lauren

And Anyway, They Canceled the Easter Egg Hunt!

2010-04-05T19:57:00.000-07:00

There are very few sentences you can say, as a parent, to entice your children to come to an eight hour mountain bike race in a forest, in the rain and snow.

One sentence might be "there will be other kids your age". Another you could use is, "they will have candy". And still another, although it only works up until the age of ten is "there will be an easter egg hunt, I promise". An easter egg hunt is convincing enough even to a 12 year old, because there's an assumption that candy will be involved.

But really, getting your kids to stand around for 10 hours, waiting for their parents to finish racing mountain bikes in 28 degree weather, is in itself a drag.

Thankfully, there WERE other kids there. And there WAS lots of food. And cookies. And a bit of candy. And I'd instructed them to dress as if they were spending a weekend in the Alaskan back country so as to at least be not so cold.

And so in normal fashion, we arrived with a half hour to spare before the start time. Since Morgan was racing solo and I was racing with a partner, he went off to check in and get dressed and chase after the start while the kids and I set up the feed zone. And it was at the feed zone, where I planted the kids and dogs and food and sleeping bags and tool bag and water bottles and gu and hot chocolate and cookies, while I went off to try and get prepped for my laps, before my partner Emily finished her first two laps.

This was also the area where Murphy was settling himself into heckling the racers.

And since we all know that kids are like parrots, it only took about six minutes before there was a chorus of seven kids between the ages of five and 12 yelling out things as racers rode by like,

"You ain't no Ricky Bobby. Keep pedaling"
"Ride it like I taught you"
"Stop sucking"
"You're winning!"
"Only 7 hours and 45 minutes left"
"Stop using your brakes, they only slow you down"
"Are you going to let a girl pass you!"
"Is that your sister's bike you're riding?"

After prepping, I made my way down to the transition area to wait for Emily.

But not before a quick trip to the porta potty. Which lead me to the next thing. That thing that you're always a little afraid will happen, but never does, because you're always super careful. But this time, because it was 28 degrees out and I was afraid my teammate would show up and I wouldn't be there to make the hand off at the exact perfect time, I whipped irresponsibly around in the porta potty and my multi tool, and two air cartridges fell out of my back pocket and into the bowl.

And I watched two out of three things sink very slowly into it. The third thing landed on top of the pile and I ever so carefully plucked it out and wiped it off and put it back into my pocket.

Yes, that really did happen.

Around noon or so, at the supposed time of the easter egg hunt, the kid crew meandered down towards the transition area for the egg hunt. And hunted for the hunt. But according to the official twenty minute complaint logged from my ten year old on the drive home, NO body knew where the egg hunt was. NO body. They searched and searched and asked and asked. And were pointed in various different directions, but were never able to find it.

As I was riding through the transition area, starting on lap two I heard the 10 year old yell out to me as I went by, "MOM! You TOLD us there'd be an easter egg hunt! Where IS it MOM? "

How the hell do I know, I thought.

Half way through my second lap as I arrived at our perfect little logistically placed feed table to refill my water bottle, Lulu asked me to go get her other shoes and socks in the car. "My feet are wet", she told me. "And anyway I can't find my socks".

Um, no, I said. I'm kinda racing right now.

STOP SUCKING she yelled at me as I was filling up my water bottle.

And then Sam told me that Morgan's bike was broken and that I needed to get him the Retrotec. Somehow.

Who told you that? I asked him.
I don't know, some guy. He said.
The guy said you need to go get the bike. He said.

I'm trying to race, I said.
Well then stop sucking, he said.

On another lap pit stop as I rounded the corner they were fighting about the one and only apple juice pouch left, that they both wanted. He was threatening to stick the straw in it and drink it and she was screaming at him that she hated him. Later, during clean up, I found it un-opened laying on a sleeping bag. Along with a pair of wet socks.

Afterwards, as we reminisced by the fire while holding puppies in our laps and eating meat and drinking adult beverages I remembered why I loved racing mountain bikes in 28 degree weather so much. Camp fires.

What is an inlet of the sea called anyway?

2010-01-12T20:38:00.000-08:00

Last month while at work, in our old early 1900ish stone building that has no heat and use to be a meat packing plant in its early days and now houses a winery and us - during that week where it was 28 degrees in Berkeley, my coworker and I were working, in our down jackets and hats and scarves and wool attire, when I went downstairs to bare my ass to the frigidness to go pee.

And then I smelled smoke.

And as I was peeing I thought to myself, oh how nice, someone somewhere close by has started a nice little wood fire in this chilly weather and they're enjoying the warmth. And then I went back upstairs to sit on my personal space heater, while I processed payroll and wrote checks.

But as I was climbing back up the steps I realized that the smoke was getting stronger. And I could almost see it. And just as I rounded to corner to the final few stairs to tell my coworker that I smelled smoke, he said said something about not having any electricity on his side of the building.

And then we discovered it, just as we turned around to go back down to see where the smoke was coming from, there it was, a little electrical fire - with smoke and sparks and everything.

So we did the fire dance.

You know the one, where you circle around each other and say out loud while laughing nervously what should we do, what should we do, when you know full well what you should do. And then you realize your phone isn't on your person because, well after all, you were just going downstairs to go pee. But thankfully your coworker DID grab his phone, because he has an iPhone and iPhone people never go anywhere without their phone, even if it's just to put chili in the microwave. And so we did what we were supposed to do, and pressed the app to call 911. And then we went outside to wait.

And my coworker tried to make me guess what his rapper alias was by rapping about electrical fires and canned chili and pop chips and V8.

The fire people arrived within four minutes. And blocked off our street. With four hook and ladder trucks. And three smaller trucks. And four police cars. And axes and hammers and radios and chopping things and stuff like that. I felt a bit guilty. They'd sent so many resources for such a tiny fire. So many fire men. Such a little fire. And all of them running around, looking for something more. We were a disappointment.

They put our fire out. And told us not to plug so many space heaters into one socket. Because it overloads things. And turned off the electricity to the entire building. And then they left.

In Slow Motion

2009-10-12T09:59:00.000-07:00

It's time for a bicycle race report.

Sunday morning I awoke at 6am - hoping others in the household would share in my excitement of driving for an hour down to Santa Cruz to ride a bike around in circles in dirt and mud and grass and gravel while feeling like you're going to throw up - and get up at out of bed promptly as well.

But no one would get up.

Every 10 minutes or so for the next hour, I tried to shake them awake. But no dice. Morgan mentioned something about having "just fallen asleep" and the 12 year old told me to shut up. It wasn't until something like 8:23 am that we were finally on the road. The junior having missed his raced, not caring, and refusing to wear his coat.

Once there, I promptly plopped myself in the middle of the inner grass area on a red camp chair and ate my crumpet and tea. And surveyed the environment. And watched all the women warming up.

Wait a second. Why are they warming up now? Don't we have like 3 hours till our race starts? Is there something that I don't know.

Why are you getting on the trainer now? I asked one of them as she was setting up her device near my camp chair. Because that's how it's been for me this week, she said. I need it. And then another one came over to ask me if I'd pre-ridden the course yet. No, I'm still eating my breakfast I said. Well you better get out there, she said. You NEED to pre-ride it. It's REALLY hard she said.

I will, I will. I said. But first a nap.

And then I laid down on my blanket. And rolled myself up in it. So no one would know it was me. But then someone stepped on me. Because he wanted money for a bagel.

After my breakfast nap, I decided to go over and watch Morgan's race start. So I did. But the race was behind schedule and it was boring. So I left.

I could still see all the women warming up ferociously as I wandered around.

And then I decided to go over to the run-up to see what was going on over there. So I did. And on the way over I saw Sabine. And she was still in her street clothes. Drinking something out of the back of her car. And I felt better. About not warming up yet. Because I wasn't the only one.

At the run up they were drinking wine out of jugs. And beer. And they were drunk. Already. And then the men's race came through a few times. But it was boring. Nobody smiled. So I left.

By this time, there was still an hour left till my race. So I thought I'd go get dressed for it. So I went back to the inner field and put my outfit on. While wrapped in my blanket. And then decided to go to the restroom to see If I could see in the mirror if my outfit was see through. And if it made me look fat.

And then I went back to the field and had two bites of a turkey and cheese sandwich. And I saw a glimpse of one of my kids running by. And my old friend Jenny showed up. And she registered and then we went down to the rest room again.

By this time, the races were running even more behind, and we still had an hour till our start. So my friend and I decided it would be good to do a few pre-ride laps. And so we did. And we chatted and commented on the terrain. It was a nice course. Nothing too horrid. Except for the soul sucking muddy grass.

And then we went back to the inner grass area. And I drank some water. And then it was time to race. And then we raced. And then we were done.

And then it was time to relax.

Towards Durango

2009-09-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I left Oakland, in a truck, with a sleeping bag, some bikes, some clothes, a bit of food, some high heeled shoes, some beer and a husband and Jacquie Phelan.

And no kids.

We drove for a few days into the desert. Towards the Mojave. And stopped during the night when we got tired. And slept on the roof of the truck. Well, Morgan and I slept on the roof. Jacquie slept on the ground. With her banjo.

In the mornings we woke just before the sun rose. And boiled some water. And made coffee and ate berry pie for breakfast. And were serenaded by a banjo.

And then we drove some more. Through the desert into Arizona, where we stopped. In Flagstaff. To see Joe. Who so graciously allowed us to stay at his house for a few days. While we rode some trails. And drank some beer. And had coffee with Cosmic Ray.

And the shaman held Morgan's hand.

On the third day we rode. And I tried to keep up with Jacquie Phelan and Joe Murray and Morgan on their single speeds. But half way through the ride, I gave up, and drank a few beers while we rested. And slowed down a bit. And ran with my bike on my back a few times on the way down. Because the boulders were so big.

On the fourth day, we rode through the fields while thunder and lightning chased us. And we hid in the Aspens. And dodged the deer. And the turkeys.

And Jacquie Phelan mooned me.

On the fifth day, we left Flagstaff and drove some more.

Through the desert. And into New Mexico. By mistake. But we'll blame that on Joe, because we were following him. We made our way into Colorado towards Durango. Where we dropped Jacquie off at her friend's house and bid adieu to Joe. And Morgan and I made our way to a house in the woods.

Re-Arranging The Deck Chairs

2009-08-17T05:40:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, I took the kids over to play pinball at a local pinball hall in Alameda. One of those places where you pay $5 to get in and you play as much pinball as you want for as long as you can stand it, while chewing on giant gumballs and without needing to haul around a pocket full of quarters.

Which is fun for kids. And nostalgic for parents. And smells like B.O. and stale pee, but doesn't serve alcohol.

Every 10 minutes or so, I'd stumble outside to the back parking lot, to breathe some air. And clear out my ears from all the ringing. And sit at the card table. And eat some soggy pizza. And drink wine from a dixie cup. And talk to washed up old punk rockers in their mid 40's who still wear converse high tops and hang out in pinball halls.

Who knew Reno had such a big punk scene back in the 80's.

At one point, during mid laugh and dixie cup toast, I saw out of the corner of my eye, some dude ride by on an xtracycle. And for a quick second I got all happy. But then I remembered. That I'd been laid off. The day before. And my stomach started to hurt.

What a buzz kill.

Just like that boyfriend who dumps you in high school, the one you still like, that you hadn't quite gotten your fill of yet.

You still like him but you sort of forget him for a little while because you haven't seen him for a few days. But then, he appears out of nowhere. And messes things up by just walking by. On his way to gym class.

And you have the urge to just go over and kick him in the ankle.

And you think about how you're going to draw a mustache and a tail and a mullet on his picture from last years yearbook. With lipstick. And then pin it up next to the office. And in the girls bathroom.

But you don't. Because deep down, you do really like him. And all you want to do is hold his hand again while riding on the ferris wheel at the fall "nut festival". And for things to go back to normal.

What can I say. Except that I'll always have a crush on xtracycle. And hope they can make it happen. And that they can survive through this mess. Because it really is a good idea. Long bikes and such. Radishes and freerads and snapdecks and footsies and so forth.

Me - I've already had my mid life crises, so there's no reflecting and navel gazing this time around. I know what I want and need to do. It's onto the next thing. And on my own this time. And back into the bread line.

Oakland's Finest Fish Tacos And A Radish

2009-08-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday...

I grabbed one of those looong bikes from the warehouse to ride down San Pablo for some fish tacos.

It's one of my favorite things to do at lunch - hop on a Radish and cruise down the street to get something to eat. Sometimes I take my time and ride around the neighborhood and check out the "ladies of the night" to see what outfits are trendy that week and nod to the locals as I sip my coffee and cruise around trying to decide what to eat for lunch.

But yesterday, I knew that I wanted fish tacos. So I headed on out, straight down the boulevard, to the local taqueria.

It was warm out and so I'd worn a short sleeved t, shorts and flip flops to work. And I had my new hat on. And there I was, cruising down the street on a looong bike, one handed with my new hat on and not having a care in the world. Even the bus driver waved at me as he passed by.

And knowing that my fish tacos would fit nicely in the back, snug and upright in them Freeloader bags, and how I could still ride one handed on the way back sucking up my horchata through a nice wide straw, waving at my peeps made me all the more happy to be out.

So I slid up to the front of the shop, gracefully dismounted and quickly popped the lock through the triangle and around the tree. And off I went. Inside. For fish tacos. For eight minutes. And when I came back out. She was gone.

Mother fucker.

Just like that. Gone. Poor little Radish. Off on the ride of her life. Out there somewhere on the streets of Oakland. Or in someone's yard or alley. Or maybe delivering the goods. Or up on cinder blocks, behind the fence. Maybe wheels off. Snap deck torn off. Or out on the black market.

Somewhere out there.

And no one had seen anything. No one I asked, who'd been outside at the time had even noticed. Heads shook slowly from side to side.

Nothing.

And so I walked back to work. Down San Pablo carrying my fish tacos, sucking on my horchata with my new hat on. Down the street, past the ladies of the night. Past the church that promised to save me. Past the library with the bus stop in front. Past the old grocery store where the old timers hang out. Past Pizza Nation. Past the liquor store where the drive by started at. And I got the nod. And I nodded back.

And I went back to work and sat at my desk and ate my fish tacos and called it in. And even the guy who answered the desk phone at the OPD, the one who gave me the instructions about how to file a report online, sounded genuinely sorry about the stolen looong bike.

So if you see her, let me know. Don't try and steal her back, just say hey. Give her a snap deck a little stroke. Nod as she cruises by. Drink a horchata in honor.

While We're On The Subject...

2009-08-09T23:59:00.000-07:00

Moving on. The dog is gone.

While I miss her, sort of, it sure is nice not to have a crazy person running around stealing and hoarding underwears and tissues in the santa barbara daisy patches on the hill. Or slowly plucking my tulip petals one by one and then slowly prancing by me with one or two sticking out of her mouth.

She's with a good person in a good home, with lots of other dogs and horses and plenty of room to run. And I think maybe even cows.

But more about me. Right now I have insomnia. I think it's that last day of vacation, all of the sudden brain turned on at midnight remembering all the stuff that didn't get done before we left and has now piled up in all areas, type of insomnia.

And lately I'm not riding my bike very much.

And I'm kind of hungry right now.

And I'm over saturated with camping. No more camping this year please. No more rolling up of therm-a-rests. No more smelly sleeping bags. No more trying to set up tents in pitch black on Friday night after sitting in traffic for hours. Please. No more melted shoes. No more marshmellows sticking to my hair. No more mosquito bites on my ass please. At least not until next summer, when I've forgotten.

Maybe I'm getting old, but the last few weekends of camping have had me daydreaming of camper vans. The exact ones that I poopoo'd only a few years ago because I felt those who used them weren't tough enough to rough it.

But now I kind of think insomnia in a tent is even less pleasant then insomnia at home.

Liberty

2009-06-22T14:22:00.000-07:00

We are trying to find a new home for our Border Collie.

Some quick background. We found her a year ago as a teeny pup, roaming the streets, and decided to keep her when we couldn't find the owners (no chip, no luck in shelters). She's lots of fun - has enormous amounts of energy (is a fabulous mtb dog / trail running dog - off leash even).

She's great with kids - who are 10 to 12 years and up. She's a herder - so she nips and herds very young children and sometimes a bit aggressively. (She can also be sassy with dogs who are smaller then her when she wants to herd them - but is totally submissive to dogs larger then her.)

Since we are constantly surrounded by lots young kids/toddlers, we are concerned that the perfect set of circumstances could lead to a nip in the wrong place - and want to try and place her in a home where there aren't a lot of kids chaotically running around, but in a stable, adult household. She likes order - and is super smart. Learns fast and is eager to please - but is also mischievous when trying to get your attention. She'll often grab a sock or shoe and slowly walk by you taunting and looking right at you - wanting you to chase. She's still a puppy.

Her name is Liberty - we found her on 4th of July last year.

And of course, she needs lots and lots and lots of exercise. By nature she needs to herd sheep - so a run or ride every day is ideal. If you own a herd of sheep - even better.

She's up to date on her shots. Has been spayed, de-wormed, blah, blah, blah. We've had her for a year - and love her to death. But just can't keep her because of the kid thing. We have kids. We're sad. I feel like crying. I feel guilty, please don't tell me what we did wrong in this. This whole thing is agonizing.

Please, if you know of anyone who's thinking or interested, let me know. We're in contact with the SPCA as well, who will help find a new owner - but it would be great to give her to someone we know so we could keep in touch and visit.

Stop The Madness

2009-06-10T19:23:00.000-07:00

I don't do this anymore.

I have a job where I actually do work, at work. So I don't do this at work anymore. So I'm remiss. And I miss it. So here I go. At 7:30 pm. After work. With a glass of wine. While waiting for the pizza guy to come.

The other night I was riding my bike home from work when I came to a four way stop. A four way stop where from all four ways, cars want to get on the freeway. To go home.

And so, I stopped. And watched as each way had their turn. And then it was my turn. And I went. Straight ahead. Next to a car that was going straight ahead. Because it's better that way - to ride with a car sometimes, so that no other cars from any of the other 3 ways, hit you - because while they may not see you, they'll at least see the car.

But the car gassed it and flew away from me fast. And while I was in the middle of the intersection, a black mercedes drove into the intersection and we made contact. My front wheel to her bumper and my right side to her hood.

And it was in slow motion. Slow enough that I knew and felt and thought about how she was going to hit me. And was in disbelief that she never even looked my way.

Afterwards. I stood there staring at her and she rolled down the window. And before I said anything, she said calmly, I didn't even see you.

And I said, I know, you didn't look my way, you just went. And she said, I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you. And we just looked at each other. And I said, you HAVE to look. We're out here. We're everywhere. We're here.

Look for us.

And she said. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

We spoke calmly to each other. Like we were in line. At the grocery store. And cars were lining up at all the stops while we were in the middle of the intersection. We were talking. Not yelling. We were there, just talking. And everything around us was frozen.

In the middle of the intersection.

And then some jackass honked, for us to get out the way. And yeah, I put my hand up in the air and stuck out my middle finger. And smiled up at the line of cars.

And then she squeezed my arm. And I squeezed her shoulder. And we both continued on.

I'm On The Bus

2009-05-12T19:05:00.000-07:00

It's Bike to Work week ya'll.

Last week I was riding into work, on the Xtracycle, after not having ridden it for a few weeks because the back brake wasn't working - and I came upon a stop light.

And as I always do at stop lights, I adjusted my outfit a bit so that my muffin top wasn't showing, as it often does, because most of my pants are low rise and low rise pants really don't do you right while you're riding your bike into to work.

And I looked up at the back of a bus in front of me and saw an ad for some sort of bike commuting thing or something or other and noticed that the girl in the picture on the ad looked kind of familiar.

And then the bus took off.

And I followed it for a bit, and thought about it for a second and then was all wait a second, I think that's me!

On the back of the bus. Wearing that orange sweater with the too short sleeves that the lady who was 4'9" let me borrow, lifting the bike that was too small for me that the 4'9" lady let me ride around on because she didn't want to actually get on the bus for the photo shoot and then have to ride all the way back down Broadway to where the shoot was happening.

And hey, those are the same pants I have on right now!

And so, I chased the bus, on the Xtracycle. I went as fast as I could to get to it at the next bus stop.

And then, once there, I'd wait behind the bus and look at the ad of myself. On the bus. And then the bus would take off and I'd start chasing again. And this went on for a few stops. And as my head started to clear, after the excitement of seeing myself on the back of a city bus disapated, I realized that I had my camera, way back in the bag in the back part of the Xtracycle. So at the NEXT light, I stopped and propped the bike up and went back there, to root around in my bag and find the camera.

And then back on the bike, to chase down the bus to take a picture. Which took a while, because after all I was chasing a bus while riding an Xtracycle.

And then I went to work. On my bike.

Drive By Shootings

2009-04-14T19:02:00.000-07:00

Sometimes time moves slowly.

Like when you fall off, from the top of the jungle gym at school. Like when you fall off your mountain bike at 40 and knock your front teeth out. Like when you see your 2 year old kid, falling through the floor heater vent and you simply reach down and pluck him in mid air from a 20 foot fall. Like when you trip on the top step of a 12 foot ladder.

I remember time moving slowly. On a Friday afternoon.

At 4 pm.

Jason sitting at my computer, logging me in. So I could do something to the website. I couldn't remember my password. He couldn't either.

There are too many passwords, I said.

I don't think I set you up with this password, he said. I wonder who's password I've been using, I said.

George walking in from the warehouse. Dropping something on my desk. And turning to go back outside and commenting about the smell coming from the kitchen. It smells like garlic bread he said.

I could eat some garlic bread right now, I said. Me too, he said.

Jason, trying, still, to log me in. George, walking through the door back out to the warehouse. Peter shuffling by. Nate, in his office, humming to the music. Andrea, sitting next to Jason. At her desk. I am standing.

And then. Six. Six rounds of gunfire.

Like fireworks. Nate, coming out from his office. Jason and Andrea and I standing up and walking towards the front door.

Look, they're all running, she said.

A pickup truck. Was that gunfire? Rick asks. And then more. Like fireworks. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop and pop. And the car, speeding and braking. Screeching. Past the building, still shooting.

Pop. Pop, pop.

Jason yelling to get down, get down. As he grabs the phone and ducks and runs into the warehouse.

Holy shit, I think.

And down I go. Along the ground, into the warehouse. Away from the front of the building. George shuts the rolling door. To the back side of the warehouse.

And 911 is a recording. In Spanish and English. And we're on hold. Listening. Waiting. And the recording plays. And we're on hold. The same thing. On speaker phone. On hold. Recording. Three minutes.

At least there's no hold music, I think. What's taking so long, I say. And finally, they answer. And his voice trembles as he explains. Drive by. Shooting. Just now. Right here.

And 12 minutes later they arrive. To take statements. And look for casings. And view the holes in the cars. In front of the building. All along. Our building. Our side of the street. Has anyone been shot they ask.

At 5:30 pm. I'm on my bike. Riding down the street. Down the same street they drove down at 4pm. In the same direction. And everybody's inside.

Empty and quiet.

Over the weekend I forget about it often. And I remember it often. But it's not in slow motion. It's fast.

I see the car, as we look out the window. I see the pickup, in front of the car. I see the flash of them running. I hear Andrea. I feel the shirt as I pull on Jason to get down. I feel the ground as we jump down, and out into the warehouse. I see the look on George's face.

I hear Rick as he says to the cop downtown?

