WA passing first north and a few hours later south through Hoodsport. The rainfall that day was 2.5” in Hoodsport. I smiled and played in the rain all day with glee.

What I found with the Showers Pass is that with a single merino wool undergarment, a long sleeve merino wool jersey and my rain jacket, I can ride comfortably down to temperatures of 25 degrees F. Below that, I need another layer of wool. But the nice thing about the Showers Pass is that its wind protection and breathability allow me to wear it over the wool all day, every day and not become cold and clammy, like what used to happen with the other jacket I wore.

Alas, after about 33,000 miles, all the road grime, all the roadside tire changes and emergency maintenance done without removing my coat, all the times being dragged through the mud, and all the just daily beating up that my gear gets has taken its toll. The nice yellow isn’t so nice anymore. It is stained and bedraggled. The rear pocket seams came unglued about 3 months ago. The right Velcro wrist strap is beginning to fall apart (it’s been that way for over 18 months and just never really gets any worse, so I don’t do anything about it) and finally, after all the up and down action, the zipper has finally given up. Like me, it finally lost its grip. It hadn’t lost its water repellent properties though. FANTASTIC!

I have only one article of clothing that I feel any more sentimental about than this jacket, and that is a pair of old beat up wing tips I bought in 1981. I’ve had them resoled and reheeled several times, and now, the leather at the heels is finally starting to collapse. Like my Showers Pass, they’re beginning to fail. Maybe I ought to send them back, too. Clothes just obviously aren’t meant to last. On the other hand, maybe they could fix my rain jacket like they did my shoes.…..

A LOVELY DAY IN THE COUNTRY - AND THE LAST DAY OF WINTER

2011-03-20T20:11:00.000-07:00

SIR Spring 200K brevet.

There is absolutely nothing that makes this tired old dinosaur feel young again like a really strong day on the bike. After last week's 'interesting' ride from Portland back to Seattle (only half of it in the rain with the only positive thing I could say was "at least I've got a tailwind"), I pretty much rested this week. Yeah, I rode every day, but totally without motivation or any kind of aggressiveness. I was pretty pooped out. So after a good massage on Friday evening, I went home and got everything ready for the 200K, wondering how I'd do, how strong I'd feel, knowing the whole time that this is a course that has nearly 6,000' of vertical, multiple 10%+ climbs including one that is 15% for at least a half mile and one right at the end that is just brutally difficult, and lots of long, grinding rollers (not my favorite type of course but really great for those guys training for PBP). I had lots of questions, but went into the day thinking if I could finish in 10 hours or so, it would be a pretty good day.

With a 7:00 am start time, it was necessary to get out of Seattle early, meaning before any hint of light except for a monstrously big moon on the western horizon. As big as it was, I couldn't imagine what it would be like when it rose about 12 hours later.

There was hardly anybody there when Paul and I arrived, but it wasn't long before there were over 100 charged up cyclists all standing around.......

......waiting for Greg Cox to make the opening announcements.

Finally, we were off! The course started out with a very nice descent down into the valley, where we seemed to meander about for a while. For a brief time, there was a little left over fog that was very pretty, but a bit dicey as the cars trying to pass us were faced with incredible glare, making it quite difficult to see any oncoming traffic, as well as us.

Not long after that, however, we made a left turn and in just a few moments were met with THE WALL.

As I approached, it really didn't look "all THAT bad", especially with a little downhill to build up some momentum. RIGHT, Boothby. Momentum. That was quickly dissipated as the grade went from 4% to 11% to 15% in very short order. It seemed to level off just a bit for a short time, then pitched up again, this time even steeper. According to my computer, the steepest pitch is 16%, but according to some mapping software, one section is 18%. I believe the software. Especially since I was starting to develop side stitches near the top. I was very relieved to see a gang of SIR control workers at the top. Of course, there was Mark Thomas, always at the ready whith his telephoto lens and friendly, yet sadistic grin. All the way up the hill, I'd wanted to pull my camera out and take a photo, but I was afraid to take a hand off the bars for fear of falling down. I rode past Mark wanting to say that I would like to rappel down that cliff and do it without my jacket on so he'd get the full impact of my Seattle Randonneur jersey, but didn't have wind to do it. Or the courage. He would have said, "GO FOR IT, BOOTHBY!" As would have about 30 others who were trying to survive the pain. Luckily, it was still only 35 degrees F. out, so at least we weren't overheating.

Now, my ride strategy on 200Ks is really simple. Ride out with the fastest group I can hang onto either until the first control or the first big climbs, then let them go and settle into a nice relaxed pace for the remainder of the day, drifting back, visiting with folks who come up and eventually pass me and still finish within about 10 hours or so (my typical attention span). I'd managed to leech my way into a line with Dave Harper, Mark Roehrig, Peter Rankin, Wayne Methner and a few other guys working a nice fast pace about 3 or 4 mph faster than I would typically be able to ride by myself. This was GREAT!. We got up and over the cliff, and I had to sit back and do some deep breathing for a few minutes to get rid of the cramps. But somehow, I managed to hang on with these guys. I'm not used to being that strong, then I figured out that it wasn't just my strength. Mark was hacking and wheezing his way along, so I figured out that on his worst day, I can struggle and hang on. Many chuckles under my breath about that one. But I took my turns at the front, remarking once to Mark that he must really enjoy drafting off us small guys to which he responded, "Yeah. My kneecaps thank you."

We rolled into the first control and I figured that was that, now we start the rollers and I'll never be able to keep up. But as the morning went on, I was feeling stronger and stronger. Trying to keep up with Dave is never an easy task for me, but for once I didn't feel like I was struggling. The new section of the Centennial Trail was smooth, wide open and a really nice reprieve from some of the busy traffic we'd started to have, and I knew the free ride was just about over. Yep, Arlington Heights and Jordan Road. I've been over Jordan Road only once before, and each of those little bumps in the road just about killed me. Not this time. Standing in the pedals, taking my turn at the front, kicking back when I was in back, making sure I kept enough calories and liquid in the tank. DANG! Another secret control. I should have filled up with water there but I didn't, thinking there was a control in Arlington. Wrong, BUCKO! After the control, I was riding along, by now huffing and puffing and wondering how long before the big bad wolf blew my house down. I figured about 4 more miles (we were 6 miles out of Arlington). As we came up to the roundabout, though, I was feeling stronger again, though, still thinking there was an Arlington control and thinking with maybe 5 minutes off-bike, I could hang with the gang all the way to Sultan. Then it happened. I saw a sign. I had to stop. I had to take a picture. I couldn't let it go. As I pulled out, one of the guys asked if I was okay. "Yeah, I said, just need to get a photo. I'll catch up to you at the control." Well, I got the shot

and actually managed to catch up to them since they had to wait at a light. I saw Wayne pull off into the MacDonalds and everybody else rode on. I wondered what was going on. I was sure there was a control. I figured they were going to stop at another place and grab something to eat and drink. It's another 25 to Sultan. Finally, I realized they weren't stopping and decided I needed to stop and check my cue sheet. I'd run out of page and couldn't see the directions from there to Sultan. Sure enough, no control. I stood there and watched them ride off, trying to decide whether to forge on with less than a half bottle of lemonade/water or turn back. I went on, but now alone.

Ahhhhhh, peace and quiet. Time to relax. Time to smell the flowers and actually be able to look at the scenery,

try to spot eagles and listen to the breeze up in the trees. I missed the company, but like the solitude, too, and thought if I didn't drop my pace, I might catch them in Sultan and if I could just do a splash and go, I might be able to hook back up. Just after getting onto Lake Roesiger Road, I caught up to Eric Nillson and rode along with him the rest of the way into and out of Sultan. Between his melodious drive train and my debris rub on the front fender, we were a regular randonneur's band. All we needed was a horn section, but Dave Harper was long gone by that time.

Finally, after taking a brief foray in the wrong direction, turning off Old Pipeline Road a little too early, we dropped down that steep descent on Reiner Road and Old Owen, dropping into the valley, where we had an excellent view of the mountains.

Wayne had caught up to and passed us again, and I got to thinking about the last time I'd seen him on this road back in 2008 on the 400K. 90 degrees and going the other direction. DANG I was miserable then, but like today, I had been riding strong all day. I looked down and realized it was just exactly half as warm today at 45 degrees.

Peter and Mark were still in the control when we got there, but before I could pee and get through the check out, they were gone again, never to be seen again til the finish line.

After lubing Eric's chain and fussing with my fender a little more, we were off again, but as we made the right turn onto Ben Howard Road, I needed to stop and take a picture again, and let him go. He would have waited, as we were enjoying the company, but I knew that I was going to stop several times between there and High Bridge Road so pretty much insisted he go on without me.

There was this lovely little waterfall, see, and I just needed to stop and enjoy the solitude of the moss growing off the logs, the sound of the rushing water and the peaceful aroma of the near springlike air.

And a bit further on, as I looked back over my right shoulder, I was treated to the most glorious view of the Snohomish River and the fresh snow on the mountains behind me.

Going up Ben Howard Road from the east, it just sort of meanders upwards, never really steep, and with almost no traffic, it was just an incredibly spendid part of the ride, along one of my favorite stretches of road in the Northwest.

Well, okay, there is this one little 11% bump in the road:

But then the road drops like a rock down into the valley where several old farms dot the landscape

and I got to visit one of my old friends, a tree that was hundreds of years old when it died, and remains standing in defiance of the passage of time.

Once off of Ben Howard Road, I saw Eric a short distance ahead and started to up my speed a little bit, getting passed by a few racers out for a short little sprint, apparently, since they went by me like I was standing still and I looked down and was hitting it at 19. Show offs! I thought it might have been Jan and Chris doing their second lap, but I wasn't quite sure.

I caught up to Eric at the info control, snapping a picture of the bridge sign as I rode by, figuring to fill in the blanks for both controls in another 15 or so miles at the next one. He jumped back on his bike, chased me down and we were off, chatting the whole way until we reeled in (I think) James McKee who had stopped briefly at a portapotty. I recognized that as the secret conrol from a couple weeks ago and chuckled to myself about how we just keep criss-crossing this area with all of our rides. Three of us working together made for some pretty quick work and we made that distance in no time, but had a little bit of trouble finding the next info control. I was needing a bathroom in a bad way by that time (hey! I'M OLD. What do you expect?) and one of the other strategies I use on brevets is that I really like to finish pretty much alone. It is a time of quiet reflection for me. A time to talk to my higher power, give thanks for all the many gifts in my life, ponder the great mysteries of the universe, wonder what time the moon will rise and all that sort of happy horse crap. It's just a bit of a habit I've gotten into over the years. So once again, I let them go. It would have been a whole lot stronger to stay with them, especially with the headwinds I was now going to be faced with. No matter. It gave me the opportunity to see something I'm really not used to seeing. I've seen a lot of cars up on blocks today, but this is the first house up on blocks. And I mean REALLY up on blocks. I've worked in insurance for a long time and heard about FEMA and their requirements after Katrina that everyone along the shoreline in Biloxi abandon their property unless willing to put them up on 8' - 12' high flood basements. Well, now I got to see this lovely proram live and up close in my own backyard, and it gave me just that much more to ponder.

Ain't that a lovely sight? Wouldn't you really want to live there? Well, I guess Joe and Jane Doe-American didn't find it so appealing halfway through the process, either. Seems like we could simply build our house on some sort of an inflatable pontoon or something, so if a flood came, we could simply blow up the 'boat' so to speak. I guess that wouldn't work to save the cows though, would it? Ah, well, time to ride on. No wonder it takes me so long to finish a brevet. I think too doggone much!

The afternoon had warmed considerably and the Cascades peered out, giving me a really nice valley vista.

I looked down at the computer and it was registering 59. Warm, sunny and turning out of the wind. What could be finer? BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE.

I'm now faced with just four more miles and it is all uphill. I know it is all uphill because I drove up it this morning. I know it is steep. I know it is long, and I've been dreading riding up this hill since 2004. Jim assures me that it isn't "that bad", that he's done it several times - on a tandem. I know I can make it, I just don't WANT to. Wah! Get over it Boothby.

But I start up, and then I see a gang of cyclists coming. Then I see ANIMAL FARM. What's up with that? I see a pig, a few goats, a horse, a pony, a sheep and maybe a miniature donkey, all lolling about the yard like a cheerleading section at the Tour de France. And not one sign of human life. I'm really thinking I've got to take a picture of this. But I don't want to get passed by 10 bikes. Quickly, I grab the camera, stop, take the shot

then stand and punish my legs almost all the way up the hill. I WILL NOT BE PASSED ON THIS HILL!

Finally, the turn on to 64th St. SE, and just another short little climb and I'm onto the home stretch. Riding down 76th toward Jim and Ann's (I think every time I ever came here it was dark!) was marvelous, with a little pond and windmill across the street, giving me a little reward for that climb.

And then I was done!

There was food and beverages, lots of great company and Robin, Bob and Amy there to greet me in typical Rando style.

and after 9 hours and 4 minutes on the bike, I changed clothes and waited for my carpool buddy to show up so we could go home. That left me plenty of time to eat a plate of lasagna, some salad, some chips and dip, a coke, a cup of coffee and a couple more bottles of water. I FELT GOOD, too. So totally different than my dumb stunt last weekend in the rain.

Sheesh! That Boothby. He's some kinda looney tunes.

Spring Populaire Ride Report - By Mimi Torchia Boothby

2011-03-05T19:30:00.001-08:00

I invited my "guest writer" and best friend, Mimi, to write our ride report today as it is her second SIR populaire, and first one in the spring series. On the way home, I tried to coerce her into doing a 200 with me this year.....she ain't bitin'.....anyway, here's what my best stoker in the world has to say about our ride:

After the changeable wintry weather of the last few weeks, the sunny sky at dawn this morning seemed like nothing more than a teaser. Just two days ago, I was gazing at a sky just like that and 20 minutes later, it was black and hailing. But the weather report was encouraging, and I knew I could always change my mind and go home if it became too miserable. To make my commitment, one 100k ride a month for a year to get the coveted P12 award, I still had the rest of March to do it. And maybe then I could wait for Spring to actually occur.

