Lion and Magic Boy

I know, know. I’m getting reckless now with this posting-two-days-in-a-row thing. Setting a precedent. And guess what I am going to talk about? Why yes, cycling and cats, two topics that never fail to put you to sleep entertain.

First, though, I have to tell you I have become an entrepreneur. I can use that word because Nathaniel asked me what it meant yesterday and I advised him to go look it up in a dictionary (as if we owned one, because they are completely free online anymore but lack the heft and satisfaction from leafing through those onionskin pages devouring all the words known to man), which is completely ironic because that (”go look it up!”) was one of the phrases I hated hearing most while growing up, and he told me he didn’t want to because my definitions were always better. So I am smarterer than a dictionary! Which totally means I can use the big words now. So watch out, people!

Yeah. So I’m an entrepreneur. This is partially because, you know, the cash flow isn’t flowing the way it was. So I am selling off my kids stuff. Plus, I have too much stuff anyway and it’s time to consolidate. You would think that 2 cross-country moves in a year would have that effect, but no, at some point everybody just throws stuff into boxes and it gets moved anyway, and you wonder later why you just opened a box containing a carefully packed wastebasket. Still with trash in it.

So, want to know about my new business? Well, “business” is maybe a stretch but hey, if Amazon thinks I’m a professional, then there you go. And it involves printing out stuff and packing tape and mailing stuff and (eventually) some money might change hands and I will have fewer books about knitting to look longingly at there on the shelf. And I will have more shelf space and will RESIST THE TEMPTATION to buy more books.

Also I have some books on paganism. And energy work. I am serious! It all goes.

So. Today is became spring here, which means I got on the bike for the first time in awhile. I am happy to report that Horse Penis Hill isn’t nearly as daunting as it was a year ago, which means I haven’t lost it after three months of not riding. Oh, but I do have bad news. First, lungs still should not itch. This is just plain wrong. Why is there evil pollen in the air in the beginning of March? This cannot be a good thing. Second, there is about 10 pounds less to my ass than there was last summer and it is 10 pounds more bony. Which doesn’t, er, sit well with me, not on the bike. Ouch. I may be feeling this tomorrow.

This was going to be about cats. But like a cat, I am capricious. Plus, I had better save a topic for tomorrow. So tomorrow you will find out why we call him “baby cat.”

Don’t mind me, I’ve been hitting the Benadryl tonight. And I’m such a lightweight, too. So I have no idea how this stuff might react in my system, but I am guessing from my delayed reactions and the weird way things look all of a sudden and the fact that it took me three tries to click on the right button that reads “write a post” that I could be in for a veeeeeery interesting night.

I have no update on the worm situation. None. I am still shuddering from, frankly, TMI. You people are far less squeamish than I am, I’m afraid. So I have decided that what I don’t know won’t hurt me. But she did mention casually today that she had been seeing the worms (INTHEPOOP!) for weeks now.

Ba-dum-bum.

Oh. The Benadryl. I bet you’re wondering about that? Or is it for purely recreational purposes, you may be asking yourself. Well, no. The hope was to alleviate some of the itchy lungs which have escalated somewhat into REALLYITCHYLUNGS. And coughing and stuff. Because that ragweed, it has friends, and they are all out playing. And they hate me.

This probably woouldn’t have been an issue had I remembered to get my car inspected last month before the registration expired (oops). Because then the ragweed isn’t out and I would have stayed indoors today and held my breath instead of riding my bike to go pick up the car that hadn’t even been fixed.

Well, they did put four new tires on it. These were tires that were looking pretty bad a year ago when I bought the car (which, for the record, STILL smells like that), so the fact that I successfully drove on them for a whole year despite needing to be replaced makes me look like quite an excellent driver, really, and thrifty too! kind of stupid.

Oh, and they changed the oil, too! Since I haven’t done that since I’ve had the car. (KIDDING! Well, not really. But I have checked the oil. Twice!)

But the clunking noise it’s been making since the day I drove to the airport in July and wondered what that sound was and was it going to prevent me from getting to the airport in time for my flight or was the entire front axle or maybe just a wheel going to fall off while I was driving 75 down the highway hasn’t gone away. It turns out I needn’t have worried so much about making the plane but now I need a new sway bar link to pass inspection. Because it’s completely broken! Not only that but there is “play” in my right front inner tie rod. I’ll bet there is.

(I don’t know what those things are exactly, but I know they have something to do with keeping the wheels attached to the car, so I wasn’t far off actually)

But the itchiness in the lungs could have something to do with the tremendous ego that made sure everyone in the auto shop (two people) knew that I was making a great sacrifice (as if it was really nothing) by riding my bike the 4 miles back to the shop to pick up my tired but un-sway-barred car.

