I Will Cut You! Seriously, no.. I mean for reals.

When last I reported from my summer of bike racing, I had just competed in the Inaugural Ironclad Crit and I was very very pleased with my 4th place finish. I was looking forward the next weekend, to racing the challenging Vancouver Courthouse Crit, but... as it frequently happens, life kinda took over. My mom came into town and that weekend was spent moving from one tiny apartment to one larger apartment. I thought that I could pack and move all of my stuff and my roommates and my GF’s in a few hours, up and down a flight of stairs, and then race the following day. But honestly, two hours into the 22 hour ordeal, I realized that racing on Sunday was not going to happen. As a matter of fact... racing on Monday was not looking very promising either. Not only were my legs shot from climbing and the heavy lifting, but I was departing on Thursday of that week to go to Reno for a wedding just to come back 24 hours later and play in an all weekend long camping softball tourney in Washington... so, putting my life back in order and finding my toothpaste amongst the sea of boxes, was honestly at the top of my list of priorities.

By the time life had finally settled down, I had missed out on two weekends of racing and two Monday Nights at PIR and a few nights out at the track. No fear though, I would make up for all of it by driving to Longview Washington to race in the Longview Criterium. A new race on the OBRA calendar, this course was unlike any other crits in the fact that it had no corners. That’s right, no corners. It was just a big round circle that we’d race lap after lap after lap on. That means... no breaks, no coasting. And, depending on who’d show up, that means sufferfest after sufferfest. This should be noted, that as a bike racer, I am commonly not one to “bring the pain”. No, more often than not, I am the one to chase the pain bringers. I don’t lead the race, I sit in a relatively safe spot behind others and pedal only at the cadence I need to to coast on to a sprint finish. I race with conservation in mind and I am pretty decent at reacting to other people’s actions and making informed decisions about when to move and where. So, having said all of that, I was ready to be in some pain at the Longview Crit, especially when I saw the field of women who also showed up.

(this is me in the orange showing some cleavage in a ill-fated attempt in trying to talk my body into racing)

It’s not that the field was big by any means... really, we only had eight riders. But three of those seven riders were pretty damn fast Cat 2 women and one lady was a Cat 1 rider recovering from a big back injury. Added in that the race was around 3:15 pm and by this time heat had escalated to a disgusting 97 degrees out, I knew that this was going to be one of the harder races I’ve ever done. Basically, my willingness to expend my energies goes waaaaaay down when you add in any kind of heat element to the equation. Nevertheless, I hadn’t raced in two weeks and I had driven all the way to Longview and I told myself I was going to race this race and I had paid my fee... so, I was going to race it, heat stroke be damned.

I warmed up as usual and tried my best to drink tons of fluids and subsequently, had to use the bathroom a few dozen times. As it came time for our race, we lined up on the start line and the official went over the rules, and then... just like wishful thinking, asked us if we would mind if they shortened the race from 45 minutes to 35. This, was the most amazing thing I had heard all day! Shorter? Oh hells yes...! But then I realized he was “asking” us, meaning, someone had the opportunity to say: "No, I paid to race for 45 minutes in 100 degree heat so damn it I’m gonna get my money’s worth!" Fearing the worst, I glared over at my fellow racers and thought to myself.... “if any of you say anything I WILL CUT YOU!!!” And honestly, I think I meant it. Luckily though, no one audibly objected and soon, we were on our way. It didn’t take long to realize this was going to be rough race. And, it didn’t take long for me to wonder if I could really hang at all. Every breath felt like trying to breathe in a sauna... hot, dry, gasping for air. Two laps felt like they took twenty minutes to complete when in all honesty, it had only been two minutes. I found myself glaring at the clock at each lap... 32 minutes left? WTF? We’ve been out here forever!! And it was round about that time that the “pain bringers” decided they had had enough of dragging our sorry hot asses around, and made a break for it. I saw it happen, I heard the gears shift and people rise out of their saddle and go. I felt my body react in the way it normally does, to respond to the sudden bursts of speed, to do the same... but when I went to sprint to catch them... my legs, my lungs said “FUCK NO! Are you CRAZY? It’s 97 friggin degrees out here! And when/if you catch them, what are you gonna have to do? You’re gonna have to stick with them. Sit back down.” And, so I did.