I agreed to do this ride on the back of the Boothby tandem because I am not yet quite back in shape to tackle hilly rides longer than 20 miles and Donald is an incredible powerhouse. I am certain I could sit back there with no pedals and he could still get us around the course, so I was in. We got to the parking lot where the ride began and it was amazing. Almost every cyclist I knew was there, and oh, the bikes! This was starting to look better than Bike Expo.

These were the bikes that people actually rode, not just the shiny flashy ones. Oh wait, some of them WERE shiny and flashy. I saw a gorgeous ALL chrome Davidson, and what about the big orange tandem, or the bike with the cool screaming yellow spokes?

The sky was filled with billowing clouds, and the parking lot was filled with handsome cyclists all wearing a glowing array of colors. After counting more than 6 tandems, I was certain that this ride would definitely be good on a tandem, that many teams could not be wrong. I also was happy to see Jan Heine, this is the first ride I've ever been on that he was also on. OOO I was with the big boys. And the tires of his bike looked just like the ones on my own, that made me feel rather cutting edge.

And we were off. After being told to ride socially down the trail, we were left behind by many while going 20 miles an hour. Oh, this is going to be good, if 20 is taking it easy, gasp!

Right off the trail we had to go up a nasty hill. But we did it easily and it warmed me up. Yes, that's what I like about hills. That's the only way to stay warm when it's in the 40's and the cold winds off the nearby snow covered hills pass through you.

I was wearing many layers of wool covered by a Rainy Pass Jacket and neoprene booties. (ed. note: not to mention matching orange polka dot socks!) Would this be enough? Turns out it was. As we zipped down the road, I watched the miles, 15 miles, that's 25% of the ride done already! YES! The mood of the other riders seemed festive as the miles increased and we were still not getting wet.

I grew up in a very modest family. Toileting was done behind closed doors and you blew your nose in a handkerchief. Riding with Randonneurs has finally inured me to these notions, I no longer gasp when I see a man with his back to me and a bright strong stream of urine launching in front of him. I no longer offer people hankies when I see snot dripping from their noses, although I admit I still cringe at the sound of people launching snot rockets right in front of me. I will admit however, I like the soft spot on my gloves meant for wiping my nose.

Donald has a riding method that really works for me. We are not a fast tandem team, so in order to get to where we need to go, we cut corners at all the stops. Unfortunately for Donald, my bladder is almost 60 years old and that means more stops. But this system works so well, we get off, we eat, fill out bottles and empty our bladders, and this enables us to keep up with faster riders. We both know that we can lounge and rest at the end of the ride.

We passed through Carnation and had a nice 15 minute or so stop at Sandy's Espresso, once again surrounded by lots of bright colored bikes and happy cyclists, and got our cards signed by Joe and his daughter Lizzy who came out to enjoy the day with Dad.

Lizzy even made us a "WELCOME BANNER" that she was very proud of, and rightfully so!

But alas, after hubby and a friend stood around admiring the socks they'd stolen out of their wives' drawers, it was time to move on down the road.

Some of the tandems had already rolled out, even ones with mismatched booties.....

Out of Carnation, we met more than one unpleasant driver. Clearly they were not having as much fun as we were and they showed us with horns and middle fingers. But I cheerily waved at all of them, glad that no one was any worse.

Finally THE HILL....

Donald announced it, this is the one. I asked him twice, "and when we get to the end, they will be cheering us, right?" He assured me that that was the case (we'd listened to Ride Director Peter Beeson very carefully before the ride).

So I knew, as we got to a summit, that no, that wasn't the last one, because where were they with the smiles, a control, and maybe some muffins? I had worried about this hill for two weeks, and it had been on my mind for the entire ride up to then. I don't know what I was worried about, I'd done Hurricane Ridge, and just to get to my own house there's switchbacks of 12% and greater that I have been going up for years now, but somehow, the winter lag and my lack of riding made "THE HILL" seem insurmountable. But we did it. My calf that threatened to cramp never cramped and I remembered to relax my shoulders. We started heading down, and then finally I saw them, a smiling Mark Jackson and a bunch of other familiar faces. And there was Narayan. How did he get ahead of us?

I didn't care, we were DONE with the hard part. The rest of the ride was going to be a snap. I could handle my sore butt and my grouchy hubby, the fact is, it STILL hadn't rained!

We rolled into the finish line in record time (we were 15 minutes earlier than expected, and that was with all my potty breaks!)

We'd seen cormorants, red hawks, blue herons, a bald eagle, and a raccoon with a very short tail and been treated to lovely views of Mt. Si, Lake Sammamish and lovely rolling farmlands and barns.

No dogs had chased us, no cars had splashed us, and we didn't have a flat. We spent the last 15 miles in the company of two other tandems, and it felt so exhilarating to know that we were so strong to be able to do this kind of ride.

A couple minutes after we got our cards signed, Sue came rolling in and the three of us got to celebrate our "P-12" ride together, her 2nd and my 3rd. Donald? Well, he's already talking about some crazy 300 or someting.

They gave us medals as we munched down our bananas.

Even though it wasn't really Spring, it truly was a great ride.

--
mimi torchia boothby

(ed. note: She really DOES seem happy, doesn't she????)

Why Me......or Maybe.....Why NOT Me?

2011-02-14T08:01:00.000-08:00

I wonder what it is in some people's psyche that causes them to choose to be aggressively mean instead of just going on about their day.

I'm riding along peacefully in a 8' wide bike lane along Alaskan Way. There is a single lane northbound, single lane south bound and center left turn lane. One of our wonderful "road diet" throughways in Seattle that is one of the most used cycling commute routes from West Seattle and the south end into downtown along the waterfront. Of course, being along our waterfront, it is also the main north/south corridor for all of the container traffic coming from the rail yards in the south end to the large container ships at the south end of downtown. The City has spend a bit of time and expense the past couple years making it better, but there are two long puddles that parallel the street when it rains, caused by the heavy truck traffic. Now, most of the time this is no problem. Everybody simply moves a little bit to the left as they come alongside a bike so as not to drown the cyclist. It all works very well, especially early in the morning when there's not much southbound traffic and rarely anybody in the center turn lane.

But every once in a while, there's that one guy who just HAS to aim right at the puddle, timing it just right so that he totally inundates the cyclist he's riding past. Am I paranoid? Do I think they're all out to get me? Not hardly. I know better. Well over 99% of the vehicles I deal with any given day are courteous, friendly, cautious and respectful. But then there's that rare individual.....

This morning was a really classic example. Fortunately, I'd dressed in full battle gear. I've left the light at Hanford and am headed northbound. Then there was a whole line of cars and trucks coming up from behind. I've placed myself as far to the right as I safely can in the bike lane. First up were a couple of container haulers. Then a concrete truck followed by a white school bus (prison bus on its way to the courthouse) I see frequently. Each of these vehicles moved cautiously out and to the left. It doesn't take much, not over a foot. But then there is a big ol' Chevy pickup. One of those raised up ones with big tires and loud diesel smokestack kinda pipes that get used sometimes to "fog" me. Well, this guy wasn't moving anywhere to the left. Even though four vehicles immediately in front of him managed to. Maybe it is my imagination, but he seemed to slow just a little bit, then romped on the accelerator as he went by me, hitting that puddle full on and managing to send a cascade of water fully engulfing me in his wake.

And as I rode on down the street, fussing and fuming about this dickhead, all I could do was be grateful that he hadn't hit me with his mirror.

How the Heck Did THAT Happen???

2011-02-13T14:16:00.000-08:00

"Now let me get this straight," she said. "You got LOST riding from Seattle to PORTLAND????? How the *#%@ did you manage THAT?"

Well, its a long story that would put you all to sleep.

This was to be "month 2" on my quest to complete a 300k or better ride every month in 2012, and wanting to keep it in the lowlands I figured SIR's new permanent 0918 would be a good one, since I pretty much know where I'm going, it's relatively flat and even if I can't get any partners, I would be pretty safe. With a 4:30 am start, I figured to be in not later than 8, and would be able to do the only stretch of the route (Napavine to Castlerock) that doesn't have great shoulders and get across the Longview Bridge before dark. Good plan, but not such great execution it turns out.

All was going quite well, leaving right on time in a light mist which kept up for the first 37 miles. First faux pas? I forgot my water bottles. Fortunately, my house is close to the route and I was able to swing up the hill and get them.

Leaving the first control in Sumner, the mist quit and it was dry until about 2:30 when I was up near Napavine. There was a pretty constant 5-7 mph headwind, but nothing severe, just enough to keep my legs burning the whole way. I love some of the little towns I go though, especially ones like Roy.

Coming into Centralia, the permanent route deviates from the Cascade STP route, taking you into Chehalis for the control. I needed calories before I got there and stopped for a burger at a little burger stand, then pushed on to the control, where I was actually able to remove a layer, as the temps had warmed, and now I was heading into the hilly part of the ride, and the cue sheet takes me off onto a bit of a different route into Napavine, Winlock and Vader. Not a lot different, but a "backdoor" approach.

After crossing over I-5 the route takes Riverside Drive, which actually becomes something else, I can't remember what now, but then the cue sheet says "Cross SR-603 to go onto Brown Road - bends to the left". OK, I've been here before, I thought. This is where we did the wrong thing on our fleche a couple years ago and ended up in Toledo. I made the correct choice here, and Brown Road actually becomes something else, too. Then the cue sheets says "LEFT at Pleasant Valley Rd" followed by RIGHT at Tennessee Road, and then there are a bunch of other streets, roads and stuff.

OK, so I'm going along Brown Rd or whatever it is, I've gone up this excruciating 15% climb (I remember this from one year on STP when construction forced a change in the course), and I get to Pleasant Valley Road and make my right turn. I go 2.8 miles and am looking for Tennessee Road. The mist has come back, the temp has dropped a little bit and I've stopped to put my rainjacket back on. But where the heck is Tennessee Road? Geoff has been so good with distances here and my computer is right on the money for every twist and turn. OK, I think. Maybe back there where I was focused on the Burma Shave sign I missed it. So I head back. Nope. Not there. I ride along thinking that maybe it was back by that last farm. Nope. OK, now I'm getting frustrated, because I don't lose my bearings much. So instead of going BACK TO THE LAST TURN (1.1 miles) which is the classic rando solution to any orienteering problem, I think to myself, "well, maybe this is like a couple other turns where the road becomes something else." And I go all the way down to the end of the road, about 7 miles or so. I see a sign that says Chehalis to the right and Pe-Ell to the left. Wind is from the south, and even though it doesn't seem to make sense, the wind is coming from the Pe-Ell direction of the road. This is a major highway, but there is no road sign, so I don't know if 603, 508 or 6. So I go left toward Pe-Ell and ride a couple miles. Finally, I know I'm screwed. It is 3:00 and I'm 10 miles off course. I pull off and am trying to figure out what I should do, when a pretty woman (looks a lot like my friend Pam) drives up in an SUV with a roof rack (complete with Yakima carrier and bike carrier?) and rolls down her window. "You look lost." She says. "Big Time." I say. "Where are you trying to get to?" she says. I tell her and she says, "Oh baby! You're on the wrong side of a big hill."

I ended up taking Boistfort Road through Curtis
and through a very pleasant valley, saw elk, eagles, quiet streams and farmlands and then climbed (she was right) a big hill, dropping into Vader at 4:30 pm. I've DNF'd my 300, but had 145 miles. Mimi met me there and we had a "just ok" dinner before heading off to Hillsboro for our 100k the next day.

Sheesh..........how the heck do you get lost going from Seattle to Portland? Just ride with Raleighdon. He'll show ya.

M: 144.77
T: 10:37:52
A: 13.62
TT: 12:30
E: 3,504'

Now THAT Was Some Kinda Fun!

2010-09-05T08:12:00.000-07:00

Whoooeeeee! We wuz ridin' way, way too fast yesterday. Sorta like snakes slitherin' thru greased weeds.

But when you're out on a 200k with a guy whats 6'17" tall on his gigantic Green Hornet bike and he's got 15,000k in already for the year and then ya gots two (count 'em TWO) tandems to suck wheel offn, it's awful hard not to just let 'r rip, so ta speak. So for the first 50 miles, it was purty much pacelinein', with all'n us takin' our turns at the lead.

An' of course there was all them lovely farmlands with the occasional red barn
Then we turned the corner at Darrington. With 50 miles under our padded knickers, we hadta stop to calorie up, and Team CreightonGoss got the award fer havin' the fullest bagga goodies along, includin' sausage sammiches! Seems everbody hadta take to riflin' thru their trunk ta see what kinda snacks they might pilfer iffn things got real serious in the mountains. After a bit of resst we all set off agin, and after about 8 miles or so, hit that 14-mile dirt road....

...climb upta the toppa Barlow Pass (~2,400')...

ol' Boothby felt he had somethin' ta prove - at least ta his own durned foolself. The last couple times he done rode this course, it took 2 full hours to make that climb. Yesterday, though, he dun'r in 1:22 and won the championship points for climbing, even tho nobody else knowed we was in a race. Geoff weren't too far back...
Next up was Team CreightonGoss who was mighty glad ta be done climbin', fer sure! That young whippersnapper Creighton had ta take herself a RElax brake on the warm pavement fer just a short spell while we'uns hung out waitin' fer team Jameson.

But that's where the real fun begun. Boy, HOWDY! When ya gets them tandems on smooth pavement and the tilt is about 3% down, for 20 miles, lemme tell ya, it ain't gonna take much time ta get ta the bottom.

