Back in the Saddle

3 words:

What the hell.

If you are friends with me on facebook, perhaps you have seen some photos of my horsey life. Truth is, it used to BE my life. Literally. My profession and my passion. And even when the latter waned, it was still my profession. My job.

When I started Grad School in the summer of 2009, the relationship with the local barn where I saw myself fitting in soured. Not unusual in this field, because to put it simply, 90% of horsepeople are crazy. Not always in a bad way, but in some way, they tick differently than the rest. No place else was in driving distance, and besides, I had my glory, my thunder, my moment in the sun. I had my memories.  I was walking away with no long term injuries. 

I sold my saddle (to buy a bike!). I sold my Vogels. 

I was done with horses.

Even two weeks ago, literally, if you had asked me if I ever wanted to ride again, I would have snorted with derision, and replied in my best I Don't Give a Shit voice "No way, I could never ride a horse again and be absolutely content."

Except that I wrote a letter describing my background to a nice stable literally right across the street, asking if it would be OK if I flatted their horses once in a while, and when the owner said yes she would love to meet me, I almost peed my pants.

I went up to the place while the owner (let's call her Sarah) was teaching a lesson, and I stood in the ring and observed after receiving a very warm welcome. The horse looked extremely well taken care of, a "nice" horse. The ring had wonderful footing and a variety of safe sturdy jumps, all set up the way you would want. A few caveletti also dotted the grounds. Her instructions were clear, and oh so familiar. Like a warm cup of cocoa. Keep him straight. Establish your pace and stick to it. Eye up. Relax your elbow. 

I felt at home home. 

She introduced me to my horse, Gallo, and said that it was a do it yourself place, did I remember how and grinned. 

I did indeed remember how. I remembered EVERYTHING. Showsheen in the tail to remove the shavings (NO SHAVINGS IN THE TAIL!!), mitt everywhere first before you brush, you can pick out both hooves from the same side, how to wrap w/ polos, how to fit the bridle in their mouth. It was all second nature.  Even my uniform felt good to wear:

 (no, they are not handcuffs)

Then came the actual riding.

Ladies and gentlemen, when I say to you I have no earthly idea how I did it 8-10 times a day for a good portion of my 20s, I am not telling tales. I completely forgot the workout. Gallo was a bit stiff and jarring, but he knew what to do if you asked correctly. Emphasis on the last part, because he also had some tricks to get out of the "doing". Which I caught. Which he was NOT happy about. But I was. 

I also forgot the mental concentration. Sure there were some jobs where I was no more than a human longe line, but to really RIDE a horse takes 100% focus 100% of the time. Are they straight? Are they leaning to one side? Are they behind your leg? Are your hands too rigid? Are they bearing down? Are they stiffer to one side than the other? (always yes) Do they pop their shoulders? Are they balanced?

It all came back. 2 years like yesterday. And I don't know why I should be surprised, I'm sure that pro bike racers, even at the lowest levels, can come back after 2 years and remember exactly how to pedal the bike, how to lube a chain, etc. 

I even jumped one yesterday, sort of, a little grey mare named Bella who they are thinking of bringing in as a lesson horse.

The best part? The place. Sarah is unbelievably nice. Her horses are very well taken care of and obviously on the fancy side. Her clients are welcoming and chatty. The stable is clean and well organized. You have everything you need, from a wall of bits to a tidy tack cleaning station to a well provisioned groom stall. Too good to be true? Perhaps, but I don't think so. I'm not getting that vibe at all. 

So here I am again. In the saddle. Running and riding and RIDING in Morgan Hill. 

Whoever wans to say I Told You So, now is the chance to do it...

More is less is more

First off, if you Ashley Powell are reading this, you might want to stop. You will most likely start banging your head against the nearest wall.

If you are not Ashley Powell, read away!

Yesterday on the lunch ride, I was tired. I mean lead legged tired. I mean I stood up on those pedals to start to get some more power and had nothing. By nothing I mean it almost felt like my legs weren't even attached to my body.

Was I confused as to why? Not in the least. It was because on Friday I rode 60 miles with 2700 ft of climbing (one Cat 2 climb, was going to be more but we turned in early), on Thursday I rode 35 miles with some decent hills, and Sunday I ran 8.5 miles.

Monday was off.

But Tuesday I had no legs attached to my body.

Hence the More is Less. I am doing more running, more cycling in terms of climbing and being consistently epic. I am getting less stellar performances.

