30 Days of Celebration: Day 15, Bike Humor

I know I've written a lot about my LiveStrong Davis ride, but as my brain returned to its happy spongy state I started to remember funny things from the day of the ride.  So today I'm celebrating the fact that even when I'm in the hollows of a major Pain Cave, there's still room for a good laugh.

Lance Armstrong started off the ride by talking to us a little about LiveStrong.  The team Fatty mention and the idea of turning LiveStrong HQ into a pie shop made me smile.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=XPTA8FW9acw

The ride was on Terry's birthday and the night before I'd decorated his number with birthday stickers so that during the ride Terry had to hear "Happy birthday!" over and over again.  Did I mention Terry hates it when people make any sort of deal about his birthday?



Then there was the guy who had a mohawk glued on his helmet.  I'd talked to him at several points during the ride, but the most memorable was when I ran into him at a water stop.  He noticed that my 'good for one free beer' tab was tearing off my ride number.  I told him it wasn't a big deal because I don't drink.  Without even hesitating he said "Well, you don't have to beg me to take it!"  and ripped it off.  I thanked him for taking care of it for me.  He nodded his mohawk in my direction and sped off saying something like "I'm here to serve."

After the ride I was gobbling down apple pie when Carlos, a hilarious Fatty from New York, told how he hung with the fast group until the hills where he was ejected like "peloton diarrhea".  Bike humor and potty humor all wrapped up in a nice little package.  Comic genius.

Thankful Thursday #31

[caption id="attachment_4467" align="aligncenter" width="490" caption="courtesy of fatcyclist.com"][/caption]

This week I'm thankful for...

• my new Team Fatty friends


• a break in the scorching weather


• summer storms


• road trips


• the birthday cake Abby made for Terry.  They're in the throes of a serious medal competition, so for her to bake a cake that is a medal is awesome!

LiveStrong Ride: Part 3

This is the final post about my LiveStrong ride.  If you're just popping over today, here's part 1 and here's part 2.

Sunday Morning...

The morning of the LiveStrong ride I hopped in the shower and for the first time in a week I could breathe out of both nostrils.  Yahoo!  Finally this horrid cold was letting up.  As far as I was concerned, this day was off to a great start and I wasn't even out of the shower yet!  Plus it was Terry's birthday and riding for LiveStrong seemed like an amazing way to start off a year.

Terry and I slipped into our gear, ate breakfast and rode to the starting line where we met up with the rest of Team Fatty for a photo.  I double checked my gear and my bike computer to make sure everything was just as it should be.  We waited in the good company of 1,500 other cyclists for the ride to begin.  Butterflies skittered around in my stomach.  Would I make it to the cut off point in time to stay on the 105 mile course?  Would I be able to do the extra climbing that was added earlier in the week?  I was nervous, but determined to finish the 105 mile route.

As a cyclist, I'm not very fast or very strong, but what I lack in physical prowess I make up for in mental fortitude.  I'm the girl who finished a metric century with pneumonia and a broken toe just to prove to myself that I could do it.  Shoot, I'm the girl who rode my bike days after heart surgery because I couldn't wait to live my life as someone with a strong heart.  So, as I stood with my team at the starting line, I knew my determined mind and my strong heart would carry me through.

[caption id="attachment_4406" align="alignleft" width="240" caption="Photo courtesy of livestrong.org"][/caption]

Lance Armstrong spoke that morning about what a great day it will be when LiveStrong doesn't exist anymore because cancer has been cured.  What a great day, indeed.  Then a local woman sang the national anthem and a hush fell over the crowd.  I stood with my hand over my heart watching the flag above the start line ruffle ever so slightly in the breeze.  When the singer hit the line "the land of the free and the home of the brave" my eyes welled up and a lump caught in my throat.  There I stood in a sea of people wearing the names of loved ones they were riding for.  Other cyclists wore signs proclaiming they'd survived cancer.  I knew in every fiber of my being that these were the kind of people our national anthem is about.  I was standing in group of people whose bravery was not only pinned on their jerseys, but was evident in each of their faces.

Before I knew it, the starting horn was fired and we were off.  About a mile in, I looked down and noticed my bike computer wasn't working.  Shoot, I needed my bike computer to tell me if I was going fast enough to make the cut off at mile 27.  I also needed my computer to make sure I was drinking and eating enough.  1 water bottle every hour along with a Clif bar mini and a Shot Blok or two every 15 miles was the magic equation for me.  Not to worry, I would just rely on Terry's bike computer.  A few minutes later it quit working.  Damn.

We soon linked up with Mike, a fellow Fat Cyclist from North Carolina.  His computer was working fine and dandy and the three of us formed a nice little paceline.  Knowing we had plenty of food and water, we skipped the first rest stop.  13 miles in Terry's seat decided to drop of its own volition and so we stopped for a couple of minutes while he fixed it.  While we were stopped I fixed my bike computer and ate a snack.  Cool, now all I had to do to figure out where I was on the course was add 13 miles to my odometer.  With plenty of food and water we zipped past rest stop #2 and hurried on to the cutoff point.  We made it to the cutoff and Mike turned left to the 70 mile course and Terry and I turned right on the 105 mile option.  Things were looking good.  We were riding pretty quickly, I was feeling great and my legs felt strong.

We soon got to the climbing portion of the ride.  Terry is a much faster climber than I am and so I told him to go ahead and that I'd see him at the next rest stop.  He nodded and in no time was out of sight.  I hunkered down in my lowest gear and pedaled past beautiful Lake Berryessa.  It was a warm day, but being from Redding, the heat wasn't a concern at all.  I continued to drink water as needed and climbed some more.  What I didn't know then was that in an effort to shake this pesky cold, my body was burning through much more liquid than usual.

As I was climbing, I noticed my arms and legs prickling with goosebumps.  I'd heard of that happening to athletes who were dehydrated.  I drank some more water knowing the rest stop was at the top of the climb.  I climbed some more and rapidly moved from having goosebumps to being downright cold.  I drank the last bit of my water and pedaled my bike toward a shady spot where I stopped.  As I got off my bike the unthinkable happened.  Suddenly I had the sensation that I was wetting my pants.  I couldn't make it stop.  I'd lost control of my bladder and I knew in that moment that my overheated body had taken control and was throwing a Hail Mary to cool itself down.  Very little urine came out, not even enough to make a dark spot on my Spandex.  On one hand, that was a good thing because I did not want to stand on the side of the road with pee running down my leg.  On the other hand, I knew it was a bad sign that my body wasn't producing very much fluid.  Cyclist after cyclist asked if I was okay.  I told them I was fine.  And I truly thought I was.  I knew I just needed some water.  I pulled out my cell to call Terry, but there was no service.

I hailed a course marshal on a motorcycle and asked him to bring me some water.  A few minutes later he returned with a bottle of icy cold water.  I downed it and asked him to call a SAG wagon to take me to the next rest stop at the top of the hill.  He radioed the SAG and I decided to walk my bike a little further while I waited for them to come and get me.  Often times moving forward, even if it's just walking, makes me feel better.  At this point I heard someone behind me yell "Hey, Fatty, wait up!  I'll walk with you."  I looked back and saw Christine, a Fatty from New Jersey.  I was so happy to have company.  We walked until the SAG wagon scooped us both up to the next rest stop where Terry was waiting.  I was glad we'd chosen to take a ride in the SAG wagon because the rest stop was down the hill and up another climb, much farther than I remembered it being on the course map.  At the rest stop I downed a few bottles of water and ate some food.  I told Terry that the climb was too much for me and that I'd run out of water.  I also told him that I felt much better now and should be fine for the rest of the ride.  I really did feel better.  I really did think I'd be fine.

Sunday Afternoon...

Remember earlier this week when I told you the course had been changed from a big loop to include an out and back?   Well, that out and back meant that after the rest stop, I had to tackle the hills again.  When we were ready, Christine, Terry and I left the rest stop and began the climb.  Terry stayed with me until I couldn't climb anymore and told him I had to get off and walk.  Christine had to walk, too, and so I waved Terry ahead assuring him I was fine and that I'd see him at the next rest stop.  Christine and I walked our bikes to the top of the hill.  We were chatting and cheering on other cyclists who passed us by.  At the crest of the hill, we hopped back on our bikes and enjoyed a nice descent and some flats.

Usually I can really motor across the flats, but that day I was a slower than usual.  I tried to be patient with my body.  After all, it was having a little bit of a tough morning.  I pedaled along, making sure to drink lots of water as I went.  Christine clipped along ahead of me and I caught back up with her at a water stop where I drank some more and refilled my bottles.  We rode together for a little bit, but my body still couldn't go as fast as usual.  I pedaled along by myself over some rolling hills and then the course turned into a headwind.  It wasn't an unbearable headwind.  I've ridden much faster in much stronger winds.  As I rode, I watched my speed plummet.  It felt like I was pedaling in quicksand.  I kept pedaling and drinking water and eating, determined to snap out of this major bonk.

The goosebumps returned, making my arm hairs stand on end.  The muscles in my calves twisted and cramped.  To my shame I again had the sensation of wetting my pants.  This time not a single drop came out.  I pulled out my cell.  Damn, still no reception.  I knew the next rest stop had to be close.  I watched for course marshals or bike medics or SAG wagons, but I was all alone on this stretch.  I tucked my head into the wind and pedaled.

Then my phone rang.  I clicked my earbud and heard Terry on the other end, but the wind was so loud I couldn't tell what he was saying.  I told him I couldn't hear him.  He yelled "Where are you?"  I looked down at my computer.  It read 56 miles.  All I had to do was add 13 miles for the stretch at the beginning of the ride when my computer wasn't working and another 5 for the part where the SAG wagon had driven me up the hill.  Now, I'm not normally good at math to begin with, but even I can add three numbers together.  I tried to add them and I couldn't.  Come on brain, just add the numbers.  I tried again.  Nothing.  I told Terry I didn't know what mile I was at.  Terry said something, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.  I told him I thought I was close to the rest stop and I hung up.