Then there was alla them rollin' things from there back ta the finish, and ol' Boothby done got hissef all pooped out tryin' ta keep up with them cutiepies on the tandems, so by the time we left Granite Falls, his legs was purty much cooked. He could really just watch the resta the gang drift off forward from there on.

'Course, he was thinkin' there fer a while he might catch up to 'em on "To Puque" Road, and almost did but just about the time he caught up, there was another one a them steep downhilly things, and he just couldn't catch up close enuf to get inta the draft. Not to worry, though, he thinks. We'uns gotta head up 131st, and if he works a little, maybe, just MAYBE he can pass 'em up while that thing tilts up to 14%. Welp, that there thinkin' thing was purty good, but not quite good enuf. By the time he got ta the bottom, since there had been a sweet little downgrade not long before, them there tandems was all over that stuff, an' Raleighdon sees they're 3/4 the way up that sucker. Try as he might, there's just no way he gonna close up that gap. Shucks! Guess he's gonna be finishin' all by his lonesome. Thats not really a bad thing, though, since he likes ta have some peace and solitude durin' the day, expecially toward the end of a long ride. All in all, we'uns finished up in 9:45 minutes, with that rascal Boothby comin' ta the finish line just about a minute behind all the resta them folk.

The good news though? He got all the pie at the finish. Seems like everbody else was in too much hurry ta set a spell and relax over homebaked pie and strong black coffee. Durn fools! What be wrong with 'em?

"SOUNDS HORRIBLE" SHE SAID

2010-06-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

In a recent discussion about the Cascade 1200 and what one of the riders, a good friend of mine, went through to complete it, one person said, “SOUNDS HORRIBLE.” Well, here’s my response to that individual:

Dear friend:

NOT horrible, just long. This is one of the most beautiful and prestigious rides in the United States. 1250 Kilometers (roughly 775 miles) and the rider has 93 hours to complete. One must work very hard to get him or herself into both physical and mental condition to do this kind of an intense athletic event, and should be extremely proud when they achieve such an amazing completion of a hard-fought for goal. Many try, but only the strongest and most determined succeed. It is kind of like that in a lot of life, it seems to me.

The ride starts in Monroe and travels down the west side of the Cascades to Highway 12, then over White Pass an into Yakima the firsst day. On the second day route then goes thru the rolling wheat fields of eastern Washington, sometimes in excruciating heat, often with strong winds either pushing or pulling the rider this way or that, wending its way through Quicy for another night of rest then on to Ephrata, Soap Lake and up to Coulee City along the river, with an incredible view of the ancient "Dry Falls", and west hrough Moses Coulee, one of the most geographically significant spots in the state. After a pause in what most people would consider desolate little Farmer, the journey drops again to the Columbia River and over Loup Loup Pass into the Methow Valley, a place so serene that it looks like it is still caught in the early 1900s in a lot of places.

After a night at Mazama, riders are treated to a climb over Washington and Rainy Passes, perhaps the most beautiful stretch of mountain highway the state has to offer, and an area so scenic that people from all over the world come to ride, hike, camp and climb in the woods, small lakes, streams and revel in the grandeur of these "American Alps."

This year, we attracted riders from Japan, Germany, France and Canada, as well as several other states. They came because of the beauty and the challenge. "Horrible"? We think not. Difficult and challenging? Absolutely.

And the real beauty of it comes because, unlike being trapped in a car where the distractions keep us from really focusing on our surroundings, on a bicycle, one is acutely attuned to everything around him or her. The rushing waterfalls, the coolness of the air when it is 85 degrees out and you ride past a snowbank or a waterfall rushing down the cliff next to you, the songs of all the birds, the clicking of a deer's hooves as he bounds across the highway in front of you. And then there is the riding at night. Alone in the mountains under a full moon, with no cars on these rural roads, the air crisp and clear, the night songs playing in sweet harmony to the constant melodious whoosh whoosh of your pedal cadence and often the only other sound being your own rhythmic breath, which most people can't even hear most of the time because of the noise around them and their mental separation from the reality of their body’s capacity and limitations.

On the bicycle, one sees it all, hears it all, feels it all and experiences it all. One becomes a true part of his or her surroundings instead of just sitting inside a leather, glass, metal and plastic machine blundering along with the only purpose being to GET THERE, whereever 'there' is, and do it as FAST AS POSSIBLE, regardless the consequences. On the bicycle, we see the carnage that the cars cause. The dead deer, birds, porcupines, raccoons, coyotes, dogs and cats that they leave behind. The empty beer bottles they discard as they drive down the road. The bags of half eaten big macs thrown thoughtlessly out the window. The discarded washing machines and refrigerators, dumped illegally in the ditches. The stuffed animals, left innocently but forgotten on top of the car when loading the kids’ things for the trip to grandma’s house. The crosses by the side of the road decorated with plastic flowers, beads, trinkets and the names of some lost loved one killed by a drunk driver. Yes, we see it all. We feel it all. We revel in the beauty and at the same time cry because of the lack of respect that many of those individuals in automobiles seem to have for their marvelous surroundings.

And you have the audacity to say the ride is horrible? I'd say driving that 775 miles would be horrible by comparison. Give me my bike any ol’ day of the week, thank you very much.

Father’s Day 2010 – A Picnic Well Done

2010-06-24T14:28:00.000-07:00

It was a rainy day in paradise. Yeah, right. So what else is new? This is the wettest June since at least 2001 and perhaps will go down as one of the wettest Junes in Seattle history. This after one of the wettest Mays which followed a wet April which trailed right behind a wet March which kinda surprised us after having such a pleasant warm and dry February, but I do digress.

It all started out pleasant enough. It rained all morning. We had to be SOMEWHERE, but nobody would tell ol' Boothby the secret location, but he wanted to ride down to Leschi for an espresso at Pert's Deli and was pleased to be informed that this could happen, that it wasn't really too far outta the way. So Mimi and I are all geared up with rain pants, booties, Showers Pass jackets and after about a half hour of preparation for a 7 mile ride head out expecting a good soaking. The rain has suddenly quit.. And it is 56 degrees. Now we're on steamy pavement in personal saunas looking like we're one tank short of a full scuba outfit and set off toward Leschi. By the time we get to the bottom of the hill, I'm ready to take off all this stuff, but decide I'll wait since it's only about 5 miles and we're riding along slowly enough that I am able to watch two banana slugs race by heading north. I never did catch up to them.

Finally, we arrive at Pert's Deli and spend almost a half hour drinking an espresso, chatting with Max and Mae and finally, Mimi says its time to leave, but still won't tell me where. As we head out, continuing north toward Madrona, it starts to sprinkle again. Now, of course, we don't have any rain gear (or rain deer) because we'd done that quick change think at Pert's. I'm supposed to be following her, but she won't lead. The best I can get is her riding on my shoulder whispering sweet instructions in my ear.

"Turn Left," she says.

Wow! I'm impressed. Mimi is telling me to turn UP a hill. I ask her how far up the hill we're going and she says we're looking for Maiden Lane. I let her know that is right up about the top of the hill. Cool! I love this route. There's some really awesome century old houses on this street I enjoy scoping when I ride to and from work sometimes. We get to Maiden Lane. "Don't turn yet," she says. Another half block, and we cruise by Denny Blaine Park which consists of a large covered bus stop shelter, a duck pond and is one of Seattles's "quarter acre parks" that Megan and I scouted last year and thought it would be fun to have a picnic and croquet tournament. Just to PO the neighbors if nothing else. Well, as we cruise past, here is TOM, #2 son, inside the shelter. And Megan #2 son's #1 wife and one of my favorite tandem stokers. And Josiah, #1 son. Now THIS is an awesome way to spend Father's Day. And to make it better, they've made the church bells start chiming to announce my grand entrance!

To make a full fledged novel into something just one chapter shy of a boring English assignment, I'll be brief. After 2 hours of hanging out,

Megan teaching Mimi to play bocce,

me enjoying the scenic beauty of the duck pond and water lillies:

feasting on flank steak, grilled asparagus and fennel,

incredible potato salad (WITH BACON!!!), roasting marshmallows over the coals

and then finishing off with nice hot fresh coffee,

it was time to take a moment to appreciate just what a couple of fine young sons I have

then pack it all up and head back home.

By now, though, we've been watching the rain come, then watch it come down and watch it settle in over the hill in this misty, almost foggy fully drenching and all consuming wet Sunday afternoon.

It may be the last day of spring and the second longest day of the year but it looks like January an hour before dark. All the cars have their lights on. The temp has dropped to 51 degrees and we gear up again with our booties, rain pants, Showers Pass jackets, wool caps, helmets, turn on the lights and after hugs and kisses all around, Mimi and I set off up 34th heading south. At the top of the hill, we head over to MLK Way and as we're dropping off the hill Mimi says she wants to go up Cheasty Boulevard instead of to the north end of Beacon and up 18th. OK, I think. This is TWO big hill climbs that she is actually choosing to ride. Maybe she's getting ready to climb Washington Pass next weekend?

We've no sooner started up Cheasty when Mimi hollers out, "STOPPING!"

"What's up?" I holler back.

"I've got a flat" she says. She was NOT happy.

Sure enough, I check it out and her rear tire is flat. Really flat. Like not a bit of air left. "What do I do?" she says.......

In the rain, of course! We've just stopped and I've leaned Katrina up against a tree and it starts to rain harder.

Her bike is filthy! She pulls out a tube and wrenches while I start to remove the wheel. I quickly strip the tire and tube out and start feeling around, but can't find anything inside. She finds a small puncture, but we never do find anything in the tire itself so install a new tube and air it up. Less than 10 minutes. After I wash my hands in a mud puddle

and dry them off on some big leaves

(then a 'finish drying' on my wool knickers) we're off again towards home. Mimi is much happier now.

While the flat was a bit of an inconvenience to me, I have to say that this was the most fun rainy Father's Day I've had since the infamous Father's Day Ride of 1992 when my sons and I with 2 of their friends rode a 25 mile ride to Green Lake and back to get ice cream - in pouring rain.

Seattle's Flattest 100K - The Pacific Rose Permanent #889

2010-06-21T11:43:00.000-07:00

The Pacific Rose - Seattle's Flattest 100K

We start out from the Hilltop Red Apple market at the north end of Beacon Hill. There used to be a lot of parking on the street around here, but since they opened Link Light Rail last year, everything is now 2-hour parking Monday - Friday, so if you're driving to the start line, you need to park a ways north or south. There are several options open to you if you decide to start before the store opens at 7:00 am including two ATMS and a couple of mini-marts within a block.

Starting out on top of a hill is nice for one thing: A screaming descent to start out. Today wasn't bad, but I've ridden down this hill that crosses a very steep bridge (steepest in Western Washington) over I-5 at 11% dropping to cross over some railroad tracks at the bottom, so it can be exciting - either severe cross winds that try to knock you off the bike or teeth breaking experience if you don't slow down in time at the bottom. From there to Pacific, though, there is only 300' of climbing, over half of it going up and over the Spokane Street Swing Bridge

where the route cuts south to pick up the Duwamish Bikeway,

the Green River and Interurban Trails,

dumping out to S. 196th before the overpass

(I could have named this the Cranes, Trains and Planes 100K just as easily)

Frager Road for some nice views of the few remaining farms in the Kent Valley

and eventually West Valley Highway for about 8 miles. It was too early to buy any strawberries at the farm just before the intersection, but I enjoyed seeing the workers out on this misty late-spring morning

but never too early to enjoy one of my favorite landmarks at S. 277th and West Valley

The turnaround stop in Pacific is at a dumpy little convenience market.

At least it has a bathroom and the owner is very friendly. I paused long enough to eat a half-dozen mini-donuts from the mini-mart, appropriate, I thought since I'm doing a mini-ride with absolutely mini-climbing effort.

After a few minutes hanging out and enjoying the fact that the light rain I'd been riding in for the last 20 miles had quit, I headed off back north, with the first 13 miles of the return route being along the Interurban Trail where the route isn't particularly interesting unless you like to watch bunnies dart in front of you, see an occasional bald eagle or coyote, and listen to the sounds of the trains as they blast by hauling the freight into and out of the Seattle area.

Approaching Renton, the route exits the trail and heads through Longacres and South Renton to introduce you to just the first mile or so of the Cedar River Trail. We added an informational control to this turnaround spot that any good northwesterner will be able to appreciate, especially if they are prone to riding out in the wetlands in the early morning or late evening hours.

From here, the route turns back and heads along the southwest corner of Lake Washington into Rainier Beach. On any given weekend morning or afternoon, hundreds of cyclists use this route circumnavigating the lake, and so it is possible to either pass or be passed by any number of cyclists. I managed to pass a gang of five guys and prevent them from overtaking me again, and enjoyed seeing that our local law enforcement was out doing it's job.

As I turned north from Rainer Ave S. to Seward Park Avenue, I saw one of the "blue shirts" coming the other way. Sometimes it takes a while to recognize folks, but with his infectious grin and tall stature on the bike, it didn't take any time for me to recognize Vince Muoneke. As soon as I got a break in traffic, I turned around and chased him down. Fortunately, he'd caught the light which is the ONLY way I caught up to him. After chatting a few minutes, I turned back on my course.

Now at this point in the ride, it is mile 59 out of a 63-mile course and I've climbed a whopping 388'! Now is when the fun begins, with a nice little 300' climb up to the last informational control at the south end of Beacon Hill

and another couple hundred feet of climbing over the next couple of miles to make it back to the finish line registering a sum of EIGHT HUNDRED FORTY-TWO FEET of vertical over 63 miles. Along the way you can see all kinds of interesting wild life.

Mimi decided to come out and do the last couple of miles with me, but I was careful not to accept any assistance (like drafting help....) from her.

I do believe I have successfully generated the flattest 100K route in the area and challenge anyone to come up with one that is less hilly!

Can We Make A Difference?

