When Did We Get THAT Bike?

The garage is a confusing place to me. It's like a giant calculus problem and I'm barely getting through the multiplication tables of it.

Sometimes I feel like my husband is a "you know what" dealer. There's always buying and selling and trading and getting rid of and acquiring and bartering and cash changing hands.

People randomly stop buy to see if he's home to see if he has "something" to help them with "something". They stop by on their way up to the ridge because some "thing" is loose and needs tightening.

And then there's always some thing that needs to be picked up somewhere and something arriving from somewhere on some date. Or something that I need to drop off at UPS on my way to work.

Don't you already have one of these I ask?
Yeah, but this is the blah, blah, blah. he says.
Oh. Ok.

Like the clown bike, which was in our garage for only a few weeks before it was gone. It was only visiting. (Actually, the kids were embarrassed to be dropped off of it in front of school and didn't want to ride it anymore. And it was also apparently pretty junky.) So it was sold. Sold to some guy in a minivan from Fremont. I watched him from the front window as he stuffed it inside the minivan. I felt a little sad. Not that I would ever ride it, it was too heavy. But I liked telling people we had one.

Right nows there's a mtn bike tandem somewhere down on so cal that a friend is transporting up. I guess it's been ours for a while, but it's been waiting for us. I keep forgetting about it.


We need to figure out how to get that tandem up here.
The one I bought from the guy down south.
What tandem? I say
The one I keep telling you about he says.
We have like 5 tandems I say
No, I sold the blah, blah, blah...
And now we're getting this one so Sam and I and blah, blah...
Oh. I say, still confused.
We've had this same conversation each week for the past month.

And then so and so is coming over on the weekend to look at something that he might buy.

He might get here before I do, he says.
I'm selling him the fixie.
You have a fixie? I say.
Yeah, remember I told you I built it to blah, blah, blah...

Oh, I say, still confused.

The guy arrives with his friend. He's tall. Morgan arrives. They go down stairs. The bike is brought out. The guy tries riding it around the street. I'm watching from the window. The deal is made, cash is exchanged. Another satisfied customer.

One time a single speed was traded for a new hood on the landcruiser. Soon a friend will be helping Morgan rebuild the front steps and the trade will be some "thing" from the garage.

Another day, a bike must be driven down to BART. The woman is arriving from SF. She has no car. They meet, she rides it around. It fits. The deal is made.

Sometimes If I pay attention, I can see a bike being built as a gift for someone's wife. I'll see her later on, after transactions and processes and lists have long been gone. She'll be there, at some race, riding around with the bike.

Hey, I recognize that bike I think to myself.

Someone said it to me at last week's cross race.
Hey, yeah, I recognize that bike they said pointing at me.
Where'd you get those tires?


The transactions used to be intertwined with our house accounts and it was a bit unnerving. In and out and in and out and you know. As the family accountant my head was too full. But now there's a totally separate account in a totally separate bank and it's called "the totally separate bike account". And as long as it doesn't affect our daily living account, it works. It seems to fund itself.

Where'd you get those tires? They kept asking me.

Uhhh, in the garage?

Lauren the Red Lantern Fall Vacation CycloCross Fairy

... or something like that.

Woe is me and all that for I was the red lantern. But at least I didn't have my heart broken by the prince.



I mumbled to Morgan at the start that I felt like throwing up, not because I was sick but because I'd moved up to the B's and it was my first race in the B's. And I didn't have my partner in crime to keep my mind off being a B. She was at her kid's soccer game.



I was a nervous little B.

B, B, B.

B's race longer then C's. And B's are more serious the C's. They stand up straight and stuff. I had to force myself not to slouch.

Last year, the first year, I goofed around a lot in the C's. But you can't do C's for more then one season and besides, I bought a skin suit this year and you can't wear a skin suit and race the C's. A skinsuit means business.

So B's.

So we raced. And we raced hard. It seemed a lot faster. There was no please and thank you. I even cursed mary, mother of jesus under my breath a little bit when I fell. I had to be tough. I'm a B now.