And then Monday comes and we go, back to work. At the bike company we work at. And we work all day. And we talk about bullet proof vests with our company logo. And things seem almost normal again. And I rationalize that the probability of it happening again is very slim to none.

But nobody eats lunch outside.
At 5:20 pm on a perfect spring evening I ride my bike down the street. Down the same street they drove down on, on Friday at 4 pm.

In the same direction. With Jason. In a few blocks we bid adieu. And I turn left and he turns right and I ride along. Alone.

And I hear them. Again.

I don't count them. Because, the improbably of a second drive by shooting within three days of the first one isn't statistically plausible. At least not for a middle aged mom who commutes on an Xtracycle. And I decide that they're just fireworks. But back at the office Rick hears them. There are 12. And back at the warehouse George hears them. And he wonders about us, because just a few minutes earlier, we all said goodbye. See you tomorrow.

Ride safely.

I hear the car. Speeding and stopping. And I hear more shots. Pop, pop. Pop.

I'm riding my bike. And I feel dizzy. And I ride in a crooked line. And I look for places to hide. And I think about running into a house. Or behind a car. And I think about the time I stole the rubber bouncy ball and how my mom made me take it back and hand it to the clerk at 7 Eleven. And I had to apologize. And I look down the streets as I pass them, to see how close they are to me. And ride as fast as I can, away. And I know they're not after me.

But if they drive by me, will they shoot at me too?

Ride as fast as you can.

To a busy intersection, and I turn right onto Alcatraz, into car traffic. I ride my bike. Next to the cars. To BART. Where there are people. Walking. And riding bikes. And talking. And listening to music. And smiling. And waiting. And I look at them and wonder what they're thinking about right then. Because I'm thinking about drive by shootings. And throwing up.

And I slow down. And ride home. And eat half a burrito. And take a shower. And go to a meeting at the middle school. A PTA board meeting as a nominee for the board. For next year. And we talk about budget deficits. And banners. And picnics. And the library. And I wonder. Where am I, right now. I'm not here.

On Tuesday I drive to work.

And I think to myself, on the way, that I now know. That as soon as you hear them, the fireworks. You get down on the ground. And I now know not to ride my bike through that neighborhood anymore.

Instead, take the long way home.

It's All Relative

2009-03-30T21:22:00.000-07:00

I remember. Back in the early 90's, during the last recession. What I was doing.

I can remember.

I was in college. But I'd recently quit my job, to go travel up to Canada for the summer, with a "sort of" boyfriend and his girlfriend. I was hitching a ride up there and then planning on hitchhiking and taking a bus or something up towards Alaska to check it out.

I ended up just hanging out with my "sort of" boyfriend and his girlfriend and instead, taking a sailboat up to an island and fishing and smoking pot and writing for a month or so.

And then I came back to SF and school and couldn't get a job. Because California had an unemployment rate of 9.1%.

So I cashed out my 401k and lived off that for a while. And soon ran out of money and eventually found a job at Macy's in downtown San Francisco. At Christmas time. In the children's department. Which didn't have a department manager. Because he'd been recently fired for sexual harassment.

And one morning after dropping my new "semi-boyfriend" off at work at Nordstrom, where he worked in men's suits, I was driving past city hall towards my job at Macy's in the children's department - a truck ran a red light and crashed into the car I was driving and totaled it.

Which just so happened to be my "new" boyfriend's, ex girlfriend's car.

Luckily, she'd been the one to break up with him because he'd found her making out with my best friend's roommate a few weeks earlier, in front of our flat at a party we'd had. So she wasn't mad at all when she found out it was totaled and that I'd been driving it. And besides, I took care of getting her the cash from the settlement. A cop had seen the whole accident and so the insurance company cleared me of any wrong doing.

I had it towed to my new, "semi-boyfriend's" house. So he could have it as a symbol of their lost love.

And then I think I got evicted from the apartment I was living in at the time, for not being able to pay rent. And then my roommate lost her job so she decided to move to Seattle. So I moved in with my new "semi-boyfriend" in Oakland. Which is how I ended up in Oakland.

I remember back then, eating a lot of top ramen with 2 slices of american cheese and frozen corn kernels mixed in. And burritos. We were in a recession after all.

One night, I came home from my "new" cafe job, and found my "new" boyfriend doing you know what with some other girl, you know where. So I left and stayed with a friend and then moved out of the not so new now, "ex" boyfriend's place the next weekend, while he was working in men's suits at Nordtroms at the "half yearly sale" - without leaving a trace.

Now. In another recession. An unemployment rate in California at 10.1%.

And I have a job. And it pays. And I like it. And Morgan has a job, but it's sporadically stops paying, when it runs out of money. And it does this without notice. On the day, the paycheck is supposed to be directly deposited, it's not there.

Poof.

Mostly, we figure it out. What to do. How to keep it going for a while. While we wait. While we believe. And we ride bikes and make jokes. And go to soccer practice and eat bacon and drive less and do homework. And drink wine.

But sometimes when I think about it too much, like what happens if it stretches on longer this time and if it actually collapses and there is no severance, and how I should have cashed in the 401k months ago because we would have had more money even with the penalties and tax because the market is so much lower now and how I don't even like top ramen anymore, well, I feel like my head will explode.

Even on the bike ride home, the one that helps me sort through my day and think through it all, I just can't clear my head. And not even the hannah montana, jonas brothers concert that's playing when I arrive home, can help cheer me up.

So I go sit in the corner chair and tell everyone that dinner is a free for all and that they all must make their own items to eat. Each person must make their own is the only rule for the evening. And they have tamale pie and mac and cheese and apples and pears and broccoli and kimchee.

And I eat brie cheese smeared on tortilla chips shards. And frozen peas. And green tea.

Hell In A Handbasket

2009-03-11T21:09:00.000-07:00

You know those moments when you have small epiphanies, when you all of a sudden come to a realization that it's not really going as it should.

You know, like a mini enlightenment. And you get that twinge of panic.

The plan, or rather lack thereof a plan is not working. And it's time to make a change and start going the right way again.

Do the right thing. Make things right. You see a little light of how it could or should be. You're in the light. It's clear.

And you imagine yourself getting up out of the gutter, the gutter of bakesale betty cookies and chicken pot pies and wine and burgers and too much butter on your potato.

The gutter that you've been rolling around in for the last few months of winter after "the binge" of cyclocross season has ended and you've decided to take a break from riding a lot, because you just finished racing bikes just about every single weekend for the last 5 months.

That gutter, the one that you've been rolling around in for the past few months, with your belly hanging out of your shirt only at your midriff because of the muffin top that keeps expanding a little bit more each day from eating thin mints and trader joes mini chocolate chip cookies as you slouch in your chair at work.

And burritos.

So yeah. I had my own little epiphany this morning as I was dropping the first kid off at school and was pulling out of the drop off lane and somehow managed to drive over 3 of the big orange cones that were lined up to mark off the lane for drop off.

I wasn't going fast. You can't go fast in drop off lane. In fact I even slowed down to about 5 mph after I ran over the 2nd cone, to try and get it to pop up higher when it bounced out from underneath the car.

And my 6th grader said, "jesus mom".

What. It's not like I did it on purpose.

But it didn't matter. I saw the disapproving looks from the ones who park and walk their kids in. And I thought to myself, I used to be one of them too - a walker inner. I wasn't always a drop off lane, cone runner over.

At least I commute by bike to work, I thought to myself.

But then, right there it all flashed before my eyes - just as I was watching that last cone pop up behind me in my rear view mirror. Not only do I now have a job in the bike industry and am commuting to work by bike, I'm actually riding less each week then I have in a long, long time.

And I have a muffin top.

And I thought about it all day, at work, as I was rubbing my muffin top and talking about bike stuff and watching them pull the airstream trailer that we're converting into the conference room, into the parking lot.

And then, later on, I only had 2 thin mints and sat up straight for a little bit at my desk while I watched some of my coworkers eat an entire box of thin mints in 5 minutes and another coworker eat an entire sleeve in 10 minutes.

Things are gonna change.

Insomniatic Ramblings

2009-02-19T01:28:00.000-08:00

My stomach hurts. What time is it. I shouldn't drink beer on an empty stomach before I ride home from work. I'm bloated. I wonder if I'm getting sick. I hope I remembered to plug in my light into the charger.

If I can get up at 6, maybe I'll take the dog for a walk. I have to remind myself to put those pants in the dryer. Where did I put my phone? I haven't seen my ipod for a while. I wonder if it's still in my rain coat pocket. My stomach hurts. Maybe it was the rice.

I like that granola I got at trader joes.

Is it yesterday now, or is it still today. Maybe I should keep an extra charger at work. I wonder what kind of sandwich I should make myself for lunch tomorrow. Last time I went to that burrito shop, I got a stomach ache.

I need to buy more of those peanut butter filled pretzels.

I wish those strawberries weren't so expensive.

I need to stop drinking coffee after lunch.

If I leave early enough to go to work tomorrow, I could stop at Peets halfway to work and get a latte'. I need to start eating better again. That salmon was pretty good. That kitchen smells like fish now. Oh crap, I forgot about the PTA meeting tonight.

My foot has a cramp. I need conditioner. I wonder if I look older then I really am. Who would keep a gorilla as a pet and let it brush your hair. That's fucked up. Oh crap, I forgot to put the bath mat in the wash. I bet the cat is peeing on it. That thing smells like ass.

I need some more long sleeve t-shirts.

I should take the cat to the vet. And sign the dog up for training. I need to pay the dentist bill. How come my head hurts now. What if I have an aneurysm and die right now. I should tell Morgan the bill pay service password just in case. I need to turn on the heat, it's freezing in here.

Jesus christ, why must we keep it so cold in here. Where's summer.

I think I'm going to do a long road ride Saturday, it it's not raining. I should get more wool. I need some more sport bras. I hate doing wash mid-week. Maybe I should wear a hat tomorrow, with one braid instead of two. What happened to my phone. I think I left it at work.

Maybe I'll try and ride up to intermezzo during lunch for a sandwich.

I should try and get to work early tomorrow, so I can get caught up. I do kind of like disco. Didn't Michael Jackson have a monkey too. Is it supposed to rain saturday? Maybe I should have some tea. If I cut my hair short it may never grow back. Those kids still need their yearly checkup.

I need to finish painting this room.

I'm going to figure out a mtb race to go do and start getting some miles in to get ready. Next week I'm starting to train again, maybe. I should do an 8 hour race. Nah, that's too long. I liked that omelet I had on Saturday. That was good. I'll make egg burritos for the kids for breakfast if i get up early enough. I'm going to get up early.

I need more wool socks.

That song, Boogie Wonderland, is stuck in my head. I have to remember to get Sam a white shirt for his band performance. When's daylight savings again? I don't like the word gobble. I wonder if those turkey's on Scout St. belong to anyone.

Which hat should I wear tomorrow. Today.

Someone's Gonna Get a Letter About This

2009-02-03T21:14:00.000-08:00

Back in the day, when something would go wrong ...

Like when we'd pay for an extra water melon at the grocery store and the bag boy would forget to put it in the bag and we'd get all the way home and call the grocery store and the manager wouldn't believe my mom that the 15 year old bag boy was an idiot. Or when some parking ticket would appear on our car that had been parked at a meter that still had money in it and the meter maid wouldn't listen to my mom about how the meters were jacked up all the time and how she was going to take her picture and send it to the mayor.

My mom would get very upset and threaten to write a letter to someone about IT.

First she would walk around the living room, taking tiny puffs from her cigarette complaining and analyzing the situation, while we sat on the couch watching cartoons and eating pretzels and pretending to listen.

Then she'd use the words, shit and jesus christ and talk about how she was never going to shop, eat, buy, drink, park or go near said place again.

Then she'd light up the next cigarette and talk about the injustices of it all and how she couldn't understand why these things happened so often and how city government was so messed up and what idiots they all were - which would ultimately lead her into yelling about how "someone's going to hear about this" and "this isn't over yet".

And that she was going to "WRITE a letter to someone about it!"

Then she'd get on the phone and start calling people and taking notes and searching for supervisors of supervisors - which was great for us, because by then she was so far gone, she'd often forget how long we'd been watching TV and that our TV time had been up quite some time ago.

Sometimes we could even get her to flip the switch on the back of the TV to unlock HBO so we could watch the "incredible shrinking woman" for the 20th time.

Eventually, she'd written about enough stuff and spoken out about enough supermarket, restaurant, bad food and ugly billboard sign injustices that her friends helped her focus her energy and gently nudged her to run, sit, organize, manage and work in our local city government for a number of years.

And by the ripe old ages of 8, 10, and 12 my siblings and I were standing at various BART stations handing of leaflets as well as canvasing neighborhoods and knocking on people's doors to tell them the dangers of nuclear waste, urban sprawl and republicans and how they needed to save our parks and keep open space alive and vote yes on S.

And to please buy our girl scout and cub scout cookies.

You can thank us kids, for the open space left undeveloped around the bottom of Mt Diablo and that there are no billboards in downtown Walnut Creek over the size of some gigantic size measurement.

After a while she gave up the local politic game when the campaign she was managing to "elect Jim Hazard for state assembly" was lost against a man in a kilt.

I still remember the night of defeat when everyone was getting drunk at campaign headquarters and I was sitting on the sidewalk outside with my friend Kate Hatcher, playing dice and mumbling the campaign slogan my mom had drilled into us over and over again "elect a representative not a politician", when the man in the kilt tried to come inside and my mom shoved him out and almost punched him.

And in the scuffle, I managed to see up his kilt.

So yes, as a little kid, it did make me feel a little bit better. The ever present threat of the letter being written - like there was someone, somewhere who could really do something about the thing that was so fucked up. Like we had some sort of control over it all - over those men who wore kilts.

Uh huh.

But as I got older, it didn't always make me feel so good.

Like when I flunked my drivers test for the 4th time, because I didn't yield to oncoming traffic at the green light - and she threatened to write a letter to the test giver's supervisor. And when my high school boyfriend broke up with me in my junior year, she threatened to write him a letter and get to the bottom of it all.

And when I went skiing with my best friend and we wanted to stay overnight in a cabin full of 17 year old boys and I lied a little bit about the fact that there WERE adults there and a few weeks later when she found out afterwards that there weren't any adults there - she threatened to write a letter to me and my friend and all the boys.

And so, here I am, 41 and often threatening people, silently in my brain - that I'm going to write a letter to someone about it, whatever it is, that they're doing to annoy me.

Lately it's about me riding along on my bike towards home, singing led zeppelin, riding happily through the flats in the bike lane and then finally getting up into the hills - into my own neighborhood village, where there are NO bike lanes, where people drive like morons and they buzz and honk and well, you know.

And as I ride along, I write that letter in my head, to the editor in the local paper. And it's every night at the same intersection, and it's always a very similar letter.

Sometimes I really do write them. Like the time I wrote to the editor of the local paper - and suggested people slow down and not drive so fast in the village. And stop at stop signs. And please let pedestrians walk across cross walks without being afraid of getting hit.

And to be more courteous drivers.

And a week later I got a call on the phone from a man who'd read my letter and told me that writing letters wouldn't really get anything accomplished, even though it had been a nice letter and all.

Uh huh.

Here We Go Now

2009-01-26T22:30:00.000-08:00

Here are some things I've noticed about my surroundings, now that I've been commuting by bike so much...

Some people, when they're walking down the street and call out to you as their bitch and hoe as you're riding by, mean it affectionately.

It only takes about 15 minutes to ride over to the other side of Berkeley at lunch time. It only takes 10 minutes to ride over to Bake Sale Betty's at lunch time. It only takes 8 minutes to ride over to Trader Joes at lunch time.

There's a biker bar down the street from us that serves breakfast and lunch and also does tattoos. And I need a new tattoo!

It's really not that bad, riding in the scary parts, if you just ride really fast and pretend it's a six block interval.

Here are some things I need to carry on my bike commute...

An air horn that attaches to my handle bars, that I can blow at people in cars when they cut me off or when they honk at me from behind because they want me to get out of their way or when they pass me and then move over in front of me into the bike lane.

Turn signal blinkers that attach to my hands so that when I stick my arm out to signal a turn at night, they automatically start flashing and cars can actually see that I want to turn.

A bell that rings out "excuse me" when I'm trying to inch by stopped traffic who just all happen to be in the bike lane.

Here are some observations I've made about the cyclist/bike commuter pecking order...

Roadies in kits no longer wave to me - even if I wave to them.

Commuters in regular clothes, on flat pedals try to out sprint me from stop sign to stop sign. We race, but we never acknowledge it nor each other.

I can scare roadies by skidding my back wheel when I get to stop signs. It makes a nice loud squeaking noise.

Roadies in kits won't look at me (let alone wave), at night, when I have the green down low glow light on. Only kids and old men and men who call me their bitch tell me how cool the green light is.

Fixies wiz by me so fast, without helmets on and through red lights, but still acknowledge me with a thumbs up.

As soon as it's lighter later and it warms up I'm going to start wearing my kit while I'm commuting on the Xtracycle and challenge roadies and fixies and flat pedaled commuters, as I pedal ferociously by them, to drag race.

And other random observations...

I think I might be the only bike commuter who sings out loud? I never hear anyone else singing. Come on, really?

Riding my bike to and fro to a place called work where everyone else rides their bike to and fro as well, still makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

It's hard to ride past Zachary's pizza and not stop.

Riding in jeans and thong underwear because you forgot your cycling shorts for the ride home, again, up 1100 feet really isn't as bad as it sounds.

Quick, Before I Turn Into A Pumpkin

2009-01-06T19:36:00.000-08:00

I'm like Rocky Balboa when he runs up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

I'm the every (wo)man of modern day, the underdog in a line of cars, rising to the challenge of the daily bike commute, riding and rising up a thousand and some odd feet, loaded with my parkas and pants and scarves and ponytail holders and apples and my loofa that I never use at work because there's no shower and my extra gloves and almonds and tangerines and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

All stuffed into my bags.

In the evenings, starting down at sea level, shifting gears through the quiet neighborhood streets of Berkeley, gliding along, smelling the bbq and the garlic and the bacon and hamburgers and the fireplaces and sometimes the jasmine even though it's still winter.

Listening to the voices of those arriving home, but not seeing them, I pass by as they climb out from inside their cars and help their kids or partners carry their day's belongings up the stairs to their front doors. I pass by and finish their conversations in my own world.

Snippets of songs from open car windows as I ride by, while they're stopped in traffic. I'm humming to them.

Peddling along through Rockridge, the faint whiff of coffee as I ride swiftly down College avenue darting in between parked cars with opening doors and stopped traffic and I wave at someone I know, who yells out from their outside cafe table. And I want to stop and have coffee and chat.

But you know, I have kids and all and there's mac and cheese and salmon waiting to be made at home.

On my way home.

From sea level (almost) every night up to snow level, lit up ever so slightly with blinkie lights on the free radical, in the early winter darkness, inching along, past the schools, past the pizza parlor, the grocery store - through the north oakland side.

Under the freeway, up to the frontage road, up into the hills along to the lake, to the bike path to catch a glimpse of the homeless guy who sleeps under the trees as he's making his way along the path.

A big whiff of pot. A black cat crossing my path. And I sing my songs out loud.

The higher up, the slower the cranks turn, my rhythm proceeding slower and slower and I start to sing louder to keep my mind off the heavy load in my bags, the load that feels a little like bricks when going up such steep hills. Why do I carry so much stuff? I wonder to myself out loud.

Someday, you just might need that loofa or some raisins.

Up through her small village in the hills, she coasts down the main street and they stare at her, the middle aged mom, gliding along on her long bike in the night, scarf blowing behind her, as she rides through their little town, smiling - like she's an outsider.

They don't recognize her, but they recognize the bike. In the dark.

Up the final few miles - it's better to stare at the ground and pretend that you're not really climbing up something so steep. Point the light at the ground and focus on how you're going to save the world.

And on how you're going to cook better stuff for your kids and not eat out so much and not eat as much meat, except for bacon, and save more money and start growing vegetables in the garden and take the dog for more walks and simplify and train for cyclocross season next year.

Because you know if you really did train for cyclocross next year and eat vegis from the garden, you'd totally do so much better in your races and maybe this spring you'll even do a 6 hour mtb race or something. And.

And then...

Well shit, I just lost my train of thought. I must be home.

A Christmas Story

2008-12-25T00:18:00.000-08:00

One time on Christmas Eve when I was around 11 or 12, I decided I would sleep downstairs on the couch and wait for Santa to come - to see, once and for all, if he was real or not.

I’d lie in wait and then while he was distributing the gifts I’d sneak a peek and maybe even jump up and surprise him or something.

For a few years around that time, my friends had been suggesting to me that he wasn’t real. But I still held out hope. And besides, even if he wasn’t real, I figured that “pretending” he was real around my parents would at least get me a few more years of extra presents from him. So really, I had nothing to lose.

But also, deep down, I wanted to believe in miracles and magic and fairies and the Easter bunny and prince charming and stuff like that for as long as I could. The world just seemed like a better place with Santa looking out for me. So my plan made perfect sense.

Sleeping downstairs on the couch would either prove that life was as magical as I’d wished for it to be or it would confirm what my friends had been telling me for years - that it was all a big farce and that santa was probably an alcoholic or something.

So for a few weeks prior to Christmas I spent some time sneaking around upstairs in my mom’s closets, finding secret presents not yet wrapped, but neatly stashed away. I figured I could also prove my theory of his existence by whether or not Santa or my parents gave me those presents. It was a good back up plan.

Either way, I would find out the ultimate truth that year.

On Christmas Eve, my parents left the three of us alone in the house for a few hours while they went next door for a cocktail party. We spent some time on the couch watching festive movies and around 10pm or so set out the milk and cookies and went upstairs to go to sleep. We were all anxious for Santa to come.

The plan was to lie in bed for a little while and wait for my parents to come home and go to sleep and then I’d sneak downstairs and wait.

But of course, I fell right to sleep.

I woke a few hours later to some loud noises downstairs - and decided I’d sneak down and catch Santa in the act right then. All that noise must have been him tying to get into the house. And so I snuck, ever so quietly and slowly, down the stairs.

I could see some sort of mayhem as I rounded the corner – stuff was laying everywhere. Wrapping was strewn about, a guinea pig in a cage, a big wheel half built, a bike on its side, skates without laces, hula-hoops and ribbon flung everywhere. But worst of all was that the glass of milk we'd put out for Santa was tipped over with all the milk spilled next to it.

His cookies were half eaten. And nothing at all was wrapped yet.

It was a mess.

Over towards the fireplace there were various pieces of clothing items that looked to be similar to my mom’s in a few piles on the floor. As I eased closer, I saw some empty beer bottles, a wine glass tipped over on the floor and an ash tray and some dirty socks flung on the bottom branches of the tree. What the hell had happened? I thought. Was Santa drunk or something? And why were my mom’s clothes everywhere?

And then I saw them.

On the couch.

Naked parents on the couch moving around a lot making their grunting noises.

Jesus Christ, I thought to myself. Here I am, trying to keep the magic alive for myself and figure out life or fantasy and Santa and what do I find, but my drunken ass parents, screwing on our living room couch.

And so I backed up and shuffled back upstairs into my room and slunk back into my bed. And I lay there, grumbling to myself about how they’d messed up everything and how I wouldn’t be able to see the real Santa again for at least another year, if indeed he even WAS real.

The next morning, after spending about half an hour jumping on my mom and dad’s bed trying to wake them from their Christmas Eve hangover, we finally all made our way downstairs. And to my surprise everything was neatly wrapped and organized and the beer bottles and cigarette butts and wine glasses and underwears and socks from the previous night were nowhere in sight.