2010-05-07T08:59:00.000-07:00

I like to think that we, as cyclists, are part of an increasing movement of folks who are learning to become more aware of our surroundings and environment, more tolerant of others and better stewards of our own lives and our planet. That isn't WHY I cycle, but it is a seemingly natural by-product of it. The world is a mighty big place and I'm a might small cog on just one of it's many chain rings. I'd like to think that by doing just a few small things, I can have at least a little impact on the world in which I live.

The longer I do this, the fewer angry confrontations I have with drivers. Is that because of me or because of them? I think partly both. I think that the more of "us" there are, the less "they" are afraid or hostile. I also think the longer I do this, the more skilled I become in dealing with these situations. There seem to be learning curves to pretty much everything and as our awareness increases, the hostility diminishes. Look at racial issues. As a kid in the 50's I saw an incredible amount of racial hatred and it was IN YOUR FACE kinds of hatred. The KKK stuff, the battles over desegretation, the marches that turned to riots, all of that stuff that seems today to be so distant. And yet, as we passed civil rights legislation, we have since seen a drastically improved attitude between different races. Its not perfect, but its a darned sight better than it WAS.

In the past few years, there has seemed to be an increasing rift between cyclists and drivers. Through well designed traffic modifications, public awareness campaigns and an increasing number of cyclists sharing the roads, it seems like the band of haters is actually becoming fewer, though their propensity for vocalizing their hatred and rage only becomes louder. Most drivers I encounter are patient, tolerant and even supportive of my being there, and it just seems to me that the ratio of ignorant fools behind the wheel is not really that much different when I'm on my bike than when I am in my car or on foot. I'm just a lot more vulnerable to those few knuckleheads. So it is up to ME to try to do something about it.

Hatred, in my never very humble opinion, is just an outward manifestation of fear. I've been called "Lance" and "faggot" and "dipshit" all in the space of maybe 20 seconds, while on my bicycle. By the same token, I had half-consumed beer bottles thrown at me when I was in the United States Marine Corps in 1970 and our nation was engaged in a very controversial war. I've also had rocks thrown at me while I was walking a picket line. I've also had people lash out at me because I work for an insurance company as a claims adjuster. People tend to come at life from a place of bias based on their upbringing, their experience and their culture, and any meaningful change takes a lot of time, energy and patience.

As cyclists, especially as cyclists who fit one of my friend's description that "...our our normal attire makes us look like a cross between an Easter Egg and a Breakfast Sausage in the eyes of most people..." (and I do), we do tend to bring out more of the ridicule, I think. I remember in 2004, I was working catastrophe duty in Florida, and my company had put me up in a nice little 2-bdrm condo in Vero Beach. They even paid for me to transport my bike back and forth. On Saturdays and Sundays, I'd try to work just "half days" and get a nice ride in. Mimi has an aunt who lives about 13 miles up the coast in Sebastian, and I liked to ride up there for dinner sometimes, and especially early on Saturday mornings, liked to ride A1A up the coast. There was a mini-mart I usually stopped at, and there were usually a bunch of old locals that liked to hang out, smoke cigarettes, drink coffee and gossip. Its pretty much the same everywhere I've ever been. As I rolled up one morning, one of the old farts jerked a thumb over at me and says to his buddies, "will ya look at that. Guy thinks he's freakin' Lance Armstrong". I went into the store, bought my chocolate milk and payday bar, came back out and as I walked by him, I said, with a smile, "Well, I don't really think I AM Lance, but I did ride with him last month." And it wasn't a lie. I'd just come back from doing the first Portland Livestrong Ride, and not only Lance, but several other celebs had been at the start and done the ride "with us". The next week when I rolled up, here was this gang of old duffers hanging out, and the same guy there. He looked at me, smiled and said good morning. Asked me if I was having a good ride. Friendly instead of sarcastic. ONE GUY. Maybe when he's driving along, he views us a little different? Who knows. But we can make a change and we can make a difference.

I need to remember this when I've got that horse's ass honking at me, calling me names and yelling at me to get off HIS road. (or HER road.....)

WEASELS RIPPED MY FLECHE -

2010-04-19T14:30:00.000-07:00

Northwest Fleche - 2010. OK, now let me get this straight. Pick a team of 3 to 5 people who you don't mind spending all night with but most who you probably wouldn't want to sleep with and go for a bike ride. A really LONG bike ride. No. Let me re-phrase that. A really TIME CONSUMING bike ride. No need to ride really fast, because you aren't allowed to finish too early. Don't stop for any more than 2 hours and don't get yourself too close to the finish line until just the right time, no matter what you have to do.

For me, it all started out on January 1st when Joe and I were riding along in the rain and one of us (must have been him, since I'm far too sane to ever suggest it) said, "so, should we do a fleche team this year?" He kept talking about wanting to name his team last year "Weasels Ripped My Fleche" but couldn't get people to go along with it. I'm easy. I don't care what we call ourselves. I just want to ride my bike all night, practice my sleep deprivation skills, fight off grizzly bears and wolves in the middle of the night and listen to people tell me about zombie truckers, whatever the hell those are.

"Weasels Ripped My Fleche" consisted of Greg Cox (c), Joe Platzner, Bill Dussler, Ken Ward and, of course, Boothby. We had a really nice route selected by Greg:

Greg failed to tell me I’d need to bring crampons for the climb up to his cabin or that I’d actually need to rappel down from the road TO the cabin, but otherwise, it was pretty doggone nice. Chipseal? What chipseal? With my tires, I just never notice. Of course, maybe that’s because I’m usually too busy enjoying the scenery, communing with nature and trying to engage my team in meaningful dialogue every once in a while.

It all started out for me like this, having taken a day off from work to ‘rest up’ before the ride:

After a nice ferry ride in the warm April afternoon sun, a relaxed pre-ride dinner, a tour of the local bicycle museum in beautiful downtown Winslow, we rode out. As we turned the corner onto SR 305, I felt a few little sprinkle-drops. Not to worry, I thought. Its only a 30% chance of rain after 6:00 pm, and supposed to be nicer tomorrow. Before long, however, the evening had turned to this:

We did manage to have plenty of time for this:

not a whole lot of time for this:

but a whole lot of this:

a few old buildings like this to look at:

and a surprise visit from our faithful organizers who set up a secret control outside of Montesano:

and then a whole lot more of this:

which resulted in a little more of this:

and a need for a bit of this:

before getting to our 22-hour control at the Hiway Diner in Rochester, about 20 miles south of Olympia.

that became our own personal locker room:

....bedroom.......

....laundry room.....

.....and just happened to have great cheeseburgers and fries......

.....and homemade cinnamon rolls that were simply to die for:

The waitress was one of the most wonderful people I've met out there in a long time. She wouldn’t cut the beautiful peach pie for me because it had just come out of the oven and needed a while to cool, but did talk me into one of those scrumptious cinnamon rolls (I needed a whole lot of convincing, too!) It had been raining really really hard for the last 6 miles, Greg was nursing a sore elbow and bum from a fall on some nasty tracks near Elma, Joe was falling asleep, Bill looked like……well, Bill just looked like Bill. And Ken? How do I describe what it was like to watch him as he started disrobing in the middle of the place. What can I say? That poor waitress just let us take over, sit around and stink up the place for an hour and a half until we could leave right at the 22 hour mark. She kept filling me with more excellent hot coffee, asking questions about what we were doing, “enjoying” the odd group of cyclists who have filled her restaurant at the slowest time of her day, and even offered to let us use the back room where there were bigger benches, promising to wake us up at the right time. How sweet is THAT? I left a good tip. As we were leaving, she said she hopes to see us again next year. I think she was serious. I do have to go back and get some of that home-made pie, though. It looked so pretty, smelled so delicious, and it was PEACH!!!

And then it was a little more of this:

pulling into the Red Lion in Olympia at 5:10 pm, with a 50 minute cushion. Of course, 5 minutes after we got off the bikes, it turned to THIS:

BUT WAIT!!!!! THERE'S MORE!!!!!! We got major awards!!!!! After all this riding, we got to relax, get a good night's sleep and get up the next morning to take part in a great finish line banquet hosted by our wonderful organizers (or were they cat herders?) Ralph and Carol Nussbaum where we all got to swap lies, I mean, give our respective ride reports.

WRMF won the LOWBALL award, beating out the second place team by a mere 3/10 of a kilometer for coming the closest to exactly 360K. That's just about 1,100' less we had to pedal, and I'm sure glad we didn't take any wrong turns! It could have made a lot of difference.

AND we got medals! Bright shiny medals with a slightly off balance rendition of what I'm assuming is the State Capitol. I figure it needed to be just slightly off balance to match the recipients.

and my sweetie to drive us home:

Fortunately, I have a really good watch cat who will stand guard over my truck while I'm unloading all of the gear.

Anybody want to go for a ride?

JUST THREE LITTLE THINGS

2010-04-12T20:19:00.000-07:00

So yesterday, I took Kartina out back and hitched her up to the work stand. Time for a wash and wax, lube and check-up before The Fleche upcoming this next weekend. It's been nearly 3,300 miles since my fall overhaul and I've been pretty lax about cleaning this winter. Chain cleaning mostly consisted of dousing liberally with Pro-link, wiping down, repeating and repeating again, allowing the final light application to sit overnight, then wiping down before riding out in the morning - do this about once a week or so – or at least when the squealing gets too loud to hear the music in my head. I’ve had excellent results on my new Schwalbe Marathon Plus tires, so haven't had the wheels off all winter. Everything is running pretty good, but front shifter (bar-end) is becoming quite stiff. Looking at it all, I noticed the cable end is frayed – the cable shows no signs of rust or anything, but the little end cap got lost somewhere along the way and so now it is all frayed, easy for me to get a good puncture wound (as I found out while scrubbing). Chain is a connex nickel plated (not the SRAM those yo-yos at the bike shop try to sell me) with a superlink for easy removal and cleaning, so I figure, OKAY, I'll pull it, simple-green it, blow it out really well, lube it up good and put it back on and get a few more miles out of it before I finally have to resort to going in and plunking down change to do some more work in the shop.

In the meantime, we have family over for dinner, and the chain is sitting in a bath of wonderful water-soluble degreaser. After dinner, the family goes home, and I return to finish my work. In the process, I forget about the superlink, which I promptly wash down the drain. No problem. I have 3 spares. That is when I discover one of the end links on the chain is broken. The roller has gone missing sonmehow. This chain is really showing signs of wear. Of course, last fall I told Elliott Bay Bikes I would change the front chain rings on my next major service since they were essentially worn out. Bob was a bit concerned, but I just didn’t want to spend the money right then. Well, I forgot. While I’m washing it down, I notice how worn the big ring is and note to myself that after Fleche I really need to take it in and get a service done. The Big and middle rings are way beyond "worn". Some of the teeth are down to almost nothing. I grab one of the super-links, get the clean chain installed, only to discover the super-links I have are for a 7-8 spd chain, I have a 9. So, I put it all together and this morning ride very short ride downhill to the train, fearful of really putting too much torque on it and breaking the chain in process or some other dumb stuff. At 10:00 sharp I'm waiting outside the door at EBB when they turn the lights on and flip the open sign. Mark opens up the shop, and like a junkie needing his daily fix, I beg and plead with him to do just THREE THINGS for me. He agrees. As long as that is all he has to do, he can have it by 5.

1) Change the chain.
2) New Shimano XTR pedals - with 23,000 miles on them, I can't adjust any more
3) New front shift cable and lube the cable housing, to make it a bit smoother.

12:45 pm. I'm on the phone with one of my investigators. They've recovered a load of stolen vodka and we're busy discussing how to pay the reward to the snitch who got a quarter million bucks worth of booze back for us. Cell phone rings. Wahoo! Elliott Bay. So I put the investigator on hold. Business can WAIT!

"Don, I've got some good news and some bad news."

"Save the good news for 5. What's the bad?"

"Well, this drive train is so shot, I have to replace the entire front chain rings and the rear."

"Yeah? What about the gear cable?"

"Well, I think if we replace the drive train, you'll find it shifts better. That was the good news."

We agreed that it was time to replace the front chain rings, the rear cassette and make it all run like new.

Somehow, I knew. I just didn't want to admit it. Unlike Mr. Gearcable, who I’d been reading about on the randonneuring discussion thread earlier, I like to have everything just right when I get out there on long rides. Doing 360K and riding all night? Somehow, at 2 o'clock in the morning, when the gear cable snaps, the chain breaks, the bottom bracket falls out, whatever it is, "too expensive" isn't what really crosses my mind. I'm in the insurance business. Risk management is my life. For me, it's like paying the premium for the satisfaction of knowing I'm 'covered'. That doesn't mean I won't have something go wrong, but the odds are much more in my favor.

I've got a friend who is a 2 or 3 time PBP veteran who loves to push the envelope. He is always one of the last finishers, has frequent mechanicals because he likes to get his money's worth. Runs stuff until it breaks. I just can't do it that way. I just don't like FIXING stuff that much. I just want to RIDE. So at 4:45 I’m out of the office, walk the four blocks to Elliott Bay Bikes, arriving right at 5:00. I like to be prompt. Besides, I just have to see what the final bill is going to be THIS TIME!

I walk into the shop and look back into the shop. The news is either really good or really bad. My bike is down off the rack, but it isn’t sitting out front in the pick-up stand. Mark comes out from the back, needing to only attend to a couple things, but says its all done. That’s a relief. But he wants to talk to me a little. That’s not such a relief.

He wraps up the business and says, “OK, let’s talk.” Now I’m not so sure.

We head into the back. He shows me the old chain rings. Like I couldn’t see them yesterday while nearly slicing my fingers to the bone while scrubbing them? I’ve seen great white sharks with teeth less dangerously sharp than these. Then he shows me the brake pads on the rear. Yep, they needed replacing. They “almost” needed replacing last fall when Reed was working on it, but he said I could come back in December and take care of it. I only rode a couple thousand more miles in gritty winter weather since then. And then he showed me the bottom bracket.