And then it was over and I came in last. LAST in the B's. Last IN THE B's. Skin suit, pink clinchers and last. In the B's. LAST! Lauren was last. But at least I got it over with. And now maybe I won't be so nervous... about being a B. Or about coming in last.

That's all I have to say. I'm moving on.



Today I wore my hair parted on the side, pulled back tightly and neatly in a bun. Me and my hair - we're getting all serious now.

So from now on it's tight buns, skin suits, pink tubulars, men in tight skin suits with tight buns and shaved legs, hot dogs and beer and tight buns and racing every weekend till January. And neat tight buns. And hot dogs.

I declined the hot dogs and beer from the boys last weekend, but I'm adding them back in. I was sitting in my camp chair wallowing in my vegi sandwich when the 10 year old meandered over, mouth full of hot dog, trying to entice me.



(photo by jon)

Mom, you're missing out. We're over there at the disco camper having hot dogs and beer. Even Lulu's eating a hot dog.

Hmm, they must be good I said. No thanks.

So just to reiterate, my secret training plan - hot dogs, beer, tight buns, skin suits, pink bikes and then I'll just race myself into shape. That's how middle aged mom's do it I think. That's what I did last year anyway and I got faster and faster with each weekend.

And my buns were tight.

Joy, the Summer Vacation Fairy

Guest Blogger...

A book review by Lulu.

I give this book a 5 star rating because it's very magical.

It's magical because there is magic seaweed, magic shells, and most importantly magic fairies. Joy is the fairy of the book. She has very beautiful wavy long gold hair and a flowered pigtail.


Her friends are two girls named Rachel and Kristy. Kristy has black long hair. Rachel has curly short blond hair. The story is about Joy and her friends Kristy and Rachel who go to an island to stop Jack Frost from taking over.

First they collect all the magic shells. Then they shine a mirror so the sun melts the ice mirror then it melts Jack Frost. Then the beach gets it's sand back and the ice cream is back and the shells for all the snails and crabs.

Move it Down

I can't look at men in dresses anymore.

On Friday evenings my 8 year old has soccer practice at 5pm. Usually I'll go and sit on a blanket and hang out and watch and gossip with the other moms who are there.

It's a new team for us. We switched teams this fall to be with more kids from the 8 year old's school.

I like hanging out at soccer practice because it's a nice excuse to doze on a blanket on the grass and joke around with the other adults.

This past Friday the 10 year old and I dropped the 8 year old off and we took off to run a few errands. After arriving back to the soccer field with only 20 minutes left of practice we situated ourselves on a blanket next to the other regular moms and reclined back.

Want a drink? One of the mom's asked me. We have grapefruit and vodka or cranberry and vodka.



Really? I asked.

Sure, she said. So and so has the cranberry and I have the grapefruit. We have plenty. Which one do you want.

It was more of a statement then a question.

As I was weighing the alternatives - the time of day I was about to have a drink at, the length of ride I was doing the next day, the time I was getting up in the morning to do the ride, who I was riding with, blah, blah, blah - I looked up from my position on the blanket and noticed that most of the parents who were there watching practice, had cups in their hands and were mingling about on the grass like they were at a cocktail party.

Hmm, ok. I'll have some of the grapefruit drink.

And out came the giant plastic juice container from the cooler with the pink grapefruit drink. And ice was dropped into a cup and the drink was stirred and poured into a cup and handed to me.

I lounged on the blanket drinking my drink, snacking on Pirate's Booty and surveying the scene.

Do you do this every Friday? I asked to no one in particular. Well, no, but sometimes we do, a female voice said.

Maybe we should pass around a sign-up sheet for drinks each Friday, like we do for soccer snacks another mom said.

Thank goodness soccer practice is on Fridays this fall, I thought.

Pretty In Pink

Some of my favorites from last night ...

The first two - the top left because they're primping, getting read to race, fixing knee socks and adjusting straps.

The top right - Mike, Morgan and Paul because for Mike and Paul it was their first cross race - Mike a endurance mountain biker racing on a single speed and Paul a cat 2 road racer, borrowing my old cross bike.





The left one because of the pink rocklobster. The right one because of the housecoat that reminded me so much of my granny.




