On Friday, J and I agreed to bike up the local Missoula Rattlesnake corridor with a group of folks from his work at Adventure Cycling. I have literally not been on my bike yet this season. The thing I claimed would not happen has, in fact, happened. I haven't ridden in 9 months. I am now saddle sore all over again. Damn!
Anyway, for just an overnight trip, we sure do have a lot of stuff. J gets 2 BOB trailers from work for us to drag behind us rather than buy panniers. I am carrying the tent, sleeping bags, and some miscellaneous items. J is carrying a backpack of clothes, stove, food, tools and utensils, and beer. We both have hydration packs filled and they carry some extra items as well (flask of whiskey).
We leave from ACA and begin a slow, steady climb through the groovy Rattlesnake neighborhoods and 6 miles later hit the trailhead. I, unfortunately, am bringing up the rear. Even Jennifer, novice biker, is smoking me on this ride. And she's carrying all her gear on her back. I'm too tired to be embarrassed, but I am a little. The corridor is a wide, gravel path utilized by the thousands of Missoulians looking for a nice stroll, people starting on a weekend camping trip, hardcore mountain bikers going to shred the hill before a cold beer and bed. We are a group of about 30. We try to spread out so as to not freak out the pedestrians and I have no problem with this, as I'm in the back again. The whole freakin way to the campsite. Let me tell you, I suck. I am no longer a rock star.
I am a little freaked out about the BOB as it bounces and jerks your bike quite a bit. I braked going downhill (what little there was). We arrive at the campsite and I focus on getting the tent up and changing into long pants and a fleece- yep, it was cold, especially since I was wet with sweat and didn't bring a full change of clothes- dumbass! I'm crabby, so I try to keep my head down and pretend to be consumed in my task. Finally, I grab my crazy creek seat and join the merry people at the fire pit. J is wandering around snapping photos, so I squeeze into the crowd and my crabbiness goes away. Everyone is laughing and sharing food, beverages and telling funny stories. J comes around with our stove and food and we cook K&J's famous mac and tuna. We drink enormous cans of beer- I think mine is bottomless and eat our dinner while the sun sets.
With nightfall comes the whiskey. We are all getting more and more boisterous. One of the guys starts singing camp songs, then the kids take over and we're singing Beatles, Queen, etc. The fire gets higher and higher and our smiles get larger and larger. The kids drop off one by one- after some of the adults. There's a lot of fun bonding going on all around the fire with mini conversations about love, life, beauty, the COSMOS, and on and on. The stars multiply, grow brighter, we become smaller and smaller. Smiles turn into deep thoughts into the fire until we finally drift off to the tent.
We sleep on soft ground listening to the babbling of the stream. My dreams drift in a swirl. We are snuggled down into our sleeping bags with just enough opening for fresh breathing air. The damp and cold seek the warmth of our cocoons.
The next morning we awake to birds of the woods with their exotic calls. I stumble from the tent- literally because I accidentally got the zipper stuck on the fly and couldn't get it open. I wander to the fire pit with my cup and instant coffee. Everyone is very subdued. I see my fire friend with arms crossed, staring at the ashes. She is not feeling well. It's supposed to be near 100 today and it's already a warm morning. I shed layers and sit sipping my coffee for courage to face the path again. Well, the path is fine, it's the seat I fear. The path is rocky and my bottom is tender. I'm in for a long ride.
We are nearly the last to leave camp in our group of 5. We stick together for moral support. I am surprised that once I lowered my seat and faced the pain that I was not the slowest rider today. The BOB is still bouncing around behind me, but I'm plowing down the path with speed today. Jennifer is not so speedy. She's suffering from a terrible headache and has the same saddle soreness I do. As she waited and rode with me on the way up, I do the same for her on the way down.