It was one thing for my legs to cramp, for my body to throw in the towel, but now my mind was giving out.  It was scary and for the first time that day I admitted to myself that I was in real trouble.  I felt a lump rise in my throat, but I forced myself not to cry because I knew I needed to stay calm.

Even worse than admitting I was in trouble was admitting that there was no way I could finish the 105 miles.  I was absolutely heartbroken at the thought.  To know that I was not going to make the goal I'd been working toward for months was a crushing blow.  I can't even describe to you the depths of the disappointment I felt with myself.

And then I saw the most glorious yellow sign!  The next rest stop was only a mile away!!!  I could ride a mile in my sleep!  I summoned all my remaining mental fortitude and pedaled a little faster.  I saw another cyclist.  Then I saw several cyclists leaving the rest stop.  I pulled in and relief washed over me.  Terry was there along with my friends, Nick & Abby, who were driving the SAG wagon for that stop.  Never in my life have I been so happy to see friendly faces.  I unclipped from my pedals, laid my bike on the ground and hugged Terry tight.

I wish I could tell you that this is one of those stories where I tap into unknown reserves of strength and finish out the last 30 miles.  I'll tell you right now, it isn't that kind of story.  I gave this ride every last bit of strength I had.

And it just wasn't enough.

I sobbed on Terry's shoulder and told him I wasn't going to make it to the end.  Saying it out loud brought a fresh round of tears.  I told him I just didn't have it that day.  I was too embarrassed to tell him about wetting my pants or any of the other humiliating details.  Terry told me it was ok and that I'd done an amazing job considering I'd been sick all week.  Terry could have easily finished the ride, but I needed him to stop with me and so we climbed in the SAG wagon with our friends and drove toward the finish line.  I was quiet in the van, disappointment heavy on my shoulders.

LiveStrong gives the SAG drivers strict instructions not to drive people all the way to the finish line unless they're in need of medical attention.  I probably did need medical attention, but I was too ashamed to admit it.  A few blocks away from the finish line, Terry and I got back on our bikes.  To be honest, I didn't feel like I even deserved to cross the finish line, but I stayed close on Terry's wheel.

As we approached the finish line, I heard people cheering and I plastered on a fake smile.  Terry and I rode side by side and the announcers said "Here come two members of Team Fatty.  They started the ride together and now they're finishing it together.  There's Terry McCauley and Alicia McCauley.  Alicia raised over $1,000 for LiveStrong."  At that, another cheer went up among the crowd.

For that one moment the disappointment and humiliation of the day left me.  I knew I'd been part of doing something great in the fight against cancer.  In that moment, I was crossing the finish line for my grandmother.  I was crossing the finish line for my friends who are navigating their own path through cancer right now.  And I was crossing that finish line for all the people who believed in me enough to donate to LiveStrong on my behalf.

After finishing, Terry and I got some food and drink.  We joined our fellow Team Fatty members for pie and each of them told fantastic stories of their rides.  North Carolina Mike told us funny stories from his 70 mile route.  The fast 105 milers told about their speedy double paceline and the Fatty who almost caught up with Lance Armstrong.  New Jersey Christine rolled in as the Lanterne Rouge of our team and I congratulated her on a job well done.  Hearing their stories was bittersweet for me.  I was thrilled to hear about their successes, but was sad I couldn't say the same thing about my ride.  When people remarked about my finish time I'd quip "Yeah, riding in the SAG wagon for the last 30 miles really makes it go by fast.  You should try it sometime."  I'd laugh and quickly ask more about their ride.  After eating pie and thanking the Fat Cyclist, it was time to go home.

Sunday Night...

Later that night, I confessed just how bad off I was on the ride.  I told all the embarrassing details and like the good man that he is, Terry reassured me again that I'd done a great job.  A little part of me even started to believe it.

As I was throwing my profusely stinky cycling kit into the washing machine, I unpinned my race number from my jersey.  I smoothed out the wrinkles and hung it on the fridge.  When I look at my number, I think of the LiveStrong motto:

Unity is strength, knowledge is power and attitude is everything.

It's that last part that strikes me most.  I'm still the girl who finished a metric century with pneumonia and a broken toe just to prove I could do it.  I'm still the girl who rode my bike days after heart surgery because I couldn't wait to live my life as someone with a strong heart.  And now I'm the girl who gave up every last bit of my physical and mental strength for 75 miles all in the name of fighting cancer.

That's something I can be proud of.

LiveStrong Ride: Part 2

Saturday Morning...

Remember when I woke Terry up in the middle of the night with my crazy, fevered dreams?  Well, Saturday morning he took his revenge and didn't turn his alarm clock off.  In an attempt to keep away from this nasty cold I've got, he was sound asleep on the couch when his alarm sounded a little before 6am.

I woke up with a head full of disgusting sludge and I drug my sorry self to the shower.  Surely this has got to be the last day of this miserable cold I thought as I hacked up all manner of things.  Let me mention real quick that Aleve Cold & Sinus is my new best friend and the Kleenex with the lotion is a close second.

I finished packing and double checked everything, oh, 861 times.  It would be just like me to forget something.  Like pants.  Or my bike.  Once everything was in the car, I relaxed a little bit.  When Terry nonchalantly said "I almost forgot to put our front wheels in the car." I didn't even stab him.  After all, it was the day before his birthday.

Saturday Evening...

After an uneventful drive to Davis with our pals, Nick & Abby, Terry and I headed to the fundraising awards dinner.  Team Fatty captain, Elden Nelson, would be given the Individual Champion Award for raising the most money of any single person.  He also won the Individual Messenger Award for having the most donors.  Team Fatty won the Team Champion Award for being the team that raised the most money.  We also won the Team Time Trial Award, measured like real bike time trials by the funds raised by our fifth highest grossing team member.  Did I mention that there are only 4 awards given out?  Team Fatty swept them all.

So there we were mingling in the crowd before dinner was served, meeting most Team Fatty teammates for the first time.  Needless to say, every single teammate I met was funny, gracious and had a great story to share about why they joined Team Fatty.  Usually I feel really awkward and sweaty in social settings where I don't know anyone, but this was different.  Fatty does a great job of creating a community over on his site and so as I mingled, I was putting faces to names I'd known for several years.  It was more like meeting up with friends I hadn't seen for a long time and less like sweating in a crowd of strangers.

[caption id="attachment_4377" align="alignleft" width="225" caption="Terry, me, & Elden "Fatty" Nelson"][/caption]

Just before dinner was served, Terry and I put our place cards at one of the Team Fatty tables.  We sat down to eat and to my delight we were at the same table as Fatty himself and his lovely wife, Lisa.  At our table were Team Fatty members from Utah, California, New York and New Jersey.  We were having a great time chatting and laughing when Lance Armstrong came over to talk to Fatty.  Their brief conversation went like this:

Lance: “So, you decided just to win everything, huh? Not let anyone else have any awards?”

Fatty: “Hey, I learned from the best.”

Lance: “Yeah, forget* ‘em all.”

Fatty: “Damn straight.”

The rest of us at the table sat there for a few seconds with our mouths agape wondering how we were so lucky as to witness the most awesome exchange ever.  Then Lance walked away, but not before Terry could touch his arm.  That's right Terry's hand touched Lance Armstrong.  And Terry's hand touched me.  The hand that touched Lance touched me.  Swoon.

There were many jokes around the table about how I'd be calling Terry "Lance" later that night.  Some jokes are funny because they're true.  Just sayin'.

When it came time for the awards Lance bestowed all four on Fatty and he gave a moving speech composed of reasons why each of us on Team Fatty have taken up the fight against cancer.  Fatty was eloquent, humble and had many of us in tears.  I held it together until he read my reason:

"I ride in memory of my grandmother who lived with courage, humor and zeal for life.  Even cancer couldn't take that away.  Riding my bike allows me to fight cancer with courage, humor and zeal-just like my grandmother did."**

There it was, the reason I'm part of Team Fatty.  The reason I pleaded, pestered and begged all my friends and family to donate.  The reason I swung my leg over my bike and trained the last few months.

Later that night as I tossed and turned in bed, trying in vain to find a position that wouldn't make my head stuff up, I thought back to the awards dinner.  Doug Ullman, President of LiveStrong, talked about how the fight against cancer belongs to all of us as citizens of the world.

We all have stories of how cancer has impacted our lives.  Some are beautiful stories of survival against incredible odds.  Others are courageous stories of loved ones who fought hard for life right up until their last breath.  And then there are the stories that don't have an ending yet, stories of loved ones who are battling cancer right this very second.

Sleep came in short spurts that night and each time I woke up, I thought of what a privilege it is to be healthy enough to fight cancer by doing something I love.  I laid in bed and stared at The Rocket just feet away and imagined what our ride the next day would hold.  Little did I know, the ride wouldn't go at all like I imagined.

Click here to read Part 3.

*Lance didn't say 'forget'.  Ahem.

**Read the rest of Fatty's speech here.  You'll be glad you did.

Oh and while you're at it, please take 2 minutes to watch this LiveStrong video and then follow the link to sign the open letter saying that you think cancer should be a priority when world leaders gather for the Global Health Summit this September.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGbrOWqKgVM&feature=player_embedded

LiveStrong Ride: Part 1

Monday Morning...