(me, hanging out at the back of the pack for about 30 minutes trying to avoid a DNF)

I tried to do my share of work with the remaining five of the pack but my body was not cooperating. At each go around the lap I looked on the clock, expecting to see some time frame slightly more manageable, but it wasn’t even at 25 minutes yet. We hadn’t even been racing for a full ten minutes and I wanted to quit. I’ve never DNF (did not finish) in a race before, but I was so ready to here. At one point, I even stopped pedaling and pulled off to the side, but for whatever inane reason jumped back into the line of racers, at the end. There were a few sprint prize laps thrown in there, a few mini break attempts for the remainder of us not in the front three. And at each attack by an opposing rider... I responded by doing just enough of what I needed to to not throw up or get dropped. And eventually, following this strategy of extreme conservation, the clock counted down and eventually the laps themselves started counting down.

By the time we got to 5 laps to go, I started thinking about what I’d need to do to at least place well. I mean shit, I’ve stayed in the race this long so I might as well try to at least win the bunch sprint for 4th. So, I plotted it out... steady, safe, hydrate, good wheel, bad wheel... and eventually we came to that final lap. From here, I put myself in a position about three from the back and as we entered into the final curve ahead of the sprint, the two ahead of me made a jump while in an extremely unlevo like move... veered waaay off to the left hand side of the wide road, across the seam I was sure was going to grab my wheel, and made a break for it. Trying to shave off anyone from behind me intent on sucking my wheel and all the while, trying to surprise attack my unsuspecting pack leaders. I guess it worked, I came from behind and nailed a pretty clean sprint finish for 4th place overall, right behind those Cat 2 ladies in the break.

At first, I felt a little bad for winning the bunch sprint since I was in the back most of the race, not really racing or working... just more or less trying to survive and not quit. But... that feeling or any feeling of happiness was quickly replaced with “Ooooh, I don’t feel very well. It’s about 100 degrees outside and yet I’m shivering and I have goosebumps. This can’t be a good sign.” So, I paid a nice little visit to the medic tent there at Longview and sure enough, I had a little bout with what they like to call “heat exhaustion”. I hung out with the medics for a bit with cold compresses all over my body and ice cold water. The medics and I discussed many a things there under that canopy: life, love, race promotion, and before I departed assuring them I was good to go home, they gave me a t-shirt to show their gratitude with hanging out with them. Sweet!

Despite the awful race day heat, the course wasn’t that bad. Sure, the pavement had some seams with massive gaps in it, but as far as crits go, the course was fast. And that’s what made it so challenging. As well, the people of Longview were really excited and supportive of having a race there and for all the racers in attendance. Even better, they put together a pretty impressive purse for the top five women finishers. Sure, I got a little heat stroke, but coming home with a check for my efforts didn’t make it seem as bad. Hopefully next year this race won’t happen on the hottest day of the summer and also the same day as the Rapha Race (which, from what I’ve heard was epic) so that this town can get some more riders out and some more people out watching and buying sausages and coffee from their vendors. As for me, well... check or no check, I think I’ll play this one by ear depending on the weather forecast for next year.

we are sooo lucky to have been raised amongst catalogs.

So, back the the oh so awkward glorious days of Jr High and High School, Nirvana and Pearl Jam were lighting up the airwaves and every week I looked forward to watching Seinfeld and Northern Exposure. It was in this era too, long before the internet, that catalogs and magazines were my only outlet to a world and a place I wanted to live. Namely, anywhere where plaid and flannel were de riguer attire amongst with tall pine trees and mountains or, pretty much anywhere that wasn’t called Hillsboro Ohio. Much like a reference to Best in Show... I loved catalogs, I used to get all the best ones: J. Crew, Banana Republic, Pottery Barn, Lands End and my personal favorite, L.L.Bean. When these little gems arrived in the mail, I would spend hours flipping through the pages and reading all the descriptions. It wasn’t so much that I loved the clothes, but I loved the photos, I loved the made up life the people in the catalogs had. The Christmas catalogs always featured a big party where they all go out in the snow to pick the perfect Christmas tree. The summer ones always had a great little garden party with cold beverages swimming in a large bucket of ice or featured a couple out in the woods, camping by a lake. And without fail, the fall issues had folks in their favorite plaid flannel shirts raking leaves and gathering pumpkins. Naturally, it just seemed to me, this is the life one should have. Granted, the clothes won’t make it happen and it might be hard to find beautiful friends of almost every ethnicity ... but one could create situations in their life that mirrored or bettered, those idealistic lifestyle images found in catalogs.

