A kickstand on the Bianchi? A thousand times 'no'
Thursday, May 26
In an effort to do at least one significant form of exercise every day, I walked to work today, something I haven’t done in months. My pedometer went flaky after about 2,000 steps, undoubtedly a dead battery. Without the distraction of checking of my progress every 500 steps or so, my attention turned to the amazing things you see when you walk the Boulder Creek path. As I headed west, I was greeted by the beauty of the Flatirons surrounded by early morning clouds as the rising sun from the East cast a warm golden orange glow against the peaks. Boulder Creek quietly babbled and sparkled from the sunlight filtering through the bright green leaves of spring. Hawks perched in the highest tree branches, surveying the dozens of bikers and walkers sharing the path with me. Purple wildflowers dotted the landscape.
The 6 p.m. walk home was a peaceful meditation along the same route I walked that morning. I enjoyed watching the camaraderie of three buddies kayaking down the creek in their bright red boats. Children skipping rocks while wading at the edge of the stream seemed oblivious to the ice-cold water. Bits of conversation gleaned from passing walkers and bikers discussing work, love, friends, life and family remind me how much we all have in common.
I didn’t need my pedometer, as I knew from past experience the round trip was about 10 miles. It felt good physically and spiritually.
Friday, May 27
This evening, I watched a 2004 Swedish film called “As It Is in Heaven.” A box-office hit in Sweden, it was nominated for Best Foreign Language Film at the 77th Academy Awards. It is an excellent, thought-provoking film with a bicycle moment worth noting. While in Austria for a musical competition, the protagonist spends the morning aimlessly pedaling around the city, flush with happiness because he finally recognizes he is in love with the beautiful Lena. Just then the bell tower rings and he realizes he is late for the competition. He pedals furiously back to the concert hall and while making his way up the stairs clutches his chest. He staggers into the restroom, but stumbles and hits his head on the radiator. Lying on the tiles bleeding profusely, he hears the music from the concert hall from the loud speaker. A smile spreads across his face, and he dies.
Saturday, May 28
Today was a six-mile power walk on the South Boulder Creek path where I cross three bridges. At the last bridge, before turning around, I do a little ritual a friend taught me (he claims it’s an old Indian ritual). I stand on the bridge facing downstream, spread my arms, and release all the negative energy and bad stuff that’s holding me back. I then turn around and face upstream, spread my arms, and take in all the powerful, positive energy flowing with the stream.
On my walk I encountered a gentleman not much older than I am shuffling along the path very slowly with the aid of a walker. I surmised that he is recovering from a stroke or a head injury because he cannot lift his feet up and each step seemed an enormous effort. Clearly determined, he was alone and far away from the trailhead. This man seemed invisible to walkers and bikers as they swiftly passed him. For me, he was an inspiration. No matter what, keep moving forward. As with everything in life, every positive effort, however seemingly small, counts.
Sunday, May 29
I pulled my Windstream cruiser out of the garage, dusted off the seat, handlebars and fenders. I pumped up the tires, attached the basket, and made sure the bike bell still worked. My cruiser is heavy, but she’s pretty and easy to ride—a beautiful metallic sage green, Shimano gears, and a big fat cushy seat.
I found my bike lock, rolled up my pant legs, and set off for the bookstore and the grocery store. One of my favorite routes in east Boulder, I rode the multi-purpose path past the Flatirons Golf Course, over the bridge with deteriorating wooden planks that makes a racket when you ride over them, and past the Stazio ball field with an afternoon game evident by balls cracking against metal bats and cheering crowds. A snake emerged from the thicket and quickly slithered across the trail. I stopped to listen to the music of the man that practices his saxophone along East Pearl while watching the newly born prairies dog pups scurrying about amidst the chirping warnings of the adult prairie dogs.
As I continued east on the Goose Creek path, I passed Community Cycles, a nonprofit bicycle retail and community bike shop. The shop is usually always busy when I pass by, with people of all ages spilling outside fixing and tuning their bikes and freely offering help to one another. This group does great things for the community by recycling bikes and teaching how to maintain and repair bikes. Check them out at http://communitycycles.org/about-community-cycles/mission.html
After losing a couple of hours browsing in Barnes & Noble, I headed to Whole Foods to pick up a few items, consciously trying not to buy more than my bike’s carrying capacity. The ride home is longer than I remember, and my backpack and basket are heavy with books and groceries. My quads begin to fatigue, so I stop to take a rest under the railroad bridge while a train rumbles overhead.