I woke up with a raging fever and spent the day on the couch.  Several times that day I thought Good thing I'm sick today.  It'll surely pass by Sunday.  I'd hate to be sick on the day of the big ride.  That night I had feverish nightmares about being late for the ride start.  My dreams were so real that at 3:30am, I shook Terry awake insisting that he get up because we were LATE AND HAD TO GET TO THE STARTING LINE RIGHT NOW!!!  Ever so patiently, he ushered my head back to my pillow and told me it wasn't Sunday.  My fever broke sometime that night after I'd woken Terry up several more times with things of utmost importance, I'm sure.  Poor guy.

Thursday Night...

While waiting for the laundry to dry and cursing my stuffy head, I found myself poking around the Internets, catching up on the latest over on Fat Cyclist.  I scrolled down to the comments, wherein one of my teammates posted a notification about a course change for Sunday.

Ooh, a course change.  I prayed fervently that a meteor had struck the course and it had to be shortened to, say, an easy 25 miles.

All downhill.

With a tailwind.

No such luck.  No meteor at all.  In fact the course had been changed to include an out and back.  Out and backs are my least favorite type of riding because I've already seen everything once.  And there always seems to be a headwind one way, sometimes both.  But hey, maybe this out and back would be on a nice smooth, wind-protected flat.

Or maybe it would be on the really hard climbing part so that once I made it to the top of the climb and wanted to die, I would have to hold all thoughts of death until I went downhill, turned back around and climbed back up.  I bet you can guess what kind of out and back it is.  I love it when they tack on more climbing just for funsies.

Thursday night I went to sleep with a knot in my stomach.  I sleep-pedaled my sheets into a tangled mess, dreaming of all that climbing.

Friday Morning...

I untangled myself from my sheets and slipped into the shower, letting the steam clear the gunk that had settled into my nose and lungs.  Surely this cold will be gone by Sunday.  I hopped onto The Rocket for an early morning ride on the river trail with a friend.  My goal was to listen to The Rocket, to feel for any bumps in her gears and to make sure she was all set for Sunday.  Riding cleared my head and made me feel sorta human for the first time in days.  The river was lovely, as usual, but riding back uphill to my house, The Rocket and I felt our nerves rise up again.  More climbing.  More climbing.  More climbing.  This was the marching drill all the way home.  With each pedalstroke I pictured the revised elevation profile.  Up, down, up, down, up, down.  20 miles of up, down, up, down, up, down.

As I was rounding the corner into my neighborhood, I spotted a friend out for a walk.  I hadn't seen her in a while and I offered to put on my walking shoes and meet up with her on my street.  We had a great time catching up.  Toward the end of the walk we stopped at the corner where our two neighborhoods meet, I asked if she had any summer trips planned.

She has just one.  A trip to her mom's house because her mom was just diagnosed with breast cancer and my friend wants to be there for her mom's lumpectomy.  Her mom is a young, vibrant woman.  In fact, she's always one of the first people to donate to LiveStrong on my behalf.  My friend and I stood there talking on the corner, she fighting the lump in her throat, me giving her a hug and paltry words of sympathy that never seem strong enough in these circumstances.  My friend has lots of questions and at least I could direct her to LiveStrong to find some answers.

We parted ways and as I walked home, I didn't think about my stuffy head.  Or the hilly out and back added onto the course.  I thought about my friend's mother.  And my grandmother.  And all the others who I'm riding for on Sunday.  A pesky cold and a little more climbing don't feel so daunting anymore.

It's funny what a little perspective can do.

Click here to read Part 2.

30 Days of Celebration: Day 5, Gracefulness Or Lack Thereof

[caption id="attachment_4201" align="aligncenter" width="490" caption="It's appropriate that my number ended in 57 because I was Heinz 57 slow."][/caption]

Yesterday was my 100 Miles of Nowhere ride, which is exactly what it sounds like.  I rode 100 miles without really going anywhere.  Specifically I rode a 3 mile section of the river trail out and back and out and back and out and back and out and back some more until my odometer showed 100 miles.

[caption id="attachment_4203" align="alignleft" width="225" caption="A teensy snack to tide me over."][/caption]

The night before the ride I packed a small snack for the ride.  1 full-sized Clif bar, 4 mini Clif bars, 2 PB&J half sandwiches, 1 baggie of almonds, 1 pack of Shot Bloks, 1 banana and 1 baggie of Mike & Ike's and Sour Patch Kids.  Along the ride I ate everything except the full-sized Clif bar and the almonds.  Although I didn't eat the candy until I was finished, sort of like my little trophy for completing surviving the ride.

At the river trail, I met up with That Laura and our other friend, Mike.  Laura and Mike weren't registered for the 100 MoN, they just came out to ride with me because they're cool like that.  Mike gets extra cool points because he brought a chest full of ice for our water bottles and later his mom showed up with cold watermelon.

Most of my conversations with Laura prior to the ride went something like this:

Me: "This may just be the worst idea we've ever had."

Laura: "Yep.  So do you want to start at 6 or 6:30?"

Me: "Seriously, this might just be the dumbest thing we've ever done."

Laura: "Probably.  I'll meet you at the trail at 6."

Me: "To the pain."

[caption id="attachment_4205" align="alignright" width="271" caption="To the pain!"][/caption]

Laura and I rolled out about 6:05 with Mike following shortly thereafter.  The trail was beautiful and mostly empty in the cool of the morning.  We rode the first few laps together and then separated as we settled into our own rhythms.  On one of the early out and backs, Laura and I saw two bucks bounce across the trail.  Later on I also saw 2 king snakes stretched out across the trail, soaking up the sun.  I was less excited about the snakes and each time I rode by one I looked them in the eye and in a voice that wasn't wavering at all, I'm sure, I pleaded "Don't bite me, don't bite me, don't bite me."

I'd wisely purchased a book to listen to and a handful of laps in I started Barbara Kingsolver's The Bean Trees.  Don't tell me how it ends because I'm not finished yet.  So there I was happily pedaling along, listening to my book and stopping for snacks every now and then.  Before I knew it, I'd already ridden 50 miles.

At around mile 55 the wind started to pick up and didn't quit until mile 80.  This meant that heading out was into the wind, but heading back was followed by a blessed tailwind.

I should take a minute to say that at one end of the trail, there's a spacious parking lot in which to turn around.  At the other end, I had to make a tight turn around on the trail itself.  I'm laughably bad at turns and so I figured this was the perfect opportunity to practice, since I'd be encountering that turn 17 times.  And this is how at mile 61 I wound up sprawled out on the trail.  I entered the turn and started to topple over, only getting my inside foot unclipped after it was too late.  I landed hard and bruised my...bruised my, well, let's just say I bruised my ego pretty badly.  I scrambled up and looked around.  Much to my delight nobody else was around to see my display of gracefulness.

At mile 80, my friend Abby showed up to ride a handful of miles.  Mike and Laura had peeled off to ride other portions of the trail and I was getting tired of my book, so I was really glad to see Abby.  We rode out and back, chatting and just having a good time.  Abby's timing was impeccable because when she hopped off her bike to run the trail a little bit, I only had 14 miles to go.  14 miles is nothing!  My legs were tired, but I could feel the finish coming.  I started up my book again and pedaled the last few miles.

[caption id="attachment_4206" align="alignleft" width="216" caption="All done!"][/caption]

At the end I was pretty tired, but pretty happy to have completed 100 miles.  I even finished about an hour sooner than I'd anticipated.  That never happens.

Laura and Abby cheered me on at the finish line.  As we sat in the back of her car, eating candy and waiting for Mike to finish, I couldn't help but think it had been a great day to ride for a great cause.

So I'm celebrating two things today, the first being that I'm able to walk today with only a slight pain from making an asphalt angel yesterday.  Secondly, I'm celebrating my amazing friends who do some really nutty things with me.  This graffiti I saw on the river trail best sums up my feelings about my friends:

30 Days of Celebration: Day 4

Today I'm celebrating doing crazy things for worthy causes.  I'm not a scientist who can research a cure for cancer or a doctor who can help cancer patients navigate through treatment.  What I can do is ride my bike and raise money for cancer research and treatment in a creative, if not a little bit insane way.

Right this very second I'm riding a 3 mile stretch of the river trail over and over again until my odometer hits 100 miles.  That's right it's the 100 Miles of Nowhere!  100% of my registration fee went to LiveStrong and I'm still collecting donations for my LiveStrong ride in Davis.  Maybe you're not a scientist or a doctor or a cyclist, but you can be a part of fighting cancer, too, by donating to my LiveStrong page.

Or maybe you have some other talent and some other cause.  Maybe you're a marathoner and want to Race for the Cure.  Maybe you thought you were a marathoner, but it turns out you just don't get that whole "runner's high" thing.  Frankly, I'm with you.  Why not take those slightly worn shoes and give them to Soles for Souls?  Shoot, maybe your only talent is that your hair grows really fast.  Go on, grow your hair for Locks of Love.

Me?  I'm going to keep riding because every time I do something for someone else, it makes the world feel a little bit smaller.  And that makes riding 100 miles worth every pedal stroke.  I leave you with these words of encouragement from a fellow cyclist.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaIvk1cSyG8

Now, get out there, get creative and get involved!  I promise it will make you feel happy of yourself.

Cycling In April: Floods & Fangirl Fun

[caption id="attachment_3898" align="alignright" width="294" caption="photo courtesy of redding.com"][/caption]

286.11 Miles April was a great month for cycling.  The rain let up a little bit, leaving most trails open for business.  I said most.  The mighty Sacramento opened her mouth and swallowed parts of the river trail.  A few days later the water receded, lapping at the edges of the trail and leaving smaller portions under water.  On one such day, I rode it with some of my gal pals and we encountered a flooded part of the trail.  It was tough to tell how deep the water was, but in order to get home we had to ride through the water.  I watched my friends ride through, rooster tails of water shooting up behind them, their shoes dunking in the water.  I took a deep breath and braced myself for soggy socks.  I loathe riding in wet socks.  Halfway through the water, I laughed because I'm so abnormally tall, the water didn't even begin to reach my pedals.  I rode home with a new appreciation for the term 'high and dry'.