At the same time, though, I'm having more fun than I've had in a long long time. I remember during my training, while I was in top shape, I had to forgo the long epic weekend rides, the huge climbing escapades. And I skipped them gladly, because at the time, training was more important to me, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

Now, I do not need to train, do not even want to train, I am just having fun. It is fun to run for 8.5 miles. It is fun to cram as much into a weekend as I possibly can. It is even fun commuting to work. Everything is a novelty to me here. And even if my legs are dead on the lunch ride, I'm able to do Cat 2 climbs without ever going into my red zone. Ok, so I go 4 mph and am definitely on the dark orange line...but red? Wanting to die and feeling like I'm going to explode? Nope. Only a month ago no matter how slow I went, eventually I tipped into DANGER DANGER DANGER. So there is SOME sort of benefit being reaped.

The good thing is that it's the wintertime, and even though there is no "off" season out here, this is the time to fool around if there is one. And who knows, maybe if I just keep at it my legs will get used to both riding and running. I'm never going to run to be fast or run hard. I barely eeek out a 10 minute mile and my heartrate stays safely in the greenish orange zone (I mean, come on, I am RUNNING).

Bottom line? I really like to run. And I'm going to do it because I like to do it.

I am enforcing a strict 3 days on ONE DAY OFF rule, though. I am also going to slowly up my runs and make sure I don't do 2 hard things back to back. I am not 100% reverting to my old stupid ways.

Just, like, 65%

More stuff = less performance but also = more fun.

That's an equation I can understand any day.

Rocket Rock Star

Last Sunday, I went on a long solo ride. The weather was a mix of beautiful and sketchy. Beautiful because in Morgan Hill, you can see the clouds rising up over the foothills in waves, bearing down on you, and possibly missing you due to the wind. Sketchy because the clouds contained a chilly, drizzly, just enough to make you miserable rain.

I rode along the now familiar roads, checking in every now and then with the weather, but mostly just enjoying the fact that the roads WERE not familiar, and that I finally COULD piece together a longish ride without becoming lost.

As I rode, though, the temperature started to drop, which made my nose start to run.

Ugh.

Cyclists at this point usually perform what is known as a snot rocket. It's gross and wildly effective and elusively complicated. The mechanics? Close up one nostril, lean to the side, and blow as hard as you can.

Boom. Snot rocket.

Of course, to the beginner, all that happens is you get snot all over yourself. Or you close up your throat mid blow and choke. Or you don't get enough oomph and it just sort of oozes all over your face.

So.

I had yet to perfect this cycling necessity, another Must Have to become really Pro on the bike. Failed attempts and embarrassing aftermath kept me away.

Yet here I was, completely solo, my nose dripping annoyingly, incessantly, towards the end of hour 1 of a 3+ hour ride.

It was time.

I leaned as far over to the left as I could, plugged up the right nostril, made the sign of the cross in my head, and went for it.

The result? Well, I could breath through it, so that was victory #1.

Then I looked down at my left shoulder, arm, and leg. All clean! Victory #2 had been achieved!

I repeated with the right nostril, and then kept repeating as needed throughout the ride.

Finally, I had conquered the elusive snot rocket technique.

I am now one step closer to Pro status. I've yet to show off my new skill during a group ride, but rest assured, the time will come. And I will walk away clean.

Depending upon the way the wind is blowing, you might not be so lucky.

But that's another blog post.

Offn....

Today, I had a surge of joy. I felt my body exert itself enough to be engaged without being torn up. I felt my breathing increase enough to feel invigorated without being labored. I felt my muscles engage but not tear. I found a rhythm, a flow, a sense of simultaneous ease and energy.

And I was wearing sneakers.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am once again running.

While here in Morgan Hill, I saw so many of my killer cyclist friends do both, and do both with relative aplomb, that I felt like the times for excuses were over. I wanted to be able to throw on my trainers and GO. Not go hard, or terribly long, but hard enough to feel like I did something and long enough to warrant lacing up in the first place.

I started off slowly. 15 minutes once a week, then twice a week.

Then 20 minutes. 25 minutes. Three times a week.

Then I donned my idiot cap.

25 minutes in the morning, 20 more later in the day. Twice a week.

Then 45 minutes. All at once. Then three days later, 55 minutes.

Two days later, another 55.

Today, 25 minutes this morning on a set 2.5 mile course.

And 45 minutes this afternoon on the treadmill at 6mph.

Which means, seven miles total.

Seven.

Why am I writing this with so many line jumps? Well, because this is a big deal, and big deal posts deserve a whole lotta line jumps. I kept trying to run, and failed to find my footing, so many times that I lost track of why I loved running in the first place.

Well call me Sherlock Holmes, cause guess what I found?

Today, on the treadmill, listening to my iPod, I almost laughed out loud (thank god I didn’t, awkward work moment).