Because no one here rides their bike to do anything. A couple people do for exercise, but for running errands? Things are too far apart.

So I was breathing diesel exhaust (those trucks go by FAST!) and thinking to myself how nice it would be to live somewhere that was accessible to bikes and that it would actually be a viable alternative to driving. Because I haven’t ridden my bike to do an errand since I got my driver’s license when I was 16.

And I made sure those car fixing people knew how speshul I am and they likely enjoyed the sight of me wrestling the bike into the back of the car afterward (I weighed the relative merits of the bother of taking the front wheel off versus just shoving the bike into the back, and guess which won?).

[cough]

And the car fixing lady was kindly advising me to have those new tires rotated every 6000 miles and I nodded sagely as if I was not only hanging on her every word of brilliance but also as if I could actually be the sort of person who gets their tires rotated every 6000 miles, but really I was thinking FAT CHANCE LADY! Because I can barely remember to put water in the cats’ bowl even when they stare balefully at me from time to time and then scope out the sink to look for errant drips that have fallen there randomly, their little kitty lips dry and parched, barely able to croak out a pitful meow. Let alone remember to have tires rotated and to even know when 6000 miles have elapsed.

Today The Ex arrived to pick up Serena and Eric for a couple of hours while Nathaniel and I spent some Quality One-on-One Time together (Serena’s turn is tomorrow and Eric gets some almost daily). It was generous of The Ex and I am appreciative of the opportunity, and no I wasn’t advised to say that by my legal team or anything. This was my idea from earlier in the summer and suddenly it became clear that summer is ending and we hadn’t done it so it was time to act.

It’s a little sad that 1.) I have to orchestrate time alone with my kids, and 2.) it happens so infrequently that this is in fact the first time we’ve ever done it, but I guess that’s the way of things when you’re a single mom of multiple chlildren who hates to rely on other people for things.

Anyway, I gave Nathaniel the choice of a.) playing tennis or b.) going on a bike ride together where I normally ride. He chose tennis, much to my slight disappointment, but when I was changing for tennis he informed me he had changed his mind. Good. He can receive psychic signals.

I let him ride my old bike because 1.) “oh by the way I need my seat raised”, which is fine except 2.) for that I need to find a wrench, and also 3.) the front brakes don’t work at all, so 4.) between the wrench and the brakes I made the command decision (for which I get paid the big bucks) that putting the seat down on my old bike was easier.

Have I mentioned that this boy is an inch shorter than me? And I’m fairly tall, though according to the height chart in the needle room during yesterday’s vaccination extravaganza, I’m not as tall as I thought I was. Nathaniel’s 11. Going to be tall, that one. At his new school they thought he was an incoming 8th grader. He’ll stand out in 6th, then.

The ride began well, a bit slower than usual of course since I didn’t want to tax him. He doesn’t really have anywhere to ride on his own where he feels safe since the roads are rural and cars go pretty fast, so the idea was to take him out with me where there was safety, but at the same time I didn’t feel the need to give him such a workout that he’d never want to do it again.

He was cautious on the downhills, not wanting to go too fast. Still, for the first few miles (we rode about 20) he seemed perky and rode alongside me quite a bit.

But before long, there was major lagging, even though I was riding quite slowly. My neck still hurts from looking behind me to see if he was still there. He was really game, though, and every time I checked in with him he wanted to keep going.

But the hills, the hills did him in.

And during the whole ride I kept thinking about what I wanted out of the experience, which was to have an opportunity to really connect with my son. Instead, I was riding a bicycle 50 feet in front of him and shouting back at him from time to time. That doesn’t feel like connection to me. I built this event up in my mind so much and was really looking forward to giving him something, giving him a piece of me, because I haven’t been very present for the children these past several months, both physically with all my travel and emotionally with all the letting-go I’ve been doing and mentally with the fact that there’s a laptop glued to me most of the day.

So I got to thinking about tomorrow’s event with Serena, which we decided will be a session of drawing together, but I already know it will be me trying to create art while telling Serena “just a minute” if she needs help or has a question or a comment or needs another piece of paper. I know I will become engrossed in the opportunity to lose myself in creation and, just as I was mostly thinking this afternoon about my own experience on the bike rather than Nathaniel’s experience, I will miss the opportunity to connect with her more deeply.

Is it enough for them, then, to simply experience their mother in her own environment? Is that an experience of connection for the children? Or should I be doing something different, moving toward them, engaging them? And (I ask myself, totally a rhetorical question), is that enough? Because I think that’s what there is. I had nearly 12 years of doing more, trying to do more, and I don’t think I can do that anymore because a large part of me was lost in the process.

