And You Thought I Was Kidding

We have a slacking tooth fairy. She always forgets to come. It usually takes her 2 or 3 nights to show up. Last night she forgot again. I don't know what her problem is.

Terrible, terrible, terrible.


So, yeah, there it is - the 3 seater. Morgan doesn't like me calling it a clown bike. But even the kids are calling it that now.


There's the "Three Seater".

It's hard to ride.

The 10 year and the 8 year old together weigh almost as much as me, so the weight distribution is a bit wobbly. And they like to spin really fast. It's like driving a moterhome.

But I'm sure with some practice we'll be ready for all the parades and stuff.

I Have Nothing to Say

Yesterday on my lunch ride, I was daydreaming along Pinehurst when one of those large black Cadillac escalawhatevers came around the bend towards me in my lane and honked and honked and honked.

And scared the bejesus out of me. Thankfully I was riding way towards the right side of my lane.

And I kept pedaling along scared out of my wits, mumbling out of the side of my mouth and finally I was able to yell out (way after they'd gone by) ffffART HEADS!!


Kiki is our neighbor's cat. She sleeps in our back yard. She likes to lay next to the water fall and watch the birds fly around.




This is a picture of my sister and my step sisters and me (not necessarily in that order). Guess which one my sister is. (Seesh, I have a teeny head. Look at that! And I also just noticed that they're all holding beers and I'm holding some sort of paddle.)



Last night I dreamt I was a bus driver. The clown bike (3 seater) arrived last week.

I just ate a cheese steak sandwich for lunch. I'm waiting for it to digest so I can go ride. I feel like I'm going to barf.

I don't feel like working today. It's windy out.

The Christian

The day before yesterday I watched our neighbor's dog poop in my front garden. I watched my neighbor watch his dog poop in my yard and then turn and walk away with his dog.

This is the same neighbor who last Thursday night, spent a half hour harassing the dog across the street by shining a laser pointer at the dog and making the dog spin in circles. The neighbor who owns the dog, who the laser pointer guy was harassing, watched as he pointed the laser pointer at her dog. She watched for a half hour through the window as he harassed her dog.

He was harassing while in his boxers.

The boxer harasser is a Christian fundamentalist. He hosts bible study classes at his house. He also lets his own dog run around without a leash on their walks. And he doesn't clean up his dog's poop. And he drives his BMW way too fast down our street while kids are riding their bikes in the street. He's mean and cranky and single and loves jesus.

Sometimes I stand in the middle of the street and I don't move, so that he has to go around me. So that he has to slow down. So that he wont hit any of the kids playing. I'm always friendly and I say hi to him and he stares at me like I'm a leper.

So anyway, the laser pointing incident turned into a scene with three neighbors in the street yelling and screaming and him threatening them that he would get them and me trying to listen while putting the kids to bed.

I really wanted to go out and get into the action, because I knew it was him. But I couldn't very well ditch my kids and the bed time ritual to go.

Someone finally called the police and things quieted down. And we all chatted about the specifics of the incident over the weekend.

And then again this morning I saw the christian's dog poop in front of our house, while the christian stood there and watched.

So after dropping the kids off at camp and before driving into work, I stopped at home and wrote a little note to ask him to carry some poop bags. And then I put the note and his poop in front of his door. I also drew a picture of jesus with a dog on a leash.



I'm not religious, so I'm allowed to draw pictures of jesus with his pet dog on a leash.

And then on the way to work, on the bridge I saw a woman walking away from her broken down car. So I slowed down and pulled over and waited for her to get close, and rolled down my window and told her I'd at least get her off the bridge. And I gave her a ride to the gas station in Foster city.

And now I'm going to go ride my bike.

Earthquake

We had an earthquake around here this morning. The epicenter was less then a mile from our house.

From the local paper...

"...It was all pretty minor," said U.S. Geological Survey spokeswoman Leslie Gordon. "It didn't interrupt donut production..."


picture, courtesy of paul chin, sf chronicle.


Phew!

Swinging

The bike fairy picked these up last night. They're oh, so Lobsterific!




I feel so pretty. I slept with mine last night.

I might not be the fastest girl out there, but at least I'll be one of the prettiest in pink.

Mrs. Dolan

One summer I was hanging around with Jenny Dolan a lot. I think we were around 11 or 12 or so. She lived a few streets up from our house, so it usually required a phone call and a 10 minute uphill bike ride to get to her house.

We spent most of the summer secretly hopping over fences into neighbor's yards and slinking behind trees pretending to be secret CIA agents scouring the neighborhood for Russian spies. Jenny lived close to Kenny Sutherland who I had a big crush on, so he was our number one fugitive. We'd make our way, slinking through backyards and eventually make it to his yard and we'd hide behind his trees crouching in wait, plotting our capture. Of course we never captured him, but we sure watched him a lot.