There’s something about engaging every muscle in your body, propelling yourself forward with only your own two feet, that’s completely its own unique joy. And yes, I did use the word joy. It’s a joyous thing, being able to run, being in good enough shape to have running be an easy thing should you choose to do so.

So while running still definitely takes a back seat to cycling, at least it has a seat again.

The Art of Climbing

In case you haven't noticed it, there has been a definite theme to my blog since moving out West. Please allow me a brief moment to shine a huge white spotlight onto said theme:

Climbing

Climbing stands as road cycling's largest appeal. It carries major bragging rights. 80% of the time, it necessitates anything epic. It hurts like a mother **cker. It makes you feel like a beast. It allows you to descend. Like ham and cheese, peanut butter and jelly, SRAM and noisy shifts, climbing is an inseparable part of the sport.

It is also one of the hardest parts of the sport.

In Greensboro, though there were climbing opportunities, I had other concerns and goals on the bike. Thus, my technique lacked tremendously when it came to going uphill. I never stood, both because I felt uncomfortable and because I didn't really grasp why it was necessary. I had little clue about gearing, or when/why to shift. I had the wrong ideas about both spinning and carrying my momentum.

Over the past month, I've had the opportunity to go up much more often. I've also had the chance to watch a lot of people ride who are fantastic at ascending (and descending).

I've also had the wake up call, twice now, that I am sooo much better at it after only a month.

Wake Up Call #1) My visit back to Greensboro last weekend.

While I was there, my awesome friend Jen let me borrow her bike so I could go on a little ride. Suddenly, the hills on Yanceyville and Dogget and Church, well, they weren't really hills anymore. They were more like speedbumps. I found myself instinctively standing when I NEEDED to, when it made SENSE. I also found myself choosing much better gearing, and shifting much more intuitively. Plus, my muscles were just better at it. Even the once "super steep" hill on Church before Air Harbor. I carried my momentum from the previous downhill, and just went right up. I arrived at the top barely winded.

Case in Point #2) Levi's King Ridge Gran Fondo

That ride was sick. While there were local NC rides that match it in terms of climbing (Tour de Gaps, for example), there isn't really a ride that matches it in terms of difficulty. Tour de Gaps is straight up, straight down, ride flat until you get to the next gap, then straight up again. You know exactly how far you're going to be climbing when you start, and once you get to the bottom again, there are no more surprise ups. Steep surprise ups. Had I not been so much better at climbing, there is no way I could have done this ride. I knew when AND how to stand so that your body weight does the work instead of your legs. I knew when to sit and spin it out. I knew when to shift, both before, while, and after standing, to keep my HR in check. I knew when to slide my butt back on the saddle and use my hamstrings and ass to save the day.

And I knew these things because, guess what? I'm becoming a better climber.

That being said, there is always room for improvement, and I'm not nearly as good of a climber as I hope to one day be.

But I also understand in a more nuanced way why it's such an important part of the sport. It's not just about the physical exertion of getting up the hill, it's also about how you get there. Better climbers do it with more grace and ease. They don't wander all over the road or grip the hoods while turning their lunch inside out, or try to do more than they know they can handle at any one stretch. They just go up. Effortlessly.

Which one could say is a metaphor for life.

Don't worry, I won't go into THAT one (yet). But it highlights yet ANOTHER reason why I love this sport so much: because it mirrors so many larger lessons.

Going up, for me in all senses, is still a lesson being learned.

Levi's Gran Fondo

So as you are well aware, these sort of diary A, B, C posts aren't my most favorite thing; however, the event in which I was just lucky enough to participate in can be done no other way:

Levi's King Ridge Gran Fondo.

Before we go any further, I must say that I had zero idea what I was getting myself into. To me, Gran Fondo just meant Long Ride. And a long ride I could do no problem. Climbing? Sure why not, throw in some climbs also. What the hey?

What the hey indeed.

The day began in the dark. Specialized had a whole posse going up, but some of us were heading out from Morgan Hill morning of. I was in that group, in addition to being the driving ring leader. At 4:15, we assembled in the parking lot and began loading up one of the awesome SBCU minivans (Thanks, SBCU!!) with bikes and gear.

Crappy flash courtesy of iPhone.

This early departure was really only possible because we were lucky enough to snag a VIP parking pass, which put us literally right next to packet pick up and registration (for which we were also in the VIP line). The Finley Center in Santa Rosa found itself completely overrun with spandex and carbon fiber. Once we collected the needed materials (front bike tag, back bike tag, bib number, and swag), the gearing up began.

I rolled to the start, knowing that I had a front staging sticker, but not knowing that front staging sticker would literally place me AT THE FRONT OF 7500 CYCLISTS.