Tuesday, June 1
It takes more than an hour for me to walk the five miles to work, so I decide to bike to work on my Windstream cruiser. Even though my cruiser is bulky and heavy, it a great commuting bike. The fenders keep the mud and water off my back. I can sit upright. I usually wear street clothes. The shifters on the handlebars are numbered so I always know what gear I’m in without having to look down at the gear cassette. My Windstream has 21 gears, all of which I used on the very first Buffalo Bicycle Classic in 2003, when I did the 35-mile ride.
I remember well the good-natured ribbing I took from all those Spandex-clad riders who passed me on the ride—especially those guys from the Physics Department. In retrospect, the cruiser was not the best choice for a long ride, but I did finish the 35 miles, even though I had to walk the bike up the last part of Folsom Street.
A lot has changed since then. In the garage, I stand beneath by my Bianchi road bike hanging from a hook on the ceiling, and she begins to whisper to me. I ignore her but give her a loving squeeze to check her tire pressure.
The ride to work is slow, as I’m not in any rush. I enjoy the time alone to just think and be in a quiet state of mind. On the way home, I see a deer prance across my path and it reminds me of my husband’s close encounter with a cow late at night about the same place. It reminds me to devise yet another tactic for teasing Joe out of his perpetual state of serious-mindedness. Joe is like a lot of other serious bikers in that if you’re going to do a bike ride, it can’t be anything less than a 100 miles or it doesn’t count. He gets with his biking buddies and they discuss endlessly their training, their bikes, and their trials and tribulations. He has invited me many times to be part of his elite league, but I’m not physically matched. It frustrates us both.
I arrive home, and as I pull off my helmet, I tell Joe that I would like him to install a kickstand on my Bianchi. I get a look of incredulity, and with his usual thoughtful, solemn approach to such matters, he tells me he will not put a kickstand on my Bianchi. Such things are simply not done. I laugh, amused that I seemed to be the only one that got my joke.
Friday, June 3
Two things happened today. First, I rode to work on my Windstream without wearing my helmet, and I got caught by Joe. Not only did a get a phone call later that morning, but a long lecture that evening about protecting my brain and that helmet hair is really a badge of honor. He was right. I could have hit a cow.
The other thing that happened today was that when I arrived at work, the first thing I was confronted with was a big box of doughnuts in celebration of National Doughnut Day. Thinking that was a big joke, I learned later that day on NPR that National Doughnut Day was created to honor the women who served doughnuts to soldiers during World War I. Although a noble reason to celebrate the simple treat, I declined to partake least I begin another cycle of my sugar addiction. I was seriously advised to respect the doughnut.
Saturday, June 4
The doughnut thing made me realize that the complicated relationship I with have with food is mucking up my training for the 50-mile ride and that I need to recalibrate my goal. My intention is to develop overall physical fitness that will support a wide variety of activities, one of which is a 50-mile bike ride. My secondary goal is to lose 10 pounds or so.
Sunday, June 05
One of my favorite quotes is by Henry David Thoreau that says to beware of all enterprises that requires new clothes. I’ll take that one step further to suggest we should beware of any new physical endeavor that requires stuff. Almost any sport these days, including biking, usually involves a rather expensive outlay of cash. On the hunt for a pair of biking sunglasses, I found a really cheap and chic alternative on Joe’s workbench. He purchased a pair of sunglass safety glasses at the McGuckin Hardware Store tent sale for only $4. They look very cool with dark shades and a wraparound style—perfect for biking. A scientist friend of mine, who proudly wears his nerd label, found some really cool safety glasses at McGuckin Hardware that he wears over his prescription glasses when he is biking. Unless you’re hanging with biking fashionistas, your friends will never know you didn’t spend a ton of money.
The Elevations Buffalo Bicycle Classic, which raises funds for scholarships, includes ride distances of 14, 35, 50, 70 and 100 miles. To learn more about the Sept. 11 event or to register, click here.