I guess in essence we were stalking him.

One day we were playing in her yard up along the top fence on the hill. We were making our way to the neighbor's yard, balancing and walking along the top of the fence when Jenny slipped and fell. She landed on her ankle or foot or something and ended up with a bunch of scrapes and a twisted ankle. It seemed pretty painful.

She yelled out to her mom down in the house, MOM! MOM! COME QUICK!

Her mom didn't come. Jenny could be a little dramatic sometimes. But I always went along with her drama to appease her and so we yelled for Mrs. Dolan for another 5 minutes or so and then Jenny told me to go get her mom.

I don't want to, I said.
Come on, this is painful.
You're fine I said.
Just go get her.
I don't want to. It's too far.
No, it's not. Just go get her.
And bring back some snacks too.
No. I said
Please?

We argued back and forth for a while until finally I reluctantly agreed to go get Jenny's mom.

I slid down the hill, down to the patio and opened the sliding glass door to the back of the house and walked in. I didn't see Mrs. Dolan in the kitchen so I quietly called out, Mrs Dolan?

She didn't answer.

I walked into the family room and looked around and called out again. Mrs. Dolan? Jenny fell, she's hurt. She needs you.

Still no answer.

I walked into the living room and called out again. And still nothing. So I went outside to tell Jenny that her mom wasn't home. By then she'd stopped pretending to moan and was making a flower chain.

No, she's there, just go get her! She's always there. She's probably in the back room, please, just go get her.

Fine, I said.

So back in I went. I walked again through the house calling out Mrs. Dolan? Jenny hurt herself and I went down the hallway to the back rooms and peaked into Jenny's room and peaked in the den and peaked in Jenny's sister's room and then continued down the hallway to Mrs. Dolan's room and just as I was about to call out again, the master bedroom door opened and there she was, Mrs Dolan, naked with her giant boobs.

And then she screamed.

I don't know if her boobs were really that giant, but back then everything seemed giant to me. I was kind of a scrawny, small kid.

And then Mr. Dolan came out of the other side of the bedroom to see what Mrs. Dolan was screaming about and he was naked too.

Mr and Mrs Dolan, naked in their bedroom at 1pm on a Wednesday afternoon in the summer, while their kids were playing outside.

And I just stood there frozen staring at the only other adult, besides my parents, who'd I'd seen naked - Mrs. Dolan.



Mrs. Dolan asked me what I was doing in the house and I said that the back door was unlocked and that Jenny was hurt and that she was stuck up on the hill and she couldn't walk so I was in the house looking for help. And then I turned around and walked back outside to the patio and sat down on the plastic chair and began picking my cuticles.

Mrs. Dolan came out after a few minutes, dressed, and yelled up to Jenny and asked if she was ok. And Jenny said she needed some ice.

Mrs. Dolan went back in and got the ice and then came back out and handed the bag to me and smiled and then went back into the house and locked the sliding glass door.

And that was that. And I hopped on my bike and rode home.

Weekend What Nots

We went up to the Yuba river for some camping this past weekend. Camped along the river and stuff.

Actually we went up so that Morgan could race Downieville. A mtb race that features some crazy ass uphill and some crazy ass downhill.

Not my thing that downhill stuff, so I took on the role of ever so supportive wife to racing husband, just like Odessa to Levi.



Only I didn't make him breakfast. And I didn't wake him up. And I don't lay out his clothes. And I didn't unpack the car the night before. But I did put up the tents. And then I drank a beer while sitting in the camp chair while he cooked us some dinner.

I did make him coffee each morning and served it in a bowl. Coffee, served in a bowl, brings you good luck.



It's a point to point race and takes some drop off and pick-up coordination. As ever so supportive wife I drove him to the start so he could start. And then the kids and I drove back down to the campsite to do some swimming and swinging for a bit, before driving back to the finish.



And then we waited at the finish while racers starting coming in. And then we watched racers rinse off. And then we watched racers walk around. And then we ate and drank some beer with the racers. And then we went swimming some more.



There was some high jumping and stuff and more beer drinking. And more swimming. And then we ate some more. And then some teeny bike racing. And then awards. And more eating.




By the end of the day I was exhausted and I hadn't even raced. I'm not sure that the "ever so supportive wife" role is my thing.

With all the beer drinking and sitting around in the sun I probably gained 5 lbs. And then I was a little cranky from not riding.

But you know, camping is fun. And s'mores are cool. And weenie roasts while drinking chocolate milk are festive. And the weather was good. And most importantly, Morgan had a good race and we all had a good time.

Cimbing Epiphanies

Today I did a nice 2 hour mountain bike ride in the middle of the work day.

And I had a small epiphany.

