Monday, August 31, 2009

Fierce and Psycho MomCat Cycling Chick Inc.

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Today, I had to take a day off from Fierce and Psycho Cycling Chick Inc. to attend to my other job, which is that of Fierce and Psycho Momcat. Does anyone remember and love the Kliban cats like I do?!



One Christmas, I gave my Mom a plastic checkbook cover with "Momcat" on it. And, I still have the Kliban t-shirt I got in Hawaii in 1986 when Suze and I went on our wild&crazy (okay, not really, more like giddy&waterfallhuntingwhennotseeingbarracudas) trip there. Here's the t-shirt.



It is my oldest t-shirt, and I'm sure if someone got me on "What Not to Wear" (don't you dare, cuz I always look good, err, except when I sport that take-Nate-to-high-school-at-dawn-in-yoga-pants-and-a-baggy-sweatshirt-with-pink-Crocs-with-socks look) that Stacy and Clinton would pitch it right in that trash bin! My oldest t-shirt used to be one that my friend, Bitsy, gave me in 1984. She got it in NYC and on it was a huge cat towering over a skyscraper; below the picture, it said "Catzilla." I finally had to throw it away, because it was just about ready to self-destruct.

Anyway, I started as Momcat at 8am this morning, helping Iz with her Summer homework -- again; she starts school tomorrow, and we had about 20 more pages of writing and math ahead of us. As I said, "Okay, you have one dime here and two pennies," she wrote down "10 + 2 =" and then pondered the answer. "Twelve, Mommy?" I said, "Yes, that's right, Iz." I really had to muster all my patience for these 20 pages. As she wrote her "6" backwards, she'd say, "Is this backwards?" I swear she kept doing that just to see if I was still paying attention!



It was funny, because I remembered doing the same type of math sheet with the coins in first grade. And, does it mean you're not that old when you remember doing a worksheet in school over 40+ years ago?

I remember my first grade teacher was Mrs. Moyer. God, she was awful. She was not very kid friendly, which is obviously a really bad personality trait when you're a teacher, and she had a totally cruel but apparently 1968-acceptable way of dealing with children who talked too much in class; she taped their mouths shut with masking tape! Jeez, could you even imagine that going on in a first grade classroom today?

We had one particular chatty Kathy in our class. No. It wasn't me. I liked to talk then and still do, but I was totally scared silent by an authority figure and sadistic punisher like Mrs. Moyer. Poor Gayle Howes. Yes, I will never forget her name. A beautiful and lovely girl, who I went to school with through the 12th grade, yet whenever I saw her, even years later, all I could think about was her with her mouth covered in masking tape looking like an unfinished mummy of sorts.

At 8:45, I had to leave to pick up Nathan from soccer practice, which had started at 7am, and I told Iz it was time for her to take a juice box break. I fetched Nathan, and we headed home, but not before stopping at his gas station (Dunkin' Donuts) and filling him up with two ham and cheese croissants and a bottle of orange juice.

When I got home, Iz said, "Mommy, don't forget. We need to finish my homework!" How could I forget?! This was our last piece of pre-first-day-of-school unfinished business. The school supplies were bought, and so were the new backpack and lunchbox. And, no, I wasn't with her when she bought them, so I did not influence the decision in any way, I swear!



So, I sat down on the bed next to her, and at 11:15, we finished all the worksheets. We were both relieved and elated. Did you ever notice how difficult it can be to identify some of those pictures? Is that a nut or a baby swaddled in a blanket?! Is that a tub or a cup with handles?! Is that a rock or a potato?! Okay, maybe it was just me with only cup of coffee in me, but sometimes I found the pre-1st grade worksheets challenging!

At 11:40, I was off with Nathan to the dentist. He hadn't been since he had gotten his braces on about 4 years ago. I always found his whole orthodonture experience to be a bit misleading. "He'll only need a palate expander" went to "He'll need braces for a year" to "He'll need braces for two years" to "Maybe they'll come off in 8 months" to "Maybe they'll come off in 6 months." I know that no science is exact, but it made me wonder.

At noon, we arrived at the dentist's; about 5 minutes later, Nathan was called in. Given that he hadn't been in so long and that he drank root beer by the case, I was prepared for "He'll need to have 5 cavities filled" at the end of the visit. I started to read my book, and when I finally looked at my phone, 50 minutes had gone by. I was now thinking that it was "He'll need to have 10 cavities filled and two root canals," given that he had been in there for so long. About 5 minutes later, my phone buzzed; it was a text message from Nathan.

"Save me!"
I texted him back asking, "What is going on in there?!?!!?"
He answered, "Slowly dying."
I then asked, "Can I have your X-box then?!"

About 5 minutes later, the door opened and he came out with the dental tech. This was it; I would be spending a lot of afternoons here the next month. Nathan's mouth, after a few thousand in orthodonture, now needed thousands in dentistry! She walked over to me and said, "Everything looks good; we're waiting on the x-rays, but we'll call you if anything is wrong there."