In an effort to do at least one significant form of exercise every day, I walked to work today, something I haven’t done in months. My pedometer went flaky after about 2,000 steps, undoubtedly a dead battery. Without the distraction of checking of my progress every 500 steps or so, my attention turned to the amazing things you see when you walk the Boulder Creek path. As I headed west, I was greeted by the beauty of the Flatirons surrounded by early morning clouds as the rising sun from the East cast a warm golden orange glow against the peaks. Boulder Creek quietly babbled and sparkled from the sunlight filtering through the bright green leaves of spring. Hawks perched in the highest tree branches, surveying the dozens of bikers and walkers sharing the path with me. Purple wildflowers dotted the landscape.
The 6 p.m. walk home was a peaceful meditation along the same route I walked that morning. I enjoyed watching the camaraderie of three buddies kayaking down the creek in their bright red boats. Children skipping rocks while wading at the edge of the stream seemed oblivious to the ice-cold water. Bits of conversation gleaned from passing walkers and bikers discussing work, love, friends, life and family remind me how much we all have in common.
I didn’t need my pedometer, as I knew from past experience the round trip was about 10 miles. It felt good physically and spiritually.
Friday, May 27
This evening, I watched a 2004 Swedish film called “As It Is in Heaven.” A box-office hit in Sweden, it was nominated for Best Foreign Language Film at the 77th Academy Awards. It is an excellent, thought-provoking film with a bicycle moment worth noting. While in Austria for a musical competition, the protagonist spends the morning aimlessly pedaling around the city, flush with happiness because he finally recognizes he is in love with the beautiful Lena. Just then the bell tower rings and he realizes he is late for the competition. He pedals furiously back to the concert hall and while making his way up the stairs clutches his chest. He staggers into the restroom, but stumbles and hits his head on the radiator. Lying on the tiles bleeding profusely, he hears the music from the concert hall from the loud speaker. A smile spreads across his face, and he dies.
Saturday, May 28
Today was a six-mile power walk on the South Boulder Creek path where I cross three bridges. At the last bridge, before turning around, I do a little ritual a friend taught me (he claims it’s an old Indian ritual). I stand on the bridge facing downstream, spread my arms, and release all the negative energy and bad stuff that’s holding me back. I then turn around and face upstream, spread my arms, and take in all the powerful, positive energy flowing with the stream.
On my walk I encountered a gentleman not much older than I am shuffling along the path very slowly with the aid of a walker. I surmised that he is recovering from a stroke or a head injury because he cannot lift his feet up and each step seemed an enormous effort. Clearly determined, he was alone and far away from the trailhead. This man seemed invisible to walkers and bikers as they swiftly passed him. For me, he was an inspiration. No matter what, keep moving forward. As with everything in life, every positive effort, however seemingly small, counts.
Sunday, May 29
I pulled my Windstream cruiser out of the garage, dusted off the seat, handlebars and fenders. I pumped up the tires, attached the basket, and made sure the bike bell still worked. My cruiser is heavy, but she’s pretty and easy to ride—a beautiful metallic sage green, Shimano gears, and a big fat cushy seat.
I found my bike lock, rolled up my pant legs, and set off for the bookstore and the grocery store. One of my favorite routes in east Boulder, I rode the multi-purpose path past the Flatirons Golf Course, over the bridge with deteriorating wooden planks that makes a racket when you ride over them, and past the Stazio ball field with an afternoon game evident by balls cracking against metal bats and cheering crowds. A snake emerged from the thicket and quickly slithered across the trail. I stopped to listen to the music of the man that practices his saxophone along East Pearl while watching the newly born prairies dog pups scurrying about amidst the chirping warnings of the adult prairie dogs.
As I continued east on the Goose Creek path, I passed Community Cycles, a nonprofit bicycle retail and community bike shop. The shop is usually always busy when I pass by, with people of all ages spilling outside fixing and tuning their bikes and freely offering help to one another. This group does great things for the community by recycling bikes and teaching how to maintain and repair bikes. Check them out at http://communitycycles.org/about-community-cycles/mission.html
After losing a couple of hours browsing in Barnes & Noble, I headed to Whole Foods to pick up a few items, consciously trying not to buy more than my bike’s carrying capacity. The ride home is longer than I remember, and my backpack and basket are heavy with books and groceries. My quads begin to fatigue, so I stop to take a rest under the railroad bridge while a train rumbles overhead.