And I can't believe that I hadn't figured it out until now. Something that made all the difference in riding up, hard, steep and long hills.

Actually I didn't figure it out by myself. After the Thursday night tooth smash up, I was thinking about the fall and how I was leaning too far foward in an attempt to not have the front wheel pop up.

Morgan suggested I ride on the front edge of the seat like I'm riding a kid's bike that's too small.

So when I tried it today, when I rode on the edge of the seat and pedaled evenly, I went straight up that long steep dusty trail I usually have to walk once I'm halfway up. And I went straight up to the top and kept going. And it had nothing to do with power at all and everything to do with technique.



Jeez, I can't believe I never figured that out before. What other riding secrets are out there that I don't know about?

After my two hour, epiphany, middle of the work day ride, I came home happy and still had a nice clean empty house for another 3 hours. I stuck the burrito in the microwave, made my recovery drink and while the burrito was warming checked work email, read a few blogs and discovered who'd won the stage that morning.

And so I grabbed my burrito and my drink and sat down in front of the tv to watch what'd been tivo'd earlier that morning (you know that perfect after ride happiness when you're about to bite into the yummy burrito and you're excited to watch the stage from that day and you've fast forwarded to the last 5 minutes of the day's stage and you know who's won, but you still want to see that great finish) only to discover that the damn tivo had stopped recording with 4.5 kilometers to go!

I am Iron Man

Morgan's mom died. He flew back east this morning. They're having a small service tomorrow.

He says it's 98 degrees and humid and he's taking movies of the fireflies in the backyard right now. And the bull dog is apparently in hump mode. He's humping everything in site. People are there, coming and going and visiting and remembering and the dog is walking around humping and running into walls and falling over.

Audrey was cremated and she's in an urn on the mantel. There is a picture of Morgan, Audrey and Elisabeth, Morgan's sister, in front of the urn.

Elizabeth wants to keep Audrey. So when she flies back to California, she'll be carrying the urn and Audrey in her carry-on luggage. I imagine it's got a pretty secure top on it, right? Or maybe she'll tape it up extra good or something.

I really think they should sprinkle those ashes in that back yard. Audrey grew up in that house. She moved in as a kid and lived there for a long time. She loved that house.

I still have my cremated dog somewhere in our house in a wooden box. But only because I can't find it. I set it aside a while ago to wait until the backyard was done, so I could go sprinkle her out in the little area she used to like to sit and watch. And now I can't find it. I haven't come across it in a while. Which means I should probably clean out some of the closets around here.

It cost me $800 to cremate my dog. For 6 months I didn't pay the vet cremation bill. But then they finally threatened to send it to collections so I went down and paid it. Like paying for a parking ticket. I went down and paid by check and they gave me a receipt.

When the dog was first cremated, I took the box home and left it on the table for a few days. Then I moved it to the counter for a few days. Then I moved it to the fireplace ledge for a while. I wasn't sure what do to with it. Frankly, I'd only gotten her cremated because it was cheaper then disposing of her the way they normally do and now I had this little box full of her and no place to put it.

I told my neighbor about the dog ashes and how I wasn't sure what to do. I think I mentioned something about just pouring the ashes into the fireplace, but then she took me into her office to show me the 4 urns filled with each of her 4 dead cat ashes and I felt bad. And then I went home and got drunk and cried and had sex with Morgan or something. And then I put the box in a closet somewhere, I think.

I've been to four funerals in my life, not counting all the little funerals we had for our various pets that died when we were kids. I've been to two kid funerals and two adult funerals and from experiencing those four, I know what I want to happen after I die.

In 8th grade at my friend's brother's funeral, in their house, they kept the body in the casket in their house for 3 or 4 days and on the 4th day had an open casket funeral.

In high school at my mother's, friend's, son funeral - a priest who didn't know the dead boy stood up and talked about what a great person he was and how god would now take care of him.

In college at my aunt's funeral, my grandparents kept her in an open casket and people came and went for 3 days while we all sat around eating and talking. And she was right next to us the whole time. I'd look over at her every so often while eating my turkey sandwich and drinking my wine.

A few years ago at our friend, Butch's funeral, there were lots of people and we celebrated his life out in the chestnut tress in the middle of winter. We were wrapped in coats and scarves and hats and drinking whiskey and bourbon to keep us warm. And friends stood and talked about him and the effect he had on their lives and read poetry and so on. And then we all sat around and BBQ'd and drank some more and laughed about silly things he'd done.

And eventually, at my funeral, of course it will be a party. And there will be laughing. With twinkly lights and probably a mountain bike ride and a BBQ with gin and tonics and then I'll be sprinkled on some perfect single track and everyone will ride as fast as they can, screaming as loud as they can, all at the same time.