Then, Richard gets a flat. We stop to fix it and get a nice rest in the shade before tackling the rest of the ride to pavement. At the trailhead, Jennifer and I decide to ride the road the rest of the way down while J and Ted want to take the trail. Too much bouncing for me- I'll take smooth please. Richard initially takes the road, but at the last minute veers off onto the trail after the guys. Jennifer and I race down the road to our meeting spot. We get there first and sit in the shade talking while we wait. Deer walk practically around us and we enjoy the beauty of the day. J and Ted arrive, sans Richard. Turns out, he got a flat right away and didn't have tools, so started walking down the trail. Like practical people, we send J in alone with tools, to find him. The rest of us wait until Ted can't stand it anymore and races off to look for them. Yes, you are right. J and Richard somehow arrive without passing Ted, so now we are missing yet another one of our group and still can't move forward. Finally, we assemble and are off again, together, on the road.
Boy are we tired! And hungry! We throw our bikes and gear in ACA and walk over to get delicious brunch at the Old Post. Awesome. Instant sleepy. This day drags on and on, but I'll spare you. We finally arrive home at 4:00 in the evening and enjoy a wonderful hot shower and veg all night.
I will never lapse on my bike riding...I will never lapse on my bike riding...I will never lapse on my bike riding again.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Best Week Ever
My parents arrived. 
They haven't been here in 3 1/2 years. How can that be possible? I haven't seen them in 1 1/2. Incredible. One week together. I told them to bring some work clothes. They are professionals in the yard and I have some serious projects to take on. They come with amazing attitudes and endless enthusiasm. We all 4 work out an idea for a garden. Everyone has input. We sketch it out, to scale, and write a list of things we need from the store. My aunt gives the idea of Square Foot gardening- doesn't he make it seem like such a piece of cake? Well, it's not.
We start out on Monday utilizing perfect sized redwood from that damn playset that has been rotting in the middle of our backyard. We feel great about both taking down the playset as well as reusing it for a very practical purpose. We measure, saw, and nail each of the 3 boxes. By we, I mean Dad. I stand on the boards while he saws to keep them steady. Reminds me of standing on the ice cream maker back in 1973 while he churned the dasher. Then we go shopping for supplies- weed mat, fencing to keep out my veggie eating dog, compost and other soil materials. Monday night we start to rip up the sod. We decide to rent a sod cutter the next morning and save us a lot of time and body ache.
Sod cutters rock.
Other than jiggling you to death and being deafening, they cut sod like butter- perfect strips of grass clinging to a layer of dirt, just enough to survive. We cut the sod for our space in 45 minutes.
We roll the sod up under a tree for shade and hope it lives until we can find it a new home. Next is measuring out where the boxes will live. This is so systematic I can hardly stand it. I want to just throw those boxes *about* where I think they should be, but I refrain and we measure around them for easy mobility for people as well as wheelbarrows. I know the time spent now will be worth it in the end, so I resist my sloppy urges. First real stumbling block: where do the sprinkler lines run? We need to dig holes for the posts and do not want to spend most of our time repairing leaks. This, my friends, is more difficult than it sounds. What seems like a logical place for a line is not the reality.
We figure out the sprinkler lines finally the next day. We also are fortunate to have someone come out at that time and mark all of the utility lines so we don't get executed. After yet another trip to the store, we have a brand new post hole digger so my dad can stop rubbing all of the skin off his knees trying to pull dirt and rocks out of the hole with his hand. While my dad digs, my mom and I lay weed mat, mix the soil and fill the boxes. This sounds like pleasant work, but let me tell you, it's still work. I'm starting to feel buff again.
My dad gets half of the fence done and we don't finish our tasks, but it's time for dinner, so we rush into the shower and change. And by we showering, I mean my parents. I run out of time and find myself wiping off most of the dirt with just a wet washcloth, throwing on a dress, flattening my hair and squirting on some perfume to help cover my earthy, sweaty, nasty smell. I think for the 15 minutes I had, I look damn good. We are late--J's biggest pet peeve--but it's a Wednesday, so there aren't people waiting for tables.
We eat one of the finest meals I've eaten in a long time. I think it was enhanced by the manual labor. Mom and I split the most delicious dessert. I am feeling satisfied.