Which means... at least for me...if you don’t like the scenery, flip the page first chance you get.

Long before I could get out of town, I my closet was full of my favorite LL Bean flannels. I had my khakis, I had my Timberland Boots and I had my beloved Jeep Cherokee. Eventually by the time I got to college, the Jeep was loaded up with a bright red sea kayak headed to Maine for the summer. In the later years I added my black lab mix to the picture and then afterwards, I moved to a place where pretty much, any time I wanted to go camping under the pine trees or forage through the snow to find the perfect Christmas tree, I could. My life in essence, has kinda become like those catalog pages. Granted, that may seem kind of shallow... but it’s only shallow if all I was ever worried about was how other people perceived me, like a voyeur in someone else’s life catalog. But you know, other peoples perceptions were never the goal... the goal was living the kind of lifestyle that I wanted. It’s just a funny circumstance that it resembles the pages of the catalogs that I obsessed over so much. These days I don’t really spend my time reading catalogs, instead I’ve made my life the catalog. Why spend my time pouring over someone else’s ideal of a perfect life when you can be out there living your own perfect life?

On that note, back in the glory days of my catalog reading, I often ripped out pages I liked and put them into a file folder that has traveled around with me over the years. When moving this past month, I went through some of those old images for the first time in years and it’s funny what I had saved. One of those saved pages was full of my favorite L.L.Bean plaid flannel shirts. Back in the day, L.L. Bean was the best. It was synonymous with the words "outdoors". In high school, when I had saved up enough money, I actually purchased a few of my favorites along with one of their classic "warm up jackets" and that became my “go-to” for cold weather clothing. But then, grunge fell by the wayside and clothing style and sizes changed and those shirts were given away to my parents or put in boxes which were stored and moved from location to location after high school. Always packed, kept for my never ending love for the Bean, but... never worn.

Oh, 1994...

Recently, I’ve feel like I’ve been on an Americana kick... no, that doesn’t mean buying all the American flags I see and covering my car with them, it means rediscovering classic American items. Handmade, hand tested, hand trued year after year classics. From classic American architecture like the Grand Lodges, to basic bluegrass and old country favorites, or little things like you grandfathers pocket knife, the flashlight your grandma always kept in her car, the zippo lighter always on the end table, your dad’s handkerchiefs, that flannel your mom has had forever, a pair of good leather shoes that won’t wear out after a season, simple things. Well made things. Things you may pay a bit more out of pocket now, but it’s well worth the value they give you year after year. This brought me back to thinking about those L.L.Bean flannel shirts I had.

Certain that I had one of those flannels stored away somewhere, I went digging through my boxes and sure enough... found one of them that had traveled with me all the way from Ohio. I hung it up in my closet and promised to wear it again someday soon. Then last week, when getting ready to depart for a late summer camping trip I reached in and grabbed it. Upon putting it on, I suddenly realized why it hadn’t been worn in such a long time. See back in 1996, the fit on clothes was much bigger than it is these days. In fact, this shirt is so big on me now, that I’m pretty sure I could fit two of me’s in it. Sadly, realizing it would be more of a fire hazard than a warm shirt to sit beside the fire, I put it back in the closet and made a mental note to visit L.L.Bean again soon and order another one, appropriately sized.

So, this week I did just that. I visited the modern catalog... the internet.. and typed in plaid flannel into the search browser. And, I was surprised by what came up. There was one women’s shirt available in two colors, one men’s shirt available in two colors and one kids shirt, also available in two colors. Initially, I loved the women’s shirt, it was an attractive plaid and the cut seemed to be pretty flattering (which isn’t normal for most L.L.Bean clothes. Sorry Bean... your selection of mom jeans scares the crap out of me!). I was ready to click “buy”; however, just before doing so I read through the customer comments and reviews and all the women seemed to say the same thing... they loved the pattern and the colors, but overall the fabric itself was lacking in quality. Everyone wanted flannel shirts as durable and as warm as the mens and boys, but were solely disappointed in the option that was given for women. Which really got me thinking, has L.L.Bean ventured so far away from their initial roots that they are cheapening their product for the sake of fashion? And if that’s the case... I imagine those unflattering mom jeans that they are also selling, will probably last a good 30 years.