But I say that and still wish I was a whole different kind of mother.

[tags]cycling, mothers and sons, parenting, mothering, expectations[/tags]

Things I learned today:

1. Cars apparently can manifest instantaneously where there was no car before.

2. I can get my shoes out of my pedals just fine except in an emergency.

3. Time does slow down when you’re about to die.

4. Everything is oddly quiet when you’re about to die except the sound of your own voice, sounding thin and reedy, piping, “Shitshitshitshitshitshit!!!” Like in those dreams where you scream but no sound comes out.

5. You think of the oddest things, too:

a. Can I go around the car? No.
b. What about the strip alongside the road? No, you’ll fall.
c. Won’t I fall anyway? Probably.
d. When did I have time to downshift?
e. Is that other car still coming? Yes.
f. Since when did I have time to look for the other car?
g. What about that 2-foot section of road alongside the car? It’ll have to do. It’s all you have.

6. Almost becoming spandex roadside scrape gives one an interesting outlook on the way home.

Last night’s bike ride was a 5 on a scale of 1 to 10 in terms of bugs. It wasn’t quite the pelting bug-hail I’ve experienced before, but I noticed afterward that there were three or four stuck to me between my, um, chestal area. And if you’ve seen my chestal area, which most of you haven’t, you’d know that there’s not really enough of it to qualify as having a “between”. So why the bugs were nestled there, apparently working their way down the neck of my jersey, I don’t know.

However! Here’s my playlist from the ride. Well, the parts I can remember, anyway. I’d love to post actual links to actual clips you could listen to, but I have no idea how to do that. Maybe someone can enlighten me. I imagine it has something to do with uploading to my host, but since I have no idea what that actually means, you’ll have to content yourself with YouTube! What did we do before YouTube!. I posted once about what was on my iPod, but the collection has grown somewhat. I think I may be using, what, 5% of my allotted space now? Anyway.

1. “Crazy“, Alanis Morrisette
I love this song! And it’s perfect for bike riding, with a great rhythm.

2. “Back to Black“, Amy Winehouse
Two angry women in a row, what is this telling me? There really aren’t many role models for women effectively expressing anger in our society, and I’ve really only found them through music. I think that the emotions in this song belie the words: this woman’s pissed.

3. “The Reason“, Hoobastank
Last November-December, I was relating so strongly to this song. I felt that everything in a relationship was my fault, that I could fix it by changing, by becoming a “better” person. Well, hell. You can certainly want to change, become more true to yourself, but like anything else, it only works if you want to do it for yourself, NOT for someone else. I so want to tell this guy that.

4. “Life is Beautiful“, Vega4
This video’s my plug on the environment, by the way.

I find this one really uplifting, although I mainly listen to the way it sounds when I ride, and I’m usually lost in my own thoughts.

5. “Black Tambourine“, Beck
Oooh! This is great for cycling, and makes me want to ride faster. Which is what my dad would want me to do, as he’s advocating I obtain a bike computer with a heart rate monitor, so I know when I’m “goofing off.” Thanks, Dad, but I know when I’m goofing off without the heart rate monitor: when I’m actually breathing, I’m obviously not working hard enough. See? And I can save the $200, or spend it on blogging conventions I don’t attend.

6. “Trusted“, Ben Folds
Clearly an unofficial video. But the best of what’s out there.

Trust. That’s a sticky issue for a lot of people. I’ve been on both sides of the equation: I’ve been in situations where people didn’t trust me, and I have felt a lack of trust for others. It really all boils down to one thing, though: FEAR. When you have a lack of trust in a relationship, it’s without a doubt because of a response to fear and a lack of confidence in the self. If you felt completely confident about your own worth, you’d have no reason to doubt the other person or the strength of the relationship, would you? An inherent lack of trust can undermine a relationship and create an energy imbalance that’s impossible to continue correcting.

7. “Heaven“, Live
So again, I don’t know all the words to this one, but hello? Finding heaven in the sunset? That speaks to me, pagan that I am.

8. “Naked As We Came“, Iron & Wine
Oh, here we go from heaven to death. Yay!

This one has complete vulnerability, which is why I love it. Even though I find being vulnerable very difficult. And it says something too about the rhythms of life; so many of us are afraid to talk about death, and here it is. Beautiful.

9. “No Second Chance“, Blackmore’s Night
I mentioned this one before; at the time is was incredibly freeing. I had something from which I felt a need, at the time, to liberate myself from. I’m pretty much done with that now but we still like the song. Serena, especially, loves to sing to it. I’d love to know what her connection to it is, how it speaks to her. There’s a force when she sings it, as if she too is pushing something away, ending a chapter.