And then I'll come back and haunt people just for fun. I don't believe in god, but maybe I believe in ghosts. And sometimes maybe I even believe in reincarnation depending on my mood.

Anyway, the cycle of life continues. Someone dies and we all continue as normal like nothing happened, trying not to think about what just happened because it's sad for us because we'll miss her and it's someone we know and it's a little scary because there's probably nothing out there and we might be next and then the dinner party will really be over.

Back to the Basics

This week my kids are over at my mom's house.

And what does one do when there are no kids in the house? (Besides walk around the house naked, swear a lot, eat cereal for dinner, relax, eat on the couch, have long leisurely conversations, do a lot of you know what wherever you want, wake up whenever you feel like it, eat chocolate out in the open, make food for only yourself, blah, blah, blah.)

You ride your bike whenever you want and with whomever you want.

You ride your bike with your husband.

You ride your mountain bike on a Thursday night in a skirt in the dark while it's still 80 degrees out.



You ride your mountain bike with your husband without worrying about a time limit or a babysitter. And you think about how nice it'll be when you get back and you can have a beer with your husband and the rest of the Thursday night regulars in the warm summer night.

And you think, It doesn't get much better then this. This is perfect.

Until you come to that steep hill that winds up and out of the canyon, where it's so dusty and rutty, not like the pretty single track you've just been swooping along on. And you're going slow, climbing along when you notice you're a little too far to the left where the edge is and you lean a little to the right so as not to topple over and as you pedal harder upwards your back wheel gives on the loose dirt and slips out way too fast and you slam your front teeth against your handle bars.

SLAM!

Midway through falling I realized, even though it was too quick to stop where my face was headed, that I was about to knock my teeth out. And while I didn't turn my head or fall just a bit more to the right, I did think to myself - oh shit, we have no dental insurance right now, please not the teeth, please not the teeth, please, please, please.

And afterwards I didn't lay there, because nothing was hurting. I got up and threw the bike to the side so I could spit out all the little pieces of my front teeth.

And then I did one of these ...

A pick up of the bike and a swinging of it around and around and around in an attempt to launch it off the edge.

Because ...

You feel so stupid because you're finally hosting a party for your 40th birthday the next night and you have 50 people coming over to your house and you know that you probably won't be able to get your dentist to fix your front teeth on a Friday so you're going to look like a hill billy for the party in your new party dress that you just bought to wear at the party and you keep swinging the bike around and around wanting to launch it off the cliff while muttering about how fucked up your teeth are ...

And then you hear the sweet, gentle and rational voice of your husband saying, Lauren please don't throw it down the hill because I'm the one who has to go get it.

So I stopped. And shook it off.

Party dress, strappy sandles and chipped front teeth.

And then we rode up to the top and found the others and ate some chocolate and they all looked at my teeth and tried to make me feel better by telling me they liked my skirt.



And then we rode back to our house and I went upstairs to brush what was left of the teeth and pull out some more little chunks while inspecting them.

And then we all drank beer in the garage and there was talk about putting sculpty on my teeth if I can't get a dentist appointment on Friday and who will win the Tour this year and the warm weather and all the carnage of the past Thursday night rides and so on.

I feel silly about my little temper tantrum - the swinging and twirling of the bike round and round and the muttering of the mother fucker's into the night. I must have looked like a retard. But thankfully it was only my husband who witnessed it.

And really, it did feel pretty good, swinging a bike round and round in the middle of the redwoods at 10 oclock at night and saying mother fucker over and over again.

Hunting and Gathering

We have a 3-seater bike showing up at our house next week.



The three old tandems that are hanging in the garage that still need to be refurbished aren't nearly enough. We needed to get a 3-seater too.

You can't ever have enough bikes.

He says he showed me the picture and I told him to go ahead and bid on it. I don't remember. I think I was probably being sarcastic. I was surprised when he told me it was on it's way.

me: where will we put it?
him: oh, i'll sell some of the other bikes in the garage.
him: it'll go in the garage.
me: you mean hanging on the wall, like art, like all the other art bikes we have?
him: no we're going to ride this one.
him: you know, take the kids to school and stuff.
him: we'll be setting a good example
him: we can ride it in parades and stuff
me: parades?
him: yeah.
me: what parades?
me: how bout bike races?
him: parades.
me: parades.

He says it's to take the kids to school and camp with. I agree, that it would be cool for that. But you know, I'm not so sure why we have so many tandems that already don't work that we're supposed to be for riding to school and stuff.

The eBay phenomenon - I liken it to a "hunter gatherer" type repression thing in modern man. The hours spent hunting on eBay for the perfect prey. The hours spent stawking the perfect item. The pounce and then the kill and then the satisfaction of bringing it home.

And because of that, we have a garage filled with everything possibly related to bikes that you could ever imagine. Including a 3-seater bike.