2 Really Attractive Moments I've mentioned before that cycling is a sexy sport.  I mean the spandex alone make all cyclists a 10 on the attractive scale, right?  Just nod your head and let me have my happy delusion.  Well, let me tell you, Spandex is just the tip of the iceberg friends.  For example, when you get home from your second bike ride of the day and just want to sit down for a second, the sight and smell of you in all your cycling glory will prompt your beloved to spout sweet nothings like, "You smell ripe."  Oh baby, save that talk for the bedroom!  Or picture this.  You're out on a spring ride with your man.  The day is gorgeous and all the wildflowers are in bloom.  Your allergies make their presence known and there is nary a tissue in sight.  So you pull to the side of the road and give the old farmer blow.  Your man will roll up behind you and, overwhelmed by such an attractive act, he'll utter, "Sexy." You'll gaze lovingly into your man's eyes and in your most sultry voice say, "Tell me something I don't know."  They you'll use your gloved hand to wipe the snot off your face.

1 Irritating Squeak  For the past nine months, The Rocket has had an irritating squeak.  Time after time I've taken her to the bike shop to vanquish the squeak.  All of these trips had been fruitless, because as every cyclist knows the squeak that you hear on rides mysteriously disappears when you go to the bike shop.  Finally the squeak had reached intolerable proportions, squeaking with EVERY SINGLE pedal stroke.  Let me tell you, that way madness lies.  Then finally, finally the mystery of the squeak was solved.  All these months I've been riding around with the wrong cleats.  My pedals require LOOK Delta cleats.  I was riding around on LOOK Keo cleats, which look remarkably similar.  Here see for yourself.

[caption id="attachment_3907" align="alignleft" width="180" caption="Delta"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_3908" align="alignright" width="161" caption="Keo"][/caption]

Both are black.  Both are triangular-shaped.  Both are LOOK pedals.  You can see how I'd mistake one for the other.  You can see how this simple mix up befuddled the boys at my favorite bike shop.  The Delta locks into my pedal nice and tight, making happy, smooth, quiet pedal strokes.  The Keo locks in loosely and causes horrid, mind numbing squeaking that makes me want to throw my bike over the side of the Dam.  Let me tell you, it was a blessed, blessed day when the bike shop boys realized I was riding around on the wrong cleats.  After a good laugh, they set me up with a new set of cleats.  Since the cause of the squeak had eluded them for so long, they gave me a new and correct pair of cleats for free, making me love my bike shop and my bike shop boys even more than I already do.

1 Fangirl Moment  I've mentioned my friend, Abby, before.  Over Easter vacation Abby and I took a road trip to see the Ellen show.  We had a fantastic time and I loved every second of our trip.  Funny enough, my fangirl moment doesn't directly involve Ellen.  Although Ellen and I did make eye contact when she danced right next to me, but that's another story for another time.  The day after we returned from our trip, Abby had a big mountain bike race.  She raced 20 miles on her mountain bike.  Can you even fathom such a thing?  I'm a total roadie.  I can pedal for hundreds of miles, but never would I consider entering a race.  Or worse yet, entering a mountain bike race on super technical terrain.  It just sounds like all kinds of torture.  But Abby loves it.  So I made a big sign for her, bought a whistle and some pom poms and set up close to the halfway point to cheer Abby on.  When she came zipping through, I went nuts, waving my sign like a maniac.  At the end of the race I cheered her on at the finish line, totally in awe that she finished such a grueling race.  She was all smiles and thanked me about 100 times for making her a sign.  Apparently it was a first for her.  And that's what makes me such a fan of Abby, she does incredibly big things, but is moved by the smallest gestures.

1 Easter Ride  Easter service always leaves me in tears.  Easter is my favorite day of the year, something I had in common with my grandmother.  I spent the last 2 Easters at my grandmother's church in Southern California.  In 2009 I was there to celebrate her birthday and in 2010, I was there for her funeral.  After church, I'd meet up with my Uncle Jon for a bike ride.  He's quite the accomplished cyclist and I love our rides together.  This year I didn't go to Southern California, meaning I didn't get to go on an Easter ride with my uncle.  At Easter service this year, we sung the some of the same hymns we sang at my grandmother's church last year.  I bawled my eyes out, not only for the beauty of the song, but for the profound hole that my grandmother's death has left in my life.  It seemed there was only one thing to do to assuage my grief.  I gathered some of my cycling girls and pedaled my sadness up to Shasta Dam.  It was a beautiful ride, the wind whipping the tears off my cheeks.  There's something about riding that releases heartache and plants healing in its place.

9 Donors Thank you Adam & Suzy C., Anita J., Betty C., Chris F., Janice L., Joy G., Katie L., Laura G., and Tracy H. for donating to the LiveStrong Foundation on my behalf.  You've donated $385 on my behalf and I'm touched by your generosity.

$615 to Reach My Goal  If you'd like to make a donation on my behalf to help fund cancer research and treatment, please click here.  It's my honor to ride in support of and in memory of your loved ones.  Thanks so much for your support!

I look forward to telling you all about my cycling adventures in May!

Fondly,

Alicia

Crowing into the Sky

I usually ride with friends.  In fact, I think I can count on one hand the times I've ridden solo.  Saturday I'd arranged to meet up with a group of girls for an easy spin on the river trail.  15ish miles, just enough to get out and enjoy the beautiful weather.  Then one by one, most of my friends cancelled.  So Saturday afternoon, when I found myself standing alone kicking rocks at our meeting place, I decided to ride in my own good company.

Sure I could've called it quits and stuffed The Rocket back into the car, but I was already clad in Spandex and you know I love Spandex.  Plus I'd been battling a sinus infection all week and I was just sick of being sick.  I, quite literally, needed to clear my head.  And I knew just the road to clear it.  I had a conversation with myself that went something like this: Today I will climb.  Today I will climb the North side of Shasta Dam. I've ridden to the Dam countless times, but always from the South side. The North side is bigger, badder and has been beckoning me for months.

I set out along the river, her waters rising up to meet me, rippling right up to the edge of the trail.  The Sacramento is the river of my childhood and as I pedaled her curves, I remembered riding my pink Schwinn on this very trail.  Remember riding bikes as a kid?  I don't know about you, but my hindquarters rarely made use of my flowered banana seat because being a kid was about speeding over hills, crowing into the sky and slamming on the brakes to make the most impressive skid mark.

I rode along the river climbing beyond the section of trail populated by strollers, scooters and the occasional Segway.  I was in the mountains now, alone save for a handful of cyclists enjoying a nice downhill from the opposite direction.  I thought about turning around and coasting down behind them, but Shasta Dam called to me.  I reached a clearing and there she stood.

Do you see that road to the left of the Dam?  The one that snakes around the mountain?  That was my road.  At the base of the mountain, I shared the road with some ATV's and some dirt bikes, all of whom were operated by extremely polite drivers.  No, really.  Each and every off-roader, gave me a wide berth on the road.  About half way up the mountain, the dirt bikes and ATV's raced onto the dirt trails, leaving me alone with the road.  With every turn, it looked like the Dam was just around the corner.  She's tricky like that, playing hide and seek in the trees, coaxing me further and further up the mountain.

My legs were strong and steady all the way up the mountain to the Dam.  I'm as shocked as you are, since my legs are usually about as strong as partially set Jell-O.  I cruised across the Dam, riding close to the edge and peering into Lake Shasta, who had swallowed the entire tree line.  I turned my bike and peeked over the other side.  Staring down the face of the Dam, I felt my stomach drop.  It's the same feeling I get when I'm falling in a dream.  Terrifying and thrilling all at the same time.  And yet, I can't cross over the Dam without taking a glance.  2 more miles of decent hills lay just on the other side of the Dam.  That last bit of climbing was nothing compared to the ascent to the Dam.  I zipped up and over the mountain into town where I crossed over Keswick Dam and slipped back onto the river trail.

The river welcomed me as I raced along the flat side of the trail toward my car.  I was killing the flats and when I looked down at my speedometer, it was ticking away at  18 mph.  This isn't fast for a real cyclist, but for me it's a pretty decent pace.  I cranked into a harder gear and whipped my legs faster and faster.  I was really flying now!  I leaned my head back and crowed into the blue sky.  At the end of the ride, I'd racked up 41 miles, but more importantly my head was completely clear.  Driving home, I replayed the ride in my mind.  I held the beauty of the water in my eyes and the joy of climbing mountains in my heart.  I'll be crowing about this ride for a long time.

Cycling in March: Birthdays, Bugs and Bicycling

200ish Miles Ridden in March Since I came to the party a little late this year, I'm not exactly sure how many miles I rode this month.  But it's around 200ish, which is somewhere between threve and plenty-six, but all miles are good miles.

1 Field of Poppies in Bloom My first ride of the month was on a day when the scent of rain on asphalt filled the air.  My friend, Abby, and I set off for a ride in the sprinkles and were greeted by poppies in bloom.  They turned their golden faces to us and I was reminded of when we moved to California and I picked fistfuls of poppies for my mom.  I quickly learned that they're the state flower and never picked them again.

1 Pesky Bug On the last day in March, I found myself riding the river trail with a friend, a newbie cyclist.  On our way home, we pedaled up a steady incline when I felt something fly down the back of my jersey.  I wasn't really worried about it.  Shoot, I've swallowed flies, narrowly escaped the sting of a bee caught in my jersey, and even had a butterfly flitter right in between my eye and my sunglasses.  So this little gnat of a thing was no big deal.  Except that it started to bite me.  All over my back.  I shimmied and shook my jersey loose, but that little pest just wouldn't leave.  My friend suggested we stop.  I scoffed at her suggestion. Pffft!  Total newbie suggestion.  Like I was going to let a little bug make me stop riding.  Ha! That night as I scratched and itched my way through a fitful night of sleep I wished I'd listened to her.  Oh, Hindsight, you are so very, very cruel.