10. “Clocks“, Coldplay
About a year ago I was beginning to find my rhythm in riding. I remember hearing this when I first graduated from riding paved bike trails (they have those in Colorado! Imagine! A special place for cyclists!) to road riding, and almost became roadkill. But I kept riding, and this song propelled me through. It does have a compelling beat, doesn’t it?

11. “The Luckiest“, Ben Folds
No video, but you’ve got the music. Enjoy!

Hands down, this is my favorite song. Ever. Since last August when I discovered it. At the time, I so wanted to share it with someone, someone who would Get It. The song speaks to me of reincarnation, of recognition, of knowing you have made a connection that spans lifetimes and centuries.

I listened to it last month while gazing into eyes that mirrored my own in unspoken understanding. When the song ended, there was no need to say anything; everything had already been expressed through the mutual experience with the music.

I was having that thought while hearing the music on my ride, composing this post in my head, and that thought ended just as the song did. Right at the moment, a deer bounded out of the green undergrowth at the side of the road ahead of me and leaped across the road. Not 20 feet in front of me. Its coat was bright red-gold against the dark, intense green of the woods.

Do I believe in signs? Why, yes I do. The deer is one of my totem animals.

12. “Landed“, Ben Folds
Yet another Ben Folds song? What are the odds!

I never noticed the play on words here: “landed.” Refers both to arriving on an airplane and finding one’s place in life.

13. “Cruel“, Calexico
There’s not a huge emotional connection with this song yet as it’s fairly new to my mix, but I like the way it sounds.

14. “Teardrop“, Massive Attack
I came to this song through watching “House” a few times. Someone told me how alike they were, themselves and this character. There’s a lot of pain there, for sure. Tortured pain with a sense of humanity. But sometimes pain is a mask for what’s really there, a refusal to acknowledge the inner self.

I’ve moved on from that association to a large extent and enjoy the interplay of the light voice over the deep rhythmic beat of the music. And it’s a great cadence to ride to, especially on a slight hill.

15. “Forever For Her (Is Over For Me)“, The White Stripes
Not the official video, but some clever (albeit simple) animation.

I had the misbegotten impression that this group was Canadian, which allowed my thoughts to launch into a whole Canadian thing, but now I found I was wrong in my assumption; they’re from Detroit. Is that close enough? Damn. Can we still talk Canadian here? I only wanted to observe that I’m a little perplexed as to the strength of my Canadian readership. After all, I’ve only met one, well, two, of my regular Canadian readers, so what’s up with the rest of you? What’s the attraction here? I’m not all that polite, so what is it? If you can enlighten me I’d be obliged.

16. “Mr. Blue Sky“, Electric Light Orchestra
Well, this one’s fun, isn’t it? You like anime? What’s up with the missing front teeth? Seriously, though, this one doesn’t have a lot of emotional connection for me either, except reminding me of the late 70’s. Which was a long time ago indeed. I have another ELO song in the mix somewhere that I used to run to when I had a treadmill, and oddly every time I heard it I thought of a particular friend of mine. I have no idea why.

17. “Save Tonight“, Eagle Eye Cherry
Getting tired now; I went around my loop a second time. Do you care? It’s a nice song, though. Yay the 90’s!

18. “Walking on the Sun, Smashmouth
Speaking of the 90’s what about this? This song used to make me feel like kickboxing: again with the channeled anger. I was thinking to load it onto Nathaniel’s iPod, though my version is marked “explicit”, but I have as of yet been unable to find the word(s) that rendered it so, unless it’s “crap”? In which case I think we’re okay.

19. “Your Song“, Elton John
The day my older brother invited me to sing this song while he played the guitar still stands out in my memory, and likely that’s a reason why it’s remained a favorite for me. I worshiped him. Still do! And I’m not saying that because he’s a reader, in fact knowing that makes saying it a little weird. Hi Eric!

TOMORROW: What’s in my refrigerator?

I think I’ve got it figured out.

It came to me yesterday as I was on my bike ride, trying unsuccessfully to dodge the unusual number of tiny suicidal bugs in the air. Airborne, they looked like tiny fairies, their wings lit briefly by the angle of the waning sun, but on my bare arms and bare legs they felt like a rain of tiny beads of hail. I was being pelted by bugs. Tiny bugs.

So I’m now smoothly using the shifters on the new bike (you KNOW I kept it, of course!), reflecting on the first time I rode it, testing it out of the bike shop. They asked me if I was familiar with the shifters and I said semi-doubtfully that I had ridden a bike with them a year ago once, and waited for the guy to give me a brief rundown. He didn’t. Naturally I couldn’t ask him at that point, so I got on the bike and started riding.