The next morning we only have a couple of hours before I have to take my parents to the airport. Where did the time go? This was the shortest, most grueling week, but one of the best visits I've ever had. The one thing I learned this week: I am exactly like my parents. Strengths, weaknesses, the whole shebang. And you know what? I'm ok with that. I think they are pretty kick ass people- not just parents. Unfortunately, I have broken my dad's back. Poor guy- he's whipped. For the first time ever I hear him say that he can't keep working. He's going to have to leave the fence for J and I to finish. Wow. See, people keep growing, no matter how old they are.
I drop them off at the airport with big hugs and promises that the next time they come out I won't subject them to slave labor. We'll see...
They haven't been here in 3 1/2 years. How can that be possible? I haven't seen them in 1 1/2. Incredible. One week together. I told them to bring some work clothes. They are professionals in the yard and I have some serious projects to take on. They come with amazing attitudes and endless enthusiasm. We all 4 work out an idea for a garden. Everyone has input. We sketch it out, to scale, and write a list of things we need from the store. My aunt gives the idea of Square Foot gardening- doesn't he make it seem like such a piece of cake? Well, it's not. We start out on Monday utilizing perfect sized redwood from that damn playset that has been rotting in the middle of our backyard. We feel great about both taking down the playset as well as reusing it for a very practical purpose. We measure, saw, and nail each of the 3 boxes. By we, I mean Dad. I stand on the boards while he saws to keep them steady. Reminds me of standing on the ice cream maker back in 1973 while he churned the dasher. Then we go shopping for supplies- weed mat, fencing to keep out my veggie eating dog, compost and other soil materials. Monday night we start to rip up the sod. We decide to rent a sod cutter the next morning and save us a lot of time and body ache.
Sod cutters rock.
Other than jiggling you to death and being deafening, they cut sod like butter- perfect strips of grass clinging to a layer of dirt, just enough to survive. We cut the sod for our space in 45 minutes.
We roll the sod up under a tree for shade and hope it lives until we can find it a new home. Next is measuring out where the boxes will live. This is so systematic I can hardly stand it. I want to just throw those boxes *about* where I think they should be, but I refrain and we measure around them for easy mobility for people as well as wheelbarrows. I know the time spent now will be worth it in the end, so I resist my sloppy urges. First real stumbling block: where do the sprinkler lines run? We need to dig holes for the posts and do not want to spend most of our time repairing leaks. This, my friends, is more difficult than it sounds. What seems like a logical place for a line is not the reality.
We figure out the sprinkler lines finally the next day. We also are fortunate to have someone come out at that time and mark all of the utility lines so we don't get executed. After yet another trip to the store, we have a brand new post hole digger so my dad can stop rubbing all of the skin off his knees trying to pull dirt and rocks out of the hole with his hand. While my dad digs, my mom and I lay weed mat, mix the soil and fill the boxes. This sounds like pleasant work, but let me tell you, it's still work. I'm starting to feel buff again.
My dad gets half of the fence done and we don't finish our tasks, but it's time for dinner, so we rush into the shower and change. And by we showering, I mean my parents. I run out of time and find myself wiping off most of the dirt with just a wet washcloth, throwing on a dress, flattening my hair and squirting on some perfume to help cover my earthy, sweaty, nasty smell. I think for the 15 minutes I had, I look damn good. We are late--J's biggest pet peeve--but it's a Wednesday, so there aren't people waiting for tables.
We eat one of the finest meals I've eaten in a long time. I think it was enhanced by the manual labor. Mom and I split the most delicious dessert. I am feeling satisfied.
The next morning we only have a couple of hours before I have to take my parents to the airport. Where did the time go? This was the shortest, most grueling week, but one of the best visits I've ever had. The one thing I learned this week: I am exactly like my parents. Strengths, weaknesses, the whole shebang. And you know what? I'm ok with that. I think they are pretty kick ass people- not just parents. Unfortunately, I have broken my dad's back. Poor guy- he's whipped. For the first time ever I hear him say that he can't keep working. He's going to have to leave the fence for J and I to finish. Wow. See, people keep growing, no matter how old they are.
I drop them off at the airport with big hugs and promises that the next time they come out I won't subject them to slave labor. We'll see...
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