33 Miles: My Furthest Distance this Season Abby organized a 30th birthday ride for herself, including SAG wagons, goodie bags, and medals of completion.  The wind advisory that day predicted gusts in between 35 and 45 mph.  Frankly, I didn't need the wind advisory to tell me that because the fence that had blown down in our backyard was a pretty solid indicator of the insanity that awaited.  So, I slipped on my tights and arm warmers and readied myself for the ride.  After all, I couldn't let the birthday girl have all the fun.  Plus I had decorations for her helmet and bike.

[caption id="attachment_3649" align="aligncenter" width="490" caption="photo by Jeff Worthington"][/caption]

1 New Cycling Game Sometimes I invent games to keep myself occupied when I'm riding.  For example, when I'm gutting it out up a steep hill and battling the urge to simultaneously pass out and throw up, my favorite game is 'I Can Pass That'.  It's a simple game wherein I set my gaze on an object a few feet ahead of me and tell myself I can pass it.  I can pass that stick.  I can pass that rock.  I can pass that sign.  I can pass that roadkill. Pretty soon I've passed enough things that I'm at the top of the hill.  This year I invented a new game.  I call it 'Wardrobe Bingo'.  It's a perfect game for windy days when clothing and such might be blowing out of cars.  My goal is to have ridden by a complete outfit by the end of the season.  So far I've seen a lone green glove and a pair of sunglasses.















[caption id="attachment_3653" align="alignleft" width="242" caption="photo by Jeff Worthington"][/caption]



 

1 Time I cried on my bike At mile 30 of Abby's birthday ride, I pedaled by the cemetery where my dad is buried.  I'd ridden with Terry and other friends all 30 miles leading up to that point.  But as cyclists do, we'd spread out and I found myself riding the last three miles alone.  I was grateful for the solitude.  Riding by the cemetery hasn't gotten any easier, even with the passage of time.  This continues to surprise me because my relationship with my dad was complicated at best. The wind was ripping right at me and I looked at the giant American flag standing guard in the cemetery.  The wind snapped it to attention on the pole with such force that I thought the flag might just tear off and float away.  I tucked my chin into the unforgiving headwind.  The cord of the flag clanged on the pole over and over again, like a bell tolling a funeral dirge.  My legs pedaled slow circles and I cried.  The wind dried my tears before they could even hit the ground.  That night I went to sleep with pink tear trails windburned onto my cheeks.  Sometimes cycling is about so much more than being on the bike.  In March I had the pleasure of hearing Maya Angelou speak and her words came back to me there on the road by the cemetery.  "Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently."  For me cycling is all about finding courage.  Finding courage to do things I thought I'd never be able to.  Finding courage to fight for others in need.  The place I find that courage is on the seat of my bike.

$135 Dollars Donated Thank you Adam & Suzy, Chris, Laura & Janice for making a donation to The LiveStrong Foundation on my behalf.  Your generosity touches me and compels me to get on my bike.

$865 Dollars Until I Reach My Goal If you'd like to make a donation to the LiveStong Foundation on my behalf, click the link above or over to the right.  All donations are tax deductible.  Thanks so much for your generosity and support.

[caption id="attachment_3655" align="aligncenter" width="490" caption="photo by Jeff Worthington"][/caption]

I look forward to telling you all about my cycling adventures in April!

On Style: Part 1

Recently the lovely and talented Hippie Cahier bequeathed the Stylish Blog award to me.  Just look at it over there on the side.  It's so sparkly, so pretty, oh so very stylish indeed.  I know, I'm snickering a little bit, too.  If you know me outside of this blog, then you're full on chortling because you know I am anything but stylish.  Sure I know the Stacy and Clinton basics.  The trouser cut is my friend.  As are fitted shirts.  And pajamas are not synonymous with clothes.  I just can't seem to make clothes into outfits.  Or make my hair do the right thing.  Like, ever.

So I'm adopting Jonathan Swift's take on style.  "The proper words in the proper places are the true definition of style." Amen.

The rules of the Stylish Blogger Award are these:

Number One, I get to tell you things about myself that you might not already know.  Be warned, the rules do not state that these things have to be interesting and/or useful.

Number Two, I get to bestow the Stylish Blogger award upon some other stylish bloggers.  I'll get back to that part later.

So here we go with the little known facts:

1.  I learned how to make balloon animals at a church thing way back when I was in high school.  I've forgotten how to make most animals, but I can still make a mean balloon dog in about three seconds.  Once I made balloon dogs for my whole class, but when they popped my little ones were completely devastated.  There was crying.  Lots of crying.  Lesson learned.

2.  I sing the wrong lyrics to every song.  This is not an exaggeration.  I can't think of a single song that I know all the right lyrics to.  I'm the reason they project the words up on the screen at church.  You'd think that would keep me from singing, but really where's the fun in that?

3.  I'm a terrible cook.  The quote on my fridge sums it up nicely "I read recipes the same way I read science fiction-I get to the end and think, well, that's never going to happen."  I'm an excellent chopper.  Salads are my wheelhouse.

4.  I love writing.  And reading about writing.  And dreaming about writing.  And talking about writing.  And reading about writers talking about writing.  You get the point.  Tonight at Bible study when Beth Moore went into how the book of Esther is amazing not only for its instruction, but also because of the literary construction, I was all ears.  When she started in on how chiastic structure is employed, I almost fainted in my seat!  I was scrawling furious notes.  Writing about reading the Bible and how the writer created a dynamic literary tapestry-be still my beating heart!

5.  And since this is a blog about being stylish, I feel compelled to mention clothing at least once.  And what better clothing to denote style than cycling garb?  I take delight when the laundry is all done and I have my choice of jerseys and Spandex.  My beloved bicycle, The Rocket, is black with bright pink cable casing.  She's a beauty.  And like that irritating couple who think it's cute to dress alike, I can't help but grin as I pull on my pink and black Fat Cyclist kit, complete with matching arm warmers and socks.  Add to that my pink helmet and matching water bottles and The Rocket and I are all sorts of matchy-matchy obnoxiousness.  Matching my trusty steed makes me smile.  And in my very thin book of style rules, a smile is the best accessory.

[caption id="attachment_3505" align="aligncenter" width="490" caption="This is my little brother, Pete, and I on his inaugural century ride. I'm pretty sure this was the only time on the ride I was ahead of him and our stepdad captured it on film. Take that, Pete!"][/caption]

Stay tuned for Part 2, wherein I introduce you to some of my stylish blogger gal pals.  None of them wear Spandex.  Promise.

P.S.-A big thanks to Fatty for making this photo of my brother and I his new blog header.  Welcome fellow Team Fatty and friends of Fatty.  Can't wait to see you in Davis!

Hurts So Good

While the rest of the country is waist deep in snow, Northern California is doling out a premature dose of Spring.  And what's a girl to do with all this sunshine and temperatures dawdling in the 70's?  You know what I'm going to say next, right?  I can barely even stand it.  I'm itching with giddiness as I type my answer.

RIDE MY BIKE!  RIDE MY BIKE!  RIDE MY BIKE!  RIDE MY BIKE!

I haven't been out on The Rocket nearly enough the past few weeks and so when That Laura suggested we go for a bike ride while everyone else watched football, I was all over it.  There is a new piece of the river trail that leads up to Shasta Dam and I've been salivating over it.

I pulled on a short sleeve jersey, arm warmers, and snapped on some Spandex.  I peeled my toe warmers off my shoes and didn't even give my tights or full fingered gloves a second glance.  There just aren't words for what a delight it was to wear my warm weather cycling gear in February.  It was a fantastic!

[caption id="attachment_3145" align="alignright" width="291" caption="Keswick Reservoir"][/caption]

We rode past the Sundial Bridge and along the Sacramento River, giggling and burbling next to us.  Families were out en masse walking their dogs, skateboarding, and teaching itty bitty ones to ride their bikes.

Laura and I rode past Keswick Dam and climbed right next to Keswick Reservoir.  It's a decent climb and my legs felt every pedal stroke.  In fact, my legs started aching at mile 15 and didn't stop until I pulled in my driveway at mile 36.

But my heart, oh my heart, was strong and my mind was set.  I would not cut my ride short and I would not, absolutely would not, get off and walk.

As I rode, I couldn't get over the glorious day that fell in my lap.  (Yes, I know this post is full of superlatives.  Frankly, it's all I can do to keep from writing the entire post in CAPS LOCK.)  Every turn of the trail had something new and beautiful to distract me from my miserable legs.

The piercing white Sundial Bridge against the blue sky.  The hum of Keswick Dam.  The trees mirrored in the water.  The blushing manzanita bushes.  The backside of Shasta Dam towering above us.  I breathed it all in.

As the sun dropped closer to the mountains, we turned back home.  In the shower, I scrubbed the salt marks from my face and massaged my thighs.  They were quivering and already threatening to tighten up.  The hot water pounded my muscles, drummed on my aching knees.  And as I stood there leaning up against the shower wall, I smiled.

Because sometimes being a cyclist hurts so good.

30 Days of Thanks: Day 29

Today I'm thankful for...

• my electric toothbrush.  I'm telling you, that is three minutes of bliss.


• Fatty's 10 Pound Challenge


• my spin instructor who magically makes class feel more like a real bike ride and less like a bunch of sweaty people crammed in a room of stationary bikes


• my workout buddy who refers to spin class as "death spin", but still shows up twice a week


• this conversation with one of my little ones:

"I'm going to miss you, Mrs. McCauley."  She hugged my neck.