And the first gift I opened that year was from Santa and it was the red shiny cassette player I’d seen up in my mom’s closet just the week before. It had been tucked behind the light bright that my brother had just finished opening.

As The Bike Wheels Turn, So Do the Days of Our Lives

2008-12-17T20:39:00.000-08:00

I want to write about what it's like to finally be working in the bike industry, and how great it is, but it's 10pm at night and I'm too tired from riding an extra long bike in 40 degree weather, in jeans and a down jacket in the dark, grinding up 1100 feet with gears that are too big.

But maybe I'll try. Writing about it. Even though I'm so tired.

So, just so you know - it's just as much fun as you could have ever imagined.

And everyone who works there, rides a bike to work. In fact, they all ride extra long bikes to work. And all the magazines that are laying around are ones that I'd actually buy to have at my house. And all the food samples are from companies that I'd buy stuff from, to eat, at my house.

But I haven't seen anyone eating bacon yet.

And I think I might need a triple. Because the bags on the bike already seem to be like a pseudo purse for me - putting things in there, just in case, I might need something sometime. I think I may have even lost something on the way into work, like my knife for cutting bananas for my yogurt parfait breaks.

And then all that climbing to get home.

Today, I was so cold from riding down the hills to work, that I left my fleece leg warmers on under my pants all day. And I left my 2 wool shirts on all day. And I wore my down jacket intermittently throughout the day - but most especially each time I went out to the warehouse.

And in the holiday spirit, just as I was arriving to work this morning at the reasonable hour of 9:15 and turning the corner to pull into the driveway of the warehouse, I noticed a group of neighbors gathering festively on the corner, drinking some beers.

Get The Bacon

2008-12-08T07:13:00.000-08:00

With cyclocross ...

Sometimes you suck really bad. Sometimes you're mediocre. Sometimes you feel good. Most times not. Sometimes you win. And sometimes you lose pretty badly. Me, mostly, I'm usually pretty mediocre. I guess you could say I'm consistently pretty mediocre. And then once or twice a season I'll have a really fabulous race.

But yesterday, I have to say, I was the suck. I got owned. I never felt like I got into a groove. And I felt a little out of control the whole time.

Maybe it was the wine hangover. Maybe it was the cold weather that caught me off guard that I didn't dress appropriately for. Maybe it was because I had the wrong bra on. Or maybe it was because I felt guilty for racing while Lulu was curled up in a ball in the camp chair barfing, with the onslaught of the 24 hour flu.

The nice technical stuff was fun and twisty and swoopy and rooty. But with the kinds of swoops and twists where you feel like you're constantly on the verge of doing an endo. And then there was the long, long, long, stretches of pavement which was just, well, long. Not to my advantage I tell you.

So I made the best of it.

And by the third and fourth laps, when I'd calculated that I was in LAST in my field I took the bacon feeds and the beer feeds and heckled back.

So spectacular was my slow motion crash into the tree because I couldn't get either foot into the pedal and had both feet up in the air as I rolled into it, that I mumbled some bad words. But at least I stayed somewhat up right. At the same time I was jumping off the bike to run down and back up, I noticed two other women on the ground, bodies flailing under bikes, muttering similar words.

So I ran around them.

And did the swoops and hills and sand and at the top of the hill where you feel like barfing, and there it was, the bacon. Which caught me off guard the first time - and I couldn't get close enough because I was actually trying to pass people and keep my head above water.

But after the next few laps, I was ready for the bacon. It was time for bacon. It's bacon time. And I took the bacon, after climbing that awful hill. And ate it. And immediately started gagging. And thankfully, someone saw, and gave me a can of tecate. And that washed the bacon down.

On my last lap, they yelled out to me to GET THE MONEY! GET THE $5 BILL!

And I didn't see any bacon. So I yelled back I DON'T WANT THE MONEY, I WANT THE BACON. And lickety split a bacon bottle was set up right as I arrived and they all yelled GET THE BACON! And I got the bacon. And they cheered SHE GOT THE BACON!

(bacon pic by scotty paz)

And then I put the bacon in my shorts. And I finished my last lap with bacon in my shorts.

Fruit Punch and Stuff

2008-12-04T07:31:00.000-08:00

My sixth grader is in sixth grade.

And except for the first day of school a few months ago and my inability to deal with the fact that he was starting sixth grade that day and the way I teared up every time I talked about it, things have been going pretty smoothly.

He likes caf. He likes all his teachers. He thinks having a locker is cool. He has a posse of four kids that he hangs out with. He's diggin' playing his trumpet. His grades are good and he's learning some cool stuff.

And up until now he's had no interest in school dances. Which is perfectly fine by me. Because I remember the things I used to do at school dances - even in 6th grade.

I have the sense of humor of a 17 year old boy, so I remember being in 6th grade pretty vividly.

Anyway, at first he thought dances were mandatory. He'd read about them in the school handbook. And he thought that you were forced to dance with the girls in some sort of square dance, waltz time way. And that you had to dress up. There was a lot of talk and angst about it at first - until I realized his confusion.

No, they're not mandatory I explained. You can go if you want, but you don't have to. Dad was just teasing you.

And Lulu, the 9 year old, also tried to help by explaining it to him in more detail. And how you just hang out with your friends and drink fruit punch. And punch each other. And maybe dance with your friends in a circle when a song comes on that you really like. But you don't have to if you don't want. You can just sing along to the music if you want.

I don't know how she knew this. She's already decided that in a few years at her first 6th grade dance, that's what she'll be doing - going with a bunch of her best friends. And she already knows how she's going to do her hair.

But he didn't believe her.

But then he found out that two of his friends had actually gone to the first dance of the year. And they liked it. In fact, they'd loved it. Because apparently there was a DJ playing cool music and all the lights were turned off except for the disco ball which spun around and all the bright red and orange lights flashed around on the walls. And you get glow sticks and bracelets and necklaces.

And they goofed off a lot.

And you eat as many free brownies and cookies as you want. And you drink as much soda as you want. And there's even pizza for a buck.

And no one really even dances. Except for some of the 8th graders. But no one pays attention to them anyway. And you talk about how you like or don't like the song they're playing. And then maybe you try and show each other a few crazy dance moves.

And so now he wants to go on Friday. And he wants me to give him $5 so he can buy pizza for all his buddies.

And I'm trying to talk Morgan into going to chaperone. Because I might cry if I chaperone. And then the poor kid would be hecka embarrassed.

Left Turn

2008-12-01T16:43:00.000-08:00

Today, I quit my job.

It was around this time last year, when I got laid off from my other job.

And I spent the next 7 months or so, goofing around and riding my bike and volunteering and gardening and dropping my kids off at school in my pajamas and eating hot pockets and having a mid life crises.

When you're a middle aged mom, having a mid life crises doesn't necessarily mean you go out and buy a sports car and leather jacket and get a boob job and then leave your husband for someone half your age.

Or maybe it does.

But my husband's already younger then me and he's cute. And he works on all my bikes for me. And hello? Push up bras? They work just fine.

So I spent my crises thinking about where I wanted to go with my life. And what I wanted to do. And tried to steer in that direction. And I adopted a cat. And adopted a dog. And cooked dinner a lot. And even cleaned the toilet once.

And I did steer a little to the left to some extent, with a part time gig at the magazine. Which is fun. And which I love - enough to race in a cyclocross race in Las Vegas against pros and come in last, very last, out of a hundred people and and not be embarrassed about it.

Hello, I'm last.

Yet not quite as far left as I wanted to with the full time job. Really, I thought I'd be content, working in the same industry I'd been in for 15 years, somewhere else, doing something a little different but kind of the same.

But it's not working for me. It's not my passion. And I wanted to make a difference somewhere. And do something good. And not be a drain. And feel good about it. And ride a super long stretch bike to work every day.

So now, here I am, a year later. Leaving it, quitting my job (no, not the magazine job. i'm still there).

Taking a sharp left turn, with a new job, in the middle of a recession. In a state that has almost the highest unemployment rate in the country. At a small local company.

And it's all about getting people out of their cars and onto their bikes and making it easy enough for them to do it. And helping them do it. Part advocacy, part bicycle & bike part manufacturer.

Now I just need to get a pink merino wool poncho to wear on my bike commute and to the farmers market on Sundays when cross season is over and then the transition will be complete.

All I Need is a Banana and a Dog to Walk

2008-11-18T07:11:00.000-08:00

Lately at cross races I'll often see Lulu (the 8 year old) walking or running by with a dog on a leash. She seems to have taken on the responsibility of being the official cyclocross dog walker.

To be at the start your race on the start line, and see your kid running by with one dog and by the end of your race, look up to see her walking along with some other dog ...

This past weekend I raced both days. And watched half of the four soccer games in Sam's (the 10 year old) end of the soccer season, soccer tournament.

Luckily, Saturday's race was at night. So we traveled to both games on Saturday and then left after the second game to meet Morgan at the race Saturday afternoon. And left Sam with a friend for the night.

So, back to me.

I don't really get into the race report type descriptions. But, Saturday's course was fun - so maybe I'll try.

Let's see, we raced in the dark. The laps were short and fast and fun. I held back at the start - and cruised along, using the Jenny Feix strategy of slowly working my way past women as they blew their wads on the first few laps.

I ran past a few crashes on the little hills - as some tried to ride them, bunched up, and ended up on their backs. I think I even saw Jenny sliding down on top of Rita or something as I was running past and waving goodbye.

Are you ok ladies? I said as I skipped around them.

And then a few laps later, there was a dog in the middle of the course, at the start/finish, with a man trying to drag him off. And the dog wouldn't budge. And then he pulled himself out of his collar. And started coming towards me, as I was coming at him full bore on the asphalt. And the man was yelling at the dog and people were yelling at me and I thought, oh no, this might be the end of my race.

And then I slowed down and went around him. And no one passed me.

But then, as usual, I blew my wad a bit too much in the excitement and fizzled at the end. I even thought for a minute as I was finishing, hmm, maybe I SHOULD try training for cyclocross. But then the thought slipped my mind as someone complimented me on my socks.

We got home about midnight, with an extra kid, and as we were unpacking the truck - I, at the same time, repacked the audi for the morning.

And then bright and early Sunday, I headed off with two little girls and Mel down to Monterey.

And we raced. And godamn, it was hot as hell down there. Like 80 degree in the middle of November hot. Which is more like 95 degrees in June hot. Because in November you don't expect heat like that, so your body is really only primed for 60 degrees or something.

So the single parent, dual kid, race day was an experiment for me. I've watched others do it pretty well. So I figured, two little girls would be good practice. Practice for the two siblings who tend to tease and pick on each other - which I'll be attempting next weekend.

And I also knew, once I got to the race, Allie's mom would be there, maybe.

It went fine. Except for the constant, whining about the heat and how there was nothing to do and how this race course sucked and how the trees sucked and how they were bored because I wouldn't let them wander off into the hidden mine fields of the old army base and how there was nothing to do and how come I didn't bring better food and how come we didn't bring their bikes and sharkies taste like crap.

When we first got there, we walked for a while to get to the place where I was going to make them hang out and they asked me where the team tent was. And I said, no team tent today. And they said WHAT? NO TEAM TENT? What kind of race IS this anyway? Why didn't you bring the team tent? Where's the BBQ? Where's all the FOOD?

Oh, if life were that easy - where I COULD actually bring the 80lb gigantic black team tent and drag it the 1/2 mile from the parking area, with all my stuff and my spare wheels and water, to the hang out area. And then set up the bbq and the ice chest and then go race.

After I got them situated into climbing some trees and playing with my camera, I went to pre-ride the course. And when I got back Lulu had to go pee.

And the bathrooms were way the fuck on the other side of the mountain. So I told her to go in the bushes.

Nope, she said. There's a bug that's oozing stuff and some guy just told us that there's a mine field out there and not to play out there.

Yeah, said Allie. That bug is weird. It's oozing everywhere.

Ok, I said. Pee in your pants then. And I left to go pee in the bushes.

Later, I heard there was a mini meltdown and some crying from Allie. And after wards she told her mom that all she really needed was a banana and a dog to walk.

The Last Cookie

2008-11-06T21:18:00.000-08:00

When we were kids, we had cookies and pretzels around the house a lot.

My mom had a thing for cookies, usually chocolate chip, the toll house kind. And my dad had a thing for pretzels, the skinny stick kind.

Sometimes after I was supposed to be in bed, I'd come out to the living room after a bad dream or something and there they'd be. Sitting on the couch, watching Barney Miller. Him with his beer and his bowl of pretzels and her with her cookies, slowly munching around the chocolate chips.

And Ralph, our dog, laying in wait.

But us three kids, we could have cared less about the pretzels back then.

Although, sometimes, I'd hang out with my dad while he was working on one of the cars and eat his pretzels with him, while he explained how the carburetor worked. I'd suck all the salt off each one and place them - wet, de-salted and soggy back into the bowl and wait for him to reach in and grab one and get pissed.

But really, I would have rather eaten the cookies.

The cookies had their own place on the counter in a cookie jar. It lived on the counter in clear view. It wasn't hidden in the food cupboard or on top of the refrigerator or up near the cereal boxes. It was near the sink, right there, near the bread dough mixer thing for all of us to see.

A pottery jar labeled "cookies". With cookies in it. And a lid.

And knowing that the cookies were in high demand, my mom really only had one rule. No one was allowed to eat the last cookie, ever.

Never, ever, ever.

And while we were little, it worked. It was the law of the land. We would sneak a few here and there. Quietly climb onto the counter and very carefully take the lid off and put the hand in and grab a few.

If you got there and there was only one left, you knew not to take it. It was your mom's cookie.

And you'd curse to yourself and put the lid back on, and quietly move on. You'd try the larger cupboard and find the unsweetened chocolate used for baking and take a bite of it, hoping that it really was a dream come true and that there really was a giant bar of chocolate sitting in plain view in the cupboard just for you. But then you'd bite into it and it would be bitter.

And so you'd leave the kitchen frustrated and mumbling to yourself about how there was never anything good to eat in the house.

But as you got bigger, once in a while you'd get desperate enough to make the decision to eat the last cookie. Because, sometimes it would take days for your mom to get to eating it. And you could never understand how she could let one cookie sit for so many days at a time without it getting eaten.

So you'd say fuck the goddamn cookie and you'd eat it. And it was usually while you were still sitting on the counter, with the lid in your hand.

And then, sure enough, you'd be up in your room dressing Ralph up in shorts and a tank top and trying to get your mickey mouse ears to stay on with the rubber band and you'd hear your mom yelling...

...at your little sister.

And you'd hear your little sister crying. And she'd be whining about how she didn't do it.

And you'd just turn your music up louder and pretend not to hear the footsteps coming up the stairs, knowing. All because of that dumb cookie.

And she'd throw open the door and look around and say Oh, for christ's sakes! When was the last time you cleaned this room! And then Ralph would run out.

Which leads me to earlier tonight at Lulu's end of the season soccer dinner party. There was cake and brownies after dinner and after a little while there were some brownies left. And so I had a few. And then I came back to the food table later on after a conversation and saw that there was one brownie left. And I just couldn't get myself to take it, even though I wanted it.

And I looked at it for a few minutes too long and thought to myself never, ever take the last brownie.

Pinned

2008-11-03T19:50:00.000-08:00

Now's about the time in the season where I start to feel a little pinned up against the wall.

It's not really a momentum anyone can keep going and still feel sane.

Any good and selfless mom would maybe feel sad that the soccer season is almost over and start to think about the next kid sport they may want to get the youngins' involved in during the lull of winter and keep them appropriately focused on growing as individuals in a sporting environment.

But for christ sake, soccer has a long season and secretly I'm glad there's only a few more weeks of it left and there are no plans for lacrosse - because now weekends will only be about cyclocross.

Don't get me wrong.

We will encourage our young ones to stay active and participate in a winter sport, but it will be cyclocross racing - which is a well respected sport, much like polo or tennis or baseball or lacrosse or soccer or golf.

And also maybe some snail farming.

And saturdays will be for catching up on laundry and maybe some leisurely muddy mountain bike rides and sleeping in and not driving all over the place for soccer.

And Sundays will be for cyclocross.

But right now, I feel pinned. And a bit crazed. Like I might do something like not go after the dog if it gets out from the yard. I will not go chase it. She'll be free to go. I may even strap a backpack on her with her food in it and accidentally leave the gate open. Or I might do something like let my kids eat some of their halloween candy before dinner.

Or maybe I'll have yogurt parfait for dinner and make them all eat leftovers that they warm up themselves.

I just noticed, re-reading some of my recent posts, that I seem to be alternating between racing bikes and feeling crazed about life in between. And trying to fit in some riding and running and commuting. And going to work at 5:30 in the morning.

And not sitting down when I get home from work, for fear of not being able to get up. Like today, which is what I did for a few hours - to try and get some work done for the magazine. And then when I got up I noticed I'd been sitting in cat pee the whole time. Because the cat had been locked in the family room without a litter box all day.

I kept smelling something weird and thought I had bad b.o. You know, the kind of smell you sometimes have when you're on your way to getting a cold or something.

I'm stretched way too thin right now.

Anyway. Time for a break from racing for a few weeks. To come out from the fog and catch up on the laundry. And ride a bike for more then 60 minutes at a time. And wash off the cat pee.

(taken by my sister)

Candy, Cyclocross, Soda, Beer, Cyclocross, Costumes, Hot Dogs and Cyclocross

2008-10-28T07:23:00.000-07:00

My kids are at the age where I don't necessarily have to know where they are at all times during a cyclocross race.

I can warm-up or something while Morgan's racing and not necessarily worry about what they're getting themselves into.

And that's pretty cool. Because this is first year it's been like that. Things are much less stressful. And I can eat and drink before racing and pre-ride the course. And so on.

So Sunday, I let them roam around with their friends and I sat in the camp chair for a while. I was feeling sleepy. I even dozed a bit. Which is a bit silly - the fact that I COULD do that, with all the mayhem going on around.

But that's what a 5am to SF on BART train, everyday will do to you. It teaches you how to sleep standing up.

Not that I let my kids go crazy or anything.

I always keep a tab on them. Like on Sunday - I could feel that they were towards the front of the school, near the bathrooms somewhere. So I went out there and told them all to come back towards the grass area, where I could at least see them.

Don't hang around bathrooms I said. That's where the unsavory characters hang out I said. That's the kind of stuff you're supposed to say to kids when you're in that mom mode.

Hang around the grass, where I can see you please. Follow me please. I said. It's safer there.

What's unsavory mean? Lulu's friend Lauren asked. It means like our brothers Lulu said. When they chase us and try and take our sodas and stuff she said.

And as they followed me back, I could see the boys making their way towards the girls in that terrorizing fashion.

by blake

And then I walked them back to the grass and went back to my camp chair to snooze.

And then after a while, I didn't see them.

So I got up to look around and do some mom duty and I saw the boys at the chocolate chip cookie tent and found the girls over at the Sheila Moon tent lounging on the grass in front of the keg, drinking out of red beer cups with some other 30 and 40 something year olds - laughing at the adult jokes and talking and petting a tiny dog called Taco.

And I went over to make sure they weren't drinking too much soda. But it was only apple juice.

Later as I was finishing up my race and trying not to throw up, I saw the girls again, running along the grass holding onto Hairy dog's leash and holding soda cans and candy.

Where'd you get that? I yelled over to them between try heaves.

Aunt Cathy they yelled back.

Aunt Cathy? I said.

Yeah, Aunt Cathy, they yelled back as they ran by laughing with green lips while pulling the dog along.

Don't run with lollipops in your mouths I yelled out.

Later, on the way home, Lulu proclaimed that adults at cyclocross races act like there aren't any kids around.

In fact, they act crazy and stuff she said.

What do you mean I said?

Like there's lots of F words.
And even S words, she said.

Yeah, Morgan said, people say those words sometimes.

But you shouldn't he said. Getting all dad like. And stuff.

Yesterday's Internal Dialog

2008-10-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

My Sycip frame arrived the other night. The one that I won at the golden gate park cyclocross race last November.

The one that I won, just a few days after being laid off from my "then job". The job that sent me overseas for a week, on a flight that took 19 hours because of a layover in Guam when someone had a panic attack. The job that then laid me off the day I got back, which was a day before Thanksgiving.

It arrived the other night, the frame, after Morgan had made some horrendous drive to some credit union banking institution for some specific matter, of which, when he arrived - the process he needed to partake in, couldn't be done because something was broken. So he left, unresolved and having to drive in commute traffic for another hour.

On the way home, he stopped over at the local Sycip household to pick up the sparkly orange frame for me. It's very pretty. I was just staring at it.

I love it. I want to marry it.

When he pulled up into the driveway at 8pm, I was in the garage, rooting around for what I thought was a burning electrical smell. And just as he was opening the car door, I'd discovered the water heater spewing water all over the place in the back corner.

And it smelled like ass. Which I still really don't understand. There was no sewer or toilet involved.

Anyway, it's never a good scene when the first thing out of your mouth to your husband after he's been sitting in traffic for 2 hours for an unresolved bank process, in addition to going out of his way to pick up YOUR custom built cx bike frame, is the water heater just blew up. And then you turn and walk back upstairs into the house.

And then he's out there for a while, on the phone with various people and trying to do stuff to get it to stop. And he hasn't eaten dinner yet.

And the part that is broken is the part that actually turns the water on and off in the water heater. So you let it spew for a while, because you just can't turn it off.

And then after arguing and getting everyone to pee and brush teeth, you do some of the dishes, take some showers. And then, to stop the spewing he turns off the water to the entire house - until the new water heater can be delivered sometime the next day.

And earler while opening the mail, you decide that you ARE going to open up that 401k statement. The one you've been dreading opening all day. But you might as well get it over with. It's the one from your earnings from the past 8 years. The one that you had invested in, yes, the stock market. The one from the company that laid you off last November a day before Thanksgiving.

And you take a deep breath and you open it and you peak in. And then you start crying. And you think that it's just like the water heater - spewing out from the top all over the place, down the driveway into the drain. Gone. And when the 8 year old asks Morgan why you're crying, he says, because we're going to have to sell you to the gypsies Lulu.

So then you take a hot shower and you drink a cold beer in the hot shower and you think about what you're going to be for Halloween and if the wig is really going to work on top of the bike helmet.

And what it'll be like as an old person, without any retirement money, when you're living off canned beans and sipping sunny delight. And how you still have to finish up the school auction data entry and how it'll be fun to bar tend at the event again, because it's all you can drink free beer to all bartenders.

And how much the subway sucks because they won't let you take bikes on during commute hours and that the dog still needs its last set of shots. And maybe you'll just wear that old Jane Jetson outfit from a few years ago, if you can find it. And you try and get your eye to stop twitching.

And then you sort through your internal list of fun stuff to do, to get you through the week, and you remember there's more cyclocross and bike riding to be done this weekend. Wig or no wig. With lots of little kids running around and lots of laughing. Where everything is put back into the right perspective.

And you remember, we're just a blip in time, in this giant universe. But it's still not a good idea to waste so much hot water in the shower while drinking a beer. So you chug it and shut off the water.

Super Duper CX Prestige in SF

2008-10-20T07:21:00.000-07:00

The good thing about racing so late in the day is that most people are done, eating their bbq'd weanies and drinking their beer and they're happy and there are lots of cheers.

I like that part.

The bad thing about racing so late in the day is the warming up on the trainer part while they all drink their beers and the smell of bbq'd meat is wafting towards you and they're running around with meat on sticks, sticking it in your face saying, do you want meat on a stick?