That was when I remembered telling Chris at the start of the 300k a few weeks ago that I thought my bottom bracket was just about gone. And then there was the fender bracket that was messed up.

Yep, Mark, its JUST THESE THREE THINGS……plus those three, and a couple more.

And so, after all the muss, after all the fuss, I’ve got a bike that runs like a brand new machine, thanks once again to putting it into the hands of somebody who actually KNOWS what the hell he’s talking about.

Now I’m ready for the Fleche!

Happy Trails.

Lost and Found

2010-03-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

The day dawned clear and unlike last week's freezing temperatures at the start of the Bellingham 200K, yesterday's Seattle International Randonneurs' Spring 300K started an hour earlier and 12 degrees warmer. I'd discovered we were out of my usual pre-ride breakfast food, Quaker's Old Fashioned Oats, and had to settle for 2 eggs and two slices of toast with a glass of apple juice for my breakfast. PLUS, we were out of bananas. When I got to U-Village, fortunately, the organizers had some pastries, bananas and fresh Starbucks Coffee. One person mentioned that they barely recognized me as I didn't have a doughnut in my hand, and another friend suggested I eat one of the donuts. I told them I'd been banished from doughnut consumption by a certain somebody who discovered I'd gained 6 pounds in less than 3 months. They pointed out that there was a HALF of a doughnut - a glazed old fashioned, yet. Well, that's not really a doughnut.

With 2 eggs, toast, apple juice, a triple shot espresso, a banana, a half of a doughnut and a cup of Starbucks coffee heavily laced with cream and sugar to cover up the burnt taste, I felt pretty ready to go, from a caloric standpoint.

About 80 of us showed up, and at 6:00 am sharp the organizers sounded the imaginary starter's pistol and we were out of the starting gate like so many race horses in the Kentucky Derby, each of us in our brightly colored jockey outfits, albeit mostly in bright blue and white for some reason. There seems to always be a preponderance of Seattle Randonneur wool jerseys on these brevets.

I set a new personal best for myself, staying glued to the rear wheel of Jan Heine and another rider for a full 3 blocks before they started to put distance between themselves and me. As we headed up the hill on 25th, I could hear Ralph Nussbaum chugging like a steam engine up behind me and as he passed by, he pointed out that it was going to be a mighty long day, since he'd done a 300K just a couple days ago. I heard him repeat this to a few other riders as they drifted farther and farther forward, leaving me in their wake. I looked behind me and all the way down the hill all I could see was the bobbing and weaving of hundreds of bluish white lights, some low and some high, weaving back and forth like so many coal miners headed down into the shaft, as they exchanged pleasantries with each other and scoped out their surroundings.

Eventually, I settled into a group of 15 or so riders to the first control, with Mark Roehrig and Peter Rankin setting a fast but not unreasonable pace. Quickly rolling through the checkpoint and getting my brevet card signed, I rolled on and soft pedaled a bit, waiting for a few of these big dogs to catch up to me. As soon as they did, I locked on again and on we went. The route followed the Burke Gilman and Sammamish River trails out to and then through Marymoor Park, and the sun was just rising over the Cascades as Mark led us through the park.

I knew the fun was just beginning, as I was in a group of 6 or 7 by this time, and we were rapidly bearing down on a group of about 20 riders that included Ralph, Bob Brudvik and a few others I recognized but can't recall after so much passage of time. As we hit the back of the line, Mark started to pull through on the left and I thought he was heading straight on by, but he pulled up next to one of the other riders and started up a conversation, so I just sat on his wheel and enjoyed working at about half the effort I normally would need to keep the 22 mph pace we were hitting heading down E. Lake Sammamish. Then came the turn up Louis Thompson Road, a nice little 8% - 12% 1-mile climb to test the morning legs. I was doing ok and keeping with the group. I've done this hill before - on a tandem with Megan, even - but started to think it is a long, long day and I don't want to cook my legs all on the first hill, so decided to drop to my little ring. As I did so, I dropped my chain. When I did, I got a kind of a jolt up through my right hip as I was on the right side downtsroke at the time. I didn't think much at the time about it. Just got off, got the chain back on and continued on to the first control.

I have a bit of a routine for managing my gear, and when I start out, I know the things I might need early on, so put them at the top of the bag. At the control, I will shuffle stuff as my needs change throughout the day. The organizers had a very nice rest stop set up for us, complete with Vietnamese sandwiches - tofu and jalapeno - along with lots of fresh fruit, some pastries, assorted snack food and YEP, more Starbucks Coffee. I downed a cup of coffee, grabbed 2 bananas, ate one, stuffed the other in my rear pocket and was in the middle of re-adjusting stuff when I got distracted by someone talking about those sandwiches. Somehow, the words 8:00 am, tofu and jalapeno all used in the same sentence were just too much for my pea-sized brain to manage. I got distracted by it all, and then saw someone leaving that I wanted to see if I could catch up to.

Back on the road, I caught up to and rode along with Barry Chase for a little bit, until we were overtaken by Don and Elaine Jameson who had Rick Blacker and someone else in tow. The six of us rode together for a while until the turn off to Ames Lake Road and with Don and Elaine and their gang climbing like mountain goats, I was left behind one more time. Seems to be an emerging pattern. This was when I noticed I seemed to have a little bit of chafing action going on and made a mental note to apply a bit of WD-40 or A&D ointment to the affected region the next time I stopped. Little did I know that I'd be rolling along at a nice moderate 16 mph enjoying the morning scenery, rolling past some of my favorite barns and get overtaken by Christopher Vaughn Gay, Robert Higdon and a couple other guys, with my buddy Chris Heg hanging to their rear wheel like a crawdad on a slab of bacon rind.

I locked on and off we went, rolling along, gathering in a few more riders as we went. As we were turning on to Crescent Lake Road, a gang of racing folks passed by us, and for a couple miles I wasn't sure who was us and who was them. If everybody would just wear the same color jersey so we could tell who was who it would help. Fortunately, there was one young woman with the race team who was dressed in very nice black and white shorts with a bright red dot on each, uh, well, er, side. I think I did an admirable job of not becoming too awfully mesmerized by the rythmic motion of those red dots bouncing side to side, up and down, and knew that at least SHE wasn't one of us so I couldn't draft off of her. Deeply saddened, I had to let them ride off into the morning sun and stick with my own kind.

Before I knew it, we were at the infamous Ben Howard Road. Not to say that I don't ENJOY riding that road, there is just this one little wrinkle. Of course that wrinkle comes in the form of a 3/4 mile climb that ranges from 11% - 16% and if there were any remnants of eggs, toast, banana, apple juice and coffee left in my scrawny little carcass, by the time I arrived at the top of that hill, it was gone. With about 60 miles under my tush, I realized I needed some calories, and pretty quickly.

I jumped on the pedals and hammered as hard as I could, downing two Honey Stinger gel pouches to get me the final 5 miles into the control.

When I arrived, I was welcomed into the parking lot by Geoff Swarts. Now, back in December, Geoff pulled a secret control on me when I was out doing a solo 100K ride that ended on Mercer Island. The funny part of that whole scenario was that I almost missed it. Fortunately, I make a point of adhering strictly to routes (ever since my little Mt. Loop Highway faux pas when I put my permanents coordinators "in a spot of bother", as Narayan so eloquently put it) and then a few weeks ago, when I forgot to get a receipt at one of the controls, Geoff generously allowed me to gain completion credit. It only took a bit of bribery, promises to mow his lawn every week for the next year and there were a couple other promises I've forgotten. Hopefully, he has too. But I do digress.

So here was Geoff standing in the middle of the parking lot. 15 riders all zoom in and start surrounding him. He agrees to sign their brevet card, all the while saying he really wasn't supposed to be doing that. So I figure I'll beat the crowd, park my bike on the building and start going through my bag looking for my brevet card. It isn't where I always put it. It also isn't in any of the other places where I occasionally put it when I don't always put it where I always put it. It isn't with my car keys. It isn't with my banana (damn! I forgot I had that.) It isn't with my wallet, my cell phone, my camera, my handkerchief, my spare tubes. It isn't with my sunglasses, my chain lube, my multi-tool and my spare route sheet. It isn't in my vest (which I hadn't worn - how could it be there?) or in the pocket of my yellow morning shell.

Geoff hollers over at me and asks me if I want him to sign my card. Well, I wouldn't mind but I seem to not be able to find it. "Wow, that's really too bad. How are you going to finish the ride without a brevet card?" By now, I see the twinkle and smartie pants little grin. "YOU have my card?"

"Well, that and a few other things."

I follow him over to his car. Inside, he has a "doggie duty" bag, dark green. FULL of stuff. Like one of my short fingered gloves, my SIR reflective sash, my skull cap, and, wait! MY BREVET CARD!!! Thank you Geoff.

Once I had my card signed, I was off in search of more calories. All I could find that sounded good was a big super-sized Snickers Bar. I refilled my bottles with another portion of Chocolate Spiz, downed the banana, half the Snickers and was ready to get on the way. Chris had a few things left to load up, though, so I watched a few other riders head out and figured I'd rather ride with him, since we've been doing so much together, so sorta stood there shifting from foot to foot while he methodically placed everything very carefully back into his bag, zipped up, replaced his helmet, put on his glasses, adjusted his crotch, scratched everything that needed scratching and said with his totally infectious smile, "I think I'm ready.

And that's when it happened.

As I swung my right leg over the top bar, I felt a huge stinging pain. It started from just above the knee and felt like someone had filled a hypodermic syringe full of boiling fat out of the doughnut fryer and injected it right up through the hip and into my brain. I thought I didn't much like that feeling, and hoped it was momentary. It wasn't. As we rolled out onto Highway 2, I told Chris what had happened, and said my day might be over. I wanted to keep pushing on, but was afraid that my brevet card wasn't the only thing I'd lost.

At first, it was just a little bit of unfinished business that pushed me on. The last time I rode up Reiner Road was on the 400K two years ago, and I walked a stretch of it. I'll be darned if I'm going to be defeated this time. I did a lot of standing, since it hurt a lot less to stand and pedal on that long, steep climb than it did to sit and spin. At the top of the hill, Mark Thomas was standing either on top of his car or on top of a rock. I'm still not sure. All I knew was that I hurt, and wanted to stop and ask if I could put my bike in the back of his car. Something wouldn't let me do that.

A few miles later, my hip hurt with every pedal stroke and I was pretty sure I had lost the initiative to complete this brevet. I told Chris he should find someone else to ride with, and About that time we rode up on Ken Ward who was having severe cramps and Chris offered him some Tums. They stopped, I pushed on, thinking I could make it to Granite Falls and call Mimi to come get me. They passed me. Then somebody else passed me. Then A few other people passed me and a butterfly passed me and my brain started playing tricks on me, like thinking Mimi wouldn't be home, she'd be really upset having to drive all that way, and maybe I could get as far as Arlington which isn't as tough to get to. If I could just get to Granite Falls. I stopped and took some advil to manage the pain, took a pee and watched some birds for a few minutes. I enjoyed the ride along Lake Roesiger and except for the shooting pains on my right side and the continued chafing, I wasn't doing too badly.

I rolled into Granite Falls just as Don and Elaine were rolling out, and Ralph was carefully considering whether he should go through the garbage can since he'd lost his brevet card.

He made a call to the organizers who gave him a solution and he was off like he'd had his bum lit on fire. He must be feeling really weak because of that 300K he did a few days ago, I thought.

I sat for about 20 minutes, did some stretching and called home, leaving a message on Mimi's phone. Then I saw Chris and a couple other guys ride by and limped off after them. In the next hour, as the advil started to do its job, I started to feel better. Chris, Ken Ward and I rode along together most of the way, passing a guy in a ditch who said he was feeling a bit nauseous. When he declined any assistance, we rode on. All of a sudden, I looked behind and Ken was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't said anything, just stopped. Chris and I rode the last 3 miles into Conway, stopping for a few minutes, a snack and a control entry.

It is only about 7 miles from there to the control in Stanwood and we arrived there at just about 3:30, still making excellent time - all things considered.

We rolled out of Stanwood with Ken Condray and Sylvia Shiroyama on tandem and they moved to the front pretty quickly, pulling us along for a while, but eventually, when they pulled a stand Chris and I lost the slipstream and we didn't see them again until the entrance to the Centennial Trail. Once again, they were leaving as we rolled in, but along came Will Goss and Steve Davis who had been struggling for a while with Will's chain. He remarked it was about 3 links short, to which Chris and I replied that we thought he was about 3 links short of a full chain, too, but heck, isn't that what friends are for?

So the 4 of us rode off together up the trail to Machias Station, where Mark Thomas told us he was there to sign our cards, that we weren't using the informational control question.

I wanted to answer it anyway

THAT fair!!!

So now we have just about 55K to go. The sun is still up and with another couple advil in me, a full bottle of Cytomax and a couple more gels, some shot blox and a couple handfuls of mixed nuts, the group of worse mixed nuts set off toward the finish line. I 'llowed as how if the Pie Shop in Snohomish was open, I was going to stop. They weren't so I didn't; we kept rolling through, and I had to settle for half of a Clif Nectar bar. Bad cyclist! NO PIE!!!

The ride up Broadway wasn't as painful as the last time I did it at the end of a long ride, but that last hill climbing up to White Horse pretty much finished me off.

The sun was down now, the temp had dropped to 51 and we had 17 miles of easy riding left. Thank goodness. I just didn't have anything left. I took time to stretch really good, put on my jacket on for the descent and after Chris had systematically and very carefully placed all his belongings back into his bag, changed lenses, zipped everything up, adjusted his crotch, scratched everything that needed scratching and double checked to make sure he hadn't left anything behind (think maybe I could learn something from this youngster), we were off. No more climbing. Just 15 miles of familiar trail. We overtook Will a couple miles later, and the three of us rode on to the finishline, completing in just 15 hours. When I rolled up, there was a whole gang of well wishers and adoring fans there to greet me.