The left one, because of the billowy scarf. The right one because as the coconut man was being lapped by the strong ones, he remarked out loud to me that he'd forgotten that this was supposed to be serious racing.




The left one because, well, because it's perfect with the dejected shoulders. The right one because of the sexy legs and low cut blouse.




The left one, because it was Lulu's favorite outfit and the right one because Hans looks so cute in his white, silky, chiffon. Although I think it's a curtain.



Ok, time for lunch now.

Ready, Set, Go.

This past weekend...

in the midst of one of the afternoons when various kids were running around our house, two girls were holed up in Lulu's room for a few hours. Every so often I'd knock and check in to see what they were up to. Mostly I was instructed not to go in under any circumstances, but I'd usually try and peek in just to make sure nothing too scandalous was happening.



Then I'd make the trek up to the tree house to see what that group was up to - pretending to be weeding or checking the irrigation on my trees or whatever.

And then back down to the den where I'd check in on a few other kids, to be sure that the older ones were not looking at porn or picking their noses or breaking stuff.

Thus was the cycle of the afternoon.

Every so often the groups would intermingle and there'd be chasing of each other and slamming of doors and falling down and pillow fights and spitting water and so on. Someone would eventually get hurt and then the groups would split up again.

As the day wound down, most kids left to go have dinner at their homes and get ready for the end of the weekend. But the friend that Lulu was holed up with in the bedroom stayed with her parents at our house for dinner.

Towards dinner time I went back to knock and check in and instead of peeking in or walking away I knocked and then quickly opened the door to see what they were up to and sure enough, pants were pulled on quickly, guilty looks were evident and I was told to GET OUT OF MY ROOM MOM!

And so back out to the parents I went to help with dinner set-up. After a while I told them what I'd discovered and we decided it was normal exploration since neither of the girls would get pregnant and there were no older boys involved and there was no computer involved and there were no drugs involved and they were only 8. I'm ok, you're ok.

Which of course led us to our own fond memories of explorations when we were young.

And how when I was 7 or 8 and had been burned a few times because I would show mine and most others wouldn't show theirs.

So we made up a game where we would all stand at different corners or walls of the room and someone would yell "ready, set, go!" and we'd all run into the middle of the room and pull down our pants and underwears and then turn slowly in a circle and then pull our pants back on and run back to our corner or wall.

It kinda worked because everyone had to do it at the same time and If you didn't do it you were harassed and sometimes banished from the game by the 4 or 5 others who did do it.



And, it was exciting and embarressing at the same time... and frantic. Because you wanted to get a good look at everyone else's stuff at the same time but you also didn't want to be the last one out there with your pants down.

I think my mom eventually caught us at some point or my little sister told or something like that and well, that was the end of that - at least at our house anyway.

Thursday Night Ride

Last night I tried going to bed around 9:15 or so. I wanted to see if I could get a good solid almost 8 hours of sleep.

Going to bed at 9 pm really sucks. It's way too early. There's still a lot going on at 9 pm. I always feel like I'm missing something when I get in bed that early. And I get a little pissy when I have to go to bed that early. I'm jealous of others who get to stay up late.

Anyway, I fell asleep a little bit around 9:45 I think.

At 10pm I heard the garage door rolling up and I sort of woke up. 10pm? What? They're back already?

So I got up and pee'd and got a drink of water and went back to bed.

I heard car doors opening and closing and chatting and laughing and clinking of bottles and talking and blah, blah, blahing.

And then they settled into the camp chairs in the garage and began their re-telling of the ride and passing around of the chips and ahahaHAing.

At 10:15 I could hear them talking about the bikes hanging on the ceiling. The story was told about how it was found on German ebay and blah, blah, blah. No way! I kept hearing and hahaHAhaha and listen to this and YEAH! and more hahaHAHAhaing and blah, blah, blahing.

Every 10 minutes or so I'd hear a beer bottle get thrown into the recycling bucket of bottles and more rattling of beer bottles from the fridge and then more laughing.

I figured it would die down soon. It always did.

At 10:30 or so more voices arrived and more car doors and more laughing outside and in the garage. And then lots of laughing and re-telling of why so and so got lost and who fell down what trail and more ahahahaHAing.