"I'll see you tomorrow."  I assured her.

"I know, but I'll still miss you tonight."  She smiled and gave me one more squeeze before leaving.

Seattle to Portland

208 Miles

208 miles is a long way to drive, let alone ride a bike, but last weekend, that's exactly what The Rocket and I did.  The Rocket took a road trip to Portland and then hopped a bus to Seattle.  I'm told she was well-behaved and didn't talk in her sleep too much.  While the Rocket travelled by land, Terry and I flew to Seattle.  The morning of the ride, I woke up at the unholy hour of 3:30 to yank on my Spandex and throw a bowl of Cheerios down the hatch.  As we fought road construction to the start line, my stomach was a ball of nerves.  With 10,000 cyclists participating in the Seattle to Portland ride, the start line was a hive of activity.  I met up with my pals, Joan, Laura, and Jim.  Terry kissed me goodbye, and at 5:15 we were off.  My favorite part of the morning was riding through Seattle watching the sun rise above the downtown skyline.

I also rode by green fields filled with wildflowers, like the ones I used to pick in fistfuls for my mother when I was a kid.

The sky was overcast most of the ride and temperatures hovered in the sixties and seventies.  It was a welcome relief from the scorching Redding heat and when it began to drizzle, I tilted my head back and let the sprinkles hit my teeth as I smiled, filled with joy to be on my bike.

3 Awesome Things With Wheels

With 9,999 other cyclists on the course, I was never alone.  I thought of the rules Gramma and I had on our trip to Eastern Europe.  Rule #1: See something new.  Rule #2: Meet someone new.  Rule #3: Eat ice cream.  I was riding by all kinds of new scenery and crazy bikes.  On the first hill, I rode past a three person wide bicycle.  Yes, I know that's not technically a bicycle, but since they were riding across, not front to back, it's not a tandem either.  I don't know what this thing was, but it was a bike with three riders that motored up hills like a sack of bricks.  I also passed a unicyclist.  I cannot even fathom what it takes to ride a unicycle 200 some odd miles.  I'm just going to take a moment of gratitude for my comfortable bike seat.  Maybe I'll write it a sonnet later.  While the brick of riders and the uni were incredible, the most amazing bike (and again, I'm grappling for the right term here) was this:

It is the offspring of an unnatural romance between a bicycle and an elliptical machine.  I saw two of these parked at the finish line which means there are at least two people on the planet insane enough to ride/run from Seattle to Portland.  Incidentally, when I showed this picture to Terry, he said something like "I think I'd be awesome on a bike like that."  He's right and that makes me feel a little bit stabby.  Anyway, now I understand why there is a separate room for spin bikes at my gym.  Who knows what might happen if they were left alone at night with the elliptical machines.

2 Creamsicles

After 100 miles there is a midline festival.  I'd heard rumors that when you ride into the festival, there are people there handing out Creamsicles.  I assure you, such Heaven does exist on Earth.  Before I get to the Creamsicles, I have to backtrack a little.  I'm a proud member of Team Fatty and on both days of the ride I sported Fat Cyclist jerseys.  This means that throughout the ride I heard "Go, Team Fatty!"  and "Fight Like Susan!"  This warmed my heart knowing that Fatty has touched so many people with his efforts to fight cancer.  When people rolled up next to me, they would usually open the conversation with a friendly "Hey, Fatty!"  Now, let it be known here and now that if you call me Fatty when I'm not on my bike, there will be punching.  Lots of punching.  People who don't know Fatty's story asked about my jersey and I told them the story of Susan and my own story of riding for my grandmother.

There was also a large contingent of cyclists that felt they had to make sure my self-esteem was properly inflated.  Hundreds, maybe thousands, of cyclists rode up to me and said "You're not a fat cyclist."  I'd say a quick thanks, relieved that my jerseys were ironic and not truth in advertising.  I've worked hard this season to trim up a bit, but after 50 or so people commented on my unfatness, I started replying a little differently.  Instead of just saying thanks I'd say things like "It's more of a state of mind."  People would laugh and then I'd tell them how I came to join Team Fatty.  At mile 99, with Creamsicles dancing in my head, another cyclist rolled up next to me and this was our conversation.

"You're not a fat cyclist."

"Thanks.  It's more of a state of mind."

"Oh, like p-h-a-t cyclist?"

"Yeah, sure.  That and if I beat you to the midline festival, I'm going to eat my Creamsicle and yours, too."

He sprinted to the festival and I sprinted right after him, passing him just in time to grab a Creamsicle.  He gave me his Creamsicle and I happily ate them both.  One for me, one for Gramma Betty.  Sorta like pouring one out for my homey.

1 Awkward Moment of Chivalry

I am a big fan of chivalry, specifically of men like Terry who hold doors open for women.  At each rest stop there were rows of port-a-potties.

Did you catch the manufacturer's name?  Honey Bucket.  Has there ever been a more ill-fitting name for something?  I think I've just found a new curse word.  "Oh, honeybuckets!"  or "Aren't you just a little honeybucket?"  Yup, it totally works.

So there I was on deck for a Honey Bucket, waiting for a door to pop open.  A man exited the last one, and I hurried over.  And then he held the door to the port-a-potty open for me.  It was awkward.  I just stood there for a second until he let the door go.  I don't really know why I felt so awkward except that nobody has ever held a port-a-potty door for me before.  I feel kinda bad because I was stunned by this act of chivalry and I'm not even sure I said thanks.  So, let me just say thanks to that guy now.  Thanks, nice guy who held the door for me.  I'll try to be less of a honeybucket next time.

1 Drawbridge

One of the best parts of the ride was crossing from Washington into Oregon.  We crossed over the Columbia River by riding over a drawbridge.  Joan snapped this photo as ride volunteers closed off traffic and let huge groups of cyclists go at a time.  Crossing the bridge shoulder to shoulder with hordes of other cyclists was thrilling.

1 Good Cry

At around mile 160, I passed a sign for Prescott Beach:

My grandfather's name was Prescott and when I saw the sign, I immediately thought, "I've got to call Gramma and tell her about this!" And there it was.  Grief bleeding through the scab that had begun to form in the months since my grandmother's death.  Most of the time, I'm aware that she is gone, but every now and then I'll see something that makes me think of her.  My reflexes react and I am left raw, missing her in a whole new way, grieving for all the things I will never get to share with her.  I pedaled and cried.  My legs were weary and my cadence was slow.

And then I thought of my mom.  The same weekend I was riding for Gramma Betty, my mom was closing up my grandmother's house for the last time.  Packing up her furniture.  Sitting in the backyard one last time.  Driving away with her heart in her throat.  Riding a double century is hard, but I thought of how my mom was doing something so much harder.  I thought of how my mom has been so strong and brave these last few months.  I thought of how my mom is so much like my grandmother and how I want to be strong and brave, just like both of them.  My legs began to pedal faster, my tears dried up and I sailed across the finish line.

32 Donors & 1,243 Dollars

Maya Angelou says "I will be myself.  I will speak my own name."  This season I have taken my hobby and used it to speak my grandmother's name.  And now I speak your names because you have spoken for cancer patients and their families.  Together we raised $1,243 for LiveStrong.  You have overwhelmed me with your generosity.  Thank you Adam C., Amy H., Andrea & Jeromy H., Anita J., Betty C., Cheryl P., Chris F., Christine W., Dale M., David & Vickey P., Debbie S., Diana P., Hayley L., Heather F., Jill S., John P., Katie G., Kathy V., Katie L., Krystle J., Marla M., MaryKay, S., Melody A., Nick W., Patti L., Peter K., Sallie C., Sam O., Sara S., Stacey R., Sue H., and Tracy H.

1 More Thing

It's been a fantastic, heartbreaking, beautiful cycling season.  Thank you for being a part of the journey.  I couldn't do it without you.  Oh, and there's just one more thing before I go:

Fondly,

Alicia

Cycling in May

Dear friends and family,

May was an incredible month to cycle in Redding.  Cooler temperatures gave us a real Spring this year and on days when the rain let up, I hopped in the saddle and pedaled my heart out.

411 miles

I've never ridden 400 miles in a month before and it was a fun goal to chase after this month.  From riding in my living room to climbing up to Shasta Dam to turning the cranks up to Shingletown, every circle of the pedals inched me closer to my goal.

1 Butterfly Kiss

On the first of May, I found myself riding out in Whitmore, enjoying the cattle ranches and volcanic rock fields that pepper the landscape.  I was riding along, pondering important things like world peace and ice cream, when a butterfly twittered on the breeze in front of me.  You may recall the Kamikaze butterfly that hurled itself into my helmet last month.  This time I was prepared.  I kept a careful eye on this beautiful creature, being careful to give it plenty of space to my right.  Just as I was coming up next to it, this butterfly launched a surprise attack and flew right up between my eye and the lens of my glasses.  Being trapped in between my eyeball and my glasses made this butterfly a bit hostile.  It was flapping and flitting and causing a big commotion.  Meanwhile I was flapping and flitting and causing a big commotion as I tried to rip my glasses off and stay upright at the same time.  As soon as I tore my glasses off, the butterfly winged away, leaving me shaking my head at this aggressive interpretation of a butterfly kiss.

1 Rescue

When my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer my little brother, Pete, felt called to join Team Fat Cyclist and raise money for LiveStrong by riding a century.  His generous friends and family emptied their pockets and Pete started joining me on rides.  His century ride was at the beginning of the month and I simply couldn't let him have all the fun, so I rode with him.