I may have lost a card, lost my sanity, lost any street cred when it comes to organizational skills and lost my race yet again with Jan Heine, but I once again found my way to the finish line.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATRINA

2010-02-16T08:48:00.000-08:00

Three years ago today, I barely got any work done. I sat at my desk dreaming of thing yet to be. For over 9 months, I'd waited. Weekly trips to Elliott Bay Bikes to check on status. Seeing the frame when it came out of the shop and was ready for chroming. Looking at the chromed frame before being painted. Choosing all of the components, one by one, making sure I was going to get just what I wanted. Then finally it came back from the paint shop, and was ready to build out.

And build it out, they did.

Here, the crew admires their handiwork:

I'd gotten a call from Bob on Thursday letting me know that Eamon (Stanley) would be finished with the build-out by 4:00 pm on Friday and he would like to schedule to have me come in for a fit.

At 3:30 pm, I left my office in Lynwood, nervous as a little kid getting out of bed on Christmas morning. As I drove south from Lynnwood to downtown, though, I started to have doubts. This is a 56cm frame. All of my other bikes are 53cm, but Bob told me not to worry, they always design theirs a little larger. But what if it doesn't fit right? What if I don't like it? What if ....... what if .......? My mind played all these little mental games with me, knowing I'd just spent a lot of money for a "toy". And then, what if I get burnt out and don't want to ride any more? Or decide I really want a mountain bike? Or want carbon fibre...... Maybe I should have gone titanium...... All these little lingering doubts.

When I walked into the shop, there she was: Fenders, racks, lights and all of the things necessary for me to make this not just a bike that would be pleasing to the eye, but one that I could ride all day every day if I wanted to. Eamon still had to finish installing the headlight, and needed to put the mudflap on, but there was my lovely Katrina, front and center standing in the display room waiting for me.

And ride her I have! Bob and Eamon had done such an excellent job putting Katrina together that it took only a slight saddle adjustment, a slight cleat adjustment on my shoes and I was ready to go. From the moment I mounted her and rode a block north along Elliott, turning right and climbing up Blanchard, a block on 1st and then down the hill on Lenora back to the shop, I knew I'd made the right choice. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before.

In three years, I have put 22,136 miles on this dream machine of mine. That friday night, I rode her home in the rain, a whole 7 miles and the second day I had her, we rode a 200K together. The day started warm and dry, and I finished the last 30 miles in a 25mph headwind that nearly blew me off the road, but we prevailed, and beat the heavy rain storm by less than a minute. We've done over 50 rides in excess of 100 miles, and never once have I dreaded having to get back on the bike to finish a long ride. I've ridden her on a 250 mile one-day ride, and she left me tired but pleasantly with no long-term soreness issues. Never once have I regretted my choice to have this all steel bike built.

She doesn't look quite as young as she did back on 2/16/07:

but she's still strong, still rarin' to go, and never complains, no matter what the conditions.

She has become my daily companion, and I look forward to the next 22,000 miles. Happy birthday, old girl. Thanks for all the good times.

01-10-10 - What a Difference a Week Makes!

2010-01-10T14:26:00.000-08:00

What a difference a week makes, yes indeedy! Thinking back just a short 9 days ago when we rode 125 miles in hard rain, this morning’s gorgeous sunrise simply left me breathless and determined to take advantage of the best weather we’ve seen for a while.

As much as it genuinely pains me to say it, the weather in Seattle today was absolutely ideal. I started out from the house about 9:00 for a 25 mile loop over to Lincoln Park, Alki (with a stop at Tully's for some coffee and a donut), then home again. It was 46 leaving the house, so I had on a long-sleeved silk underlayer and one of my old Perlizumi long sleeve jerseys with a windbreaker, wool knickers and short wool socks, and long fingered gloves. The first 3 miles from my house is pretty much downhill, followed by a couple of really nice climbs (1 is 11% for almost a mile) and by the time I got up to the top, I had to stop to take the jacket off. As I did, I was treated to a really nice view of Mt. Rainier behind me.

About a half hour or so later, it was even more spectacular as I saw it from Marine View drive just before the descent to Lincoln Park (I'm at elevation +/- 600' above sea level here)

The view out over Puget Sound to the south with Des Moines (left) and part of Vashon Island (right) was pretty nice, too.

Off to the west, the pristine Olympic Mountain Range was showing off, as well, with the Fauntleroy/Southworth Ferry heading in toward the Fauntleroy dock below me.

After a nice fast decent, I got down to Lincoln Park where I took off the busier roads and rode around by the water for a while where the temperature had warmed to a very pleasant 51 degrees. .

After coming out of Lincoln Park, the route follows along the waterfront to Alki Beach, where I went by one of my favorite places, the "blue bottle house"

and then stopped at the Statue of Liberty to reflect a little bit on what it means to be an American these days.

Several of my favorite American heroes are quoted here, including these two:

Of course, no ride is complete without a stop for some coffee and (ya think MAYBE???) a donut. I get so excited about my pastries sometimes, I just can't focus my blackberry very well.

When I rolled up to Tullys, though, I got to see one of my favorite vehicles, the famed TRIKE

I had a great time chatting with the owner of this fine steed (and his sister), who gave me a great demonstration on how the bell worked. Sis was really impressed with how my bell worked (complete with a thermometer) and told me she didn't have a bell for her baby stoller, and spent a bit of time introducing me to all of her dollies - sure wish I had some pics of those kids!!! They were really precious.

After working my way aroung Alki Point and south along the Duwamish Trail, I crossed the First Ave. S. Bridge for another great view of my mountain

and then headed home after riding around through the industrial district for a while where a few of the other pieces of heavy equipment found out that my bike isn't easy to crush

And as I rode along Michigan Street (this is one street NOT recommended for bicycles) I couldn't help be amused by this car wash sign

Thinking maybe I could get an explanation of just what this "CHEW BUSH" sign meant, I pulled into the parking lot and examined the other side

Now I'm even more confused than before. What the heck is a BASIC CAMEL?

ONE HUMP OR TWO????

The temperature at Alki when I came out of Tully’s was 53 degrees and by the time I got home, I'd seen 55 degrees once briefly coming up Swift toward Beacon Hill.

2010 is off to a great start!

01-01-10 Permanent 202 on Highway 101

2010-01-03T09:56:00.000-08:00

What could possibly motivate 7 otherwise sane, rational, adults to go to bed early on New Year's Eve - after having read the weather forecast that said "100% chance of rain. Winds SE 15-25 shifting to SW 15-30 in the afternoon" - so they could be sure and wake up at 3:30 in the morning to get ready for a BIKE RIDE. Really! This just all seems a bit extreme doesn't it?

Well, When Dr. Codfish

called for a ride on New Year's Day, riding the Olympia-Brinnon-Olympia RUSA permanent route #202 which is mostly on Hwy 101, I couldn't resist. Obviously, I wasn't the only one, since my friends Joe Platzner, Lyn Gill and Chris Heg also decided to make the 60 or so mile drive south to the start line. Two other guys from around the area were also foolish enough to brave the elements and I was mighty glad they did, since I would need each and every one of them to pull me along before the end of the day.

Lyn showed up with her customary huge smile and excitment to be out on the bike

Joe showed up hungry enough to eat the most brazenly decorative doughnut known to the human race

and the rest of us just showed up.

Ken Ward

Chris Heg

James (?)

We all exited the parking lot at 0630 hrs prompt - well one of us (and I won't mention Lyn by name here) started at 0633 but quickly caught up to us - with about an hour to ride before it got light. Our first informational control came at about mile 6, where we had to answer one of two questions on the controlle card.

It had started to rain pretty steadily by this time, but we were all still in the dark about what was ahead of us.

This ride is really a 3-segment out and back. 35 miles to Hoodsport, 50 miles from Hoodsport to Brinnon and back (with a stop in Brinnon to get controlle card signed) and then 35 back to the finish line in Olympia. The first 35 miles went pretty fast, with most of us sticking pretty close together and a light tail wind pushing us along. I think James had a temporary moment of sanity at that point and decided to call it a day. Dr. Codfish was off the back a mile or so and as the other five of us rolled into the Hoodsport Coffee Company, Joe decided to forge on ahead while Lyn, Chris, James and I stopped briefly for quick refills and drainages. I have to say, the folks at this espresso bar are some of the nicest people I have ever met in my riding. They are always so warm and inviting, and never give us crap about making big puddles all over their floor.

After less than 5 minutes, we're off and rolling and it didn't take Lyn and Ken long to drop Chris and I off the back end, and not much longer before Chris dropped me. The rest of the way into Brinnon, I rode along content in the solitude, listening to the wind howl in the trees above me, thankful that the wind was at my back so the rain wasn't driving into my face except on the descents. This 50 mile stretch is never flat but never really steep climbs, they just keep coming at you. The rain really started to come down with a vengeance near Eldon and I was thankful that I'd made a decision to bring along an extra set of clothes in a pannier, knowing how good it would feel when I got to Brinnon to change into warm, dry clothes for the return trip.

When I rolled into the control, there were the gang of four all either eating and drinking or getting ready to. I decided to get another 25 miles out of the soggy set of clothes I had on and so made a quick trip through the mini-mart, picking up a Snickers Bar, bottle of chocolate milk, and then after making a beeline for the porta-potty and was back on the bike, but not before walking into the store and announcing to nobody in particular, "We're not nearly as intelligent as we look" and snapping this picture of Joe and Chris.

Lynn was still all smiles.

Everyone saw me roll out and quickly saddled up and chased me down. Chris was a little slower getting mounted up, and with the severe headwinds we were going to be faced with, I decided to let the other three go ahead and I pulled off into a nice little pullout where I was sheltered from the wind and waited for him to catch up.

We actually got a pretty nice reprieve from the hard winds, as the wind did shift and we got a little shelter from the hills and big trees, but there was still a pretty good headwind all the way back into Hoodsport. I needed to stop one more time just outside of Lilawaup to take advantage of a little immediate wild relief station, and parked the lovely Katrina in the shade so she wouldn't get sunburned

When I got into Hoodsport finally, I grabbed my pannier and made an immediate entry to the bathroom where I stripped down buck naked (sorry, no photos of that) and changed into a nice, warm, dry set of clothes. I even had an extra pair of shoes in the pannier. A harsh lesson in reatity began to soak in about this time, however. The dry clothes feel really good. The wet clothes now weigh about 5 pounds more than the dry ones, and they're in the pannier. Don't suppose I'll want to do that again any time soon.

The proprietor of the coffee shop loaned Lyn a hair dryer

and Joe pulled on the remaining dry layers of clothes he had with him (over the wet ones!) and devoured not one but TWO bagels - don't know what this affinity for round doughy things with holes in them is

We rolled out as a gang of five now, with the thought we should try to stick together the last 35 miles, as the wind was picking up and we'd do a lot better together than apart. The crew had to wait for me twice on climbs and I was mighty glad they did.

We made one more roadside stop so I could make a slight gear adjustment to put on my helmet light, and I noticed that the rain was finally lightening up a bit. It felt mighty nice to finally get off of Highway 101 and onto the back roads again, where we could actually hear what each other was saying again, and just as it was getting close to dark, we rolled back into the finish line, drenched but totally happy with the day.

I think Lyn has been riding with Vinny Muoneke a bit too much, though. There's just something way too similar about these smiles.

M: 125
T: 9:09
TT: 10:23
E: 4,444
A: 13.5 or so

Scio Frozen Bridges

2009-12-06T21:03:00.001-08:00

Well, seems there’s been a lot of carpin' 'bout the frigid air (and I ain't talkin' 'bout the one in yer kitchen) so I might as well talk about yesterday's little fiasco. Mind you, this ride was MY IDEA, so I can't complain.

I decided I wanted to go to Oregon in December and do a permanent with one of our new board members, but when I emailed Cecil Anne, she couldn't ride on Saturday, but could on Sunday. Well, doing a ride of 125 or so miles on Sunday is tough enough for me, but having to do a 4 hour drive back from Portland to Seattle in heavy Sunday nite going home traffic is pretty much unthinkable, so I organized one of Susan France's routes, the Scio Covered Bridges. I've wanted to do it for a while, and thought this would be a good chance. Relatively flat, not up into the higher hills so if there's cold rain and snow in the foothills, I'll probably be okay.

So Greg Sneed told me in late Oct. he wanted to go for his R-12. November we did 3-Rivers Cruise. He was signed on for this one, as was Ron Himschoot and John Vincent. Two Oregon Randonneurs, Sam Huffman and Bill Alsup signed on as well. Bill needed a ride in December to make his 2nd consecutive R-12. Sam hasn't ridden anything long since May, but is strong and young.

Then the weather forecasts started to bear watching. Dropping temps, threats of snow, freezing fog and wind. First Greg bailed. Then Ron. I told 'em I'm probably better prepared than some guys since I now have studded tires. So I loaded both bikes in the truck and headed off to Portland late Friday afternoon. 31 degrees when I got to Wilsonville about 9:00 pm. 27 degrees when I woke up, and freezing fog. Still dark, but there's a sheen of frost on the pavement. Susan had granted me permission to delay the start a couple hours if I needed to, so we decided to roll out at 8:30. As we went out to start getting ready, John says to me, "Boothby, there is ice forming ON my tires - just since we've been here. I'm packing for home.' Now we are 3.

Sam, Bill and I started out and rode the first mile along I-5 on frosty pavement. When we got off the highway and started down the back roads, I said, "Boys, I'm not doing this." Sam 'llowed as how he was with me. Bill? Well, he decided to soldier on.