Tuesday, June 1
It takes more than an hour for me to walk the five miles to work, so I decide to bike to work on my Windstream cruiser. Even though my cruiser is bulky and heavy, it a great commuting bike. The fenders keep the mud and water off my back. I can sit upright. I usually wear street clothes. The shifters on the handlebars are numbered so I always know what gear I’m in without having to look down at the gear cassette. My Windstream has 21 gears, all of which I used on the very first Buffalo Bicycle Classic in 2003, when I did the 35-mile ride.
I remember well the good-natured ribbing I took from all those Spandex-clad riders who passed me on the ride—especially those guys from the Physics Department. In retrospect, the cruiser was not the best choice for a long ride, but I did finish the 35 miles, even though I had to walk the bike up the last part of Folsom Street.
A lot has changed since then. In the garage, I stand beneath by my Bianchi road bike hanging from a hook on the ceiling, and she begins to whisper to me. I ignore her but give her a loving squeeze to check her tire pressure.
The ride to work is slow, as I’m not in any rush. I enjoy the time alone to just think and be in a quiet state of mind. On the way home, I see a deer prance across my path and it reminds me of my husband’s close encounter with a cow late at night about the same place. It reminds me to devise yet another tactic for teasing Joe out of his perpetual state of serious-mindedness. Joe is like a lot of other serious bikers in that if you’re going to do a bike ride, it can’t be anything less than a 100 miles or it doesn’t count. He gets with his biking buddies and they discuss endlessly their training, their bikes, and their trials and tribulations. He has invited me many times to be part of his elite league, but I’m not physically matched. It frustrates us both.
I arrive home, and as I pull off my helmet, I tell Joe that I would like him to install a kickstand on my Bianchi. I get a look of incredulity, and with his usual thoughtful, solemn approach to such matters, he tells me he will not put a kickstand on my Bianchi. Such things are simply not done. I laugh, amused that I seemed to be the only one that got my joke.
Friday, June 3
Two things happened today. First, I rode to work on my Windstream without wearing my helmet, and I got caught by Joe. Not only did a get a phone call later that morning, but a long lecture that evening about protecting my brain and that helmet hair is really a badge of honor. He was right. I could have hit a cow.
The other thing that happened today was that when I arrived at work, the first thing I was confronted with was a big box of doughnuts in celebration of National Doughnut Day. Thinking that was a big joke, I learned later that day on NPR that National Doughnut Day was created to honor the women who served doughnuts to soldiers during World War I. Although a noble reason to celebrate the simple treat, I declined to partake least I begin another cycle of my sugar addiction. I was seriously advised to respect the doughnut.
Saturday, June 4
The doughnut thing made me realize that the complicated relationship I with have with food is mucking up my training for the 50-mile ride and that I need to recalibrate my goal. My intention is to develop overall physical fitness that will support a wide variety of activities, one of which is a 50-mile bike ride. My secondary goal is to lose 10 pounds or so.
Sunday, June 05
One of my favorite quotes is by Henry David Thoreau that says to beware of all enterprises that requires new clothes. I’ll take that one step further to suggest we should beware of any new physical endeavor that requires stuff. Almost any sport these days, including biking, usually involves a rather expensive outlay of cash. On the hunt for a pair of biking sunglasses, I found a really cheap and chic alternative on Joe’s workbench. He purchased a pair of sunglass safety glasses at the McGuckin Hardware Store tent sale for only $4. They look very cool with dark shades and a wraparound style—perfect for biking. A scientist friend of mine, who proudly wears his nerd label, found some really cool safety glasses at McGuckin Hardware that he wears over his prescription glasses when he is biking. Unless you’re hanging with biking fashionistas, your friends will never know you didn’t spend a ton of money.
The Elevations Buffalo Bicycle Classic, which raises funds for scholarships, includes ride distances of 14, 35, 50, 70 and 100 miles. To learn more about the Sept. 11 event or to register, click here.