Uh, no thanks.

And sometimes your husband gets cranky because he's getting ready for his second race before your first race and he wants you to take his bike to the pit way up on the hill and then feed him, but you just want to get a pre-lap ride in, in between races because you can't be on the course while others are racing so there's a very small window to ride the course. And then maybe a little warm up in.

But you have to take the 8 year old to the portapotty. And she's complaining because none of her friends are there and she wants hot chocolate.

I don't think warm ups on trainers help me anyway and I don't like cyclocross courses that pretend to be cyclocross courses but are really mountain bike courses.

And while we're on the subject, in fact, I hate McClaren park. But at least this year I finished the race. Last year I hated it so much that I stopped half way through and slid out from the course tape while mumbling fuck you mcClaren all the while i was walking back to the tent.

This year I told myself I'd at least finish it. And besides, it wasn't as bad as last year.

On the first lap, I heard someone say she looks so serious. This was after someone had elbowed and sorta pushed me into a pole. And I couldn't get off it. Again, with the poles. And I realized that I WAS too serious. Warming up on a trainer? Not smiling? Wanting to elbow that person back because she knocked me down and I couldn't stay upright? I'd seen her skills in action before, so I knew what might happen if I was close to her.

Yes, too serious.

So I took a deep breath and just did it. And smiled. And turned that frown upside down. And I felt better. And finished.

Blow Up Monkeys

2008-10-17T06:59:00.000-07:00

We're going into the weekend of the yearly fall carnival at kid number two's school.

Normally this would be a fun filled weekend of cotton candy and bouncy tents and soccer games and spin art and bbq and ring toss and beer.

And cyclocross.

But because Morgan is the "chair" of the fall carnival each year, it's become this albatross for us. Something to get through and get over and be done with and recover from.

Ah. Well a-day what evil looks. Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross. About my neck was hung.

I could discuss the details in great length and it would be comical, because as a family we sort of fly by the seat of our pants. And "chair" ing a school carnival is no different for us.

It's got stuff like, me picking up the cotton candy machine in between picking up kids after school today in the landcruiser - which had it's battery stolen out of it the other day and doesn't have a hood that stays down now because to steal the battery they cut the hood thing, so we can't take it on the freeway until we have time to get it to the place to get fixed.

And kids asking us to set up the cotton candy machine in our living room tonight, just for a little bit.

And me ordering the prizes on Tuesday for Thursday delivery, but the oriental trading place doubling our order somehow and then not being able to ship it, but us then needing it over nighted and finally getting it resolved after Morgan on the phone for a long time.

And only half of the order arriving so far.

And me being the prize lady. Yeah, I'm the prize lady. And if I can toot my own horn here, I'm an expert at ordering prizes. Over the last 3 years, I've heard rumors from parents that the kids say prizes have "hecka" improved thank you very much. And the prizes now actually make some decent money for the school.

That gigantic blow up monkey that only costs $3.99? Well, a kid has to bring in 20 prize tickets to the prize booth to get it. One prize ticket usually takes a kid 4 or 5 tries to get. And with each try costing .50, well there you go. It keeps them occupied for the afternoon.

It's all about the big ticket items. The perceived value. Let me tell you, the blowup monkeys are big.

And then of course, you've got your spider rings and tattoos and bloody plastic fingers and stretchy skeletons and fuzzy lamps. All of which I spend hours on calculating how many prize tickets should be exchanged for them.

And then about half way through the calculation process, after a couple of beers in a stuffy school cafeteria, in the prize booth, the night before the carnival - by 10pm, I start letting the 5th graders tell me how many prize tickets they think something should be. And then I go sit in the corner chair and make them write the pricing out. Because by then, well, you know.

I'm tired.

And so, then, there's the weekend of cyclocross racing stuff and so forth that we must fit in between the carnival stuff as well.

I'm going to try racing both days. While Morgan chair's the carnival on Saturday, I'll go race and then come back and take kids to soccer and then bring them back and then I'm scheduled in the face painting booth for a shift. I'll paint some flowers and monkeys on faces and some bugs too.

And Morgan's going to try and ride in the dark a.m. on Saturday morning, before the carnival. You gotta get in your pre-day race ride you know.

And then on Sunday, we'll all head off to race some more cyclocross. And I think I'll try and win one of them blowup monkey's at the carnival to bring to the race and hang on the team tent

And then my head will explode.

One CX Race At A Time

2008-10-13T07:15:00.000-07:00

I'm just like an alcoholic in a 12 step program.

photo by hans kellner

I have to tell myself every few minutes to keep going, to just do it to that hill one more time, and then you can quit if you want, but just one more time. Come on. Hup, hup!

Fool myself into continuing to race. Because it's not going to get any better the next time around, in fact, it'll probably be worse and hurt more and I may even throw up this time, or fall over going up it.

Just one more time, I have to keep telling myself.

I think most courses around here in Northern California tend not to be very hilly. So even though I'm not one of the fastest middle aged moms out there, I can usually stay in the mix with my dance moves around the barriers and tight turns and technical sections. I can usually pass people there. I like technical courses with no long straight aways, and no hills.

But add in a - super steep, gut busting, you're going so slow that you might fall over, you may want to run this but it's a pretty long gut busting hill and it's on pavement and right at the top of the super steep gut buster there's a tight turn and two barriers - and it's all over.

And I'm not detail oriented when it comes to racing bikes or training or tire pressure or post race analyzing, but I do remember a few details about yesterda. Like the first time up the climb, I was ok and was with everyone. And then the second, third and 4th times around, I tried again to stay in the mix, but slowly they'd pedal away.

photo by steve anderson

Half way up it the second time, I started dry heaving. And I thought I need to get off and walk. But I didn't. Just a little bit more I told myself. And a racer passed me and as I was heaving and I said "uh oh" and she said, don't barf on me. And once I stopped heaving, I was just about at the barriers and forgot where I was and came to almost a full stop, forgetting proper lady dismount etiquette and just fell over.

And either the voices in my head were silenced or the spectators got quiet, because all I could hear were the birds chirping and the angels coming. And then someone said, get up Lauren, hup hup!

And then the beer handoff and french fry handoff perked me up a little bit. Hup, hup!

photo by hans kellner

Come on, just a few more times, I told myself. And I managed to gain my composure and make some time and catch the group again.

But then once around the course, there was that hill. And my field slowly rode away.

Later on that night, sitting around the table with the kids and Morgan, eating our chinese take out - the 11 year old commented on all the sand on the course and how he'd had some trouble with it in his little race and that the hill hadn't seemed as bad as he thought it would be, it was the sand for him.

And I said, what sand? And Morgan said, what do you mean what sand. There was sand everywhere. And I said, "I guess I didn't really notice it".

It was that damned hill.

Besides Bikes

2008-10-07T07:48:00.000-07:00

We celebrated my mom's 70th birthday this past weekend.

And took all the kids to santa cruz and stayed in a house near the beach. We played at the beach, walked the dog, went to the boardwalk, drank big beers, made fish tacos, ate bacon and eggs, watched surfers, hit each other, walked in the rain, went to the arcade, ate pancakes, talked about things we wanted to buy but can't afford, drank wine, ate salsa and chips and watched starwars thumbwars.

And then it was over.

When I was little, my mom always threatened us with the phrase that we were driving her to the "looney bin".

I'm this close, she'd yell at us. You'll be sorry when I'm gone. Who will you ask to do all these things you constantly ask me to do for you all the time she'd say.

And I remember thinking that she was talking about something like looney tunes. That she was going to live in the cartoon world. And I always thought it would be super cool.

Lately, I feel like that a lot. That I live in a cartoon world AND that I might go live in the loony bin.

I don't know if it's a mom thing, or a busy thing, or a sleep deprivation thing, or a trying to race bikes and work thing. But every day, around 4 or 5 pm, I start to crack a little.

I've been up since 5am, having only gotten 6 or 7 hours of intermittent sleep the night before because the dog was crying and the cat was sleeping on my head and I can't get anyone to do their homework before soccer practice or the pta board meeting or the auction meeting or wherever else i have to go or get them to go and the dog just got out of the yard again and I know I still have HOURS to go before I can get into bed.

And there's nothing to eat for dinner, because i forgot to take the fish out of the freezer and we haven't gone food shopping in a week. And I need to get something done for some statistic or agenda that's due at 7pm.

No one has soccer shoes on or girl scout outfits on and we're already late and they're tackling each other on the couch and she's screaming at the top of her lungs.

And I look in the mirror and I have that frizzy hair thing going on.

And then I yell it at the top of my lungs. That's it! They're coming to get me in an hour. It's the loony bin! And you'll be sorry when I'm gone.

And they both look up and they start putting their socks on. And then he says, that sounds hecka cool! You should go!

Yes Indeed, My Very Own Cross Vegas Race

2008-09-30T05:26:00.000-07:00

For Interbike this year, we wore t-shirts that said "I Am Cyclocross Magazine".

The "I" was at the tip top of the shirt so that when you happened to look down right below your chin, it looked like, from where you were looking down - that you'd drooled on yourself in a straight line.

This threw me off the whole time because just as I'd introduce myself to someone and start talking my "stuff" my peripheral vision would alert me that I had drool on my shirt and I'd stutter.

And then I'd remember that it was the "I".

So anyway, this year was my first Interbike ever, my very first bike industry trade show.

But having worked in a career, in my normal day job for the past 13 years, where I deal with manufacturers and suppliers on a daily basis, this was my 500 and first trade show.

And as far as trade shows go, they're all basically the same with a few noticeable exceptions.

The cycling industry seems to be made up of 90% men; it's ok to wear t-shirts and shorts in meetings unless you're urbanvelo; there weren't any tiny little 3 wheelers chair things carrying large sized people and instead of waiting to drink alcohol until after the show each day, the kegs and margarita machines are usually wheeled onto the floor around 3pm each day and it's perfectly acceptable to walk around browsing the floor with a drink in hand, doing business.

Ok, enough about trade shows.

On Wednesday, there was cross vegas. And this year, to add to the excitement, there was a wheelers and dealers race for those who work in the bike industry that Andrew, our editor, managed to get us into even after registration was full and closed.

Uh, thanks Andrew.

Rather then flying our own bikes out for a 30 minute ride around on a grass field, Andrew was also able to set us up with some borrowed bikes.

He borrowed a cute little single speed from Bianchi, that he managed to ride pedal-less from the show floor to the hotel, which was a good distance away, which a homeless guy then managed to stuff into the rental car for us without taking the wheels off because we had no tools.

I was to ride on one of those cute little specialized bikes.

With the 4 of us stuffed into the rental "mid sized sedan", bike intact and excited to get going, we took off to the race.

And then we got stuck in traffic. And we arrived with about 20 minutes to spare until the start time.

So I took off, to find my assigned borrowed bike. And after hitting the porta potty and registration where they could not find my name or company anywhere, I came back to the car to announce that I wasn't racing.

To which Andrew replied, Specialized just called me, your bike is here and I'm on my way to registration now. Get on it!

And there they were, the big Specialized van, not 25 feet from our car.

And amazingly all within 15 minutes - I ran over to the van, gave Garth my pedals to put on the bike, ran back to the car, found it was locked with my helmet IN it, stripped down in full view to bare butt and push up bra, because I'd forgotten sport bra, slapped my skinsuit on, pulled my "I Am Cyclocross Magazine" T-shirt on over, pulled my star socks on, ran back to van, pre-rode bike around in a circle, made seat higher, rode like a crazy woman over to find Andrew, couldn't find Andrew and keys anywhere, saw Josh, asked him for keys for helmet, no keys, saw peeps lining up for race, rode around in circles looking for car keys, started asking people for helmets, saw Josh running back with my helmet, grabbed helmet, gave him my bag and camera, rode fast to registration, to front of line of PRO's, grabbed number, signed papers, heard start gun go off, grabbed random people, asked them to pin numbers on, rode fast to course, started alone, and pumped a big gear with my little chicken legs to catch the back of the pack.

I settled back a little when I saw Sheila right ahead of me and thought, I'll pace myself here with her. And then Andrew rode up next to me and yelled out WE MADE IT! and took off away from me.

And then I proceeded to race around the course, pulling cyclocross magazine cowbells that I'd stuffed up my short legs and bra and throwing them at people along the course. Three times around that course to finish LAST and without getting lapped.

100 racers, 8 women and Mark McCormack finished first and I finished last. And in between, well who cares, right? I did it and I was last and he was first.

I Am Cyclocross Magazine.

Happy to be finished and day dreaming a little, I was riding back to the car to change out of my push up bra and t-shirt and Trebon and Wicks were riding around up to the course to do some pre-riding, and they were chatting and not really paying attention and Trebon was riding right towards me and me right towards him and we did that dance that you do when you're trying not to hit someone, but you're both aiming at each other no matter which way you go and we passed within inches, him mumbling danger, danger, and me mumbling will robinson.

And I thought, Jesus Christ, thank got I'm not famous for crashing into Trebon.

Later, during the men's PRO race, while watching them bunny hop at the barriers - I was standing there smiling, happy to be done and drinking a beer, when I noticed someone standing right next to me staring at me hard.

And I turned to see why and he caught my eye and he was drunk as a skunk, sort of weaving back and forth and he yelled at me and pointed, it IS you! I KNEW IT WAS YOU. I was rooting for you the whole time. I always root for the underdog. YOU WERE LAST! RIGHT ON!

And then we high fived each other.

Katy's Cat Thinks It Can Fly

2008-09-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

One time when I was about 10 or 11, my $15 pet rabbit jumped from it's perch on my shoulder onto the garage floor and broke its leg.

It was one of those little dwarf rabbits that are as small as your hand. She'd often sit on one side of my shoulder as I went about my 11 year old, after school, business.

Normally she'd jump off as I would lean over to let her back into the cage. But this time she'd decided to take the risk while I was standing straight up.

And we took her to the vet and had her little leg x-rayed and sure enough it was "broke".

I remember my mom calling my dad from the front desk at the vet and explaining that we'd just spent $50 on xrays and that the $15 rabbit either needed a $2000 surgery to put a mini pin into the leg, or a $750 aluminum cast.

And I remember her laughing maniacally while smoking her cigarette, holding the x-rays and telling my dad on the phone, no, we can't do that, that's not an option and that's not nice.

And so we left the vet after a little while, x-rays in hand and went home without the rabbit to mull over our options and after a few hours of me crying and yelling, my mom made the executive decision to go ahead with the $750 cast for the $15 rabbit.

I remember those figures distinctly because for years after wards, my dad would tell the story to anyone who'd listen - emphasizing those two monetary figures. And let us not forget the $50 for x-rays he'd say.

Like if I'd paid $100 to purchase the rabbit initially, it almost would have made sense to cast the rabbit up or maybe even have the $2000 surgery.

The next day, we went back down to the vet and picked up the rabbit with strict instructions about how to take care of her.

I wanted to let her hobble around in my room while recuperating so she'd be comfortable and safe. But my mom said no way. So we compromised and put her in the bathtub in the bathroom next to my room - with her carrots and salt lick and water and blankets.

And immediately, my parents started complaining about the noise the rabbit was making hopping and hobbling around in the bathtub - cast banging on the tub. $15 rabbit with a $750 aluminum cast and a set of $50 x-rays hopping around in the upstairs porcelain bathtub, pooping and peeing and making too much noise.

The next day, while I was at school, my mom was at home having coffee and gossiping and eating donut holes with Mrs. Cook and after a while they couldn't take the "hopping cast on bathtub banging" anymore.

So they put the rabbit in the garage in a box for some temporary peace. And then they forgot about it.

And when I got home I went up to the tub to check in on her and she wasn't there. And then my mom remembered that she'd put her in the garage. And yes, when I went to the box, she was gone.

And so, the search began for the $15 rabbit with the $750 cast. Which really only lasted a little while - because there on the side of the yard on the sidewalk, was part of the little body lying lifeless with the $750 cast fully intact.

Poor little bunny.

Wood Chips and Step Throughs

2008-09-15T05:43:00.000-07:00

I guess my cross season started because I raced again on Saturday.

But I must say, this is the least prepared I've been for a season yet. Not that I'm ever really prepared in the way most racers are prepared.

But, most years I've at least been running regularly and doing some running intervals and riding a bit more regularly and taking a spin class here and there and even doing some weight work.

But not this year.

This year, I've been commuting a little and riding a little and I just started running once a week a few weeks ago, if you don't count running up the stairs at BART to catch the last bike accessible train as running.

And tomorrow I'll start taking that spin class down at the Y during lunch.

Last night I dreamt that I was doing that triceps curl weight lifting exercise over and over and over again.

And so here I am at 6am on Monday morning thinking about it and deciding to try and get a little more serious. Today at lunch, I'm doing a run with some intervals in it.

Yep, I'm starting today.

I've been looking forward to cross season for months, but really, doing nothing but thinking about it. I had an odd epiphany at the race on Saturday. As I was riding over to registration I saw someone warming up on a trainer, and I thought - what the hell are they doing? And then I remembered warming up.

Oh yeah, people warm up to race.

So I registered and pre-rode the course once. And then it was time for our race to start.

And then we raced.

During the second lap, my teammate Thomas, rode behind me and asked how I was doing and if I liked the course and chatted about how his wife and his kids would start coming with him to races soon. And some other stuff.

And I could only muster a uh huh every so often.

Because I was racing you know.

And then he pulled ahead and passed me and I'm not sure he ever realized I was in the middle of my race and all.

But the thing I do have dialed in, after 2 seasons of racing cross, is my mounts and dismounts and barrier running and log hopping and pedal positions and step through and bike handling and sand riding and wood chip riding and sharp turning and dry heaving.

what the hell is going on here?

2008-09-12T05:10:00.000-07:00

The dog just dragged her ass across the carpet and then pee'd on it, right in front of me.

And I was just thinking to myself that it'd been a week or so that she hadn't pee'd in the house.

It's a metaphor for the human condition.

Some CX Racing in 105 Degrees

2008-09-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

I should write about this race before it gets lost in my mind. I'm in this weird limbo stage where I know I have stuff to remember, but there's nothing really prompting me to remember it.

So I sort of remember stuff in a panic lately.

And it's all because I put my phone on top of the car one night, a month or so ago, while pumping gas into a gas can to take it to Morgan when he ran out of gas, because he runs his truck as far as he can on fumes in order to give the middle finger to the oil "man" and he'll sometimes drive an extra few miles to get to a cheaper gas station, while on fumes.

Anyway, as I was proceeding onto the freeway getting a little speed up I heard the phone go kachunka chunka off the roof.

So the replacement phone came a few days later and I was able to sync it up once to get all my contacts. But the calendar never made it over. It's all jacked up. And a soccer / lacrosse/drama mom who races cyclocross and works 1.3 jobs and serves on the PTA board and is wife of the school "carnival chair" needs a PDA to tell her what to do everyday.

For now I have the google calendar texting me. I keep it in my back pocket on vibrate and each time it vibrates I go in a different direction. It's like shock therapy. If I could only get it to scroll the text across my brain and poke me in the stomach at the same time, I'd be golden.

Anyway, so, I raced the first CX race of the season on Saturday.

And I went solo. And I did things like pre-ride the course and put sunscreen on and hydrate and wear gloves and remember to do all my pre-race prep and chit chat and lounge in the shady grass after the race and leisurely talk to other racers while sipping water and eating bananas.

Such is the life of the middle aged cyclocross racin' mom.

And every so often I'd hear a child laugh or whimper or yell and my eye would twitch a little bit. And then I'd remember, that It was all going to be ok.

It was hot as hell. Africa hot. Hot like spicy soup hot. The kind of hot, where all you want do to is stand in a pool of cool clear water in your red white and blue stars and striped bikini and drink ice cold mint julips, hot.

We went off at the whistle and raced around for a bunch of laps. And after the first lap and a half I'd already lost track of how many laps I'd done. I spent a lot of time trying to calculate what lap I was on and how many were left and how many times I did the logs. And trying to statistically analyze the length of the course in time and distance into the 40 minutes we'd be racing on it.

I guess that's what you call the "race fog".

And then I felt that familiar feeling of thinking I wasn't going to make it to the end and why do I do this stuff and the dry heaving and feeling like I had to pee and wanting to stop and grit in my teeth and the things I had to buy at the grocery store on the way home and then by the 3rd lap I'd settled in and heard someone complement me on my smile.

And then we did a few more laps.

And then it was over.

Bike Riding Motivation and Stuff Like That

2008-09-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

The other night while lying awake in bed at midnight unable to sleep because it was 95 degrees out and I was kind of waiting for Morgan to get back from his Thursday night ride because he'd been out there a few hours later then normal and because I'd heard people coming and going and so I figured something must have gone wrong but I was too lazy to get out of bed to see ...

I was perusing my blog statistics and pondering why people get my blog when they search on "my rabbits eyes are gooie an stuck shut" and "things to do with motion lotion" when I came across a link that was referring hits to my blog that I'd never seen before.

The link had very recently brought a high number of traffic over to my side in a short amount of time.

So I clicked on it to see what it was. And I found I'd been featured on a "Nursing College and Training" school website in an article labled "50 Great Exercise Blogs That Will Get You Motivated".

They had me listed under the "cycling" category, which was right above the "video game" category, almost at the end.

"Everyone knows moms are busy people, but check out this mom who also finds time to race cyclocross and mountain bikes. This blogger will surely help you find motivation when you see what she can accomplish."

And I thought, I wonder if my garden story was motivating for those nurses. Aren't they kind of in the same category as police people and stuff? They're like nice, wholesome people who want to help others, right?

When Morgan got in at around 1:17 am and after his description of how they lost two people on the night ride and had to go back and find them but they only ever found one, so they came back and drank beer and ate chips anyway, I told him about my discovery and read him the description.

You? he said. Motivating?

Yes, I said. I'm motivating.

And then I thought about this as I was dozing off.

And then I thought about it a little bit more the next morning on the bike ride down to BART. And then some more on the bike ride up into the hills on the way home that evening. And I thought about it even more on the long ride I did on Saturday morning.

And then some more at the cyclocross clinic on Sunday.

And then after the long hike with a bunch of kids I did on Monday afternoon, I thought about it just a little bit more.

And I decided that I think I do kind of exercise a little bit. But maybe cycling has become such a big part of our lifestyle that I don't think of it of active exercise. It's just part of the routine.

The daily, habitual, routine.

But still, motivating? Really I'm just a lazy person disguised as a cyclist.

A Long, Long Time Ago...

2008-08-28T23:44:00.000-07:00

One time, way back when I was in college, I moved all my stuff out of my boyfriend's house while he was away at work one day.

And I didn't tell him where I'd gone.

I'd caught him making out at a party the weekend before, with a girl who had both nipples pierced. When I approached them in the yard, at the party, he asked her to lift her shirt for me. So I could see that both nipples were pierced.

That summer, he'd been working at Nordstroms in men's suits. She'd been working across the aisle at the cosmetics counter doing makeovers.

I'd been upstairs working at J.Crew as head cashier.

So I left.

I moved into a house, up in the hills with a gigantic backyard in the eucalyptus trees, with three guys. One had his weiner pierced, one was an artist with a pet rabbit and a turtle and one was still in school majoring in philosophy. And after a few weeks we decided that we all got along ok enough that we'd make a go at having a garden out back.

And maybe make a few bucks while we were at it. Because my new $6 an hour job at the local latte' shop just wasn't cuttin' it.

So we planted our garden in the back yard. We watered the garden. We sprayed their little leaves and we sheltered them. We named them. We transplanted each plant into it's own pot. We fed them perfectly mixed nutrients and we waited and hoped while they grew.