And next to Patrick Dempsey.

The picture on the left was taken by a professional photographer in a lift. If you look closely, you can Where's Waldo me literally at he very front in the black jersey with the Red S on it.

Once we got rolling, the ride itself? It's hard to describe...

What I can say is that it was HARD. The hardest thing I've ever done to date, literally, no doubt about it. What I can also say is that the riding I've been doing the past month was completely critical to my success. I didn't even know it, but I was slowly training for this ride. I did area climbs one by one each weekend. This ride put them all together and then some.

Up, down, up up up up, DOWN, up again. Then DOOOOOWN, down down, UPUPUPPPPUUUP.

That was pretty much the entire ride.

While the weather held (for about the first 34 miles), I was able to stop and snap some amazing pictures:

Ok, one amazing picture.

Why not more?

Well, first of all, it turned foggy and drizzly and chilly and just downright miserable. I was SO glad I had my armwarmers, because I definitely put them back on. Second of all, it turned into the sort of ride where if you stopped for very long, getting started again felt like agony.

The thing though, was that all 7500 people were suffering together. At each rest stop, you knew that the throng surrounding you were all just as tired, chilly, achy, and happily miserable as you were. You also knew they everyone was thinking the same thing:

Oh holy hell, you have GOT to be kidding me.

After each rest stop, I had to take a full water bottle to rinse off my cleats and pedals before I could clip back in and resume the march towards the finish.

Yes, that sort of ride.

The descents were all rippingly fast if desired. For my part, I played it safe, though I still thought that for someone who's only really been descending for a month I did rather well. The roads were just slick and wet enough that one beginners mistake or panicky brake grab or washed out tire or misjudged line could have had dire consequences, and more than one person had to be helicoptered out of the event for just that reason.

The scenery? Ungodly gorgeous, especially on Route 1 along the coast. Sure, there was a brutal headwind on that section, but when you glanced over and saw the Ocean and the sun and the clouds, it was all worth it.

Twice I had to stop in the middle of climbs and let me HR back off a bit, but I didn't have to walk any sections, and in the end I was proud of how I rode. I didn't push myself ANYWHERE I didn't have to, because I knew that there would be enough uphill to push me enough as it was.

And remember what I said earlier? Oh Holy Hell?

Oh Holy Hell:

http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/52781546

Cut and paste. Click on "Climbs."

Yes indeed.

Oh, and do not listen when it says it was only 6400 feet. It was 9500 feet at least.

There were some grades so steep people were literally tipping over.

But. I did it. I finished it, and I SMACKED DOWN the food afterwards at the VIP tent. It didn't stand a CHANCE.

The best part of the day, though, if I had to pick the best part, was getting to spend time outside of the office with my Specialized crew. While it's true that I work with some of the coolest people imaginable, it's even cooler that we regularly CHOOSE to spend our free time together outside of work. Because to us, riding bikes, and anything to do with bikes, isn't really "work." It's a job, yes, but it's not work. We joked, rode, caravaned, talked, ate, and just generally had an amazing time at an amazing event.

And we never took it for granted, which is probably the coolest part.

The day also saw the true Maiden Voyage of my NEW Gold Bike: Ruby

She still has some kinks to work out of her. The saddle of course has got to be swapped out, and the left shifter has a warranty problem (thanks Shimano). Other than that? Perfect.

PLUS, my fit is so dialed now that I rode 103 miles and 9500 feet of elevation on a bike that was only built up 4 days prior, and I came away with ZERO pain.

Well...there was pain, but none of it had to do with my fit.

And that's about it. Next up.....

New is the New Old

I've been riding the roads around Morgan Hill, CA for about 2.5 weeks now. I've also gone a little north into San Jose, and have ridden one of the local climbs (Eureka Canyon). I've experienced the Lunch Ride several times, and have started to internalize that it's not so much that people get dropped because they're slow; people get dropped because most of the guys are soooo fricking fast. There are headwinds and descents and all of the things I wrote about at the start. Nothing has changed.

Except me.

First off, I no longer even bring my Garmin along. I have no earthly idea how many miles or how long I ride each day. I can guess at my heart rate, but only from experience.

Second off, I feel like I'm becoming a braver rider. On the lunch ride, even though I still am usually spit off super early due to dumb mistakes, I feel myself getting a touch more aggressive each time. I stand up and attack the climbs. I try to match the accelerations, even if I can't. I'm getting better at riding WITH a pack, better at turning, and MUCH better at descending.