Oh crud I thought, while watching the minutes tick by. I have to get up in 5 in a half hours. aHahaHA! I heard, underneath my room, vibrating up through the heater registers.

They've only been back for a little while. I thought. It'll die down. It always does.

I have to pee. I'll get up and pee. Maybe that'll help me sleep.

At 10:50 I looked at the clock, there was loud boisterous arguing going on about hubs. This hub is better because, blah, blah, blah, blah, I'm running blah, blah, and more ahahAHAhaing and you should have seen his blah, blah blah.

So I got up.

Yes a little bit jealous (it's ok, I fully admit it) that they were up drinking beer after a fun ride at night, while I was lying in bed trying to sleep so I could get up in 5 hours to go to work in the dark. I got up and went out the front door to the railing and leaned over.

Moooooorgan. I said.

No answer.

I saw Patrick. Patrick waved up at me smiling. He was the only one I could recognize. I didn't have my glasses on.

I smiled back and waived and said hi Patrick. I like Patrick. Patrick has special powers. He's like a mountain goat. He's one of those people who can ride up anything, anywhere. He's also funny. I like funny people. It was good that Patrick was right there. He made me stop for a minute and smile. I felt bad for being the crabby wife who was about to make them quiet down. They were having fun.


Moooooooooorrrgan. I said a little louder.

No answer. I don't think even Patrick could hear me and he was standing outside the garage. He had his hand cupped to his ear, to try and hear me.

MOOORGAN! I yelled louder.

Uh, Morgan, Lauren wants you. I heard Patrick say amid the laughter while pointing up at me.

Morgan came outside. Wha?
You guys seem louder then normal tonight, I said.
What? he said.
Can you guys be quieter?
Oh! he said.

And I stuck my hand out with all 5 fingers out.
Five hours at 5am. I said. Please!
I have to get up.
You guys have been really loud for 45 minutes.

Yes! Ok, sorry about that. He said, and then he shushed everyone.
No more hub arguing I heard him say.

And I went up and they got very quiet, like little mice. And I felt bad, for shushing them. Me, the crabby wife.

Sorry about that you guys.

Sneaking Around

On Wednesdays, since I work from home, I usually do a mtn bike ride at lunch over on the other side of the mountain.

Lately I've noticed some familiar faces out there doing various things. Sadly none of the familiar faces are riding single speeds or even bikes for that matter. Most of them are out there just running. But they're running at a pretty good clip and they're out there and they're training.

As I ride up behind them or as we are heading towards each other, we stare with a look of uncertainty until we realize that we know each other or that we've seen each other around somewhere.

Aha! I always say to them, if it's our first meeting. And we each call out the other's name or say something like hi "lulu's mom" and laugh as we pass by.

They are the mom's of kids who go to my kid's school.

Sometimes they'll point at me in an accusatory way like they've just discovered me cheating on someone.

And in a sense we are - all of us, sneaking away from our daily lives of work and kids and husbands and laundry and friends - just for an hour or two in the middle of the day. A break to be by ourselves, out there where we can breath deeply and freely and do what we love so much and feel good about it.


After a few more encounters we all settle in to the "nod" of knowing. Yes, I know you. You know me. We're both out here. It's good to see you again.

And at school, we all see each other. We stop to talk. We talk about why we're out there. What we're training for. What our favorite discipline is. How often we're out there, where we work. How we make the time, to sneak off.

It's nice. It's ours.

It's not about anyone else, but us.

It's about us and what we're doing.

Not about what our kids are doing or what our husband's are doing - those are nice things to talk about too, but not all of the time. Sometimes it's nice to talk about what you love to do on your own. The thing that defines you as a person. The thing that keeps you going as an individual so that you can have the energy and strength to do the other things.

And we like it that way. We like sneaking around in the middle of the day or before work or after dinner. And at school if we don't have time to stop and talk, we always nod and say have a good run today, or ride hard today - see you at the PTA meeting later tonight.

CycloCross Tis Upon Us

Ah yes. Fall is in the 105 degree dry air. Leaves are a falling and being crunched upon, birds are a silent and hiding in the cool shade of trees, dust is a flying and tubulars are a churning.