Then I remembered seeing an article that was written regarding a new line of clothing for L.L.Bean under the tag line “Signature” . Apparently this off-shoot of L.L.Bean still stands behind the same principles as the regular L.L. Bean, but the clothes were designed by a more fashionable fella and come with an updated cut and styling as well as a slightly higher price-tag (think: L.L. Bean meets J. Crew). When going over this new site, I liked the clothes. No wait, I loved the clothes actually. No mom jeans anywhere in sight and full of L.L.Bean classics like their Maine Guide Shirts, Cotton Flannel shirts in attractive plaids as well as there ever favorite Chamois Cloth Shirt, available in even an classy women’s cut. Made to look like it would work in the professional office space as much as it would work out in the yard or out with friends. Now L.L.Bean - now we’re talking! But... still, there is hesitation. Why is one chamois shirt on the regular L.L.Bean site $35 while the signature one is $50? Why can’t L.L. Bean adapt and make a better, more fitting product, just as durable as the other.... without creating a separate “signature” line and raising the price under the guise of being a classic “historically american” product? If someone buys one... what is that saying about the person who buys the other? They are just cheaper? Do they not care about fit, form and function?

this

and this are much more appealing than....

this and...

this.

I love you L.L.Bean and I will always love your product and your catalogs and your store as they bring back nothing but warm, happy, fuzzy memories. But, right now you’ve got me a little... well, questioning. And, just so you know, on my nostalgia kick for a quality L.L.Bean flannel shirt that is a heavier flannel and fits well, I ended up ordering the boys buffalo plaid flannel shirt. Thankfully, I can still wear kids clothes till someone out there makes some durable and fashionable American classic women’s clothes.

toaster ovens

So, like I said in the last blog, this summer has been busy. Just recently, my mom and her friend came to town and there was much sightseeing and entertaining to do. Then, while they were here, I spent 22 hours over a weekend moving into my new apartment. The remainder of that week was spent organizing the new space and cleaning the old space and then wooosh, it was off to Reno with my mom for a wedding. I got to Reno on Thursday, spent the night and then brunched in Tahoe, took some photos, drove into the desert with my family, took some photos, and then watched my cousin Selah get married. Not even thirty minutes after the vowels were exchanged atop the Reno Art Museum on Friday evening, I was on my way back to Portland to play in the LCP Softball Tournament the next morning.

For those of you who don’t know, LCP is pretty much one of the highlights of the summer. Not only is LCP fun because you’re playing softball for a whole weekend with a bunch of your friends, but you’re camping out and you’re partying the whole time. Well, maybe not the WHOLE time, but there is a good chance that anytime after 11am 90% of the population has a beer in their hands. As well, it’s a “ladies only” softball tournament, so there is a lot of well ... “ladies only” action going on (wink, wink). Thankfully though, I am a taken woman, so there are no big surprises there, but I always make it a point to take place in the naked slip and slide... cause well, you know... being naked is fun sometimes. Most of the time.

Despite all of that softball playing, beer drinking and naked slip and sliding though... I’d have to say that the highlight of the weekend was a conversation that happened on Saturday night during the beer relay races (yes, the beer relay races). Anyways, my GF Sam had just got done competing in the potato sack race and we sat down to watch the other competitors try their hands. Next thing I know this girl (lady I mean, about my age) comes over and taps me and Sam on the back. We’ll call her Suzan. The conversation went something like this:

Suzan: Hey... excuse me.

Me: yeah?

Suzan: So um... you two (mentioning to Sam and I) have been together for a while right?

Me: um... I guess so. Not like a LONG time, but you know...

Suzan: Well over a year though right?

Sam: Yeah... about a year and half.

Suzan: Oh, okay. Well... um... I just wanted to say hi and well... I see you guys a lot, at concerts and stuff. Like Brandi Carlile and the Indigo Girls, Chris Pureka, and well... I see you guys and you both look so happy and together and in love that you helped me realize that I was gay.

Me: (shock)

Suzan: That if you guys can do it and make it work, I can too. So yeah... I’m gay and I’m happy and well, now I’ve got a great girlfriend and so.... well, thanks.

Me: (still in shock) wow... um, well... congratulations. wow... that’s something.

Suzan: Yeah, I’ve seen you guys and I’ve wanted to say something for a while, but I had to get a few drinks in me first to get enough courage.

Sam: Well, thanks for saying something. That’s cool.

Me: Yeah... that’s great! Really, thanks for telling us. That's amazing. Oh, and btw...I like your plaid shirt!