Third off, riding is now a part of my everyday routine. I don't wake up, ride for 2 hours, and then do nothing for the rest of the day. I ride into work, ride during work, and ride home from work, heck, even ride to the restaurant where people are gathering for dinner. I'm also running again (up to 20 minutes) and I definitely plan on doing more of it. Riding isn't some odd offshoot that only a small handful of acquaintances participate in. I WORK at a BIKE COMPANY. If that doesn't sum it up right there, nothing will.

Fourth off, nothing is a novelty anymore. Even the odd smells (what IS IT?? Garlic? Mushrooms? Weed?) are no longer jarring; they are expected. I'm starting to plan my rides around the wind. I'm looking forward to the bomb down Willow instead of double fisting it like I did during my interview here at Specialized. I climb it in the big ring. It's just the way it is.

Fortunately, I'm not so horrible jaded that I still don't appreciate two things:

The astounding beauty of the place

and

how unbelievably lucky I am to have landed here.

I mean...getting used to the anticipation of fantastic roads? Getting used to the amalgamation of bikes and everyday life? Getting used to going with the flow?

I hope I never get used to being so thankful for all of that.

Relativity, Take 2

On Friday, a coworker was nice enough to take myself and another new Big S recruit out on a longer local loop: Cañada Road.

Three aspects of this route made it an appealing addition to my repertoire:

1) It was longer than a usual loop.

2) It had the possibility of a brutal headwind on the return (timing this ride was tricky).

3) It had a nice climb and gorgeous scenery .

So as we headed out into a headwind, numbers 2 and 3 seemed to be spot on. Straight south to Gilroy , turn onto Roop Road, and then begin the climb up and up and up.

As I climbed, I decided to just spin in the little ring as best I could. It wasn't horrible, but it was no Greensboro Lake Brandt Road.

It was a Cat 3 climb.

I arrived at the top, finally, and got the big pay off of scenery. Take a camera, stick it into the air, and press the shutter to get a kodak moment. One of those roads.

It wound its way steadily, slightly, upwards as we all three talked and looked around and just had a lovely time. Then Rosie turned to us and said, "Ok, it rounds a bend up here and then starts to just go down, so hang on!"

Now the last time I had a descent of any real consequence, on Hanging Rock, I gripped my brakes so tightly I thought my hands would cramp up. This time, I decided to go for it a little bit more. Relax. Breath.

I tucked down into the drops, and turned the corner...

Was I Voeckler? No.

But did I have fun?

YES.

I bombed down that hill as fast as I've ever bombed down a hill before. Off course there were sections that had blind corners, where I slowed a little too much, but whenever possible I tried to simply breath, countersteer, and zoom.

When I got to the bottom, after a pretty good amount of time, I had a grin that was hard pressed to leave my face. A complete 180 from a year ago (I know, right? Just about a year ago) on Hanging Rock.

The ride home had conversation, a tailwind, a gorgeous sunset, and perfect temperatures.

So yes, things are relative. In Greensboro, the riding was Vanilla. A little up, a little down, a little up, a little down, a little wind, a little view, wash, rinse, repeat.

Here, you get exactly what you give. Give big, get big. Suffer like a masochist up a climb, get a fantastic, breathtaking trip back down. Ride in a leg melting headwind on the way out, practically get pushed all the way home.

Here, the riding is Rocky Road.

Now please don't get confused and think that I don't like Greensboro because of this fact. Greensboro is much much more than just the roads, it's the amazing people and friendships I made there, the camaraderie, the well honed routes and roads so familiar you don't even have to look for the rough patches.

I'm just super psyched to get a new flavor.

Relativity

California has a reputation for cranking out phenomenal cyclists, which is one of the main reasons I was so eager to move out here. It's true of course that strong cyclists are everywhere, and Greensboro had its fair share of crushers, most of whom I could only hang with for brief, glorious, painful periods of time. So while I came here knowing the folk tales of fantastic cycling, I didn't know what the reality would be like.

I also only have Greensboro to compare everything to. My definitions of "hill", "roller", "climb", "headwind", even "fast" are going to have to change to Morgan Hill conditions.

Because everything is relative.

Example?

Here are the stats from 2 rides, the first I did back in GSO, the second I did today:

Time:	01:30:38
Distance:	26.23 mi
Elevation Gain:	1,419 ft
Avg HR: 143 bpm Max HR: 169 bpm	Avg Moving Speed: 17.4 mph

_______________________________

Time:	01:38:05
Distance:	26.65 mi
Elevation Gain:	1,388 ft
Avg HR:	156 bpm
Max HR:	183 bpm

Avg Moving Speed:

16.4 mph

___________________

So. Take a look. First ride and second ride. Both have about the same amount of time, the same amount of elevation gain. But wow, look at the heartrates! The first ride was high endurance, just dipping once into AT land. The second was flat out red lining, and more of a tempo average. Both rides were ridden with guys who were stronger than me but riding at my pace.