I wanted to hug her until she looked down into her folder and said, "But....he missed having the coating put on his 12-year-molars when he was 14." Or, was it that he missed having the "coating" on his 12-year-old molars when he was 12. I didn't really understand it, so I said, "A coating?" She told me they seal the teeth with something to prevent them from getting cavities, and that Nathan had had this done before to other teeth. Okay, that made sense to me, though this was the first time I believe I ever heard about it; perhaps it was something they always did automatically when he was at an appointment.

And a coating to prevent cavitities?! Did you ever notice that all the good stuff happens when it's too late for you? Like the elementary school got the cool swingset/jungle gym the year you moved up to middle school? Or after you spent $100 at Ann Taylor Loft, you get a coupon in the mail the next day for 20% off your entire purchase? Where was sealant for teeth when I was drinking Pepsi like water in high school?! :-)

Anyway, I liked her short and sweet explanation. When at the orthodontist's, the technician always came out along with Nathan and said something like, "In response to the stimulus of pressure, cells within the bone and periodontal ligament differentiate to form specialized cells called osteoclasts which are associated with bone resorption in advance of the moving tooth. In response to the stimulus of tension, other cells differentiate to form specialized cells called osteoblasts, which produce bone behind the moving tooth" when for my purposes an "Everything looks fine, and we'll see him in 6 weeks" comment would have been much more appreciated and understandable!

Anyway, she was not sure if the insurance coverage for the "coating" or "sealant" expired when Nathan was 14; otherwise, it was $65 per tooth for the procedure. She said that the receptionist was going to call the insurance to check while we waited. As I sat there, Nathan nonchalantly opened his phone, turned it around to use the camera, stuck it in front of his mouth, and took a picture. I laughed and said, "What are you doing? Taking a picture of your teeth?" He said, "Yeah, why not?" I then said, "Oh, I guess I shouldn't talk given what I take pictures of." He then said, "Yeah, no kidding, Mom!"

We were then informed that it was going to take a few telephone calls and website visits to find the answer to the insurance question, so we were not only cavity-free but we were also free to leave. I looked at the time, and I had about 30 minutes to get Nathan to his next soccer practice.

When we were in the car, I remarked how wonderful it was that Nathan had no cavities, and I wished that they had this sealant stuff when I was young, because then I probably wouldn't have had any cavities. Nathan said, "You have cavities?!!?!?" I said, "Err, yes. And, I have this nice gold crown, too!" Nathan twisted his face up and said, "Ewww. How did you get that?" I told him it was from being a "fireball cruncher." Nathan asked, "Aren't you supposed to suck on those?" I said, "YES; hence, that's why I have the crown!"

I remembered when I first looked in my mouth after having the crown done and being horrified. I was reminded of Flavor Flav's grill, except this small little grill on my rear molar was not so obvious, well, to others. Every time I looked at it, I thought "That gold should be in my ears or hanging around my neck not on my molar!" It also would have been nice to still have the $1400 that the whole procedure cost after insurance, but, looking on the bright side, at least I still have all my own teeth. I guess the thing that bothers me most about getting old is the thought of ever having to have dentures. I'd ride that tricyle bike before I'd ever want to wear dentures!

Anyway, the rail trail just called and said I'm late for my second job (about 7 hours!), so, off I go -- Fierce and Psycho Momcat Cycling Chick. Actually, I think I've finally got the proper job title there. <3

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Keep on Movin'

Blog soundtrack:



Contrary to the forecast on http://www.boston.com/ for today that was predicted yesterday…



Or this, which was today’s forecast…



When I looked out the window this morning, it was sunny and there was not a cloud in the sky.
Wooo-hooo!
It was a cycling day; however, the thought of cycling alone seemed a bit odd to me. Going out on my own on the rail trail seemed like a huge step backward instead of the 25 miles forward that it would end up being at the end of the day.

I gathered my gear and walked by the kitchen table, where Iz sat in front of her Summer homework; homework activity had just come to a screeching halt (a “break”) because instead of writing the word “were” on a line in her notebook, she wrote “Dad” with an “X” through it. Ah, and there were 12 more years of homework to look forward to!

She asked me where I was going and I said, “I’m going biking.”
She said, “Again?! You go every day!”
I was beginning to get the feeling that if someone performed a cycling intervention, it would be Iz. It would be hard to explain to Iz that I needed to go out cycling every day, and it was now like a drug which had been prescribed for me. Err, something like this, k?



When I went outside, I saw Nathan perched atop my bike; he was supposed to be mowing the lawn, but I realized then that he was in total procrastination mode.



He said, “Wow, this is a nice bike.”
I said, “Shoooo, you!”
As he wriggled uncomfortably on the seat, he said, “Ooooo, I’ve got to get off; this hurts my leftie and my rightie.”
T.M.I., Nathan!