And then one day while I was alone, there was a knock on the front door. And there were three men in utility suits standing on our front porch.

There's a sewer line on the top right side of your yard and we need to do some maintenance, they told me. We're letting you know that we're going up into your yard.

And before I could stop them, they'd walked around to the side of the yard and were proceeding up the side stairs straight into the plant area.

I went back into the house and opened the sliding glass door to the yard and let our two large and threatening dogs out into the back yard. And then they laid down on the patio to watch the festivities and lick each other.

And then I walked out to the side yard to greet the utility men while they walked through all of our "potted" plants. I stood in the middle of our carefully manicured forest while they made their way through them, looking around in wonderment.

And as the last of the three men passed by me, he pulled his sunglasses down to the edge of his nose to look me directly in the eye and he smiled big at me.

As they climbed our hill, I stood there, with my arms folded. And when they got to the top, they called down to me and waved and pointed to the sewer area as if to say, see, there really is a sewer line here. And then they lifted the cover and chatted a little and placed it back and chatted some more and then left down the side of the house still chatting.

And then I went inside and locked all the doors and smoked a bowl.

By the time my roommates starting returning a few hours later, from their daily activities, I'd already pulled every single one of our "plants" into the house to safety.

And then I sort of forgot about what happened and made myself a liverwurst sandwich and sat down to watch Welcome Back Kotter, when the first roommate arrived home.

What the fuck he said. Yeah, what the fuck I said.

And then we made the executive decision to shred them all, with the exception of keeping two each. With that, we reasoned - as we statistically evaluated the probability of at least 1/3 of the plants actually being female, we'd still have something in the end.

So we did. And we ended up with better statistics than the 30% ratio we'd predicted. And then I bought myself a neat little old red karman ghia.

And then one day on the way to my new job of selling flowers, I got out of my newly purchased karman ghia with my new boyfriend and ran into my old boyfriend. And I said hello to him and introduced him to my new boyfriend Jeremy, the one with the pierced weiner.

Riding A Bike With Bed Head

2008-08-19T07:24:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamt that I cut my hair in the locker room at work with a pair of nose hair trimming scissors. It took a long time to do. And the whole time I was doing it people were coming and going, taking care of their business.

When I was finished I turned to look at myself in the mirror, because I'd been cutting without using a mirror, and I had one of those hairdos from the 80's where one side is super short and the other side is super long.

And I was holding my tiny nose hair trimmer scissors trying not to cry. And people in the locker room continued to walk past me, but now they were shaking their heads disapprovingly.

And there I was a woman of 41 with a 1987 hairdo. Oh the humanity.

I was so despondent about my fucked up hair and the way people were treating me because of it, that when the alarm went off this morning and woke me from the dream, I immediately got up to look at my hair. And there it was in two frizzy red braids, leftover from the night before.

Braided hair is good for bike commuting at the crack of dawn. You don't brush it or re-do it. You just get up, get dressed, brush teeth, do all the other stuff, put your helmet on and hop on your bike and go.

And put on your scarf. Today I wore a wool scarf on the ride down to BART. Hello? Best thing ever. How come no one ever told me this before. Jeans, Sweater over nice shirt and SCARF. Warm and toasty even in 50 degree fog.

Anyway, I can't imagine what it would be like to have to "do" your hair-do before the commute so early in the morning. It's not productive. And I can barely roll my pant legs up at that hour. So bed head, ride down to the train, get to work, coffee and then re-braid.

I guess I won't be getting that short haircut I've been toying around with in my head for the past few weeks.

This Just In

2008-08-17T20:24:00.000-07:00

Norcal cyclocrosser boys to men, Matthias Behrends and Morgan Fletcher of Team Dos Machos Sasquatchos, wrapped up the final Transrockies stage yesterday with a total time of 34 hours and four minutes for a nice 20th place out of 69 finishers in the 80+ age group.

That's about as much time as I spent goofing off in the office last week.

Morgan reported in via text messages after stages, 5, 6, and 7.

Some of his exact texts included things such as "Sometimes I feel like crying", "I saw bear scat", "I'm sick of forcing down lots of food at 5:45 a.m. in the mess hall", "We snuck out into town for pizza", "My bike is pretty fucked up now", "I've only had one Canadian beer while sitting here and I'm pretty buzzed" and "That's the hardest fucking thing I've ever done in my life".

To which I replied, while sipping my glass of red wine on the couch and watching men's beach volleyball with the sound turned off while listening to tori amos, "good job honey."

Watch out for Dos Machos Sasquatchos racing at a local cyclocross event and sswc08 near you, soon.

Reporting live from the corner chair of the living room while eating a chicken pot pie, this is the little lady, lauren.

Banana Break

2008-08-14T07:29:00.000-07:00

I had a flat this morning on the way in.

Good lord, if you think fixing a flat during a normal ride is a pain in the ass, try it at 5:30 in the morning while it's still dark out and all the boogie men are out making scary noises in the bushes and you don't want to put your bag down because what IF a boogie man tries to get you, you might take off on your flat and leave your bag there and then they'd find your wallet and keys and know who you are and then they'd go to your house and wait for you there in the evening and GET you.

Scary time.

But then I thought about the Donner party and all the boogie men they had to deal with and I calmed down. After all, Oakland's not out in the wilderness with bears and coyotes and mountain lions and stuff.

No cry babies, I always tell my kids. I have a baseball hat that says that. I need to find it and start wearing it again.

I don't speak whineze.

After the flat was fixed in record time, I took off and hammered down to the BART station. I was going so fast I didn't even slow down to fix my plumbers crack. I did some other illegal things too, but I won't mention it here for fear of being reprimanded by law abiding citizens.

If a tree falls in the woods and no one's around...

I made it in record time. And I ran fast up those BART steps and just as I was RUNNING up the second set of stairs, in perfect cyclocross style, the train took off.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

And not only can I run super fast up the BART steps, once I arrive in SF, with the bike perched perfectly on my shoulder - I can now carry a cup of peets coffee in my left hand and periodically sip it and run up stairs in perfect form.

I'm ON like Tony Orlando and Dawn.

Look who I found...

They finished in 11th place in stage 4 yesterday. Which moves them up to 19th overall right now.

After the time trial on the 3rd day, it looks like they were given a two hour penalty. I wonder what happened. They would have, I think, come in 2nd for the stage that day.

Cyclingnews has some pretty good pictures and coverage of it all.

My Shangri-la Beneath the Summer Moon

2008-08-12T07:17:00.000-07:00

I talked to Morgan on Sunday night, after the inaugural stage.

After the first stage of Transrockies on Sunday they were in 16th place. After yesterday's stage two, Dos Machos Sasquatchos had slipped down to 22nd - out of 71 two person teams, in their age group.

It seems though, at least according to Morgan, that the first two days would probably be the hardest. Monday's stage had the most amount of climbing out of all the stages. And he knew that the climbs would be the hardest for him.

He said they raced through snow, rain, thunder, freezing temps, sun, hike a bike and singletrack.

Morgan's like a diesel engine. He tends to not jump at the gun, but winds his way up and along the way steadily making good progress and gradually passes all the engines flittering out - to finish pretty strong. He's strong, steady and solid.

Me, I'm an old volkswagon. More like a karmin ghia. Trying to pretend I'm cool, trying to start out fast, puttin' along and barely hanging on, but happy to be all red and shiny.

And then Matthias, well, Matthias is strong all around. Morgan mentioned that during the first stage Matthias was holding back and having to wait a little on the climbs. But things were going well for them

Today's stage looks like it'll give them a little reprieve - and less climbing. So maybe things will settle out a little bit and they'll slowly begin their ramp up.

---------------------------
Here, on the west coast, shortly back from LA and the bum rush of the cat lady...

Sam fractured his ankle on Friday about an hour after I dropped him and his buddies off at camp. Some kid slide tackled him during a pickup soccer game at camp. It's hard to tell with Sam when things are really wrong. Because un like both Lulu and I, he never complains about anything. He's a lot like Morgan.

But sure enough, after 5 hours in the ER on Saturday and still not a peep of complaint from him, we had our result.

So he's recuperating at camp grandma's for the week.

-------------------------------

And me, well, I'm riding my bike and...

Today's donut Tuesday here at work. Every Tuesday, Dale the doorman, brings a bunch of boxes of donuts and spreads them out for all to enjoy.

I don't eat donuts. I know my limits. Donuts are like crack to me. If I even have a tiny bite of one it's all over and then the whole day is lost. It usually starts with me cutting a small corner of and having one little bite, and then while I'm standing there eating the corner I'll eat the rest. And then I'll eat another one and tell myself I'll just run/ride at lunch and it'll be ok.

This is the start of the rise up to peak, when I rationalize that if I eat only 1 or 2 more then I can have a banana and almonds in a few hours, still before lunch and still feel ok to work out.

Because right then, I feel great. And everything is beautiful.

And then, I'm spinning in circles with the golf club and hitting golf balls down the hallway into the sales area and kicking the exercise ball at people I don't necessarily like as they walk by the studio. And then I'm riding my bike through the sales floor as fast as I can trying not to hit the cubicle partition walls.

And then in another half hour, I'm sitting at my desk complaining with a headache and feeling sick and telling the photographer to shut up. All this because of donuts.

But that was at my old job.

Nowadays, I just don't eat donuts. I just turn and walk away.

2 Buffalo Gals Going Round the Outside

2008-08-08T09:48:00.000-07:00

I just spent the last three days down in Los Angeles at a trade show - doing a little PR, getting a little information flowing, telling silly stories, listening to silly stories, networking, laughing, gossiping, smiling and so forth.

And now I'm home. And tired and worn out - in desperate need of a bike ride.

And I'm not really in the mood for chit chatting first thing in the morning - especially to a chubby cat lady on my front porch at 8 a.m. as I'm trying to get four boys and their skateboards and lunches and helmets into the truck to drive across Berkeley during commute hour, for camp.

But there she is, standing on our front porch, feeding the stray cat that we've sort of adopted (and nick named cookie dough). There she is, the neighborhood cat lady - Leida.

Leida and her 5 pound bag of cat food and her little wool hat.

Last night when I got home at midnight, I had three messages on the house voice mail from her. Each one just a bit more desperate. Each one talking about what I should be doing for that cat. And I thought, how in the hell did Leida get my phone number. I'm not even listed.

I wasn't planning on calling her back.

But first thing this morning, there she is - standing on our front deck with a giant bag of cat food feeding cookie dough. And as I open the front door to leave, she shoves her list of cat things - things Lauren needs to do for the cat, into my hand.

It's an 8 x 11 piece of paper filled with information and phone numbers and instructions she's noted or me to reference, for the cat - cookie dough.

HOW TO CARE FOR A CAT, she's written at the top of the paper.

Never mind that we already have a cat who is quite happy and healthy - and a dog, and I have two healthy, well adjusted children. All of whom I take to vets and doctors and dentists for periodic maintenance to their bodies. I obviously still need instructions on how to take care of a stray cat, based on the fact - well, I'm not really sure what it's based on.

I hand the paper back to her.

And as she's talking to me while I'm trying to shuffle kids outside and into the car, she's getting more and more frantic.

I was afraid she might be dead, she says to me, because you weren't here to feed her and your husband told me that he would never, ever be feeding her again and that you would be taking her to the shelter because you don't want her.

I just fed her, I say.

You know, you can't start feeding a stray cat and then stop. It's not fair to them. I wrote it here in the instructions she says as she waves the paper in front of me.

And I sigh.

I feed her I say. And she eats lots of mice. And my kids feed her. And the house sitter fed her. Don't worry about her I say. She's fine.

But your husband said... she starts to say again as she's waving her instruction paper at me.

And I can imagine what Morgan said to her the other day. I can hear the conversation clearly in my head - as he's down in the garage, getting ready to leave for Canada and frantically wrenching and packing and loading and boxing up one handed - when she sneaks up on him and startles him with her cookie dough worries, while holding her big bag of cat food.

Don't worry I say to her. Everything is under control.

Ok, she says. That's good to hear. Is it still ok if I still come pet her whenever I see her? she asks me. And I tell her absolutely.

And we get in the car and drive away - and I can see her in my rear view mirror still standing on my porch with her big bag of cat food, petting cookie dough.

Transrockin'

2008-08-06T07:23:00.000-07:00

It's hot down here in so cal. But it's actually kind of relaxing - just dealing with myself really.

But Morgan, well - wish him luck. I wish I was up there to help him.

His 40th birthday was yesterday and he broke his wrist skateboarding the other day. He's trying to wrench on his bike, finish a deliverable for work, finish packing and get on a plane today - one handed.

So he can get up there to race - broken wrist, bike, tools and all, up to Canada for Transrockies.

The Fear of Going Crazy

2008-08-03T20:40:00.000-07:00

At busy times, when things feel just a wee bit out of control, I straighten all the shoes by the front door.

If I can get a bike ride in, each day - in the middle of the spinning and the shoes are straight - even if there's a pile of some sort of barf next to them, well then, things are golden and I kinda feel like it'll all be ok.

Who cares about the dirty dishes and the dirty laundry and all the take out and that the cat now eats on the table with us because the dog is always harassing him and will eat all his cat food if we leave his bowl on the floor.

If the shoes by the front door are straight, then it's all ok.

I'm leaving Tuesday morning to go down to L.A. for work. And Morgan's leaving Wednesday to go to Canada for two weeks. And one kid is going this way for a week and another is going that way for a week and the animals are staying at home, and someone else is coming to house sit.

And trying to get all those silly bike companies to send in their creative before the deadline, for the magazine, which happens to have passed already is like herding cats.

And watching the dog slowly pluck each little petal from my pink cone flowers that I carefully grew from little tiny baby seeds, while I stand at the kitchen sink looking out the window and drinking my glass of red wine, brings tears to my eyes.

And when you tell your husband to be careful on the skateboard at the skate park because he's leaving for his big stage race in three days, the one up in the Canadian trans-rockies, the one that he's been training and training and training for and yapping and yapping about for months and months and months on end ...

The skate park that you're going to, to hang out and watch your kids skate at while you sit on the bench and drink your cans of guinness wrapped in paper bags and pretend you're not middle aged.

Well, you should just remember that there's something called Murphy's law.

Yogurt Parfait Break

2008-07-28T07:52:00.000-07:00

I almost didn't do it right this morning.

Mondays should be easier then Tuesdays or Wednesdays or Thursdays - because Sunday nights you can get it all ready - your bag, your bike, your light, your snacks.

But somehow Mondays always end up being harder then the other days because you can talk yourself into thinking you have 4 more days of riding - and it won't hurt if you skip just one Monday.

Just this one time.

So this morning I sat on the couch at 5:15 am with my coffee, vacillating between driving down to public transportation in my warm cozy car, listening to the soft calming voices on public radio or getting on the bike in the dark in the wet fog with a bad hairdo and freezing my ass off all the way down to public transportation.

I almost didn't do it.

But then I gave myself the pep talk - about the rules of riding efficiencies within the parenting structure, of which the most important one being, oh for christ sakes, get off your ass and get on the bike and ride it now while you have the chance - because tomorrow someone may be barfing or crying or needing a ride or whatever always seems to get in the way and you won't be able to ride.

And besides it's an extremely inefficient use of riding time to drive your car down to the train, work all day, drive the car back up to home, park it, get dressed to ride and then go for a ride somehow, within the hour time frame you have before you have to go drive to science camp and then skateboard camp to pick up two different kids.

Very inefficient I told myself. But how could I make it work? I think I can do it somehow. Let's see now...

And then the puppy woke up and started crying and that was enough to scare me into action and I ran out the door with my helmet and light and bag and off I went into the fog.

And now I feel good about it, because I'm here at work on my "yogurt parfait break" that I take around 8 am every morning. And I've already ridden for a half hour today.

And I'm listening to Cat Power and sucking on a weiner mint and I'll still get a nice hour ride in on the way home with some really, really efficient and good commuting intervals.

And then I'll get home and DRIVE to pickup my little children and then I'll come home and put on my little apron and make a nice home cooked meal and then we'll take the little dog for a walk and then I'll yell at my children a little because I stepped in puppy pee on the carpet that they said they'd clean up and they didn't and then I'll feel guilty about it because after all they're just kids.

And then the puppy will go running by with a stolen cat poo in her mouth. And then she'll lay it on the living room carpet and start licking it.

And then we'll all go to bed.

And then I'll wake up at 5am on Tuesday and lay in bed and think to myself, maybe I'll drive today because after all I did ride yesterday and after all what's one missed Tuesday ride anyway.

Yeah.

Big Things and Little Races

2008-07-22T08:13:00.000-07:00

My kids are gone all week at camp Grandma.

It's a win, win situation. They love camp Grandma. Grandma loves having them. And I love that they're gone for a bit.

Moms need extended breaks every so often.

It's during these little extended times when I spend time with just Morgan that I remember why I still have such a big crush on him.

Like last night. We went out for dinner at a pub. And ate. And then after we ate, we just sat there and talked for another hour about stuff we'd been doing and thinking about and books we're reading and why we're the way we are and experiences we've had over the last week and people we've seen and stuff like that.

He sure is cute.

And then we came home and I wiped up puppy poo from the puppy's ass and the floor because when she went out to do her thing, the poo got stuck on her fur like a dingleberry and then she decided to come into the house and just drag her ass along the floor in the living room.

And I had to wrangle her in my lap so I could wipe her ass. Even the cat looked at me with a look of disgust and disbelief.

On Saturday, Morgan and I both spent the day doing Murphy's alleycat, enduro race thing, without kids.

It was fun.

It was 90 miles and checkpoints and beer and mixed terrain and maps and climbs and fire roads and single track and poison oak and cars and getting lost and stuff like that.

I didn't finish all 100 miles. I did 52 miles. On my cyclocross bike. On tires pumped to 60 psi so I wouldn't pinch flat. Which was ok going up the trails, but down was a different story. So I let some air out.

There were 3 women, so we decided to just stick together. And after the 4th phone call from Murphy, we told him that we'd be cutting the course - and that he didn't have to keep calling.

32 people started.

I think 7 finished the course in its entirety.

People got lost. Frames broke. Deraillurs broke. People got tired. Flats happened. The course was strayed. Injuries happened.

But amazingly, a single speed finished the entire thing and a road bike finished the entire thing.

And first place was a tie between four.

And after we finished we ate and drank and stayed till almost midnight. Because we had no kids with us.

And my sweet husband is putting his first place prize on one of my bikes.

Getting Ready For Cross Season

2008-07-16T07:08:00.000-07:00

Uh, yeah.

Yesterday, I was trying to figure out where to send my kids to camp for the rest of summer and I realized that cyclocross season kind of starts soon.

As I was looking at the calendar I noticed that there's a race towards the end of August. And then in September, it's on.

Which means, maybe I should start training a bit, maybe.

Maybe.

For me that means maybe taking a few spin classes at lunch each week. And working from home once a week with a 'cross lunch ride sandwiched in. And a glass of wine only on Wednesday nights and Friday nights and maybe Saturday nights, but definitely not Monday nights.

It's a few commute rides to and fro work each week and maybe a lunch ride mid-week in the city across the bridge. And it's doing laundry only on Sundays and Wednesdays. And a few runs here and there. And some deep knee bends each day to pick up puppy poo. And probably a long ride on the weekend. And not cleaning the toilets. And no more eating thin mints.

That's it in a nutshell. My secret to mediocrity. The official cyclocross training plan of a 40 year old mom.

But this year I'm actually adding in a few other new things. I think they'll be the key to my secret success.

I'm running up all three flights of stairs - up out of the BART (the subway) stations and up all the stairs to the third floor where I work, bike on back and one handed, left hand gently gliding along the railing so as not to fall. Pumping it along, giving me the correct momentum to beat the escalator walkers.

And while this may not be an official part of the training plan, I think it's safe to say that waking up three times a night to shake Morgan awake to take the dog outside to pee and poo (because it's not my dog) will give me the extra ornery crispiness around the edges to beat out those wimpy little 35 year olds and their hangovers come smack down time.

I should package it up and sell it.

Wild Kingdom

2008-07-07T22:25:00.000-07:00

I'm too tired to explain it, but now that Morgan actually has a blog, they'll actually be another side to all my tall tales.

Which could be bad and good.

This puppy has the shortest attention span ever I think. I don't remember my labs ever being like this. And there are periods of pure craziness where you can't leave her alone for a second. And the chewing. And the poor cat.

And that's all I can say right now.

Because the process of getting up every few hours at night to wake Morgan up to take her outside to pee (because it's his dog, not mine) and the cleaning up of all the poo in the garden that I just spent the last 6 months working on.

And the cleaning up of the pee and poo in the house which she always does, right after spending an hour goofing around outside, and the waking up at 5am to ride my bike to work, so I can get there at 6am.

Well, it's making me tired just thinking about it.

But it's summer and the weather is perfectly warm and I'm riding my bike to work and she sure is cute, isn't she?

The Sport of Bike Commuting

2008-06-29T18:59:00.000-07:00

Last week, I rode my bike to and fro work each day during the first week of the new job.

And as we all know, the first week of a new job is always a little confusing; the figuring out of the personalities and the work load and the grooves of the office atmosphere.

You're unsure of it all.

Where should I have lunch and what should I eat, where is the gym and where can I park my bike? Where will I ride at lunch?

But even more confusing during that first week of uncertainty is figuring out the bike commute to and from.

It's the riding your bike through downtown San Francisco, on Market street part. And the riding your bike through downtown Oakland on Broadway part. And the riding your bike up the long steady hills with a 10 pound bag of your days clothes on your back - to get back home after working an 8 hour day part.

Commuting by bike through two major downtown urban cities is a sport all on it's own.

It's not the same as the long leisurely ride to work I used to do once a week. The one where I'd rarely encounter another rider let alone vehicle. The one where I'd ride along the gentle wetlands of the bay listening to happy sounds and singing to myself and waving hi at those I did see.

No, this is a real sport. One where you dodge obstacles that are out to GET you and stuff. And you're OUT there riding and trying to figure out how to ride it all smooth and fast and not get hit and not flip people off. And since you're in downtown Oakland you've got to also keep it real and stuff. Because that's the name of the game in Oakland. Oaktown, keeping it real. And stuff.

It's all CrAZy and shit.

And then there's SF. Market street is filled with trolleys and buses and bike messengers and cars and homeless people and bike lanes that seem to suddenly disappear into right hand turn only lanes with bus stops thrown in the middle here and there. And trolley tracks that'll suck your wheel quickly inside if you look away, even for a split second. And at each block, just as you start to settle into your pedaling rhythm, the light will inevitably turn red and then you're stopping before you can even shift.

In the evenings, from work, I make my way down Market street to the ferry terminal. The ferry that's full of working professionals. The ones who wear tennis shoes with their skirts, and ties with their jackets. The ones who get on and walk straight for the bar to order their after work cocktails and then slowly make their way to the top of the boat where they sit and sip and the wind tosses their hair and their voices carry out onto the bay while they chat with all the others.

I usually perch my bike in the rack towards the back of the boat and make my way to the top, carefully so as not to slip off the stairs while clickity clacking in my cleats.

Up there I eat my after work snacks and stare at the city as we float away, watching my thoughts disappear into the wind. And once in a while another rider will ask me about my route and we'll chat strategy.

Once we dock in Oakland, I ride from the ferry onto Broadway and straight through downtown. I ride as fast as I can, trying to dodge it all. Away and around and in between the buses and the cars and the pedestrians who jump out in front of me.