The first ride was an out and back on Witty road, which most of you guys know has a lot of "hills" on it. The second ride was a variation on one of the normal Lunch Ride loops, with an extra bit of climbing thrown in (hence the red line).

So what is the difference?

Where Greensboro had lots of little ups and downs, none of them were very steep. They were just consistent. Never really long enough to spike up your HR unless you wanted them to, and always quickly dispensed with in time for a nice easy straight recovery downhill. When it was flat, like 150, there was rarely a strong wind. I went onto ridewithgps.com, and the average grade of those roads was around 3-4%, sometimes spiking into the 6% (like coming home on Lake Brandt), but not going uphill for super long periods of time.

Here, things are different. Sure, same total elevation gain, but at an average of 6-8% on most roads that go up, and usually around 9%. Switchbacks, definite out of saddle stuff. Today's ride had a maximum grade of 13.5%.

To put it another way, the road that broke me during the Blue Ridge Brutal was about 8 miles long, and had a maximum grade of 13.4%, and was more than 10% for the last .5 mile.

Here, we have a road that is 10.2 miles long and has a maximum grade of 15.6%, and spikes above 10% for a good deal of it as well.

I had to drive 2.5 hours to find the Blue Ridge Brutal road. I have to step outside my door to find the latter.

And that's just one of many. Not all of them as long (though many are), or steep (though many are), but everywhere you look.

If it's not a hill, it's a headwind, strong and consistent enough to bend the trees as they grow.

If you think this entry is ending as a sob story, though, you would be completely wrong. I'm not only eager, I'm thrilled to be tackling this sort of terrain as my everyday norm. The descents are technical most of the time and the ascents are grueling most of the time. But that's just for now. My riding relative to the area, and relative to my experiences.

One year from now, everything will be different. The new will turn to normal. These long, uphill roads will be the ho hum. And even if I'm not faster, I know I will be stronger because of it.

Cross Country Epic - Days 4 & 5: A Ride with A View

One of the best parts about driving across the country, or actually, THE best part of driving across the country, is witnessing the changing scenery around you. It can surprise you, depress you, elate you, and a host of things in between. You start off in the Piedmont of Virginia amid the Blue Ridge Mountains, and are surrounded by familiar sights. Comfort scenery. Not much changes in Tennessee except for a little less mountain and a little less green.

Suddenly, you are in Arkansas. The air outside is a wet blanket and the scenery is this:

Then you enter Oklahoma and Texas, the flatlands, which certainly start to tire the eyes eventually but also offer up something completely foreign. Windfarms, stockyards, lots and lots of yellow, and old abandoned buildings just begging for stories:

Then, you head into New Mexico: Land of Enchantment. It's not a joke when I say that you round a corner and find yourself staring at a 180 of panorama.

The best part by far, though, has been the ability to experience this transition from my bike. Though the rides haven't always been fun (ahem, North Little Rock), they have been a change from the normal routine.

Yesterday, I had a fantastic Albuquerque route planned that consisted of an "out" on a bike trail by a river, then cut across town, then "back" on another bike path by another river, then a detour through Old Town, before heading back to the parking lot. The glitch? My garmin had its mind blown by the bike path, and thus, we wound up just staying on the same stretch of path the whole way, and coming straight back. The other glitch? The "river" was actually a huge empty cement drainage ditch.

Did it matter? Not really. Though our immediate view was of industrial buildings and razor wire, in the distance we were treated to the following:

Today, I was REALLY excited to be riding through Petrified Wood National Park. Not only was I going to get to see PETRIFIED WOOD, but the park was PERFECT for exploration by bike. Park at the Historic Rainbow Inn, and follow the one road that had look out spots along the way. There are too too many gorgeous shots to try to fit (it's the sort of place where you close your eyes and point your camera and you look like the next Ansel Adams), but here are some of my favs:

But lest you think I left out the best part. au contraire.

I give you, petrified wood.

If you ever go to this park, the BEST way to do it IMHO is on bike. Here is a picture of us heading out triumphant with a tailwind and a continuous downhill.

The worst way to do it, on a bike, IMHO, is the way we did it: downhill going out, uphill coming back, and only 2 water bottles. Here is a less triumphant picture of the ride back.

The first part is a no brainer. If I had to do it over again, I would have driven all the way to the end of the park, changed at the Petrified Wood Center, and headed out from there.