Well, I rode with him until we were climbing up to Shasta Dam he said "Something's wrong with your back tire."  Those are not my favorite words to hear.  Our step-dad, Chris, a remarkable photographer and graphic designer, snapped pictures of us up to the Dam.  Yes, I travel with my own paparazzi because I am a Very Important Cyclist.  Okay, maybe just an Important Cyclist.  Uh, maybe just a Cyclist.  Anyway, back to the story.  It turns out that what Pete meant by "something's wrong" was that my rear tire was so worn it split wide open, making it quite unsafe to ride on.

Enter Chris, my awesome paparazzi.  He popped my bike in the car and hustled me down to my favorite bike shop while Pete continued on.  We got there just before the bike shop opened and Chris plunked down the cash for new tires and then shuttled me out to where Peter was riding.  Chris gets the hero of the day award because Pete and I had a fantastic time together and seeing my brother cross the finish line of his first century made me so very proud.

100 Miles of Nowhere

 

It's no secret that I feel passionately about raising money for cancer research and so a week after I rode with Pete, I rode  The 100 Miles of Nowhere.  100% of the entry fee went to LiveStrong for Team Fat Cyclist.  All sorts of companies donated cool swag like t-shirts and seat packs and books and water bottles and lions and tigers and bears, oh my.  On a Saturday afternoon, 3 of us gathered in my living room, mounted our bikes on trainers, popped in a movie and went nowhere fast.

Conditions were excellent in my living room.  It turns out my living room is all downhill and the only wind came from the ceiling fan above us.  My mom came and cheered us on and fixed us snacks.  I'm proud to say that my time (3 hours and 6 minutes) made me the clear first place winner of the "32 Year Old Teacher/Writer Cycling In My Living Room In Redding" category.  It matters little to me that I was the only racer in that particular category.

1 Big Climb

 

I love riding around Redding because there are roads I know like the back of my hand, roads that are filled with history, and the Anderson metric century is a ride filled with these kinds of places.  It has the stretch of road where I tried a new sports drink and had a reversal of fortune in front of hordes of itty bitty soccer players.  It has the road wherein I discovered Creamsicle scented sunscreen attracts scads of flies.  It also has an incredibly steep climb.  I have faced this climb before.  And lost.  The last time I attempted this climb, I had pneumonia and a broken toe and I alternated between walking and riding, depending on which hurt my toe less at that particular moment.  This year I was determined to beat that climb, to take down Goliath.  Everything was working in my favor that day.  I'd applied regular smelling sunscreen, filled my bottles with water, and I wasn't fighting any illnesses.  Even the weather was a surprisingly cool 80 degrees.  I was having the ride of my life when I turned the corner, dropped into my lowest gear and started to climb.  I pedaled and breathed regularly all the way to the top of the hill.  I grinned as I rode through the pine trees and into the rest area to wait for a friend.  Several minutes passed and she did not show up.  Many more minutes passed and she did not arrive.  She was out of water and in need of a little help.  I filled my bottles with cold water and turned around, riding back down the hill until I found her.  After a lot of water and a banana, she was good to go.  We saddled up and then I faced the steep hill for the second time, a little unsure if I could do it twice in a row.  I tucked my head down and my strong legs and steady heart carried me to the crest again, and let me tell you, my teeth hurt from smiling so much.  Twice!  I'd ridden the hill twice!  As I coasted through the pine trees I thought about how blessed I am to be healthy, to have a heart that keeps time as I pedal through the beauty that rises up to meet me on each every ride.  Some days are perfect and I will always remember this as one of those days.

$828 donated so far

Thank you Amy H., Andrea H., Anita J., Betty C., Chris F., Christine W., Dale M., Diana P., Hayley L., Heather F., Jill S., John, P., Katie G., Katie L., MaryKay S., Patti L., Sallie C., Sara S., Stacey R., and Tracy H.  I appreciate your support and generosity.

$1,172 until I reach my goal

If you'd like to make a donation to the Lance Armstrong Foundation on my behalf, please go to: http://sanjose2010.livestrong.org/aliciamccauley.  You can donate in memory of a loved one's life cut short by cancer or in support of a loved one who is battling cancer now.  I look forward to sharing my June cycling adventures with you soon!

Fondly,

Alicia

WIN, Gramma Betty!

Dear family and friends,

The trees are revealing buds they’ve secreted away all winter and the sun is showing its face a little longer each day.  It’s perfect cycling weather.  On the heels of a difficult few months with my heart, I intended to enjoy leisurely rides and take a break from cycling for a cause.  Last year I was proud to raise funds for cancer research via LiveStrong as a member of Team Fat Cyclist: Fighting For Susan.  Often I was asked about my connection to cancer.  I was grateful to reply that I had no immediate connection to cancer and my reason for riding for LiveStrong was that I wanted to keep it that way.

I hope you’ve never received the news that a loved one has cancer.  It’s a moment that turns everything upside down.  This month I received the call that my Gramma Betty was diagnosed with cancer.  Since I was a kid, I’ve marveled at the postcards emblazoned with photos of her riding a camel at the pyramids or parasailing over the ocean.  In her office hangs a world map covered in pins marking all the countries she’s visited.  Gramma Betty is an explorer at heart with a passion for seeing all the beauty this world holds.



My grandmother’s cancer is advanced and she will soon leave me with only memories of our time together. The realization that I cannot save her is one that jolts me from sleep in the quiet hours of the night.  The only thought that quells my sadness is the fact that I can raise money for researching a cure.  And so this season, I’m pulling on my Fat Cyclist gear to ride for LiveStrong, to ride for my grandmother.

When people ask me about my connection to cancer, I will swallow the lump in my throat, brush aside my tears and tell them about Gramma Betty who used to ride camels and who has made a mark on my life so lasting and deep that it cannot be marked with a pin.

On July 17^th-18^th, I’ll ride 204 miles from Seattle to Portland.  It’s fitting that I’m riding a double century this year because I’m twice as hurt that cancer has made this battle personal.  Please join me in my fight against cancer by making a tax-deductible donation online at http://sanjose2010.livestrong.org/aliciamccauley. I can’t thank you enough for your generosity and support.

Fondly,

Alicia

Tooth and Nail

I know the new year came and went a long time ago, but as hard as I tried, I just couldn't finish this post.  I started this post back in December when my friend, Lynn, shared some questions with me.  The questions began bobbing around in my mind.  I'd stare at the screen as answers eluded me and the words felt all wrong in my mouth.  Then ever so slowly the answers surfaced.

The new year always brings about a restlessness to clean out my house and gut it of clutter.  Along with the removal of physical clutter comes the move toward cleaning out life in general.  What stays, what goes, what needs to be cut away, what needs to be alloted space-all of these thoughts seem to press in on me at the close of the year and the opening of another.  It's a time to answer hard questions, a time to resolve the year.  A resolution, but not.

What was an upset or a disappointment last year?

It's no secret that I was disappointed with the disruption my heart caused in my life last year.  To say that it upset me is not accurate, but to say that it caused an inordinate of fear in my life was a painful realization.  The balance between pursuing medical answers and being unafraid eluded me for months.

Where and when did things not flow easily?

The obvious answer is that blood did not flow easily to my heart, but the more important answer is that my classroom has not been easy.  No, my young ones have challenged everything I thought I ever knew about teaching, but from that discomfort I've learned new ways to teach, new ways for them to learn, and I wouldn't trade this impossible year for anything.  As our class becomes their school home, I hold out hope that the hardest part is now just a glance in the rearview mirror.  Far enough away that it doesn't impede our daily progress, near enough that I am aware of our starting point.

What flowed easily?

In the absence of turning the pedals, my fingers flew across my keyboard.  It's not that I birthed revolutionary works of literary genius, but as fear of my physical heart increased, my writing pulsed with honesty and I faced the terror of the blank page with unflinching boldness.  This boldness was a delightful surprise.  And yet I can't help but wonder if it was that way because one passion moved aside and gave way to another.  Can I have both at the same time or is it like wanting to sprawl on the hot sand during high tide?

What's incomplete?

My novel.  My novel is so horribly incomplete.  And you know what?  That's okay with me for now.  I like knowing I can come back to it bit by bit, tinker with the words, change the outcome, alter the characters.  But for now I'm content to just leave it in peace.

What are insights I gained last year?

I feel like if I answer this question, I'm saying I'm insightful.  Believe me, that's not what I'm saying.  At all.  What I learned last year, or already knew, but am remembering, is that everyone has a story.  A lovely, hilarious, heartbreaking, inspiring, tender story.  So I wonder then what if I began to listen more than I talk? To laugh more than I criticize?  To accept more than I judge?  I can't help but think that the story of my life would become wider, richer.

What am I grateful for?

Terry, always Terry.  It's not lost on me that I am spending every day of my life with someone who loves me and desires my love in return.  I'm acutely aware of what a gift that is and I hope that I remember that as our happy days together stack up and make me fat with joy.

How will I acknowledge and celebrate the wins of the last year?

Wins.  Isn't that an interesting word?  My cycling team used to have a mantra "Win, Susan!" She fought tooth and nail against cancer and I pedaled my heart out to help her.  Then she died, but to say that she didn't win is an ill fitting phrase.  She left this Earth having lived with passion, love, and tenacity.  Our team now says "Fight like Susan."  And so I guess, I don't feel like noting wins or losses of 2009, but instead I want to figure out what is worth fighting for and then use this new year to fight for it tooth and nail.

Heart of a Warrior

I'm pretty sure I'll never be one of those girls who bounces out of bed at the sheer prospect of riding my bike.  Don't get me wrong, I love riding my bike.  I just also love burrowing in my warm cozy bed.  Because my love of cycling can be so easily trumped by my bed, I resort to trickery.  I round up the troops and make them ride with me.  I might stand myself up, but I won't leave a friend hanging.  So this morning, I set out in the good company of Terry, That Laura, Nick and Abby.