It didn’t take long to figure out how to shift into a higher gear: I could see the lever, and a slight flick with a finger moved it to the side and shifted. Cool. Now we’re humming!

Oh, a hillish area. Better shift down, it’s getting hard to pedal. But…where is the lever thing that shifts down? Isn’t it right…here somewhere?

I pulled over and stopped the bike, and poked and prodded everything I could see in the area of the shift lever that I knew how to operate. No go. Nothing seemed to move. Damn.

So I tested the bike in the one gear, sure the bike shop people would be oh-so-impressed with my shifting acumen and my high-gear ability.

Oddly, every time I got back on the bike after we made various tweaks and changes, the gear was at a lower position. Was it shifting itself? How can that be?

So I took home a bike, basically, that I had no idea how to operate.

However! I figured that instructions could be found somewhere online. It’s not like I could, say, call the bike shop or anything and ask. That would be…painful.

Oh, have I not mentioned my problem with phone calls?

No?

Let me enlighten you then.

Once I broke it down like this: if I am calling a complete stranger, I’m okay. I can make the call. Like, say, making a reservation for something or ordering something (back in the dark ages when one had to use a phone for such things) or getting information on store opening times or something. Actually, all this can be done online now. Interesting! I may never need a phone again!

And, if it’s someone I know well that I’m calling, have scaled the Wall of Communication with and I know I am welcome anytime, then it’s okay too. Naturally, there aren’t many people in my life who fall into this category. I can think of 2.5 of them, maybe 3. Depends on my mood and the day.

But! if it’s someone I know only slightly that I have to call, it’s impossible. There are WAY too many variables involved, and ALL of them involve me making an ass of myself. Or at least, my supposition that I will do so. For one thing, I am convinced that someone I know slightly will not even remember who I am, and then I will be forced to explain this, dying of embarrassment at the same time.

See? This makes total sense, doesn’t it?

Once when I was about 12 I had to call the library to find out their hours. It was excruciating. I think it took most of a day to find the courage to make the call.

But that doesn’t approach what I did to poor Joe Arrietta.

Joe was a freshman to my sophomore and he inexplicably called my house once. My mom came to tell me I had a call and that it was him. I had never actually received a call from an actual boy before, so not only was it a novelty but I had no idea what the protocol was. And I was immediately convinced that he was calling for one reason: to ask me out.

Problem was, I had no interest in him. Zero. None. Hey, he was a freshman, after all! And his head was quite large. And his dad was my Social Studies teacher, which gave poor Joe extra pariah status. Mr. Arrietta was a decent teacher despite the apparent color-blindness that caused him to wear monochromatic outfits (all black for test days!), and his evident love of golf clothes that resulted in many pairs of plaid pants of all hues, but I basically enjoyed him (and he obviously didn’t hold my treatment of his son that day against me, as I continued to get A’s in his classes and a year later he nominated me for Girl’s State, and I went, but that’s another story entirely). I wondered if he knew his son was calling me. Ew.

So my mom tells me I have a call. From this kid Joe. I ask if I have to answer it, she gives me an odd look and says of course I do. I am allowed into the Parental Bedroom Sanctuary to have the necessary privacy with which to take this most sensitive call. I hesitate. I lie on my bed, hoping the situation will go away. It doesn’t. Ten minutes later my mom pokes her head in my door and asks me if I’m done on the phone. I mutely implore her for help, but her face remains impassive. Like Death with his bony finger, she silently points toward the Parental Bedroom Sanctuary, issuing the command. “Go. Answer. The Phone.”

I slink into the sanctuary. At once its usual darkness is stifling rather than welcoming. I sit on the side of the bed near the phone, and look at it. It’s off its cradle, lying carelessly on the night table. Taunting me. I tentatively lift the receiver and hold it. I cannot lift it high enough to listen or talk; my muscles remain paralyzed. I quietly set the receiver down again and let out a long breath. I get up and look out the window. I try not to think about the breathing, waiting person on the other end of the phone.

My mom comes in. “All done?” I point to the receiver lying wounded on the table, again hoping for help. I whisper fiercely to her, imploring, “Just tell him I’m not here!!!”

“No.”

And she leaves me again to my misery, my fate.

Finally, after about 45 minutes of agony, I lift the receiver to my ear. And hear a dial tone. Joe has hung up.

The event was never mentioned again, and he never spoke to me.

Joe, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I hope it didn’t scar you for life or anything. But surely you can understand my handicap here.

Once a few years ago I was assigned the task of calling a bunch of school parents and asking them to donate money to the school. Great — phone calls AND begging. Together. I failed at this and eventually they assigned the task to someone else, much to my relief.