So the conversation continued for a minute or so, we exchanged names and pleasantries and I told her that next time she’s sees us out at a concert or something... that she should come say hi. And, on behalf of Lesbians everywhere... welcome to the club. But really, wow, that completely blew me away. That someone could just be so inspired by seeing other people out and happy and in love, that they could decide that they want the same thing for themselves and overcome those obstacles that stand in their way. I mean, I imagine that that kind of thing does happen... but who ever really gets to find out that they helped someone come to that happy realization? There is the old adage in “lesbianism” that you get a “toaster oven” when you make someone gay. Well, based upon that I think Sam and I get a Viking Convection Oven. Hell, we didn’t even have to touch anyone, they just saw us and boom... gay.

Of course, I kid. That is pretty friggin amazing and it was totally the highlight of my weekend. Best of luck to you in your lady lovin Suzan!

makes for a perfect house warming gift...

extra time

Sometimes I have these mornings where I don't remember the alarm clock giving me a choice of when exactly I wanted to wake up. In fact, I wake up and I'm already late. I don't remember ever hitting the snooze button fifteen minutes prior and I'm in the middle of a ridiculously crazy dream involving Lindsey Lohan and I'm terrified and amused all at the same time... but, alas... work is calling and another day full of activity is ahead of me. Then I remember I just moved to a new house closer to work and instead of a 20 minute commute to work, it's down to a perfectly manageable 12 minutes. So, I sit there for another minute, giving my mind a chance to gather it's thoughts for the day and then within seconds, I'm already thinking of bike racing and new poster designs.

The bike.

I feel like a broken record quite possibly talking about bikes as much as I do, but it's a constant in my life. I have a new commute and I'm always looking for ways to shave time off of it, looking for ways to stay in bed just a little bit longer, looking for ways to sit perched on the edge of my chair putting my shoes on one by one, the right one first (for good luck) and thinking about random things like colors. In some aspects, I miss my old commute. Twenty minutes is a perfect time to ride and think. Vancouver was a perfect sprint track... one light to the next to the next and to the next. Passing other commuters with their pannier bags and yellow vest, passing the hipster on his fixed gear, passing the random lady who needs to be wearing a helmet but makes up for it by having cool shoes on. One after one after one...all the while, thinking about some random thing, racing through the morning mix of pre-coffee clutter in my mind. But now... I have to think: a shorter commute leaves less time for random thoughts while riding. Eventually yes, it'll become as common and complacent as the last commute, but now my twelve minutes is spent trying to figure out what the shortest and fastest route is.

The past few months have flown by.

The summer is always busy here in the PNW. Week to week it's about bike racing and softball and grill outs at friends houses. Usually there are a few guests and a few camping trips thrown in there for good measure, but I always get a sense of relief when Labor Day rolls around and life seemingly calms down. Add in moving in to a new place with my girlfriend and not feeling settled yet - and my mind is all over the place. So much to do, so much to do. I look forward to the afternoon when the appropriate pictures are all placed on the wall and I can bake some cookies in the oven. But now there are just boxes, boxes full of her stuff, boxes full of my stuff... stuff that I could probably go without. Stuff I could minimalize. But to do that would take time. Physical time that I don't have.

Riding the bike is easy, it allows time for my mind to wonder. I can't tell you how many times while racing or riding, I am thinking about something else completely. My mind is multi-tasking while biking. Work is even easy, I multi-task there too. I steal moments away for day dreams and thoughts about other things. But, physical time... time to sort and move through stuff, that is hard to come by. That's difficult. Like taking two whole days to move boxes and carry things up and down stairs. Two days of negotiating heavy objects in spatial relation to the things around them. Two days of not thinking about random things. Two days of disorder. Two days of physical and mental chaos. But, in the end... that time is worth it. It's worth the few weeks of learning where the forks are, it's worth learning the ins and the outs of a new bike route. It's worth giving up the physical auto-pilot for the end result. The end result knowing that you don't have to think anymore about some things. Somethings, you just know. For example, you know that when you wake from that crazy dream with Lindsey Lohan in it, the one where she is trying to run you off the road because you won't call her back... that when you wake up you can breathe a sigh of relief. This is because you know, that when you hit the snooze button, in spite of everything else that you have to do, everything else that calls for attention in your brain, everything that you just don't have time to do, that you're taking an extra few minutes out of your day to stay in bed for just a little bit longer. You are making an attempt to steal away a extra few minutes here and there so that you can spend some time sleeping next to someone you love.