This morning I ate the cycling breakfast of champions: oatmeal, skinned grapefruit and a banana.  The last time I rode, I had eggs for breakfast and almost had a reversal of fortune on the side of the road up to Shasta Dam.  (Note to self: Eggs are not a good cycling food.)  But back to this morning, I slipped on my Team Fatty gear, dismayed that the fatty part, while once ironic, is now just truth in advertising.  I'm working on that.

The weather today was so perfect, blue sky, cotton ball clouds and barely a hint of wind.  It was warm enough that I didn't even need tights.  We headed out to Millville Plains, my most favorite place to ride.  You can see for miles and miles at the top of the Plains.  The cows grazing there must be the happiest in all of California.  My favorite tree lives there, too.  She was all sticks and bones standing guard over the plains, but I know she's secreting away green buds for me underneath her black skin.  Spring is coming, spring is coming I told her as I whipped by.

My legs were strong most of the ride leading me to believe that maybe, just maybe, my spin instructor isn't entirely evil.  My legs were strong enough, but my heart, my heart was fierce.  I had the heart of a warrior today.  It pumped away pressing uphill, screaming downhill, and keeping time on the flats.  It was glorious and I smiled so much my teeth hurt from the cool air.  Not even the five putrid dead skunks I passed or the pair of pitbulls that chased me could dampen my joy.

Thirty three miles into the ride and three miles from home, my legs began to ache.  The sort of ache that feels like my bones are hollow and might shatter any second, but I've had this ache before and I know it passes if I just ignore it.  Well, I complain about it and then ignore it.  Same difference.  I willed my legs to circle me back home.  At home I rested in the front yard.  Not even the fact that I'd locked myself out of my house could ruin this ride.  I waited for a friend to arrive with spare key and as my legs pulsed complaints, my heart was steady, calm even.  I sat there making a sweaty print on my walkway and realized I'd just had one of the best rides of my life.  Now that just might make me bounce out of bed to ride next time.

Touched By the Devil & Other Stories from the Big Ride

Dear Friends & Family,

Another cycling season has come to an end.  The Livestrong ride in San Jose this weekend was uh...er...um... memorable, yes, memorable is a good way to put it.

• 4 really cool prizes: The day before the ride, I picked up my registration packet and jersey number.  Your generous donations entitled me to a LiveStrong t-shirt, water bottle, hat and the highly coveted LiveStrong messenger bag.  I stuffed all my booty into my super awesome bag and strutted around the LiveStrong village, making sure that all the other participants took note of my bag.  As they were taking note of my bag, I took note of the fact that everyone except Terry and Nick (my other two Redding Fat Cyclist teammates) had shaved legs.  And everyone was unusually lithe and athletic.  Walking around amongst such freakishly fit people I came to the realization that although it was called a "ride", I had unknowingly entered a "race".  A bike "ride" and a bike "race" are two very different things, a fact that would become apparent the next day.


• 1 amazing dinner: The night before the ride Terry, Nick and I were privileged to attend the fundraising banquet.  We were inspired by the speeches given by cancer survivors and enjoyed a night of meeting our teammates.  Team Fatty won two separate awards that night.  To begin with Elden "Fatty" Nelson won the individual messenger award.  He and his wife, Susan, made this video acceptance speech.  Thanks to you, Team Fatty also won the award for most funds raised.  You can see our team on stage as our captain, Matt, accepts the award and honors Elden and Susan as they fight cancer in a mighty way.  Elden is bald and our team donned bald caps to show our support.  It was a fantastic night and I was proud to be a part of Team Fatty.


• 1 upset stomach: The morning of the ride, I woke up with a disgruntled stomach.  I chalked it up to nerves, ate some breakfast, and joined my team at the starting line.  As the top fundraising team, we began the race ride ahead of all of the other participants.  We were escorted by a police cruiser.  Well, the people who could keep up were escorted by a police cruiser.  Me and my knotty stomach were in the throng of all the other riders within minutes.  My stomach gurgled and churned for the first twenty miles.  At the first rest stop, I spent some quality time in the port-o-potty doing what my friend, Nate, calls "livin' the dream".  I was miserable, but when my stomach realized I wasn't quitting, it settled down.


• 1 windy day: The wind that day was unholy.  I rode into a strong headwind and through wicked cross winds.  The wind was so powerful that rest stop snack tents were blowing over and garbage blew into my mouth as I rode.  Never was there even a hint of tailwind.  It was punishing and it remained that way the entire ride.


• 1 friendly devil: About 25 miles in, I faced my first hill.  It was short and steep.  My legs cranked the pedals and my little heart hammered away.  I walked a portion of the hill and just as I was getting back on The Rocket to face the crest, I saw the devil.  Or at least a man dressed in a red devil suit.  He goes to The Tour of California and other bike races (again proof that I'd mistakenly entered a race) to cheer on the cyclists.  He stood there high-fiving riders as they topped the hill.  He must have seen me walking because when I came by, he placed both of his red painted hands squarely on my buns and gave me a push, calling out "That's what we call a European start."  Uh, then let me just say that Europeans are much friendlier than I'm accustomed to.


• 1 enthusiastic flagger: This by far was the best staffed ride I've participated in.  Volunteers showed up in droves to work rest stops, flag riders in the right direction, drive SAG wagons, and perform a myriad of other tasks.  I gave one particular course flagger a good shock at around mile 40.  A left turn took riders to the 65 mile course.  Straight ahead led to the 100 mile course.  The flagger took one look at me and immediately started flagging me left.  I shook my head.  He flagged more vehemently.  I again shook my head.  He continued flagging and as I rode by, I yelled "I'm doing the century."  He shook his head and in one last ditch effort tried to flag me left.  I just smiled, well aware of the fact that I didn't look like any of the other people riding the century.


• 2 circling buzzards: What would a ride be without at least one bird story?  As I was still chuckling at the dumbfounded flagger, 2 buzzards circled overhead.  2 skinny cyclists came from behind and rode next to me for a few minutes.  They commented on the buzzards.  I replied that I was moving so slowly that the buzzards thought I was dead.  They laughed, made a remark about how funny Team Fatty is, and then left me in the dust with the birds.


• 3 times I walked The Rocket: I walked portions of 2 small hills and at mile 7o faced a 12-18% climb.  I pedaled until my little heart began to actually ache.  I got off my bike and walked up the hill.  Nick was with me and we clomped along in our bike shoes, pausing every few steps to rest.  We waved off about 10 SAG wagons, insisting that we were fine, absolutely fine.  We took off our cycling shoes and huffed up the hill in our socks.  It seemed logical at the time, okay?  "No, really, we're fine." we'd pant at each SAG wagon.  The hill was only 1.9 miles and we were sure the top was near.  My heart ached and even squeaked, but we plodded on.  Then we came upon another Team Fatty cyclist getting into a SAG wagon.  We asked how much further to the top.  "Oh about another mile and a half.  Then you go downhill and then back up the steepest pitch."  the SAG lady chirped.  My head drooped.  I couldn't walk another mile and a half.  My heart physically couldn't do it.  I fought back hot tears, overcome by shame.  Then in the midst of my pity party, I thought of Susan.  Susan who has strength in ways that I will never comprehend.  Susan who graciously accepts help for tasks like getting out of bed and getting dressed.  Part of strength is knowing when to accept help.  I swallowed my pride and rode in the SAG wagon to the top of the hill.


• 1 tweet from Lance Armstrong: At around mile 85, another cyclist told me Lance Armstrong had twittered a message to all the San Jose cyclists.  This is a direct quote: "Thanks 2 everyone in San Jose 4 the Livestrong Challenge! I was there last year and the course kicked my @$$!!! Appreciate all the support!!"  What!?!  Lance Armstrong had a tough time on this ride?  I couldn't help but wonder what the heck I, a big, wimpy, wannabe cyclist, was doing on a ride like this.


• 14 bottles of water/Gatorade: People often ask about what I consume on rides like these.  On this particular ride I drank 14 bottles of water and/or lemon lime Gatorade.  I ate 1 1/4 pb& j, 2 bananas, 3 handfuls of gummy bears, 1 slice of peach, 1 handful of grapes, and 1 Clif bar.  After the ride I ate dinner.  Twice.


• 90 miles: The course was actually only 95 miles long and after 5 miles in the SAG wagon, I rode a total of 90 miles at an average speed of 12.5 miles per hour.  I was disappointed with my mileage and my speed, but it turns out those things aren't what this ride was about.


• 22 donors: Thank you Amy & Steve P., Anita J., Carmen L., Chris F., Christine W., Debbie S., Janet M., Janice L., Jean P., Jeff W., Jill L., Jill S., Katie G., Katie L., Kyra M., Nancy C., Nancy W., North Valley Bank, Peter K., Sara S., Sue H., Tiffany D., Tracy H. and Youth to Youth International.  Your support and generosity made it all worthwhile.


• $1, 790: I'm grateful to know people who eagerly help others in need.  I'm honored to call you friends.


• 9 hours: After starting the ride at the front of the pack Terry and I finished almost dead last 9 hours later.  After gripping my handlebars into the unforgiving wind, I'd lost feeling in 4 of my fingers.  My face stung with the combination of salty sweat and windburn.  My heart labored over ever beat.  It was the most grueling day on a bike I've ever experienced.


• 4 days later: Four days have passed since the ride.  My windburned face is a peeling mess.  My heart is steady again.  I have feeling in 9 fingers and am hopeful that the last one will soon follow suit.  I mentioned earlier that this ride wasn't about miles or speed.  I think Winston Churchhill sums it up best, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”  Thanks for giving from your heart and making my life that much richer.

Fondly,

Alicia