So you see why calling the bike shop to ask how to use my damned shifters was completely out of the question.

Nevertheless, I could turn to the internet for that, and it wasn’t long before I was happily, if not somewhat tentatively at first, shifting up (and down) through my gears.

See, my theory is that the internet was invented for people like me. People who can hide their dorkitudinousness by just looking stuff up in secret.

And then we go and blog about it publicly.

P.S. I’m going to BlogHer tomorrow, if I can get on a plane. Yay! Hundreds of women in one large conference ballroomy place! Rather like my idea of hell, actually, but I plan to have a wonderful time. Rooming with this one and that one, both of whom give great email. And blogging.

[tags] Shimano Ultegra, cycling, blogging, phone paranoia[/tags]

So I really right now instead of writing I should be getting ready for tomorrow, when I have to put on a black suit and pumps and pantyhose of all things (hate! hate!), all accoutrements that I’ve been thankfully free from for lo these 12 years now, and appear in court to defend myself against a man I was married to for ten years. I say “was” even though technically I still am, though, seeing as how the process of ending it has dragged on for two years now.

Courtrooms are a funny place, I’ve found. I mean, even though I think the energy between me and The Ex has improved considerably from its adversarial nadir, the mere act of having to adopt a specific stance within the context of a courtroom seems to bring out qualities that might not exist otherwise, exacerbating them. I’m actually looking forward to this as an exercise in observation, though, since I’ve removed a large part of my attachment to the potential outcome and whatever emotions would have gone along for the ride once upon a not-very long time ago.

So I’ll let you know how I do.

Last night was a first in my (so far short) bike-riding career: I actually saw other cyclists! Typically I avoid hitting Buff Twenty-Something Running Guy, and share rueful “this hill sucks” looks with The Two Older But Still Pretty Buff Running Guys, and also figuratively yank the chain of the little yappy Dachschund that belongs to Fat Dogwalking Lady, but other than that there’s usually no sign of life.

So imagine my surprise when I see a rather large man on a road bike coming toward me, dressed in tight orange spandex that’s clearly bursting at the seams. We do the head-nod thing and I go on. Five minutes later, I am totally surprised to be passed by Fat Spandex Cyclist! He says hello as he passes and adds an obligatory How are you (WHY do people ask that if they don’t really want an answer? WHY?) as he passes me. Suddenly I am going way too slow. After all, here’s this guy who weighs, what, 300 pounds? And he’s faster than me. This will not do. I increase my speed but he’s ahead of me and I can’t get any closer, but I can keep up with him. Damn.

Fat Spandex Cyclist is ruining my ride. I am too concerned with keeping up with this 400-pound guy whose legs pedal in slow motion but he’s still faster than me. Damn.

And then come the Good Cyclists, in the other (downhill) direction, whirring confidently past amid a suddenly-cooler atmosphere as if they had brought their own special air with them, exchanging quiet confident conversation. One glances at me dismissively, smirking just a little. I am sure my face is red with exertion. The brief distraction causes Fat Spandex Cyclist to pull ahead. I am chagrined as he signals a right, which puts him on a continuation of my own route. I am sure I can catch him. It dawns on me that Fat Spandex Cyclist may have maxed himself out by passing me and that in reality he’s not any faster than I am.

Having nothing more visible in my sights than the 600-pound orange target in front of me, I examine the riding style of this rider. He starts wobbling slightly, and takes his water bottle out and drinks a couple of times. This slows him somewhat and I move closer. Obviously, it’s the better to examine his technique. I notice that in addition to the wobble, he also lurches from side to side as he pedals. Hey, it must be hard to ride on those tiny thin tires when you’re so obviously top-heavy! How does this 900-pound guy ride so fast? Why can’t I catch up with him?

The wobble increases. The lurch becomes more pronounced. I begin to fear that he will simply fall over. How will I get his 1100-pound body up off the pavement if he falls? I start willing him to stay on his bike. I know there’s no way I can lift 1300 pounds, no way at all. Look at his legs, each the size of a medium-sized mammal. How do they make his bike actually move when he pedals so slowly? Does he simply move from the sheer momentum of his 1400 pounds?

Fortunately Fat Spandex Cyclist continues straight where I make a left to head home. I’ve almost caught up with him, but he’s clearly oblivious to what he’s put me through. At least he didn’t fall over.

And it’s become clear to me that it’s very likely that as bad as fat Spandex Cyclist looks while riding, as weird a pedal stroke he has, I probably look worse.

But first, the Daily Cycling Roadkill Report:

#bugs = 5
2 stuck on face, 2 in mouth and retrieved, 1 in throat and swallowed (NOTE TO SELF: close mouth while breathing), and 1 discovered stuck on lip an hour later.