As Sam and I got off the northbound freeway, I decided I'd go get my ice bike and do a short ride anyway. Maybe go along the course down to Silverton and back - that's about 40 or so miles. Once I had those studded tires under me, I felt pretty doggone good. No slip slidin' and very comfortable with that magic red saddle on it. The sun had come out around Wilsonville,

but as I got south a little ways, the fog settled in again, and there was a bunch of ice pretty much everywhere.

All the fog and ice made for some really spectacular sightseeing, though my teeth were chattering pretty good for a bit in the below-freezing temps.

OK, to make matters worse, when I changed bikes, I forgot to move my Spiz and Cytomax bottles from Katrina over to Iris, and just outside of the first little town, I reached down to grab a drink and my water bottle was EMPTY! So I stopped in Barlow at the little mini-mart and grabbed a cup of coffee. Hot and fresh, but too hot to drink, so I put a little ice in it. Then a little more, and drank a nice warm coffee. Before leaving, I topped it off with iced coffee which tasted great for the next several miles. Still had ice in the bottla 2 hours later.

And I found these beautiful black horses standing in the snow white fog. Very mysterious scene, with them emitting clouds of steamy breath and steam rising from their wet coats. I'm convinced they are responsible for all the fog.

And the huge Oregon Live Oaks were pretty awesome looking, too.

I overtook Bill in Silverton, and he convinced me (took a lot, right?) to ride on with him. And from there on, no clouds or fog

This is the Scio COVERED BRIDGES permanent:

The first of the three is just before coming into Scio

They do love their High School Football team here, too:

Scio beat Kennedy 14-7 to take the championship - this game was in progress as we rode through.

http://highschoolsports.oregonlive.com/news/article/-551907838358710884/kennedy-vs-scio-215-pm-saturday/

Bill dropped his camera and broke it right by that first bridge, so stopped at the Scio Market and bought a very patriotic adorned instant camera he was very pleased with

After a snack, it was off to the Hoffman Bridge

And then into beautiful downtown Crabtree, Population about 250 maybe, but our brevet card has a secret control here and we weren't sure if we were supposed to count the doors or the reindeer, so we counted both

After a bit of wandering about, we finally got to Gilkey Bridge

The temperature had jumped up to about 40 degrees in mid-afternoon, and we now had another 35 miles to go to get into Salem. We picked up the pace a little, trying to make it through Salem before dark. At least we arrived before Sunset, in time to take our pictures at the Capitol (where I was sworn into the USMC on 6/12/69)

OK, I aplogize for you having to turn your monitor on its side to see this one.

And now with 40 miles to go, the sun is down, the night air is chilling rapidly and we're ready to roll out. The Salvation Army bellringer must have told us 20 times to be careful. She told me the story of her brother getting hit by a car 3 times.

And at 8:10 pm, after 11 hours and 40 minutes, one false start, one bike change, no serious missed directions and a whole lot of hot coffee along the way, Bill Alsup finished his R-24

and Raleighdon the insane was there to witness it.

Now for the post script.

I went back to the hotel and got in the shower. I had stopped and picked up a chicken teriyaki to go and was really hungry, but wanted to get under a nice hot shower first. So I did. Now, normally, I'm a 3-minute shower guy. But I didn't want to get out. But I wanted to eat. But I didn't want to get cold again. I was seriously conflicted - probably a bit tired, too. I finally had to turn the water up so hot I couldn't stand it in order to force myself to get out. Hotels never run out of hot water. After eating a little bit, I crawled into bed still chilled. I pulled on clean wool base shirt and a clean pair of wool knickers and kneesocks. I was still chilled. I pulled the bedspread back up and started to get warm. Then I started to get leg cramps, and twitches. So I got up, drank a bottle of water with NUUN. Then ate a banana, took 2 advil and got back in bed. 10 minutes later, still having small cramps. Drank a bottle of warm cytomax. Crawled back in bed and finished watching Santa Clause 3 on Disney and everything got better. I think I was a little dehydrated and electrolyte deficient, but mostly, think I just had trouble getting my core temp balanced.

But at the end of the day, I'm now at R-6 and don't have to worry about getting anything else til January.

Rest In Peace, Earl C.

2009-11-09T08:29:00.000-08:00

On November 8, 1984 I was transferred into the drug and alcohol treatment facility on the 7th floor of Cabrini Hospital. I had been in the hospital for 4 days and it was obvious to pretty much everyone around me that I had a pretty substantial drinking and drug problem. That first night, after dinner, we were told we had to go to the dining room for a Narcotics Anonymous presentation. I didn’t want to go, but had to. That night, a guy came into the treatment center and talked about having been on death row in Huntsville and how he’d gotten a second lease on life, managing to get off of death row and eventually out of prison. He had been free for about 7 years and drug free for a little over 6. He spent his time going into treatment centers and prisons, carrying a message of recovery.

When I left the treatment center a couple weeks ago with a group to go to an "outside meeting", Earl was the first one who reached out to me, welcomed me to the meeting and actually remembered my name. As I got more involved in NA over the next few years, Earl and I got to know each other a little bit, and I even had a chance to go to Walla Walla with him one time where we took meetings to minimum security, and then to the maximum security inmates. Earl was able to relate to these men in a way few can.

Earl was a remarkable man, who always encouraged newcomers to recovery, always demonstrated a love for others who were trying to make meaningful change in their lives and always modeling total dedication to the 12-step way of life. He said things like “Just pick a birthday and keep it.” And he did. For 31 years.

Friday evening, November 7th, almost exactly 25 years to the day after I met Earl, this wonderful man and good friend passed away. Attending the weekly meeting of Friday Night Alive in the South King County area of NA, Earl was asked to speak. He went to the podium and shared with the group about recovery. Then he sat down again. A few minutes later, Earl suffered a massive heart attack and left the group.

While we never like losing our friends, our mentors, our leaders, it seems like this is a good passing for Earl. Sitting in a group of people he loved and who loved him. Doing the thing he loved most in life. He lived a good life and will be sorely missed.

Rest, my friend. You earned it.

Autumn is Here

2009-09-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

So last night I'm riding home from work. I tell Mimi I want to ride long since I didn't get much of a ride in before work, and I'm heading out to the Duwamish, where I'm gonna ride down through Renton and back up along the lake. Everything is really lovely this week with temps in the mid-70's to mid-80's predicted all week. I have Mimi's new Pentax camera with me since I wore mine out (over 10,000 photos they all seem to quit functioning for some reason). I turn onto Spokane St. heading toward the bridge and hear a train coming. Not a problem since they are on tracks I don't have to cross and have their own bridge. I see a nice break in traffic that allows me to hop across 4 lanes of roadway onto the bike path/sidewalk going onto the swing bridge. I hear the bells start to ring, and think to myself they're gonna lower the train bridge. It is always up and I would really like to capture a shot of it down for a change, especially with Mt. Rainier so big and bright today with the winds we've been having to blow the smog away. Gorgeous afternoon!!! I start up the bridge and see the train approaching, but the bridge isn't moving. The bells keep ringing their warning, but no action yet. Then I see the sand barges. I think to myself that I should really stop and get a shot of this, as it is really beautiful out this afternoon. I generally will take 4 to 6 shots to make sure I have one I really like. I get almost to the top of the bridge and stop. Grab the camera and zoom in to get a good shot of the barges and mountain, since the train bridge isn't dropping (it's a single leaf drawspan) and had taken my first photo when I hear a voice on the loudspeaker. I don't think much of it, thinking it is coming from one of the boats below me. I'm getting ready to take another photo when I hear it again, only this time it sounds a bit irritated. Still don't give it much thought, but then I hear it again, "The bridge is preparing to open. The guy down there on the bridge with the bike needs to keep moving!!!!" OH, they're talking to ME! It's MY bridge that is getting ready to move, not the train bridge. I look behind me and the gate is closed. Oh, they're waiting for me to get off the Spokane St. Bridge (a double leaf "swing bridge") so they can open it for some big ship to go through. NOW I GET IT! So I carefully place my camera back into my jersey pocket, hitch up my shorts so they won't get caught on the saddle, straddle the top tube, click in, and ride off, waving merrily (with ALL of my fingers extended) to the bridge tender and ride off down the other side of the bridge. As soon as I was "almost" safely out of the way, he triggered the button to close the gate, and continued on with his work. I, of course, continued on down the exit from the bridge, turned sharp left onto West Marginal Way and went merrily along my way, satisfied with just one beautiful shot of the mountain.

Later, as I rolled into Renton, I turned off Grady Way onto the bike path by the Waste Water Treatment Plant and was greeted by yet another pretty scene, as the sun was now low in the sky, giving off a wonderful golden glow to everything. I remembered Machka's "First Day of Spring" post earlier, so stopped to grab yet another pretty shot of the LAST DAY OF SUMMER-2009!

Though this week is supposed to be in the 80's it won't be long now before we are pulling on all the layers of wool, booties, rain jackets, ear warmers, long gloves with wool fingerless 'overgloves' and heading out looking like Ralphie's little brother in his snowsuit in that wonderful Christmas movie. For now, however, I'm sure digging the first day of autumn that more resembles mid-July except for the shortness of the daylight hours.

WELCOME TO AUTUMN!!

THE FIX IS IN

2009-08-07T12:59:00.000-07:00

So, I head to Elliott Bay Bikes. It's Friday. Reed always works on Friday. This pleases me. Reed looks at it. He's in the middle of a full driveline overhaul for a guy with a sleek ti Davidson. The guy is waiting, and Reed's about an hour away from done. This doesn't please me so much. Do I want to leave it and come back? Well, not really, since I'm supposed to leave early for Eastern Washington. Taking pity on me (not to mention I have spent a lot of money over the past three years in their shop) he says, ok (without even grumbling too much) and slaps it up into the stand. Looks it over. So there's a slight chance it'll break in the straightening. Slight? I'll take my chances. If it breaks, we'll have to order a new one. Don't have one in stock. OK, so I'm still willing to take that chance. It might break while you're riding, even if we're successful. OK. I can live with that risk.

Bill (Davidson) comes in. Reed gives the hanger to Bill, who ambles off to the back, saying this is easy. No problem.

Bill comes back a couple minutes later. Straight as an arrow.

Reed installs. Then he gets a long handled thingamajig with a spike hanging out the end. I assume he's gonna bash me over the head for being such a bonehead. Nope. He puts it to the hanger, adjusts the pin and does some arcane incantations over it at the top of the rim. then he spins it to the bottom. Gives me some explanation about how it has to be exactly straight to shift properly. Looks over some of the frame parts (used to work for Raleigh and likes to check known places for frame failure) and declares the frame to be in good shape. Then he uses those massive arm muscles of a bicyclist and just barely puts pressure on the hanger. SNAP.

This is a family friendly post. What's said in the bike shop, stays in the bike shop.

Reed heads over to the shelf. Just in case. Pulls out a couple of boxes with little baggies of mysteriously shaped doo-dads and lots of loose parts. Paws through them. Nope. Nope. Naw, that one won't work. Yep. It's a winner. Found one. Installed it.

Less than 30 minutes start to finish. $30.65 (plus a little tip for my mechanic without the boss in the room) and I'm down the road. Reed returns to the "other" job.

Life is good.

Life is better on a bike.

Life is even better on a bike that works.

And life is REALLY good when you work close to a bike shop!

RULE NUMBER ONE - DON'T FALL DOWN

2009-08-07T12:52:00.001-07:00

DON'T FALL DOWN. Isn't that rule #1?

This week, they are doing a re-paving of the Duwamish Trail. In order to do this, they've had to close the trail and divert commute traffic out onto a very busy West Marginal Way. None of us wants to get turned into cream of wheat by a cement truck, garbage truck or tour bus, so SDOT has very generously provided a full northbound lane with a barrel divider line for the entire length of the repairs. About 2/3 of the way through, there is a place where there is an entry driveway to a shipping container/chassis yard. If you use the driveway entrance and then cross over a gravel area and some RR tracks, you can get back onto the trail at that point - though there is really NO REASON to do so, unless you want to check out the "tent city" set up by Port of Seattle for some of the homeless folks here. Which is what I wanted to do. When I was by there last week, they'd set up this tent city but with absolutely no bathroom facilities and I wanted to see if they'd ever added some sanitation to this place or if people were still just expected to go in the woods (like in the downtown Seattle parks).

So at the last minute, I made my turn, thought I had a good enuf angle to get over the curb cut, but didn't factor in the fact there was a big batch of oily greasy mess and my front wheel slid down off the curb cut, sending me to the ground. Hit on my right side, getting a slight scrape on the knee, a little brusing on my right hip and sore shoulder. Never hit my head.

After getting up and dusting myself off, assuring myself the bike was okay, I took off. When I went to shift down to the middle chain ring though, the rear derailleur started rubbing lightly on the spokes. Seems I've bent the detachable aluminum derailleur hanger on my Raleigh Competition. Outta here in a few minutes to take it to EBB and see if they can straighten it for me.

So, remind me, what was that number one rule?

oh yeah. DON'T FALL DOWN!!!!