Actually, tubulars were not "a churning". This little first race of the season caught us off guard and snuck up quickly so we both raced on clinchers. Which led to a few skid outs on the fast, flat corners.

My goals? Let's see, my goals... My goals were to race hard and not talk or yell at my kids in the middle of my race. After all, it was the first race of the season and really just a little tune up. I wasn't expecting too much out of myself.

We got there late, having not prepared what-so-ever the night before. We figured we could wing it since it was only a half hour drive from Oakland.

Mom, what kind of snacks did you bring? I was asked by the 8 year old.
Snacks? I said.
Yeah snacks, she said.
Did you even bring us snacks? asked the 10 year old.
Snacks? I said.

May I suggest not winging it and not getting to a race 25 minutes before your start time. And always bring kid snacks to a bike race if you have kids, even if you're winging it.

That's THE number one rule in the "Bike Racing With Kids 101" handbook. Actually it's number one AND number eight.

1) Bring snacks
2) Bring toys
3) Bring kid bikes
4) Bring hats and handiwipes
5) Bring water
6) Bring water guns to 105 degree bike races
7) Bring extra kid clothes
8) Bring more snacks
9) Be ready to bribe with ice cream when you want to stay and watch the later races

and almost as important as bringing the kid snacks...

10) Pack all this stuff into the car the night before, not 10 minutes before you're leaving on the day of the race while the kids are whining and complaining about having to get up so early to go to a stupid bike race.



Once there, in warp speed motion - I pee'd, registered, pee'd, got dressed, pee'd, drank more water, pee'd, got Lulu to put her helmet on, pee'd, put my helmet on, pee'd and then rode back over to the registration line to pick up my number that they hadn't had yet when we registered, got my number pinned, pee'd, ate a few GUs, surveyed & questioned those who had pre-ridden the course, drank some water and then made my way to the start.


Luckily the race seemed to be on the same schedule we were on - a little late. Things changed a bit at the start so as not to delay the rest of the start times throughout the day and all the women were started at once with all the juniors.

The C men started about a minute behind us.



I must say, it worked fine this way. The men were all very courteous and nice as they passed and the juniors were little enough to ride right over.

We started out pretty slow. In fact, it was the slowest start in a race that I'd ever experienced. Or maybe It was me who felt slow - moving in slow motion. Or maybe it was the juniors leading the pack and all the courteous women behind them. Or maybe, it was just because it was 95 degrees out at 9:10 am and it was the first race of the fall season.

Anyway, we split immediately with about 6 or so women right in front of me and then a gap behind me and another 9 or 10 behind me. And that's how it stayed pretty much the entire race. I tried to keep my teammate Jenny in eye sight just ahead of me and slowly but surely made my way past two more women during the course of the race.



We raced and raced. And it was as hot as hell, skidding around, taking gravel corners too fast on clinchers, running up a million stairs, dry heaving, coughing up hairballs, hippin' and a hoppin' over barriers, riding and running through sand.

On the first lap, one of my kids yelled at me. WHERE'S DAD? I CAN'T FIND HIM. And I NEED him now!

Well shit I thought, there goes my first goal. Please don't ask me questions now, I politely and gently cooed back while smiling and waving sweetly.

But I was wondering the same thing as I started the second lap. I think I'd like some water now please, I was thinking to myself.



At the stairs I saw Tom, husband of teammate Jenny, and he poured some water on me and gave me some to drink.

At the end of second lap, I saw my other kid, who was picking up a bottle from someone else but he saw me too late and the bottle he tried to hand me went flying. Wait mom, here, now I have it I heard from behind me.



Third lap bottle hand off was similar. The smaller child, Lulu was too short for me and our hand-off went a flying.

Finally, 4th lap I got a perfect hand off from Morgan. Perfect! Dear Morgan, my sweet husband. And I drank lots in case it happened to be the last good hand off for a while.

It all went so fast. And it all was so fun. And in the middle of it all after a few dry heaves, I even had a few seconds to think to myself, jeezus, this is SO much FUN and I must have been smiling because as I came to the sand someone yelled out, if you're smiling you're not racing hard enough!



And then it was over.