# roadkill = 2
1 squished possum, identifiable only by its naked pink tail (ew).
1 groundhog, attended by a hawk who stood his ground until I got really close and then flew slowly and insolently away.

# deer sighted = 4
Saw a dog slowly cross the road ahead of me a bit and became concerned that it might chase me a little. I thought about my speed and the condition of my legs, as it was near the end of my ride, and decided I could take on the dog. When I approached I noticed it was actually a deer, and he had a friend.

On another road, Mama deer was standing in a cornfield, looking at me yet unmoving. As I got closer I could see a fawn behind her in the underbrush, peering out inquisitively. He wagged his tail at me as I went past, very interested but also unmoving except for his little tail.

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So Nathaniel was still sick today. His rash has progressed a bit, morphing into a network of yuck. Startling, really. I actually mentioned the word “leprosy” once, betting that Nathaniel hadn’t heard of it, but somehow he knew it was something awful. And reacted appropriately, with horror. Then I told him that he really had Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever (he doesn’t), which he immediately suspected was caused by something very, very awful. Like lizards. After assuring him that he hadn’t been near any lizards lately, and by the way he didn’t have that disease, he felt a little better.

But the weirdest thing was when his unreasonable fears got the best of him. His fever was way down but he was still in a pretty altered state most of the day, though his face looked human again. This afternoon he felt good enough to crawl up the steps and gather laundry from the dryer to pack for going to his dad’s house, and I could hear him making an incessant nervous laugh that sounded like a dead-on impression of Peter Lorre. Not as Mr. Moto but more the caricature Bugs Bunny/Mr. Hyde version. The only thing is, Nathaniel was perfectly serious. He muttered and laughed like that for about an hour before I thought to give him a dose of Rescue Remedy, at which time it ended as quickly as it had begun.

Meanwhile, we talked about the potential of seeking medical advice, and Serena issued an immediate and emphatic protest. A car ride apparently wasn’t in her plans for the day. And Eric amused himself much of the day by stuffing bits of leftover pancake into the A/C vents and piling bean bags into the cat’s water bowl.

And I remembered that I haven’t left the house in four days.

Tired of me talking about bikes yet?

Ummm. My coffee tastes strangely salty today. Have no idea why.

[fingers drumming, thinking of something to write about that has nothing to do with bikes]

Enough of that.

Too bad.

I’ve got a new baby. Sort of a test-drive deal. Yep, I left a bike shop a tentative credit card amount almost as high as the price of my first car, and yesterday and today I got to ride a real road bike before it goes back to the shop.

Oh, yum.

First, the clipless pedals: they are not all they are cracked up to be. Took me awhile to get my feet actually into them while holding on to the roof rack of my car. And once they were in, my feet! Were stuck to the bike! How weird was that!

I would characterize my first ride therefore as tentative.

For one thing, there’s the handlebars. I had forgotten, in my tentativeness, where actually to put my hands, for fear that I wouldn’t be able to reach the brake when needed. of course, I was hoping anxiously not to have to brake at all, because that would mean I might have to stop, which would mean I would have to get my feet out of the pedals, to avoid falling over. But since I’ve already done that, no problem, right?

So I rode several miles in a lower position than necessary. For which my back is commenting to me, right now. Why hello, back, and you’re welcome!

I noticed after a mile or so that the stuck-to-the-pedals position my feet were in was very different from how my feet usually feel in the pedals. In other words, my natural inclination, apparently, is to pedal like a duck.

This new position, of my feet being pointed actually forward! imagine! created a feeling of stress in the hips. Hello, hips! Nice to meet you! What have you been doing all these years? Ow.

However, one thing on this bike is definitely a huge improvement: a woman-specific saddle. Trust me. HUGE improvement.

Despite all the strangeness and tentativeness and new little pains, I did find myself eventually falling into a rhythmic cadence. Apparently, from the reading I’ve done lately, there are two ways to approach riding a bike, spinning and mashing.

Evidently I have been a masher.

It’s pretty much what it sounds like: MUST. WORK. PEDALS. KILL. HILLS. BRUTE FORCE WILL WIN!!

Spinning, on the other hand, seems to be about allowing the bike to do some of the work for you. By increasing the speed at which you pedal, you actually get more power (speed) from each stroke. Or something like that.

Being naturally philosophical, I can of course apply this to life. What, you don’t view cycling as a metaphor for life?

Spinning takes a lot of shifting, because the goal is to maintain, as much as possible, the same cadence at all times despite hills and all, so you’re constantly moving into and out of various gears, up and down through various levels, if you will, to maintain an equilibrium (today I am liking, cadence-wise, the speed of this song).