Ride Safe
Have Fun
Finish With A Smile

This Just Kinda Says It All Today

2009-07-28T08:30:00.000-07:00

Dumpster Diving at the Essential Bakery

2009-07-24T09:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my second consecutive "extended commute". Wednesday I did a 51 mile commute on tandem of which about 30 of it was solo, but yesterday Mimi and I had a date. I had to pick up storage locker keys for RAMROD organizing stuff, and was going to meet VP Mike "somewhere on the trail" with both of us leaving respective starting points at about 4:30. Mimi met me in downtown. We were going to ride together, but we needed to be back up to Beacon Hill in time to pick up our farm share. We wanted to meet the kids for dinner, too, and Tom & Megan had to be outta there by not later than about 6:45 since they were going to a Gilbert & Sullivan show. Timing was sorta tight, but not too. We rode out along the Burke Gilman Trail and I told Mimi at 5:00, "ok, now in the next 5-10 minutes we should be meeting up with Mike (she'd been worried about timing since we needed to be at the restaurant by 6). At 5:08, I'm looking up the trail and VOILA!!! There he is. Got the keys, chatted a few minutes and headed back toward Blue C Sushi in Fremont. Stopped along the way to pick a few blackberries (still not real ripe, but tasty nonetheless - Mimi says they'll be ripe on full moon). So, we're riding back toward the restaurant, and I have an idea, since we're about 15 minutes early. Riding home from Bike Expo back in February or March, I'd met a guy on the trail and started chatting with him. I was supposed to peel off and head south, but we were having a great time getting to know each other, so I figured I'd ride into Fremont and then cut south through downtown and home, only a couple extra miles. As we neared the Essential Bakery, he says to me, "Hey, I've got to stop at the bakery and grab a loaf of bread." Well, I thought that was a great idea. They make wonderful artisan loaves and it's one of my favorite bakeries in town. So I figured I'd get a loaf too, since we always can use some. Well, instead of going into the bakery, the guy pulls into the back parking lot. Rides up to a dumpster, lifts the lid and pulls out a beautiful loaf of bread. These aren't filthy yucky dumpsters. They're "clean", and absolutely chock full of beautiful loaves of bread in bags. Essential Bakery absolutely will not sell day old bread. I'm not sure why they simply throw it away, but they do. Apparently the college kids have known about this for a long time. Well, I grabbed a loaf and took it home. Mimi was THRILLED. She loves bargains.

That's the set up. Here's the photos:

and notice the beautiful jersey this girl is wearing. She designed the logo herself. They're for sale through the Team Estrogen website

AND THERE SHE GOES, FOLKS!!!!!

......and now you know..............

.............the rest of the story.

Death Ride - I'm READY

2009-07-02T10:58:00.001-07:00

It's been a while since I posted here. Seems like life's been pretty busy in June, what with trying to get ready to go to California for the toughest physical challenge I've ever tackled - well, except for Marine Corps Boot camp back in the summer of '69. A few weeks ago, I headed over to Orondo and did three repeats of Orondo Grade, stopping in Waterville at the Coyote Pass Cafe for refreshments after each climb. They really do make the absolute best bread pudding I've ever eaten, and their coffee is thick, rich and fresh. Who could ask for more. Then, two weeks ago, Mimi and I tackled the Tour de Blast. She did the 55 mile route up to Elk Rock and back and I did the full 85 miles up to Johnson Ridge. That gave me a pretty good feeling as I pushed my heavy Davidson up the mountains. Last weekend, it was off to Mazama with Redmond Cycling Club for about 12,000' of climbing spread over two beautiful days in bright sunny weather. So now, with a mere 10 days to go, I'm ready to go. Over 6,200 miles and almost 285,000' of vertical in 6 months of intense training. If that doesn't prepare me, there is nothing that will. So here's a little poem I wrote this morning, thinking of all the friends I've made in the cycling community who have either done or are doing this ride.

miles and smiles and added climbs
make for the sweetest and best of times.
Tomorrow I leave for Cali for nee eye AAAA
The state where I spent my very first day.

So many long months of training my legs
tree stumps replaced those toothpicky pegs
and now it is south to partake of this ride
but if I fall short, at least I'll have tried.

I've just nine more days to taper my training
The hours til Death Ride are rapidly waning.
I'm feeling the pressure, but know in my heart
That I'll be there early for a five o'clock start.

In jersey resplendent of Marine Corps Pride
I'll shoot out the gate for this Most Awesome Ride
Hoping that all of the rest of you folks
Have a really great time and don't break any spokes.

Ride hard and ride fast and climb strong to the crest
Then repeat this five times 'fore you lay down to rest
Enjoy the descents, but use care as you go
We want you back home in one piece, dontcha know.

Remember to bring plenty of sunblock and gu
keep well hydrated and get food in ya, too.
We'll see you all soon down south in the sun
best luck and good fortune fellow riders, each one.

======================================================

SEE YOU GUYS AND GALS ON THE MOUNTAIN

Imagine

2009-05-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

Imagine riding your bike to work every day, surrounded by hundreds of other cyclists. Imagine cars being so used to seeing a lot of bicycles that we have become just another part of the transportation fabric in our society. Imagine people being patient and tolerant of each other and recognizing that we're all just trying to get to work efficiently, safely and ready to do a good job for our employers.

May is National Bike Month. All month I've been part of the Group Health Bike To Work Challenge, hosted by Cascade Bike Club. Of course part of the purpose is to get people on their bikes more for commuting to work. But it is so much more than that. It's also about increasing community awareness. If only we could get people out of their cars one day every week, imagine how much more visible we would be to the motorists. Imagine if we did this twice a week. I've done it 84 days so far this year, and driven only once, feeling cheated out of my morning routine.

This year for the Bike to Work challenge, I've got to be part of Team Carpe Velo, a 10-person team of which 2 of us have ridden our bikes to work every day, riding this week in some pretty wet conditions to do it. So we have Bike to work Month, Bike to Work WEEK and now, today is Bike To Work DAY. And the cyclists were out in force.

Mimi and I started out together and rode up to Columbia Way so she could get counted. Then we rode down to Boeing and I headed north. I ran into my team captain, Mike McCormick:

We both ride this same route almost every day, but have never crossed paths before, so this was pretty special for both of us. After we got our picture taken together

we hung around for a bit, had some coffee, enjoyed all the support out there, wondering why people do this just one day, one week or one month out of the year.

But soon, it was time to ride off to our respective offices, Mike heading south, me heading north into downtown. But not before loading some goodies into the panniers.

Typically, I see 2 or 3 bikes coming south as I'm heading north. In May, I usually see 10 or so, and this week because of the rain, the number has been down. This morning, I counted 34 bikes coming at me before I got to the bridge. Once I got there, with bikes heading in from West Seattle and heading out of downtown towards West Seattle, I saw over a hundred bikes on the road. The woman counting bikes coming out of West Seattle was up to 233 when I arrived and it was early yet.

Imagine how differently cars might see us if there were these numbers EVERY DAY!!!

Imagine.............

Rain AGAIN?

2009-05-14T07:44:00.000-07:00

It was raining a little bit yesterday morning, enough so that we had our raincoats, pants and booties on, but not so much I felt like I needed my helmet cover. By the time I left work yesterday evening, it was raining hard and I really needed full battle gear, but as I rode south, I was grinnin' ear to ear, realizing I really do love days like that, and chatting with another cyclist heading out of downtown, we remarked how nice it is to be able to smile through the raindrops.

This morning was a little different story. Yes, I do love being able to smile, but when I got up, it was one of those "saturating mist" rains we have in Seattle that is interspersed with periods of heavy rain. You walk outside and are instantly drenched. I hinted to Mimi that she may not be too excited about being out in it today. She was putting on her bike shoes and rain pants, but she is so easily talked out of it in inclement conditions, it took not much time for her to get changed out of rain gear. I, on the other hand, am not to be deterred this month. Only 2 guys on our 10-man Carpe Velo commute challenge team still have perfect records, me one of them and the team captain the other. I can't blink. So I put on all the plasticized anti-wetness armour and headed out. As I left, I remarked to Mimi that this is the first day all year I've really thought to myself that it would be a really good day to take off and ride the bus. Of course, as it always seems to be, I'm only really miserable for the first couple of minutes while in the process of getting soaked. I equate it to jumping in a cold lake. Once I get used to the cold water, I'm fine, but it does take a moment to adapt. As the #36 passed me going along Beacon Avenue, spraying me with buckets of cold, gritty, muck, I laughed, thinking that I could actually be nice and warm, reading a book and relaxing. Instead, I am being that little boy who doesn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain, out there in my rain coat and galoshes, stomping in mud puddles, seeing how big of a splash I can make. This just reinforces my age old belief that youth may be fleeting, but immaturity can last a lifetime.

I got to work about as wet as I could ever be, and found I don't have a spare set of socks in my desk as I thought I did, but at least my wet socks are wool so my feet won't be cold and wet all day, just wet. It's supposed to improve as the day goes by - well, we'll see.

Only The Hardcore

2009-05-05T08:34:00.000-07:00

This morning's commute warrants at least a mention. It's been raining pretty hard overnight, and when I got up to read for an hour at 2:20, the wind was howling through the trees and the wind chimes were really singing. By 3:30 it had calmed down, I turned the light off and went back to sleep til 5:15 and when I woke up, the wind had picked up again, it was still coming down pretty good, but I decided to go for it anyway. With full rain gear (Showers Pass jacket, rain pants, helmet cover, Potenza booties and winter gloves), I set off. I usually count bikes coming at me in the morning, and typically see 3 or 4 most of the year, but from mid April through the end of May, I usually see anywhere from 15 - 20. That doesn't include the flotilla of bikes coming off the ferry. This morning, I counted a total of TWO bikes, and when I got to the ferry, instead of the massive herd, I saw maybe a half dozen bikes moving south.

Only the hardest core of the hard core were out there this morning, braving the elements. I guess I must have become one. My wife called me a "goof". I'm not sure, but I think she meant it in a good way.

In the Starbux downstairs, people were talking about how miserable it was. I had a grin from ear to ear, and had to explain to one guy that I'm just a little kid who liked to play in mudpuddles and never really grew up.

When I grow up, I think I want to be a little kid.

Workingman's 100K Ride

2009-04-22T08:46:00.000-07:00

I love to ride my bike to work. Some weeks, I like to go out with the bike club and do our 15 - 25 mile Tuesday evening "mudflaps" ride, then ride home. But yesterday's commute turned out to be a very interesting 100K ride for me. I all started with a nice sunrise as I was coming along the Duwamish, and I was impressed by how far the sun has moved north in the past 3 weeks. I took this same photo just before leaving for California at the end of March, and the sun rose south of the control tower.

After crossing over the bridge, I always get this great view of the Seattle skyline from Harbor Island. Its different every day:

After work, it was in the lower 70's and I'd been planning to do a 100k ride, with some good climbs out by Issaquah. It is just marvelous crossing Lake Washington when the weather is nice. With Mt. Rainier to the south and Mt. Baker to the north, the snowcapped Cascades to the east and the smell of the Great Northwest Springtime heavy in the air, nothing can be finer.

After climbing the 2-mile 10% grade of Lakemont Blvd and descending back to Newport Way, I headed through Issaquah and out toward Maple Valley, where one of my favorite local barns was really pretty in the early evening sun.

And then, I got onto the Cedar River Trail for a really fast return into Renton with the sun blinding me as I approached the end of the trail.

Soon, however, it had dipped below the tree line, and the temperature went from 73 degrees to 63 degrees very rapidly.

As the sun was close to setting, I cruised north along the southwest edge of Lake Washington, taking in the late evening aromas of lawns being mowed, somebody's meat on the grill, enjoying a light breeze coming off the lake and the evening birds singing their praises to a wonderful day.

The day ended exactly as it had begun, with the sun in my eyes, only slowly sinking over the horizon as I rolled up the hill to home. I finished the day with just over 64 miles, and slept like a baby last night. Is it any wonder I love riding a bike to work?

Glad To Be Alive

2009-04-17T08:20:00.000-07:00

I'm really glad I'm alive today. I had a near miss this week (my first 'true' near miss of 2009) when I was on my way home from work. Having bike commuted over 60 times this year, I suppose that's not too bad, and maybe not even as many close calls as I used to have driving to Lynnwood and back every day in my big, boxy cars.

Beacon Ave. S. runs north-south. Single lane each way with on-street parking and sharrows. Major bus line and the only major arterial on Beacon Hill. From Columbia Way to south of Cloverdale (4 mile stretch) there is a greenway down the middle of the street with a multi-use path, and good sidewalks on both sides of the street.

(photo-October, 2008)

Typically, I stay on the street until I cross through the intersection at Myrtle (.9 miles from home) and then I take the MUP for about 6 blocks before turning left at the most convenient (as dictated by traffic flow of the moment) side street and then go down the one block to 37th S, which takes me into my garage. The 'game' is to beat both the 4:33 "32" and the 4:40 "36" to Beacon & Myrtle when I'm coming home over the hill like this.

On this particular day, I'd beat both of them. I was relaxed and pulled up onto the MUP, and was cruising merrily along. The 32 passed me, driver waved at me (I know most of them and with the exception of one guy who insists on honking - like I can't hear there's a bus behind me - they're all really really friendly and careful of me) and then had to make a stop at Holden. Cars were behind him. The stop is in such a place by Aloha Market that the tail end of the bus is sticking out into traffic and cars can't get around. There's a white SUV behind him. I am approaching the intersection. I'm doing about 15 or so. I check the SUV. No turn signal. I slow a little, but not much since the bus is stopped, the SUV is not turning and no oncoming traffic. At the last moment, the SUV changes his mind and decides to turn left, never seeing me or thinking I'm going to stop. He pulls a way too fast left turn and I had to lock up the brakes, enter a controlled skid spinning my bike almost 180 degrees as I turned to the left, barely averting T-boning the left front fender of this bozo. Without allowing enough room for him to go around me either left or right, I turn completely to where I'm facing him, and confronted him. He was at first apologetic, knowing he had screwed up. I was prepared to accept that, then he said, "I thought 'you guys' were supposed to be on the street, not on the sidewalk". At that point, I was less than generous in my response to him.

If we're on the MUP which goes thru, we're supposed to be on the street. If we're on the sidewalk, we're supposed to be on the street or the bike path. If we're on the street, we're supposed to be on the sidewalk or the bike path. No matter where we are, we're not where we're supposed to be when they almost kill us.

And then they wonder why we're angry.

I'm glad today because I'm sitting up and taking nourishment for another day.

Ride Safely and Stay Alert
Have Fun
Get To The Finish Line With a SMILE.