I'm starting to understand after a week of doing this - that you have to be constantly ON. There's no daydreaming or cruising along or forgetting where you're going. It's a high intensity, sensory overload, dodging things constantly type of thing. You're cranked on, volume up all the way.

And then I'm on Grand Avenue with the nice clean wide bike lanes, where I can cruise for a while on auto pilot and gaze a little at the shirtless fit men, running along Lake Merritt. But only for a few minutes, until the bike lane turns into a right hand turn only lane. And I have to race across two wide lanes of fast car traffic, who are all racing each other to get towards the freeway. I'm racing to get to the far right hand lane so I can stay out of every one's way.

And then the bike lane turns into a freeway entrance and cars to the left of me are turning right in front of me to get onto the freeway.

Once I'm through that mess, and away from the down towns and the obstacle courses and the ferries and the trolley tracks and the on ramps and the buses, well then, next comes the climb. The 45 minutes up to the ridge in the hills climb. The climb that becomes a climb where you have to stand for long stretches at a time because it's too steep to just ride it with a bag full of clothes on my back from a day of work.

And then finally, I'm up there, riding within the trees with the smell of redwoods and eucalyptus and pine and jasmine and lavender and I can finally relax for a few miles. And take a few deep breaths.

And then I'm home.

Downieville, Clampett Style

2008-06-24T07:15:00.000-07:00

We spent three days up at Downieville this past weekend. We loaded it all up and took off Thursday night. And true to our nature, we arrived at a little after midnight and set up our tents in a full moon.

When we were kids, we went on a lot of road trips. Our vacations were never luxurious. They were the outdoorsy, backpacky, camp type, waterskiing, houseboating, biking type, loading up the car type things. After a while my mom stopped coming to the camping type ones. She got tired of the whole tent and dirt thing.

But we kept doing them anyway. Dad was always willing to pack up and go and usually it was with a bunch of other families whose mom's had gotten sick of the camp style vacations as well.

Just the dads and the kids and camping and budweiser and "the Eagles" and chaos. I still sing that song, Desperado to myself every time I go camping.

Back then, our station wagon didn't have a big safari type rack on top like we have on our truck now. But that didn't stop my dad. He'd tie it all up on top anyway, Clampett style. And then we'd take off.

And on just about every single trip - on the way up to Tahoe or Yosemite or Nevada City, something would fall off the roof onto the freeway.

And we'd all sit quietly in the station wagon and watch our dad, running along the side of the freeway gathering our tent poles and freeze dried food and pillows, muttering to himself. And then we'd have to sit with whatever had fallen, in our laps, for the rest of the way.

And then we'd get finally make it up to the camp spot and it would be 11pm, and dad would put up the tent in the dark. And it'd take an hour because back then, well, you remember - all those tent poles you had and none of them came attached like nowadays.

All all the other dads would stand around and heckle my dad and eventually they'd pitch in and help.

Nothing fell off our roof on our trip. And it only took about 15 minutes to get our tents up in the dark. We work like ninjas.

And I rode Downieville for my first time. And fell in love with it. 20 miles of almost ALL downhill with a rare climb is like art. It was one of those perfect rides, where you ride almost all of it, creek crossings and baby heads and bridges and cliffs and all. And you smile hard while you ride it.

I'm Practicing

2008-06-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

I got up kind of early and did a road ride yesterday. I figured I should start getting up early and practicing some early morning riding.

It was hot.

I did a little loop around here that we call the pinehurst loop. It's a favorite during hot weather. You're down in the canyon with all the pretty trees and it's nice and cool.

It wasn't early, early. It was an 8:30 a.m. ride. But that's early for me nowadays. Lately I don't get going on the bike till 11 a.m. or noon, after working on my part time gig.

I forgot how many more people are out riding in the morning. Aha, I thought, here they all are.

And then I spent the rest of the day at school, listening to a poetry slam, eating potlucked lunches, having cake, watching balloon tossing, saying goodbyes and so on. At the end of the day, we went home with a years worth of papers and stuff - it being the last day of school and all.

It's officially summer vacation here.

So in celebration of summer vacation, I decided to cook dinner. I'm not one of those who really likes to cook a lot. I will and I do because that's what moms do - but if I can get out of it I will. But I did, since it's now summer and all.

And I drank a can of budweiser while I was making dinner, because that's all we had down in the garage fridge.

And then the oven caught on fire.

And I realized I might be terrible in an emergency situation. Much like how I often stare at the toilet overflowing (i say often, because it's an event that occurs often in a household with children) in disbelief, I did the same with the oven while on fire.

At first I thought the oven light was on. And I looked in to see if the stuff I was cooking was cooking ok. And it took a few seconds to register that what I was seeing was fire. So I opened the oven and stared some more. And I was on the phone at the time, and had to tell the person I was talking to that I had to go and then I put the phone on the cradle.

And after staring some more and still seeing flames, I called Morgan. Who was in the shower having just arrived home from his bike ride. And he came out and put it out.

And then I said that I think we need to clean the oven.

At least I was calm. That would probably help in an emergency.

the Sweet Spot

2008-06-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

I landed a full time gig yesterday. That's what I'm going to call my job(s) from now on, gigs. I think it sounds better that way. I have the cyclocross mag gig and also, now, a regular full time gig.

And I can ride my bike to it. I don't have to drive at all. No driving. NO DRIVING! I keep thinking about that part - riding my bike to work, every day. Every, EVERY day. It makes me happy. The job makes me happy too. It's a fun, creative, interesting environment. And there's a dog who hangs out in the office. And I can ride my bike to work.

Here's how it happened.

Last week on one of those perfect long rides, the kind where you have enough time to figure out how you're going to save the world and tell everyone you know how much you love them, I decided to start my own contracting business. I had the business plan all mapped out in my head and it made perfect sense. And I knew who I was going to contact to start the work rolling.

So I did. And he was game.

And then I decided I'd start contacting some others and start focusing even more on this game plan. So I continued on. And while researching, I found this company in SF that was already doing what I was starting to contact contacts about doing - but targeting the opposite type of the business. So I contacted him and asked him if he wanted to hire me. And he replied - that he wasn't really looking for anyone right now, but that he'd be interested in talking to me.

And then, he did a search on me.

And read my blog.

Gulp.

And found the very post that I'd found when I'd searched on myself, pretending to be some prospective employer. The one about weiner mints and dildos and so forth. He mentioned this in the email he sent back to me - those words. Actually, I think he called them dick tacs. You know, like tick tacs?

And then he decided he really did want to talk to me. And we did, last week.

And yesterday, after we met, we decided that we'd work together. And he hired me. And that was that. And so now I have a week and a half of free time, before I start working again, to mess around.

I'm in the sweet spot.

I think I'll try doing a crazy ass epic ride every day next week. And then we'll cap it off with a weekend of camping and riding at downieville.

And then I'll get on my bike and ride it to work on the first day of my full time gig.

Ridingcations

2008-06-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

Morgan's on a mancation.

You know, where a bunch of men get together and go on a little vacation together.

I was going to go on a ladycation later in June, but it turns out that the ladycationers are heading to the same place we were thinking about going camping at as a family. So now I'll just camp there with the family and meet up with the ladycationers to ride one day.

This weekend's mancation and the later on, ladycation weekend and the camping weekend are all ridingcations. They're mountain bike ridingcations, because that's all we do on vacations - is ride mostly. And camp. And swim in rivers.

We even did that on our honeymoon. We rode and camped and camped and rode. We rode a tandem bike across the desert for two weeks with all our stuff, stuffed on our bike. Some day I'll write about it, after I recover from the memory.

Anyway, it's up in Downieville this weekend, the mancation is.

I noticed when I was brushing my teeth to go to bed, that Morgan had forgotten his toothbrush and hadn't taken the toothpaste. And it made me ponder what happens on mancations.

Probably stuff like not brushing teeth. And sitting around in your bike shorts for a long time after you ride.

I asked Morgan to be careful. This group of mancationers is from Big Wednesday, which is another night ride Morgan does once in a while on Wednesday nights on the other side of the Bay.

But Big Wednesday's don't sound as tame as the Thursday Night Ride. They're hard core. It usually takes him a few days to recover from a Big Wednesday. His eyes seem a little crazy after he returns from one. All crazy eyed and shit.

Both these rides deserve some capital letters, but I think Big Wednesday might even deserve an exclamation point.

The nice thing about Morgan being gone is that I don't have to lift the piles of unfolded, but clean laundry off the bed and onto the den futon. Instead I just move the piles over to his side of the bed. And then there's a narrow sliver on my side to slip in and go to sleep in.

The Art of Riding Slow

2008-06-02T21:12:00.000-07:00

On our sunday ride, I believe I was the slowest.

They all complained that they were sick, or had just raced and won the previous day, or raced at the track a few nights before, or hadn't been riding in months, or that their legs were heavy from the big ride the day before, or they had the flu. But they all zipped up that god damn hill.

I warned them that I'd be the slowest because, well, I didn't have an excuse at all.

I just said I was slow. And I didn't feel like I had to back it up in anyway. I like saying that on rides sometimes. They wait for you to say why, but you don't and then they stare at you with anticipation and you just smile.

There's no excuse for me nowadays.

I'm slow because I'm not working and I'm slow because I'm petting my cat a lot and I'm slow because I'm gardening a lot and I'm slow because I'm spending Friday nights having cocktails at soccer practice and because I haven't shaved my legs in a week or maybe because I have red hair. Or I'm slow because I'm slow.

So yeah, you're listening to me complain about having too much time on my hands and lolly gagging around a lot in it.

Onto more exciting things...

I landed a part time gig with Cyclocross Magazine. I'm very excited. I mean come on, a gig with a magazine in the cycling discipline that I dig the most?! What the hell! THAT'S CRAZY! They must be CRAZY.

But it's true! And there's CRAZY potential. So watch out!

There are times in my life, when I'm hanging around, maybe racing at a cyclocross race or on a mtb ride, or in the middle of that perfect ride when I'm not slow or flipping my husband off while I'm laying on the couch and he asks me to get up and make dinner or when we're camping and sitting around the campfire late at night with a bunch of fun people and I think to myself, Where's the adult here? Who's in charge? How is it that I'm allowed to run around like this having such a good time?

It's CRAZY.

So what if I'm slow right now, it's still fun. And besides it's almost cyclocross season.

Laying It Out For All To See and Touch and Feel

2008-05-29T12:07:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to figure out if I should do this for some time now. I've been vacillating about how it would appear or what people would think.

Would I appear desperate? Shallow? Silly? Short? Without makeup? Food on my chin? Spinach in my teeth?

But then I remembered what I'd written here, on this blog, about the time I saw my parents doing you know what while I was secretly waiting for Santa. Or the time I saw Mrs. Dolan. Or the time I put on my glasses so I could see what the guy looked like who was watering the lawn naked. Or all the other times I was embarrassed because I came in last in a race or something.

And then I did a search on my name, to see what prospective employers might see - and I found Katie Kelly's blog with my name and some other word things that certain kinds of prospective employers might find, uh, well, you know.

And I realized that it's all almost certainly, already out there. I'm out there. And what am I hiding from.

It's so all about the networking.

And I'm passionate about getting my "foot in the door" so to speak, into the industry that I love so much to play in, that cycling/outdoor industry. I've declined jobs over the last few months that weren't in tune with what I wanted or what my lifestyle is about. It's a lot of work to stop mid way through an established career and make a sharp right hand turn.

But I'm dedicated to doing it.

So ...

HERE it is. My RESUME.

Tell someone you know and love, how much you know and love me. Tell them I'm tall and hard working and fun and dedicated and smart and enthusiastic and how I'm just starting to like cats and that I ride my bike to work. And show them my resume.

And I promise I'll love you forever.

Fit As A Fiddle

2008-05-27T20:57:00.000-07:00

You'd think I'd be fit as a fiddle with all this time off from working and all this riding I'm doing, but let me tell you something.

I'm not. I'm not at all.

And at first I was mad at myself. What a waste of time I thought. Why am I not out there training and riding long and hard and eating better. Why am I not working hard to get to that next level. Now's the time and this is my chance and I'm wasting time and well, you know.

It's not that I'm not in decent shape. I'm certainly in decent shape. I'm riding a lot.

But it's that day dreamy kind of riding. The kind where you head out without any destination, just an amount of time, and you ride. And then you come to and you realize you've been riding for two or three hours and you missed that turn back there that you were thinking about earlier. The one that would have taken you out the other way.

It's the kind of riding where you go down into the garage and you start to put your stuff in your pockets and you still haven't decided what bike to ride.

Maybe you close your eyes before you get in there and whatever type of shoe you happen to grab matches the kind of bike you ride that day. Or maybe you're wearing your old pink kit, so you have to ride the pink lobster.

The same thing is happening with my running lately. I figured I'd get some long endurance runs in there while I was hanging around. Because sometimes you get a little more bang for your buck when you run long on the trails. You can't really coast and it's harder to rest. And it seems like all the really good runners do quite well racing cross.

So I'll head out a few times a week and run and run and run. And sometimes while running, I sort of think I'm on my bike. I'll run on the same trails and I'll follow the same lines and pretty soon I'm way out there and I can't remember where I was going and then I remember I'm running.

I get lost.

And only recently, I realized, that I shouldn't feel guilty about this - this dreamy kind of riding and running. Because, forever, there's been so much structure in my life. Structure and schedules and meetings and deadlines and games and clock watching and route awareness and bed times and all that stuff.

Maybe I'm alright after all.

noises

2008-05-22T23:56:00.000-07:00

I was just about to go downstairs to tell the thursday night riders to be quiet and stop whatever that hammering noise is that they're doing, when I realized that it was the cat heaving and barfing again.

He must of eaten some sort of party glitter string. That seems to be the only time he barfs - when he eats party glitter string.

I'm wondering if I should just leave it out there, wherever it is.

But what if it's on the carpet. Or what if it's in the hallway and Morgan steps on it in the dark of the night.

Worse yet, what if I step on it in the middle of the night and slip in it or something.

Speaking of cat barf...

The other day during one of my job interviews I was sucking on a weiner mint. And the whole time I was talking to the woman all I could think about was that I was sucking on a weiner mint at a job interview.

I wanted to offer her a weiner mint, but it's so inappropriate.

Would you like a weiner mint? Be careful they're pretty spicy. I can never finish mine, I wanted to say.

It was like that same feeling I have sometimes when I'm in a long line somewhere out and about and nothing's moved for quite some time and I start to imagine myself screaming at the top of my lungs and spinning around and around in circles really fast. And maybe throwing things while I spin. Maybe throwing mints or something.

That's how I felt about the weiner mints. I wanted so bad to say something about it, to offer her one. To spin around in her office.

But instead I smiled and sucked and answered her questions about search engine optimization, sure, we worked on that kind of stuff and I was in charge of blah, blah, blah I said as I sucked.

And then I went home and rode my bike.

Spicy Mints

2008-05-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

One time, back in the 90's, I decided to move out of my studio apartment in Oakland and into a larger apartment sharing situation in the city.

So I moved my stuff out of the studio with the help of my dad and into his truck and over the bridge into the city.

Half way through moving, I realized there were a few things that I had forgotten to pack, that were in special hiding places that I didn't want my dad to know I had, so I stuffed them them into other various top secret places so he wouldn't find them and so I would remember to grab them on the last trip out.

And of course, I forgot about them.

The woman who was moving into the studio after me was a friend of a friend of a friend or something. And she knew some of my friends and so forth. And she was kind of a bitch.

The top secret places I'd put these items were quite good hiding places, so I knew she wouldn't find them right away - but in time, she'd find one or two and well, then she'd tell her friends who would tell my friends and gee, it'd be embarrassing.

So after realizing I'd forgotten these things, I called my other friend who lived across the hall and was friends with this new tenant and I asked him to sneak in and get my dildos. But not to let her see him.

I needed him to sneak in and steal them back for me. Not because I wanted them back, but because I didn't want her finding them and then telling everyone what kind of things I had. She was that kind of person.

I didn't want to be embarrassed.

So Dave snuck in and stole them back. And a few weeks later I got a package in the mail at my new apartment - with no return address. And when I opened it up, in front of my new four roommates, there they were - my sparkly blue and pink dildos, staring out at us.

Which brings me to now. And how I was in Good Vibrations the other day, buying stuff for the school auction cocktail party that we threw last weekend. We gave out goody bags with some silly things in them, like mints in the shape of wieners. And motion lotion and scratch and do cards and stuff like that.

And how I wasn't embarrassed to go in and grab a shopping basket and look around and ask how big the wiener mints really are or where the you know what rings were and if the cheap ones were just as good as the expensive ones.

Boy, times have changed.

back to basics

2008-05-06T21:00:00.000-07:00

I've been SICK for the past week and a half. So I never made it down to wildflower. I didn't swim in the relay race. I didn't race. I couldn't breath. I snortled and sniffled and sucked on throat candies.

Luckily my relay team found a replacement.

It was a big let down. It's a bummer to train for something specific for two or three months and then have nothing and feel like crap.

At soccer "cocktail" practice on Friday night I drank my cocktail in silent sadness. I shed a few "cocktail tears".

Oh well.

On Saturday night everyone was gone. I'd organized my trip to wildflower well enough that each child was sleeping away somewhere. And Morgan was away racing in Cool, California. So I had the night to myself.

I watched Celebrity rehab and drank tea and went to bed at 9pm.

Time to get back on the bike and start doing some racing again.

Lauren Haughey - Resume

2008-05-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

Lauren Haughey
Oakland, California 94602
510.418.0124
lauren_haughey@yahoo.com

S K I L L S

Eight years of focused online product merchandising strategy and development
Experience hiring and managing groups of buyers, merchandisers and creative teams
Buying, planning, forecasting and inventory control logistics experience
Strong negotiation and communication skills
15 years experience sourcing promotional products, overseas and domestically
Broad experience successfully communicating with software developers, business owners, clients and executives
Excellent computer skills; including basic HTML, Photoshop and Blue Martini content management software including custom add-on pricing engine design experience
Experience with site analysis tools, custom reporting and bug tracking software
A passion for the internet and for the customer
A creative, strategic thinker that is solution minded

E X P E R I E N C E

BRANDERS.COM, San Mateo, CA
E-commerce Merchandising Manager, May 2000 to February 2008

Developed and executed online product merchandising strategies that maximized sales, profit margin, visual presentation and customer satisfaction; that drove + 45% year over year growth as the first global B2B brand distributor in an $18 B category.
Managed and maintained online product data and content of Branders.com and all micro-sites; Published new and updated product merchandise including pricing, product pulls, out-of-stock, decoration methods, search database maintenance, customer reviews, holiday and theme updates, image uploads and marketing initiatives to product detail pages, assortment pages and homepages
Directed and implemented product strategy and assortment mix for the Branders.com website and all product micro-sites and their respective product categories.
Improved product placement for sales and margin performance; increased conversion and average order size through online merchandise management of best sellers, product promotions, exclusive pricing, up sell and cross sell opportunities resulting in a + 45% increase in sales volume each year from 2000 to 2008
Drove strategy, executed daily planning, forecasting, buying, analyzing and distribution of catalog portfolio
Selected and managed all suppliers; Identified and sourced all new suppliers and product for Branders.com and all micro-sites. Developed mutually beneficial relationships with top suppliers, enabling significant margin gains and a 50% increase in average order size from 2003 to 2007
Negotiated new and existing contractual agreements with suppliers: price, rebate terms, freight allowance, supplier performance and discount structures. Led ongoing quarterly negotiations of new and existing contractual agreements to achieve + 22% increase in company profitability from 2001 to 2006
Performed quarterly competitive price analyses to identify trends and growth opportunities. Implemented site improvements and pricing strategies based on results. Managed the updating of over 16,000 product pricing changes on a yearly basis
Scheduled and managed photography and graphic production for Branders.com and all new micro-sites and product launches. Consistently exceeded monthly production goals

HALO MARKETING, San Francisco, CA
Catalog Development Manager; Corporate Fulfillment, June 1998 to April 2000

Managed project launches and production activities for print and web promotional merchandise catalogs
Supervised a project team of 10 – 15 people including merchandisers, research coordinators, inventory buyers, media coordinators, internal and outside creative, photographers, sales and sales support to create and maintain project schedules
Communicated with agencies; photo studios, copywriters, designers and vendors, printers, mailers in the coordination of print projects. Met schedules and stayed under budget on all running catalog projects
Coordinated maintenance of customer web catalogs with IT and Operations staff
Managed the financial success of each catalog by meeting sales, gross margin, and inventory turn goals
Initiated, wrote and negotiated contractual agreements with clients for one and two-year term fulfillment catalog programs

HALO MARKETING, Hayward, CA
Operations Manager: Fulfillment, Direct Mail and Catalog, February 1996 to June 1998

Directed and trained a staff of 15 for a $20 million a year sales volume while developing and implementing policies and procedures for sourcing product, inventory control, purchasing, accounts receivable, warehouse production and customer service
Managed internal production and servicing functions involved in the production and distribution of promotional merchandise fulfillment
Interacted with company’s top clients including Pepsi-Cola, Sony, Panasonic, Ernst & Young and Countrywide to develop fulfillment strategies tailored to their exact needs
Led and implemented integration work plans needed to assimilate an acquired company, including inventory control, purchasing, accounts receivable, warehouse production, customer service and data migration processes
Assisted in the development and maintenance of future acquisition and integration strategies

HALO MARKETING, Hayward, CA
Buyer/Inventory Manager: Catalog Fulfillment, May 1993 to February 1996

Purchased inventory of all raw and finished goods while successfully negotiating with vendors to reduce purchasing costs and increase profits
Evaluated sales trends, inventory turns, and profitability while implementing adjustments to variables such as purchasing levels, pricing and liquidation, and allocation strategies to achieve financial goals
Produced and analyzed statistical data to clients and internal departments to increase profitability, capture demographic information and develop strategic direct mail campaigns
Developed and implemented print catalog merchandising plans which included attending trade shows, researching new product, client presentations and initiating inventory levels for all new print catalog programs

E D U C A T I O N
California State University of San Francisco
San Francisco, California
BA., History

And We Were Swingin'

2008-04-29T19:38:00.000-07:00

I'm doing the swim leg of the relay at wildflower this weekend.

I hope I don't drown. Or panic.

I've been swimming a lot, getting ready. Swimming in the pool. Swimming miles and miles and miles. Doing lap meditations.

But only one open water swim so far. And on Sunday I'll do number two.

I want it to be over with. It's hard enough to ride your bike a lot, but trying to get the bike miles in and swim a lot is confusing. Every time I swim I think I should be riding. And every time I ride I think I should be swimming. And then sometimes when I run I feel happy.

The thing that I don't like about open water swimming is the unknown factor. It's dark and scary. You can't see anything. And you have to put your head up to make sure you're going straight. But I feel like I lose time that way, so I keep going and then I see I'm off course and I end up zig zagging.

And then there's the creature from the black lagoon. What if it's down there below me, just following me along.

And the water is cold.

Wish me luck.

It's Loud in Here

2008-04-20T06:23:00.000-07:00

I'm here, hiding in the back room perusing the web while 6 pre-pubescent boys are out in the family room discussing guitar hero and legos very loudly and it's only 6:30am.

At 6am I was jarred awake by Green Day.

Last night, prior to sleeping, I could hear them in the den while they were lying in their sleeping bags - trying to get each other to confess who was in love with who at school.