I was reminded of the biking we did in the rain up at Whistler a few weeks ago. I could hear Matthew behind me, constantly moving through his gears, shifting much more than I was. At the time I didn’t think much of it, just a different riding style, whatever (okay I really thought he was just playing), but now I’m wondering whether it has more to do with his approach to life. Which has been much more about flow than my approach, which has been more like insisting on being shot out of a cannon.

So the spinning thing, it really seems to work. On a bike at least. I sailed over the Sisyphusean hill with much less effort than usual. However, I noticed that with all the increased revolutions, the wear and tear on my hips is noticeable. In fact, I would say that my hips haven’t seen this much repetitive action in quite awhile.

You can take that any way you want. It’s true, though I would in no way mind a change.

Actually, I’ve already begun to take the spinning approach to life. Rather than managing life, trying to MAKE things happen, there’s an advantage to allowing things to flow. To spin, much like the earth spins, merrily and unceasingly. I’m learning this.

But there’s the problem of the Puppy Close. Are you familiar with this? It’s an old sales technique; to sell the puppy, you allow the person to take it home. After all, who can resist a puppy once it feels like it’s yours? Puppy, reallycoolroadbike, whatever. Same thing. [sigh]

Every time I get on my bike for another ride I think about my friend Mark. I don’t know why exactly, but to me Mark has some definite warrior energy, and bike riding for me is a warrior-like activity:

Must. Attack. Hills.
Hate. Hills. Attack! Attack!
Must. Ride. Faster. Than Last Time. Must! Must!

Last night I went for another ride, two days in a row now since taking some time off from rain-avoidance, heat-avoidance, and sheer laziness/excuse-making. Three counting today, now.

Part of the avoidance was about pain. No, Must. Overcome. Pain!! Well, no. Not when it’s in the feet. Pedaling on stumps is not fun, but it happens when you order your shoes online and underestimate the size needed, meaning that they cause your feet to go numb after 25 minutes of so. Therefore: numb stumps. I cannot pedal on stumps. (Shouldn’t the word “bloody” be inserted just ahead of “stumps”? For more, you know, effect?)

So I ordered new shoes in a larger size, and as long as I was doing that I figured, why not make them road shoes so I can use clipless pedals, thereby making me go faster which is really what riding the bike is all about: the speed. Forget everything else, but give me speed!

Turns out clipless pedals are a bitch to install. They arrive in a box with instructions in various languages. First you have to attach a plate (”cleat”) to the shoe; an outie on the plate attaches to an innie on the pedal itself. But the plates work on various types of shoes. HINT: It helps to know which type of shoe you have, not the brand or anything useless like that but the type of clipless pedal system it’s designed for. Without this information you are screwed unless and until you eventually just start lining up holes and screwing in screws, because the pictures on the instructions are useless. And there’s nothing much about this online except a lot of warnings about what not to do once you get your clipless pedals installed, namely which is to forget how to get your feet out of them when you come to a stop on the bike and fall over. Oh, I SO am not doing that!

So. Good. Cleats are attached to shoes now, and only one knuckle scraped and bleeding in the process. We’re doing just fine.

Next, the pedals. Wait, this requires a…wrench. Good, I have several, in lots of sizes! Which size do I need? Oh, the one I don’t have. Of course. Damn. No clipless pedals today, which means I have to wear the Torture Shoes again, and endure the stumpage.

Bloody hell. I was really looking forward to using them, too. I can just picture it, cruising to a smooth stop, twisting my foot to remove it from the pedal (maybe I should practice that bit a little first, just in case).

But wait! Couldn’t I use these shiny new road shoes with the cleat-things attached; won’t they be sort of grabby-on to my pedals and allow me to ride in relative comfort, without the stumpage? Even without the proper pedals? Sure, let’s try it!

Wearing the shoes, I walk to the garage, and nearly break my neck in the process. The damn things are really slippery! Especially on wood floors!

Stepping only on the carpeted bits, I make my way to the garage, get out my bike and close the garage door. Hmm, these pedals feel…funny. And the shoes slip all the way through the toe clips. This won’t do. After 300 feet, I turn around and head back.

Here I am at the driveway! I’m braking (wasn’t going all that fast, damn shoes), aaaaand…stopping. Good! Left foot is down on the ground, right foot…still in the pedal…what the…?

Now I know what it feels like to fall over on the bike. Ow. Lots of bad words uttered.

Good! Got that out of the way!

And the wrist-thing, the elbow-thing, and the headache (good thing I had a helmet on) were all excellent excuses to ride slower. Which I did NOT DO, because I am a warrior! A GODDESS!! BOOYAH!