The second part. Ah yes. Well, you see, I blithely assumed that at a National Park, with bathrooms, in the middle of the desert, there would be opportunities to get some water. Unfortunately, as soon as Tom and I saw the compost bathroom and the locked spigot outside of them, we knew otherwise. Also unfortunately at this point, we still had about 12 uphill exposed uphill desert miles to go before reaching the car.

These are small quibbles to what was otherwise a fantastically gorgeous and amazing experience, though.

The long and the short of it? Seeing the country by car is a great experience, but the bike is definitely the cherry, chocolate sauce, AND whipped cream on top.

Cross Country Epic - Day 3: The Day the Diet Died

About two months ago, I stepped on the scale at my mom's house, a real life doctor's office scale that uses weights and scientific stuff which actually tells you your real weight. And while it wasn't horrible, I definitely decided I could stand to lose a few pounds of it and still keep my muscle and stay healthy.

So after talking to my coach to make sure I wasn't going to be doing anything stupid, I made several small changes to my daily routine designed to take about a pound or two off a week. And upon my return to Richmond 2 weeks and then 4 weeks later, I was delighted to see that it was working just as planned.

There are some breathing rules, though, such as special dinners with friends, special occasions, and special parties, where you're allowed to eat whatever you want (within sane reason).

But what happens when all of a sudden you are hauling your butt clear across the country? Suddenly most nights become eating out with friends, parties, or special occasions.

The Blue Ridge Brutal signaled the first wounds of the diet, because, come on, you pedal 100 miles up lots of hills for the first time in your life, you get hungry. Ridiculously hungry. The following nights (Sunday = gbye dinner with friends, Tuesday = another gbye dinner with friends, Friday = Gbye dinner with family) were also not very kind.

But tonight, well, tonight I think my diet finally gave up the ghost for a while.

Because tonight, I ate at The Big Texan.

Now, look closely at that big bull. Do you see what it says? The FREE 72oz steak dinner?

Yes.

This dinner, featured on Food Networks Man v. Food, consists of a 72oz steak, 2 dinner rolls, a side salad, and a baked potato. All must be consumed under 1 hour (and stay down) for the dinner to be free. Otherwise, it'll cost ya. Before saying it's impossible, not only has it been done, a LOT, but once a professional wrestler named Klondike Bill at TWO OF THEM. And lived. But probably had a very very rough night.

I did not have that dinner.

I did have my diet pepsi in a boot.

And lest you think the adventure ended there along with my diet... AU CONTRAIRE!!

I present to you: Mountain Oysters

If you don't know what they are, go ahead and google it now. How did they taste? Fried. But good. Anything fried is good, but these were tasty in their own right as well. It's been a long time since I've eaten a completely new food, and so getting to partake whilst on a once in a lifetime trip made it superbly appropriate.

The dinner itself, for me, consisted of a rare 6oz steak of some sort (don't ask me what, but it was gooood), cooked onsite and out in the open in the pit.

Along side it was a side salad, a baked potato (not loaded, but still good), and some baked beans that I ultimately tasted but rejected. Busch has forever warped my tastebuds to think that baked beans need brown sugar, and these were more chili based.

To give you a little bit more sense of the ambience, it was a place with many dead animals on the wall.

All in all, a super fun time was had. There was also a large quantity of foreign exchange students who were going cross country there for the real "Texas Experience." They were having a great time, and the musicians were punching up their performances in appreciation of the amassed enthusiasm, so I think I can use the phrase "good night" to describe when we went.

My diet was saved from dessert, all of which looked gargantuan. Including a "94 grams of fat" slice of carrot cake.

It was not saved from the homemade fudge. The Praline, Salty Nut, Chocolate, Butterfinger, and Cookie Dough fudge. Enough fudge to last a normal person for a month. Me? Maybe a week.

Maybe.

But Tom saved me from the fudge when I insisted he take it into his room with him. Which is the only reason I'm not gorging on it right this second as I write this post.

So. Yeah. That diet? Ummm... hmmm... Well, there's always time in my life for a new diet once things settle down. Sometimes there are more important things than dieting.

Like windmill farms!

And Dirt Devils!

And basically, just letting go and living a little. I'm sure the diet will be waiting for me in Morgan Hill, none the worse for wear.

Cross Country Epic - Days 1 and 2

So Saturday, it began. "It" being my epic cross country drive out to Morgan Hill, CA to start my new life. Along for the ride is Tom Arsenault, an old skool Greensboro rider/racer (ex Pro/1/2 monster). Other characters include 2 bikes and 1 fully loaded Toyota Matrix.

Early in the AM on the 20th I awoke rarin' to go, and after a bittersweet goodbye with the family, I went over to Tom's house to load up his Pinarello and suitcase(s).