It's spring and they're fifth graders and love is in the air. But only after they'd played combat mission with the nerf guns and nuclear lego war and talked about how the moon has a man in it with a bubble shooter and a bomb launcher and a fully maneuverable tank canon and deactivated minds and spybots and shark poison and so forth.

Love and war.

And at times the excitement grows to a level of smack down pillow fighting and while I can't make out the exact conversation, I can hear single words that stand out like fuck and shit and ass and fart and "she wants to make out with YOU".

But at least now I feel like I'm on the upside. It's morning and the sun's up and there's only about four hours left. It's like 24 hour racing - if I can just hang on a little bit longer, I'll be done soon and I'll feel so good that we did it.

And Morgan, why yes Morgan - the one who's suposed to be with me in love and war, well he's gone. He seems to AlWAyS have a very early, epic, far away, important ride or race - that he just CAN'T miss - every single time we have a slumber-birthday party at our house. He's gone by 7am.

Even the cat is hiding underneath the covers of my bed where none of them can find him. Very, very still like possum. I'm about to join him.

I Got Nothing

2008-04-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

... but morgan's got a good race report from his 8 hour race. He's getting ready for the transrockies.

And tomorrow I'm doing my first open water swim, so that might be something humorous to write about in a few days, if I don't drown.

And finally, I figured out a decent mtb race calendar for the summer months to help get me in shape for cross season.

And I started wearing contacts last week. They have green sparkles in them.

And that's, that.

Bikestyle

2008-04-01T21:34:00.000-07:00

I like everything that has to do with this culture of bike I whirl around in.

Not only are bikes fun to ride, they're good for health and they're good for transportation.

And then there's the bike art and bikes that are art pieces and art that is for bikes and bikes that are art sculptures and antique art pieces. And my dad Art who taught me how to ride a bike and his dad Art who taught him how to ride a bike.

And then there's the friend part. You gravitate towards friends who ride bikes. You make friends with people who race bikes. You hang out with families who ride bikes. Your kids become friends with the kids of the friends you have who ride bikes because you hang out all day at the races on Sundays all fall and winter and they all run around in kid packs.

And bike moms are fun. They can ride in the middle of the day with me and then there are the other bike ladies who like to ride long and talk about everything under the sun. It's bike therapy.

And then there's the dirt trails in the trees that swoop and whirl and make you feel like you're dancing with the trees. And the days when you get to ride with your husband and you get along perfectly. And the nights when you sneak around on the trails on the bike and eat chips and drink beer.

And I like the way you see so many other riders out on the road on a day like an easter sunday when there's no racing so everyone's out riding and no one's really out driving and you stop and say hi to everyone you know.

And I like bike blogs where you get to know other bike blog people and then when you meet them for the first time at a race or a ride or gold sprints, you say oh yeah, I know you and you're already sorta friends.

And bike races are fun, especially cyclocross, where everyone cheers for everyone.

But even circuit races and crits are fun to be at - even when you have to course marshall at the DHL driveway and help maneuver a 16 wheeler across the the circuit course while a pit bull is running down the middle of the course towards you because its owner is driving along on the other side of the cones and says he's out taking the dog for a walk by letting him run down the street while he drives a long and then you yell at him to get the dog and he decides to pull a u-turn across the course and you know you only have about 2 minutes to get them all off the course before 75 racers come zooming down the hill.

And then the lady in the SUV bmw pulls a u-turn. And after you get her all situated you see that your cheetos have spilled all over the road.

And even on days when you're feeling too crappy to do the dishes or go to work or get up off the couch because you feel so achy because you think you might be getting sick, you can muster up just enough energy to go for a really slow and spinny road ride and feel like crap still, but when you get back you do feel a little better and happier, kind of.

But especially the rides along the ridge when it's spring and you can smell the jasmine and the roses and the bbq along the way.

And roller racing is fun even though the 20 seconds you raced felt more like 20 minutes and it gives you the same feeling as if someone punched you in the gut. But it was worth it just to see almost naked men on stage in spotlights, racing bikes.

And riding any bike behind Morgan is nice because he has a nice butt.

Bikes are fun.

Whoa There Nelly

2008-03-28T09:34:00.000-07:00

Saturday night, I'm in on some fun roller racing with a fun team of girls from Team Oakland Fun Town. Fun, because prior to spinning at 150+ rpm on a stationary bike with people standing right in front of you downing beers and screaming for you to go faster and faster and faster, you have to chug a beer as fast as you can before you start that 150+ rpm sprint.

I'll need to wear my hair up in prom style so that no one has to hold it out of my face afterwards while I'm barfing.

It's spring break around here this week, which means less riding and more kid stuff. And since it's the first time, I think in forever, that I'm the one hanging around at home with the kids while other parents are working, we have lots of their kids here too.

We've been hiking and carnivaling and swimming and playing guitar hero and shooting each other with nerf guns and playing club penguin and painting and putting together robots and legos and...

I could never be a teacher.

A week is fine, kind of. But anything more and well, you can imagine.

The other night Morgan gently brought up that he thought I was drinking a little two much - tossing back two glasses of wine every night, instead of one a few times a week. And I agreed. And I thought, it's not racing season for me, I'm not working so I don't have to get up at 5am every day, the weather is great and I have 5 or 6 kids with me all day for 6 days.

Whoa Nelly.

So yesterday he worked from home so I could go out for a three hour ride. And afterwards I brushed my hair for the first time in 5 days.

Large And In Charge

2008-03-24T22:01:00.000-07:00

The other night, my sister was feeding her kids lasagna for dinner.

The middle one will usually eat lasagna if she doesn't know it's lasagna, so when she asked what was for dinner earlier in the night my sister said noodles and sauce with cheese and meat.

And so she served them the lasagna and went back to the kitchen to get the milk and heard the three of them chatting quietly. And then all hell broke loose and the middle one started screaming and yelling.

MOM! You tricked me. This is VAGINA, not noodles and I TOLD YOU BEFORE THAT I WON'T EAT THIS VAGINA! You said we were having noodles and this is VAGINA! I'm not eating this vagina! No way. I HATE VAGINA! Take this vagina away!

And as my sister walked back into the room to calm the middle one down, the older one Alex, the7 year old boy, had this wonderful look of horror and disgust on his face.

Which sort of reminded me of Lulu's pig weiner story and Sam's getting puberty and some of the things that are so confusing when you're small.

Like when I was about seven or eight and I was hanging out with my grandparents one summer and we were gassing up the old Cadillac at the local gas and sip - before hitting the road to visit universal studios or Disneyland or something (they lived down in LA) like that.

We had all the windows down in the car and Poppa got out and started filling up. The gas smell was gross and I asked Nana if she would roll up the windows because it was so stinky. And I probably pretended that I was dying and suffocating.

She told me that I shouldn't be worrying about the gas smell, that I should just deal with it and besides it was good for me.

And so for a few years after that, every time we went to a gas station, I'd roll down my car window and sniff real hard to get all that yummy gas smell into my lungs. Until the day my dad asked me what the hell I was doing and when I told him, he mumbled about jesus christ and his goddamn mother in law.

And then he explained sarcasm to me.

Yet it was my dad who was the one who used to say to me - whenever I complained, to just be quiet and stop complaining, besides it's good for you and it'll put hair on your chest anyway.

And yes, for a time, I wished for a lot for hair on my chest so people would know I was tough.

And then there was that term play mate that really confused me. Sometimes mom would only let one play mate come over at a time - especially if she was cranky. And I just didn't get why SHE wanted play dough at our house. And why only one piece of play dough at a time?

What the hell was she talking about anyway.

She used to also tell me that if you blew all the pedals off of a daffodil, it would make you have to go to pee really bad. And so on the way home from school, I'd always watch my friends pick the daffodils and blow and know that in a few minutes they'd be running home as fast as they could so they wouldn't pee in their pants. Haha on them, I'd think.

It happened to David Atherton one time. I saw him blowing the pedals off on the way to school one day. And then he pee'd in his chair at school. I saw the puddle on the floor below his chair - which sucked, because I'd had a big second grade crush on him prior. And the peeing ruined it.

And then there was the thing about how flip flops would make your big toe spread crooked if you wore the flip flops too much. So at night, I'd tape my toes together so they'd move back while I slept.

And what IS the difference between vanilla and banana. They always sounded exactly the same to me and they're the same colors anyway.

And people wonder why I'm so silly.

It's Tuesday

2008-03-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

I rode with Morgan today. We do that every so often you know.

About every six months or so. Only when the stars are aligned and he needs to do a nice easy ride and there are no kids hanging around.

So we rode.

And on the way up tunnel, the nice steady climb loop thing that we do out here, we chatted about my unemployment status. He wanted to know what I would do in my next job that would make me more valuable as an employee. How I could capitalize on my strengths. He suggested maybe an MBA or something.

And I told him I didn't want to talk about it. It hurt my head too much.

But I knew what he was getting at.

He wants me to make a lot of money so that he can stay home and be a house husband. So that he can hang out and ride bikes and garden and drive on field trips and walk around in the house naked.

No way Jose'. That's my job now.

Anyway, as we were chatting and riding slowly and I was talking about how I just didn't care about corporate America right then, and how I don't see how I could go to school and work and ride and do mom stuff without prozac, I heard this whizzing sound coming up behind us and I thought it was maybe some sort of little Minnie cooper or something.

And then this teeny blur whizzed by us in full on time trial mode, with his black and green ROCK RACING kit and pimped out ROCK RACING bike.

He whizzed by us so fast that it took a few seconds of silent thought for me to get the words from my head out of my mouth. Fast Freddie.

And then I said out loud.

Fab Fast Freddie told me everybody's high
DJ's spinnin' are savin' my mind
Flash is fast, Flash is cool
Francois sez fas, Flashe' no do
And you don't stop, sure shot
Go out to the parking lot
And you get in your car and you drive real far
And you drive all night and then you see a light
And it comes right down and lands on the ground
And out comes a man from Mars
(most lyrics by blondie)

And then, thank god, the conversation about my career was forgotten.

What The?

2008-03-11T20:28:00.000-07:00

It's March already? Jeez, where've I been?

I've been riding around town in my new Oaktown kit a little. Like it?

And, swimming and skiing a little. And gardening and eating thin mints. And riding my single speed. And mountain biking.

And looking for a job.

And thinking.

And stuff.

Go Stuff It

2008-02-29T10:51:00.000-08:00

I have this habit of sometimes stuffing things away. People around here don't really like it. But I don't really care.

Last night they all ganged up on me. Me, the one who cooks them all dinner every night, who makes sure their back packs are ready by the door each morning with their homework and lunches ready, the one who puts their folded clean clothes nicely back in their drawers, the one who hangs their current team kit on wood hangers in their closet, the one who cleans out the damn litter box now that no one will do it because it smells like ass.

Bunch of complainers.

I don't like a lot of stuff. I'm a minimalist. I don't like acquiring a lot of stuff. Too much stuff makes me crazy. Maybe it's a weird tick to have when in just about every other way in my life, I'm a perpetual teenager.

So sometimes, I stuff things away. But it's not like it's gone - it's in the general area of where it should be. Like manuals are filed in the filing cabinet near the manual folder. Receipts are in piles near the desk. All cords for all the power taps, garmins, ipods, sync, cameras and whatever other electronic gadget Morgan happens to be into that month are in two drawers in the office.

Bike clothes are in the bike clothes closet.

And then the legos, which hurt like hell when you step on them in bare feet, those are in his top drawer or his lego buckets.

But apparently yesterday, someone rode his bike at lunch at work and ended up wearing a size small team jersey instead of his usual XL team jersey. I'm surprised he actually got it on his boday.

And then someone else found his newly built star wars lego battle thingamajig in his top drawer in the wrong bucket.

And then someone else complained that she still couldn't find her tooth that I'd miss placed that fell out of her mouth a few weeks ago.

And then they all started in on me.

So then I told them all to shut up and I busted a few karate chop moves on them and grabbed my box of thin mints and my glass of wine and went into the other room and watched jackass. But only after I folded the laundry and made THEM all put it away themselves.

Bunch of big fat whiny babies, that's what they are.

Thin Mints

2008-02-26T13:04:00.000-08:00

I almost couldn't remember my log in here. Sometimes that happens when I try to log into our online bill payment service too. I hate that, because then I usually get locked out after trying 10 times. And then I have to call them and give them my mothers' maiden name and my first pet rabbit's name and so on.

Maybe I should log in to things more.

I've already eaten a whole box of thin mints on my own. And because Morgan makes fun of me about my little stash, now I sometimes go into the food closet and shut the door and eat a few when I don't feel like getting hassled.

I hate girl scout cookie season. Never mind the selling part, it's the eating part. I'm like an alcoholic.

But thank god for the good weather, because now I'm riding some distance again. I'd feel even more guilty for eating all those cookies if I wasn't burning them all off. Yesterday I rode about three hours and then came home at ate some more cookies.

I better go ride now too.

This past weekend I learned how to play poker. Initially I was losing a lot. But then I started winning. After a while I realized bluffing worked. And then after I bluffed a lot, I started getting some really good cards, but they all thought I was still bluffing and then I'd win some more. And I ended up winning a lot.

But I felt a little guilty. And no one seemed quite as happy as me.

I don't think I'd make a good professional poker player. Too much guilt involved.

Ok, Ok, I'll Move It Down

2008-02-19T17:40:00.001-08:00

But things are really boring around here. No cyclocross makes for a dull lifestyle. And I'm certainly not in any shape to race any mountain bike races. I'm trying to get there, but it's slow going.

And really, right now I just don't have any good stories.

So, um.

I guess I could talk about what I did all weekend, but nothing really exciting happened.

We hiked, rode bikes, saw the TOC prologue and had numerous kid sleepovers at our house. It all wiped me out. The hiking and riding and swimming is the easy part. It's all those kids that tire me out.

You know, kids always want something and I get tired of getting it for them so often I just put it all out on the table like a smorgasbord so they can help themselves.

But later, after I come in from weeding or fixing something or reading a book, or just sitting and dozing in the garden chair - everything is everywhere and it's all sticky and goopy and tissues and snots on the floor and smashed crackers on the floor and fizzy water mixed with lemonade and the cat is on the table with his head in someone's milk cup and it's the same karaoke song over and over but they're not really singing into the microphone it's more like this horrible moaning and screaming because boys are chasing and shooting nerf guns and girls and blah, blah, blah.

It's those sticky door knobs that still really gross me out.

And the way my flip flops stick to the floor as I walk across the dining room floor. And why are there blueberries smashed all over the kitchen floor, don't they know that they stain? And how come none of them flush their poops down the toilet. It's like a universal kid rule.

It all makes my head hurt sometimes.

But then sometimes just the littlest thing makes it all ok. The four year old who comes over to me towards the end of the day and says that she LOVES being at our house because it's SO much fun and we have such COOL stuff at our house (specifically) because of the straws they get to use in their drinks.

She says this while she's lovingly fondling her pink straw from which she just sipped her homemade smashed blueberry and sparkling soda drink.

"It's just like being at McDonalds" she then says to me.

That's the ultimate compliment, I think.

Be My Thursday Night Ride Valentines

2008-02-14T20:38:00.000-08:00

It's Thursday night and you know what that means...

Time for them to ride while I sit on the couch and eat my chocolates.

Happy VD!

Little Things

2008-02-11T21:29:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid and we were on some sort of vacation or trip or up at the pool in the summer or at some sort of party and we were right in the middle of enjoying ourselves, my father would pipe up with his "happy place" phrase and say to all of us, I wonder what the poor people are doing now.

And he'd raise his budweiser can or throw out the water ski rope or start down the ski slope or light up his cigar and sort of look out at the horizon as if he were thinking great thoughts. And we all sort of did the same thing and thought our own great thoughts.

Of course, I never really understood what he was saying. It always kind of confused me.

I knew we weren't rich and I didn't think we were that poor. But sometimes I was conflicted about why our electricity and gas got turned off periodically. I mean, weren't people who didn't pay their bills on time poor? So weren't we kind of poor? Although in later years, I learned that too many budweisers lead to many forgotten bills and late payments.

So then why was dad pretending we were so rich if we weren't? Did really poor people not take vacations or drink beer or go swimming or go to parties? And what did all those poor people do while we were taking vacations and having our fun anyway.

As a ten year old it was pretty confusing.

But now it makes much more sense to me - his way of reflecting during one of his perfect moments and how rich he felt in his moment. And how he wanted to share it with us.

And weirdly enough I find myself thinking it to myself sometimes. Like today. While I was riding my bike up Pinehurst. It was nice and warm out and the sun was shining and I hadn't seen a car in over an hour and I hadn't been on a road ride in a few months and it felt nice and I was climbing a steep hill and I was riding because I wanted to and I wasn't in a hurry and the air smelled wonderful.

I was taking my time, enjoying the day and smiling to myself and wondering what the poor people were doing right then.

Another Post About Nothing In Particular

2008-02-08T00:01:00.000-08:00

Next week I start a little training plan for the swim thing I'm doing in May. And I'll start riding some longer miles. I can't remember the last time I used a training plan. I'm thinking it might work this time, maybe, because I have no structure in my life right now.

Maybe a small piece of structure will be good.

But who knows.

Lately I've been doing some long trail runs, with my iPod on, listening to silly stories by Ira Glass and David Sedaris. Sometimes it's just so much easier to put on shorts and running shoes and go run.

People ask me what I'm up to and I tell them nothing. Because really, I'm not doing anything exciting. But when you think about it, I guess I'm doing a little bit of something. A little bit of this and that. And maybe with some structure I'll actually feel like I'm doing something.

At least I'm off of the eating of "hotpockets and drinking lemonade while laying on the couch watching celebrity rehab" kick.

Today we went and planted some willow trees with the 5th grade class. Tuesday we went and visited a museum with the 3rd grade class. Tomorrow I'm working at the science faire. This weekend I'm filling in the forms and figuring out how to get a business license and a taxID and stuff.

And I'm cooking dinners.

But only because Morgan's on that Paleo diet. And let me tell you, what a pain in the ass that diet thing is. It's about going back to cave man times or something and only eating what they blah, blah, blah, blah and no grains and no GRANOLA and no something or other and blah, blah, blah and blah and meat and fish but no rice and no cheerios.

He's also on the no alcohol for the month of February cleanse. Which I find amazing. I tell him that while I'm drinking my glass of red wine with dinner each night. Even more amazing is that all he had at the party we hosted the other night for the Cyclocross World's was Perrier and Salad.

Enough about that and more about the cat.

I like the cat more then I thought I would. I like the way he walks around the house like he owns it. And even more so, I like the way he runs around doing laps through the house and then all of a sudden will lay down on the rug and stretch out and relax - like he's been laying there for hours all non chalant and stuff.

Like he's trying to trick me into thinking he's so cool.

Time for a Bike Ride

2008-02-04T11:46:00.000-08:00

I just spent about 45 minutes filling out the unemployment forms online for unemployment benefits.

And when I hit submit, of course, I got a big fat error message with no confirmation number and a message saying to call in all my information instead.

So, I did. But then at the confirmation message on their phone tree thing after I got all the info in, it told me there were too many calls right now for my claim to be processed and to call back on another day or submit my claim online.

They don't even let you hold even if you want to. Not that I wanted to, but still. You would think for people filing for unemployment, they would let you hold. It's not like we have anything else to do.

So then I went back online and re-did it all and hit submit and still no confirmation number, but then a message appeared saying that it's a duplicate claim and I should therefore call in with my original confirmation number to confirm my processes.

But I have no confirmation number. And I have three processes that took me a long time to do.

The plan today was to file for unemployment and then file our tax return because I think this year we're getting money back and it would be nice to know how much more cushion we have.

But...

I think I'll go for a bike ride instead. And then I'll go make sure my lavender didn't wilt in the frost last night. And then I'll go mop the floor or organize the pots and pan drawer or clean the cat box or go to the dentist or something.

And then I'll try filing for unemployment. Never mind filing the taxes right now.

Mud and Breakfast

2008-01-28T10:53:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the "official" end of the cross season for us. Although I didn't race. I kinda, shoulda. Once I got there, I realized I'd made a giant mistake in not bringing my bike. Morgan had even suggested bringing it "just in case".

And then we got there and I thought, damn, I'm such a moron. I felt like I was at a party and not drinking any alcohol.

Most of the time, I'm not a very serious person. I like to laugh a lot and giggle and look at the absurdity of things around me and make fun of it and myself and others.

And I like to drink at parties.

One time I read a book by the Dali Lama and he suggested that the main goal in your life should be about striving to be happy. Of course, his ideas on how to get there involved a lot of thinking and doing right and being a good person and making others happy to make yourself happy and so forth. He doesn't suggest fucking everyone over to get to your happy place. I think it's a good way to go through life.

Anyway.

So, for breakfast yesterday, at 10am, I had a Guinness. RockLobster Frank was riding his bike around pulling a little cart with beer and he stopped and suggested that Guinness was a good "breakfast" beer and that I should have one. So I did. It made him happy to make me happy about breakfast.

And then I washed Morgan's bike a few times for him and did some bike switching, but it was hard holding the beer and trying to switch out bikes. So RockLobster Ryan helped me a bit. And then he gave me a lesson on how to properly wash a bike for a bike switch.

And then I wandered around chatting with people and heckling racers and that made me happy.

And I was happy to help Morgan. And Ryan made me very happy helping me. And he kept saying it was good practice so he know what he was up for later in the day.

And then one of the Santa Cruz guys gave me a hot dog. He tapped me on the shoulder and said, you should have one of these. They go well with Guinness. So I did.

And then after the women raced, the relay started. There were only four teams - DFL, Team Oakland and SCCCC and one other. And of course, there was some cheating by Team Oakland. Morgan and Thomas re-routed the course so that DFL did an extra tiny loopty loop and in that 30 seconds, Oakland was able to slide over the finish line first.

And the whole time, it rained and rained and rained.

And then we went home.

And Now For Some Bat Talk

2008-01-23T15:23:00.000-08:00

We learned about bats today.

I'm volunteering to drive on all the field trips now since I'm one of those stay at home ladies now. Although I'm not really a lady according to Lulu. Ladies wear high heeled shoes and lipstick and do their hair up and wear dresses. I'm just a woman she tells me. I just do stuff. Women do stuff and ladies get dressed up.

Today we went to the Oakland Museum to the Bat exhibit.

I felt a little sleepy the whole time. They keep it too dark in there.

Except in the bat cave. Yeah, we went through the bat cave. And we met a bat lady, who has live bats that live at her house. She brought some live bats she'd rescued for us to look at. And they were kind of cute.

On the way back to school, the five kids in my car argued about what a "goth" is. Apparently only teenagers are "goth". And they're mean looking. And you're not supposed to look at them too long or you turn to stone. It was all news to me.

Next week I start swimming. It's been a while since I swam. I swam competitively growing up. But now, well, you know. The most I've swum in the last year is during a few hot summer days during the 10 minute adult swim, while stopping every 2 laps to make sure my kids aren't running wild around the pool.

So recently there was a tri-relay team missing a swimmer, so I volunteered to do the swim leg. Now I need to start building some endurance up for the race in May. I'm thinking it'll be good for the lungs and it'll get rid of my tricep flabbers and it'll be good for the start of the summer bikini season.

Yes, those are my reasons.

The only problem is that I'm blind as a bat without glasses. So when I swim I can't see the walls very well and my flip turns are out of wack. Good thing they have those big black lines in the pool. At least I can go straight.

But really my favorite part is getting in the nice warm steamy water on cold rainy days and just swimming and swimming. I swam for a few days during the last rain storm when I didn't want to ride in the rain, and it felt great. Like a nice long stretch.

This is Your Brain on Crack

2008-01-20T21:51:00.000-08:00

I'm sick.

I haven't ridden in three days and I feel like crap and I'm not talking about the cat anymore.

No more cat talk, except for one more thing - that my sister decided she wanted a cat and they went out on Saturday to adopt a cat and went to three different shelters and then apparently when they found the cat they wanted, the lady with the mustache look one look at my sister's two year old kid (and probably the four year old and the seven year old) and said, no, sorry, no cat for you.

And there was crying and stuff.

So then my sister called me when they got home and asked me if I'd go over to the same shelter and adopt the cat. I could hear her husband in the background grumbling about how no one was going to deny him from adopting a cat from that place and how it was the principle of the thing.

My sister whispered into the phone that she didn't even want the damn cat, but it had turned into a "principle" thing.

They wanted me to go down and get the cat for them and pretend I was going to be the owner and adopt it. I said no.

So the next day Bill, my sister's husband, went to a different shelter and adopted a cat by himself. He said it was as it should be. They said, "You want a cat? Great! Here you go." And that was it. And now they're calling him Louis.

Ok, enough about cats.

I sure hope this cold goes away soon. I need to ride my bike.

Just Some Stuff

2008-01-15T21:02:00.000-08:00

I rode trails for a few hours today with Danielle. She's visiting from Michigan - staying with some friends in a warmer climate here in Oakland so she can get some good long base miles in. She was fun to hangout with.

She's PRO, Morgan told me before I'd met her. Me too I said, I'm all about PRO fun and stuff.

I'm not looking for a job this week. I've been doing some swim workouts and running a little and riding a little and gardening and drinking gin and tonics and lolly gagging around. Sometimes I stay in my pajamas until 11am. Sometimes I stay up till midnight watching bad tv. And most days I don't even get my kids up to go to school until 8am, when we have to be there by 8:40am.

I'm even driving kids on field trips and stuff.

Ah yes, the life of a temporary stay at home mom. What should I do today? Eat hot pockets and chicken wings? Listen to my iPod on my mtb ride and ride leisurely? Paint my nails? Fall asleep in the back yard lounger chair thing?

Sunday morning I had a HORRIBLE hangover. Just HORRIBLE. I don't think I've had a good hangover like that in a few years. But I couldn't resist. Sometimes you need to do it. Especially when cyclocross is over and you don't really drink much alcohol during the season and you have no job and you don't have to drive that night and the next day is Sunday.

So I did it. And it was fun.

It's like a big purge, because you say lots of inappropriate things to people and then you don't remember, but you feel better because you get it all off your chest - even if you don't remember. Some people fast or eat raw foods or only drink lemonade for a day or go to therapy. But me? I drink a lot of alcohol in a small amount of time and then blah, blah, blah a lot and then the bed spins and then I sweat it out on the bike the next day.

And now, good as new.

But then the next morning, they woke me up with loud music - that song, punk rock girl was played over and over and over again. And then there were kids with their friends walking around the house and marching through my room to the den and the cat was sitting on my head so I couldn't really even enjoy the hangover.

So I asked for cheerios and bananas in bed. And then later I went for a ride, to sweat it out.

Speaking of cats, how come no one told me cats are so easy. All they do is lay around the house and purr and eat and drink. And once in a while do a few laps around the house while doing hops with side kicks.

I keep thinking he's going to do something to me. How can he be so content just laying around the house relaxing? He must have some ulterior motive or something. But so far so good.

And still no name. Although it doesn't seem to matter anyway, because he never comes when you call him. He just looks at us and then walks away.

a cat

2008-01-10T10:22:00.000-08:00

We got a cat yesterday.

I haven't had a cat since I was a kid. One year we had like 15 cats running around our house. The first cat, Sonia got pregnant and had kittens and then we gave them all away except for Grey Kitty who then got pregnant and had babies and then we gave most of them away and then Mutli-Colored Kitty got pregnant and so did Orange Kitty and someone else and so on and so on.

Every so often my dad would round some up and take them over the the "lady with the big farm who loved kitties". She would let them all run and run and play on her farm land.

Just the other day my brother told me that there was no farm. Apparently he was in on one of the trips to the shelter.

On that trip to the shelter the worker asked my dad if they were all from the same litter, all 12 of them in varying sizes. He said yes, because it was cheaper that way. But then my brother piped in with the explanation of who was from what litter and who was so and so's mother and brother.

The shelter lady wasn't too happy with my dad. And dad wasn't too happy with my brother.

Anyway, the cat we got yesterday is from a shelter. Apparently he was adopted a few months ago but returned because he was too much of a kitten and too wild. He seems fine to us. He slept all night last night without a peep. And woke up when we all woke up. And he likes to play and he hangs out well.

And now he's following me everywhere. He's like my little assistant.

But the name. I'm not too thrilled with it. The humane society called him Pilgrim. And I want a different name. But nobody likes my names. Hector is apparently an annoying kid in Lulu's class. Elvis is dumb. Pilchard is silly. Rickie is boring. Blah, blah, blah.

Morgan likes the name Dale.

That's the thing about kids, they always want silly little cute names. Not good solid names. But I'm going to call him Hector I think. They can call him whatever they want.

Analyze This

2008-01-07T00:29:00.000-08:00

When I first started road racing like four or five years ago or something, I used to write race reports that were all serious and stuff. I wanted to be taken seriously and also analyze my moves and fitness and skills and position and blah, blah, blah.

I think I even used a heart monitor a few times and I knew my zones. But after a few years of writing and racing and analyzing, I realized how much I sucked and how much I hated it so I quit doing it all. And besides none of the guys ever wore skin suits.

But then, last year I discovered cyclocross. And it all made sense, because I'd found my tribe. Although I still kind of suck at the racing and reporting, but now I just don't care as much about sucking ass.

I was thinking that maybe I'd go back to the old format and analyze more. And stuff.

Race: cccx
Date: january 6, 2008
Category: b
Rider: lauren
Field: i don't know. a bunch.
Teammates: none
Placing: can't remember
Series Overall: i think 6th or so

Breakfast: peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a banana, chocolate chip mini cookies.

Warm-up: a few laps or so. fuck warmups, that's what i say. but i did stretch a little bit while i changed my socks.

Pre-race food: half a gu, some beer and some water and some chocolate chip mini cookies.

After-race food: some beers and a turkey sandwich and some chocolate chip mini cookies.

Weather: cloudy and cool, but no rain.

Course: lots of swoopy single track, sandy but no real sandpit and some logs and barriers and hills and run ups and some pavement and some hecklers.

Mood: rock solid

Health: on like tony orlando and dawn

I did a few pre-ride laps and was ready. And then I kept warm before the start by riding around the parking lot. At the start I got a call up, because Kat and Soni and Rita where missing and were probably at the bathroom or something.

The call up was confusing though - because of my name. No one ever pronounces it correctly. Why in the hell is Lauren always so hard to get right? I can understand Haughey, but Lauren?

It went something like this, "Okay, next is, uh, Lara Hugarly". And we all sort of stood around looking at each other. Who the hell is that, we all thought. And then he said again, "Laurie? Heerar..."

It caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting a call up, so I wasn't listening for the miss pronunciation. Usually I'm waiting for it. And it's interesting how people always throw an L into my last name. That little h next to the g really throws people off. You know, the long look of it and stuff.

Anyway, I realized after a bit that that he probably meant me. So I started rolling up and as I'm rolling Keith says LAUREN! aHAHAha, sorry about that.

He started us women folk all together and after the whistle I called out, last one up the hill is a glazed ham!

And then we raced around for 40 minutes or so. My chain fell off once and I got a little out of control on some of the corners and slid out a bit. And of course there was the heckling by the men on the barriers and the run-up.

And that was about it.

And then the camera was dropped into a puddle of water near the porta potties and it stopped working.

Afterwards I met a Laura who told me a story about how they never get her name right either. At the place she gets coffee, she just decided one day to go with it and she became Lauren because that's what they kept calling her. But then someone who knew that her real name was Laura was in there one day and accused her of lying in front of all the Batista's and people in line waiting for their coffees and it was a mess.

Now she goes by Lily.

Morgan's coffee name is Jethro. In the beginning, when they'd call him to come get his coffee, Lulu used to say really loud YOUR NOT JETHRO! And how do you explain to a four year old that it's just your coffee name and to everyone else that you're not stealing Jethro's coffee.

Or sometimes we'd see the Peets lady out and about while we were hanging out with other friends and she'd say oh hey Jethro, how's it going? and everyone would look confused and uncomfortable.

Don't worry, we'd say, that's just his "coffee name". Now we all know who Jethro is.

Lessons Learned:

1) The chocolate chip mini cookies were delish, but I kinda threw up in my mouth a little on that long first hill on the first lap. I shouldn't eat them so close to the start.

2) Stick around long enough and you'll get to see one of the (A) men's bare ass as he's changing out of his skinsuit.

3) (A) men have nice asses.

4) Some people bring TVs to watch to cyclocross races.

All in all (I think I remember ending all my race reports that way, with all-in-all), a five star day.

I'm Just Saying

2008-01-04T15:48:00.000-08:00

Today's like the 4th or something, isn't it?

I'm losin' track.

Our garage is flooding. Our windows are leaking. And I'm tired of playdates. No more playdates at our house. I think that might be a new rule for a few weeks. God damn kids. When the hell does school start again. I'm too old for this.

On New Years eve we didn't go anywhere or do anything. We watched the ball drop in NY city at 9pm so the kids could toast their sparkling apple cider and then sent them to bed.

Morgan and I stayed up until Midnight, so that he could try and get into sswco8. He filled out the form and the walked around and mumbled for a while and then walked over to the computer at 2 minutes till and said something about how he was ready to hit submit and send it.

It's too early, I said.
They'll toss it away.

No, it's midnight right now, he said.
No it's not I said.
You have one minute left.
No he said, I'm doing it.
I wouldn't do it yet, I said. All I'm saying is...
I sent it, he said.

I knew it was early, because my watch runs two minutes fast and it said 12:01. So I knew it was only 11:59. And my watch is EXACTLY two minutes fast, timed to the second.

So he sent it a minute too early according to my watch. And today he got the denial, that he was too early.

He can try again next year.

New Years Resolutions and Stuff

2007-12-30T21:34:00.000-08:00

I forgot about the resolution stuff until today, right before our race started - the last cyclocross race of 2007.

We were lining up at the start and I was standing there behind the A girls and I was thinking about how cyclocross was almost over for the year and how I was wearing my new christmas knee socks and how earlier when I'd put on my new christmas socks at the car, after my measly warm up, one of my kids said to me that I couldn't wear them to race in because I looked like I was too old for them and I thought, screw that and how I put the christmas socks on anyway.

And that led into thinking about how when Jenny and I are at the same race I never get a good warm up in because when we pre-ride the course we go real slow and chat, chat, chat and how nice it was to have her there and how much more fun it is to have her there and it's better to have fun then warm up, maybe.

And then I came to. Because Katrina was standing in front of me fiddling with her gears and not on her bike and the guy with the whistle was suddenly counting down from 15, so I poked her in the butt with my finger a few times.

And then the whistle went off and off we went and I resolved in my resolution mind set to try and get the hole shot for each of the last four races of the season. So I got the B hole shot and it was crazy. And I was riding right behind the A girls and they were going fast. Later, a B racer who was racing behind me wondered what the hell I was doing that for, (the going really fast with the A girls part).

And then little by little towards the end of the first lap I slid back.

And then on the second lap in one of the chicane things a group of three was slowly winding me back to them and making their way to me and one of them said, we're coming to get YOU and pointed her finger at me.

Yikes.

Everything in moderation. That's my resolution for the new year. And start swimming again. And keep up the running and have fun and find a job that I can ride my bike to.

And wear my knee socks some more. And get some more hole shots. And do some intervals and stuff so I'll go faster. And hug my kids more.

And I should probably put in here, have more sex with my husband. Shouldn't I? Maybe even with my knee socks on.

Happy New Year!

Chipmunk Hell

2007-12-28T11:45:00.000-08:00

There couldn't be a better way to spend a rainy afternoon then syncing up two ipods and a mac to play the exact same Alvin and the Chipmunk song over and over and over and over again all at the same time on three different sets of speakers.

Over and over and over and over again. Really loud. And over and over again.

I'm going downstairs into the garage to ride the trainer for a couple of hours which is a much less stringent form of torture.

They won't even notice I'm gone.

So, Tell Me About Yourself...

2007-12-20T08:19:00.000-08:00

I've been interviewing a little bit.

Just a little bit. One here and one there. I'm practicing. I'm not really looking right now, I'm just practicing. So that I can be really good when the real ones come. So that when I find that magical, perfect job that's only 5 miles from home I'll be interview ready and I'll be polished like the little gem that I am.

Because right now I just want to hang out some more. And ride a lot. And garden with a plumber's crack. And finish the half painted wall in my pajamas that's been half painted since last summer. And eat hot pockets in my shorts with the thermostat on while it's raining while watching dirty jobs on tivo.

So I'm just practicing. But jeez, it's sure taking up a lot of time - this practicing stuff.

Like yesterday. I had to iron a shirt and pants. And I have no ironing board, because who irons anymore. Not I. Just finding the iron took like 10 minutes. And then the ironing took like half an hour. And I did it on the dining room table.

And the filling out of the forms they sent me prior to the interview, so I wouldn't tell any of their secrets. That took like an hour. And they do credit checks nowadays. So I had to do a credit check on myself so that I could feel ok about signing the credit check form. And that took like 40 minutes.

And I was going to go for a bike ride, but figuring out directions to where I was going for the interview took like 20 minutes and by the time I was ready to go for a ride, I would have only had a half hour to shower and get dressed and go.

So I didn't ride. And took a shower instead. And then I even used the blow dryer to dry my hair. And that took like 25 minutes. And then I had to primp up a bit more and make a hair-do that made me look, well, you know, like I cared how I looked.

And you can't wear pink cycling glasses to an interview. So I had to hunt to find my regular glasses. Because without them, I'm blind as a bat.

And then I went and it was a four hour interview with various heads of departments and so forth.

Jesus. It's like a love affair. It's all for fun and practice, but then you get all ready and make this huge effort to get them to like you and you do your hair and you talk about your strengths and weaknesses and why you feel you'd excel in that position and what kind of work environment you like and what you'd do in this and that situation and blah, blah, blah.

And by the time you're done, you're exhausted.

And you've just spent an entire day doing it. And then maybe you start hoping they'll call, even though you don't think you want it because it's too far from home and you want to be able to ride to work and because they all looked at you a little funny when you asked about flexible hours so you can ride your bike.

And then you gotta do it all over again.

Squirrel Club

2007-12-12T19:10:00.000-08:00

Lulu and her friends are obsessed with squirrels. Apparently there's an official squirrel club at school. She and three friends started it at lunch one day, while they were watching squirrels.

We're planning on having meetings and stuff, she tells me. The first one will be in January at our house.

Today I let her work on the computer for a little bit since she finished all her homework early. She told me she needed to collect information about squirrels for their squirrel club.

I can hear her squealing as she's looking at pictures. Oh they're so cute, she's exclaiming over and over again.

What's wrong with you? Sam keeps asking.
I'm thinking the same thing.

Momma, come look at this she says.
What I say.
This picture.
They don't know if it's a squirrel or a rat.

What? I say.
Take a look she says.

Where did you find that? I say.
I did a search on squirrel pictures.
Lu, that's not real. they're just being silly.

Chipmunks says Sam.
I don't want pictures of chipmunks, I want squirrels she says.

Chipmunks and squirrels are cousins he says.

I don't care, I only want squirrels.
This is a squirrel club.
Whatever. I'm just trying to help he says.
Your obsession with squirrels is weird he says.

I don't care what you think, she says.

Where did you get this weird music from anyway?
It's squirrel music she says.
They have squirrel music?
Yeah, i found it on the Internet.
Too much banjo he says.
I don't get it he says.

You're not supposed to. It's squirrel music.

It's twangy country music that she found on scarysquirrel.org. A little app is open on the mac and little squirrels are playing banjos and guitars and singing.

Squirrel club meetings in the tree house.
Squirrel fabric
Squirrel club pictures.
Squirrel club note pad.
White board to hang in the den for the squirrel meetings.
Large envelopes for keeping all the squirrel pictures and facts together.

That's the Christmas list I got from her.

Aren't they suposed to like horses at this age?

Shut Yur Pie Hole

2007-12-10T23:31:00.000-08:00

On Friday of last week, I turned a corner.

When I was first laid off I decided that I was going to force myself to feel good about it. I was going to joke and laugh and take it in stride and be mature and be alright with it. I wasn't going to let it get me.

Because come on now, how often do you get a good chunk of time off to think about what you want to do with your life when you're 40 and married and busy and have a house payment and have kids who are busy and you have a bike hobby and you're plugging and racing along. Unless, of course, you're forced to by some life event beyond your control that's thrown your way.

And honestly it does feels good, but right now it's also got me sitting in a bad funk. And bitter.

I realized this as I was sitting at a celebration for someone at work on Friday. We were celebrating him being promoted and moving on to the other office.

People were making small talk about christmas and holidays and kids and presents and spending $6000 on laser surgery and the bowling christmas party they'd all attended last week and what not. And someone asked me what my kids wanted for christmas and what I wanted for christmas.

And I turned to her and started to open my mouth to talk and suddenly I had the urge to stand up on the conference table and throw all the sliced Togo's sandwiches at everyone and turn in circles really fast with open coke cans and coke spewing out and yell profanities.

I wasn't feeling very festive at all. So I excused myself without answering and left the room and went back to the studio to work on "transitioning out" some more.

Over the weekend I thought a lot about why I was feeling so depressed and bitter and didn't really come to any kind of epiphany or conclusion.

It's hard to feel good about being laid off right now because even though it's not supposed to be a reflection on me - it sure feels like it is. Being rejected. Like the relationship you knew was over long ago, but still - it sure is depressing and ridiculous when it finally does end.

It's all so ridiculous.

So I spent both days of the weekend doing some long mountain bike rides by myself. I rode and rode and rode wherever I felt like riding at that moment without any time limit. And it helped clear my head and push me forward a bit more. I'm settling nicely into my sarcasm and bitterness now. And I feel good about it.

I'm hoping acceptance comes soon so I can get on with my gardening and back to racing cross.

Transrockies

2007-12-06T08:41:00.000-08:00

I'm driving an RV in August up in Canada.

I don't even know how to drive an RV. What if I crash it or something. Do you have to have a special license?

Morgan and his friend Matthias signed up to do the Transrockies in August. They're a team. They're looking for sponsors. If you want to sponsor them, let me know. Maybe I'll put a little donation thing on my blog to collect donations.

Actually, you should donate for my cause. I need money and beer and beef jerky for driving an RV around Canada by myself with two kids in the back. And I'll probably need some sort of better then normal RV insurance. And lots of beer.

This might get expensive.

And so now, the obsession around the house is the Transrockies. Never mind that there's nine months till it starts.

He says there's planning and training to do. That's all good and fine. But really, I'm more worried about me driving an RV. Him I trust. Matthias, I trust. They'll be fine getting from point A to point B. They're strong like ox - farm boy strong. But me driving an RV?

I can't even back the land cruiser up the driveway right. The last time I did it, I tore off the side view mirror on my audi. I didn't know I'd even hit it. All I heard was Morgan yelling at me. And I looked up at the house and he was shaking his head.

So now I park it on the street when I drive it. And I let him re-park it in the driveway.

Morgan and Matthias paid for the middle level registration - where they feed you breakfast and dinner every day and they give you all sorts of snacks to keep you going during the day. And the organizers give you a tent. And they move your stuff for you each day and set up your tent at the finishing point each day.

But we all decided it would be good to go up and rent an RV anyway. So they could sleep in it and take showers in it. And the kids and I can have our own little adventure.

Soon he'll start training.

I wonder if there's an RV driving school where I can take classes or something. Or maybe if I just never back it up I'll be ok.

Reset

2007-12-03T22:11:00.000-08:00

Things came to a halt over the weekend and none of us could really motivate enough to get in a car and drive 2 hours at 6am on Sunday for cyclocross racing, so we slept in till 9am instead.

I went for a road ride and boy is my endurance shot. I did what normally takes me about two and half hours or so and it took me a little over three.

Saturday, Lulu and I walked in a parade - the Oakland Christmas parade. Which I'd never even heard of until Lulu's brownie troop mentioned walking in it. I've lived in Oakland and Berkeley for almost 17 years and I'd never heard of it.

And I must say, it was quite grand.

Scraper bikes and all.

And today I spent some time in the garden. Pruned and primped the perennials and cut down some smallish eucalyptus trees and rode my bike and sent off some resumes and picked the kids up from school and took them to tennis lessons and made a nice dinner and even cleaned up the dishes.

Tomorrow morning when I take the kids to school, I'm going to bring the open top mug full of coffee and walk real slow and talk to everyone I see.

I Should be Networking and Stuff

2007-11-29T12:37:00.000-08:00

But, well, you know ...

The one thing I'm worried about, being unemployed, is the laziness factor. You see - on the inside, I'm really a lazy person. It's not that I'd rather be laying on the couch in a house dress eating ice cream and watching Oprah...

It's just that, well, sometimes when I have time on hands during the day, I find that I AM laying on the couch with my laptop, eating hot pockets and lemonade and doing searches on "pruning lavender" or "men in skinsuits" or "naked men bike racers" or "jenny dolan" or something.

And that's what happened yesterday. There I was, laying on the couch, with MTV on, reading mail, doing searches, sort of looking for a job, looking at blogs, eating egg/spinach and cheese bagels and drinking lemonade. And then suddenly I only had an hour and a half left until I had to pick up the kids.

And I hadn't even ridden yet.

So I quickly changed into my cycling "outfit" and downed a couple of big glasses of water and slapped on the helmet and shoes and took off on the cross bike and rode around Joaquin Miller for an hour.

I made it back with minutes to spare and jumped in the car, with the "outfit" still on. When I got to the school I got the how come you're always late to pick us up? bit from Lulu. You don't even have a job anymore!

She's given me that bit a few times since I got laid off. Sunday as I was gearing up to do a pre-ride on the course, which needs to be measured perfectly because we can't be on the course during any races, she asked me to make her a sandwich.

Sorry, no can do I said.
Come on, you're my MOM, she said.
I only have about 8 minutes to pre-ride. When I come back I'll do it.

How come no one cares about me? she said.
No one is feeding me!
Please feed me, she said

Nope I said and turned around.
And I heard her say as I was strapping my helmet on...
You don't even have a job, why can't you feed me!
Go find dad I said.

Somehow I need to break it to her that I still have two months of said JOB left to do.

Yesterday she asked me if I would start wearing an apron while I was cooking dinners, now that I'm a "laid off" mom. I'm not really the apron wearing kind of mom, nor the cooking type. But she's got it in her head that if you don't have a job you wear aprons, like our friend Fiona.

Fiona is the kind of mom who walks her kids to school every day, with her ceramic mug of coffee in hand (not the travel mug kind of mug, but the open top ceramic kind that has a picture of her kids on it) and her combo slipper/rubber bottomed shoes. And she walks real slow like she's got all the time in the world. And she's always smiling and laughing. And then she goes home and starts planning her dinner menu of home grown, organic parsnips and carrot and potato soup. And then she puts her apron on and listens to groovy music.

And here I am, heating up hot pockets and leftover pizza and thai food and macaroni and cheese. And searching on the Internet for naked bike racers.

Maybe it's time for an apron.