And we were off!!

And then we turned around because I missed the exit on the beltway for 66 West.

And then we were off!!

And off we were. First stop: Fincastle, VA for what was supposed to be a lovely little 33 mile ride to Buchanan, VA and back. As we pulled off the interstate onto VA-630 to enter the town, I knew it was going to be sweet. The scenery? Gorgeous. The road? Smooth and wide, maybe not with a shoulder but zero traffic and at least a good 3 feet of space before the treeline on either side.

We pulled into the only gas station to change, and was greeted by an extremely polite and amicable clerk, who was completely non plussed by our cycling getup. All she said was, "So where are y'all headed today?"

"Buchanan." (pronounced as in Pat Buchanan)

"Buck-anan, honey, that's Buck-anan." Huge smile.

Awesome.

The ride itself started with lovely vistas of Fincastle, VA:

To say that it was picturesque would be an understatement. The bonus? I felt like we had stumbled upon a hidden treasure. When you randomly pick a route and pull off in the middle of Virginia Ruralness, the chances of choosing someplace quaint are slim to none. But what started as good luck turned into the jackpot as we started the ride.

We rode along extremely smooth and well kept pavement, seeing LONG HORNS (wth??), 3 different sets of deer, and the following gorgeous scenery:

After what seemed liked an endless, long, rambling downhill stretch we arrived at the town of Buck-anan. And guess what? It was just as lovely as Fincastle.

But the true magic was the ride back. A little road that ran along a railroad track, just wide enough to hug, nice and open, and pavement as smooth as a baby's butt could be if it were made out of pavement. After a while, I mentioned to Tom that I was waiting for the other shoe to fall, that eventually we would have to start going uphill to make up for the start.

He pointed to a small creek along the road. With the water flowing TOWARDS us.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, though long thought to be a legend, I have found a route that is "downhill" both ways. Thoughwe were in fact traveling upwards, the gradient was so slight as to feel completely non existent. And it remained thus for 95% of the ride back to the Fincastle Courthouse.

It was like a road made by elves. Good elves who loved cyclists. Here is a bit of what we were treated to along that magical road:

But, alas, all good things must come to an end. Eventually we arrived back at the courthouse, changed, and continued onwards. After a delicious Subway dinner, we pulled into the Hotel in the town known as Knoxville, TN, and planned the next day. Tom needed some new tires in a bad way, so we decided to stop at a shop in Nashville that opened at noon, pick up a pair, head over a few miles, and hit a route that was in the book Rides of Mid Tennessee. What could be a better plan than that?

Tom (as we're driving along I-40, having perfectly left our timing to arrive at the shop precicely when it opened): Umm, Sophie? It's an hour earlier.

Me: It's what?

Tom: It's an hour earlier. We crossed the timezone line.

Me: So....

Tom: So that means we're going to arrive about 1.5 hours before the shop opens.

Me: ...Oh...

Cue wheels turning in our heads.

After a bit of devicing (yay for Smartphones!) we found a shop in Little Rock that was also open on Sundays, and decided to press on straight there, get the tires, go to the hotel, change, and then go for a lovely ride in the picturesque Arkansas countryside!

Yay!

So we drove.

and drove and drove. And drove.

And when we finally arrived at the bike shop, bought the tires, and went to the hotel, the only picturesque thing I had seen was this lovely larger than life Indian Head:

Things didn't get much better. I tried and tried to find a route with ridewithgps.com, but only found things that started miles away (we were DONE driving) or were on scary roads. Our choices were an out and back road ride with what looked like a few hills, or a ride along the bikepath by the river, which was again, a bit of a drive away.

Tom and I both agreed that we didn't really like bike paths; they are difficult to ride on road bikes when there are lots of pedestrians/children/dogs/comfort hybrids around, and neither of us knew the path at all. So we set out to do the out and back by the air force base.

Notice that there are no pictures of that ride.

Because it was gross. My legs were horribly dead, the humidity was 94%, and the "hills" were 12+% zits in pothole filled roads of Northern Little Rock. I, me, lover of all things bike, raised the white flag 2.5 miles before the mandated turn around point, after coming to the top of a particularly "lovely" rise and seeing a CAUTION TRUCKS! 12% GRADE sign on the descent.

Not going to go back up that one.

So we zoomed back down, back to the parking lot, and I swung my leg off of what was perhaps my hardest 1 hour bike ride ever.

After more Subway, some True Blood, and some Peanut M&Ms, I finally sat down to write what you have just read.

Tomorrow is a non bike day, but a huge driving day: Little Rock to Amarillo, TX.

Stay tuned!!