I got on my bike and headed to the rail trail. I was thinking it would be a good day to do 50, but I thought I’d see how 25 went and how much traffic was on the trail today. Bill told me on Friday that he leaves the rail trail alone on the weekends, because it’s too busy. I don’t mind it too much, because I’m fierce and don’t mind taking my life into my own hands when dealing with the people who just don’t “get” how to bike on the rail. Err, see http://goddessofallthingslovely.blogspot.com/2009/03/adventures-in-cycling-for-george.html
for my thoughts on the “railtrialites.”

When I got down to the rail trail, I stopped and glanced up toward the beginning of the trail; the trail starts, goes about 200 yards, and then is intersected by a road. I had never stopped and looked up like that before, but that stretch is usually where I meet Bill in the mornings; but alas, when I looked down and saw no one, Bill was just the Ghost of Cycling Past.

I started to head out, and within 10 minutes, I knew this was strictly a 25 mile day. Everyone was out; the trail was swarming with railtrailites. It was as if the National Weather Service had predicted that August 30th would be the last sunny and warm day in Massachusetts and that on August 31st we should expected 2 feet of snow!

What? Wasn’t I a railtrailite you ask? Excuse me? Of course not! I was a fierce and psycho cycling chick who just happens to bike on the rail trial. There’s a HUGE difference, and when I figure out exactly what that difference is, well, I’ll let you know, okay?!

As I was biking along, after being only 15 minutes into the ride and already having said, "On your left!" about 50 times, I definitely had a “This is the Day I Get into a Serious Accident and Have a Memorial Crash Site on the Trail Just Like Bill,” premonition because it was so crowded. And within 10 minutes, I had a head-on collision…………………………………with some kind of stinging insect!

It bit me right on my neck. Of course, it was a double dose of pain. Impact hurt. I was going about 18 m.p.h, and how fast does a bug fly, 20 m.p.h or so? I’m sure there are human-to-insect impact crash statistics out there somewhere. Will someone google that and get back to me? Oh, come on; I’m the one doing all the writing here; you people could at least do a little research for me! And as I sit here writing, the sting still hurts, but I’ll get over it, because I’m fierce, in case you didn’t get that memo already. I’ve had two c-sections and one broken toe, and this sting hurts far more. Okay, I just reread that; maybe I'm not that fierce!

Even though I was missing the cycling companionship, when I’m cycling on my own, I do notice a lot more. Well, usually when I cycle up the trial with Bill, he’s talking and simultaneously writing my blog for me!

I saw a Mom ride by me with three of her kids following in a perfect line behind her; she reminded me of the Canadian Goose I saw with her three young goslings crossing the rail trail into the other side of a pond a few months ago.

I passed a Dad, Mom, and two kids. The Dad was wearing all the “right stuff” as far as cycling goes. And, as I biked past, he glanced at me and had a longing look on his face, like he wished he was cranking down the trail with me, but instead, he was all dressed up with only one place to go – up the trail at 10 m.p.h with his family. A very good Dad!!!

I saw yet another older woman biking the trail with one of those tricycle bikes. I asked Bill the other day what he thought about this phenomenon. He said that he had no idea. I asked, “Do women just give up the will to balance after 50?” He laughed, and I swear I’d rather not bike at all that bike on a big tricycle. I’m sure they have their purpose, and it’s better to be out there exercising than not at all, but for me I will never ride a tricycle, no chance, Lance!

When I reached home, it was good to have gotten out on such a lovely day, but I did miss the company of the Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. Riding solo was okay when you had to, but it was always good to be in the company of friends, especially friends who appreciated you just as much as you appreciated them. It's always good to have friends who keep you movin’ in a good direction – up and out of the house for lack of anywhere else to go every day.

Anyway, I’m going to…

Keep on cyclin’…



Keep on writin’…



And, because I love my way, keep right on dancin’.



And, you should too. <3

Note to Greg Lemond if You are Reading My Blog: Can you make a Lemond Strawberry Shortcake for big girls? And, it needs to have a “triple,” tires that never go flat, and a GPS that is automatically programmed to find any Sephora in the world!

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Cycling is the New Tomorrow

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When my muscles finally woke up today at 9:30am, I realized that it was raining. I heard it, and as you know, I love that sound.

I knew there wouldn't be any biking today, so I put together my list of things to do instead of biking at the breakfast table this morning.

While at the table, Iz looked at my sunflowers, and then asked as she whacked the petals, "Mom, can I eat these?" I answered, "No, I don't think so. You can eat some flowers, but I don't think you can eat these. And, you should ALWAYS ask before you eat anything." Satifisfied with that answer she asked, “Mom, is the moon made of cheese?”
I said, "No."
She then asked, "Then what is it made of?"
I answered, "It's made of rocks and dirt like the Earth."

After breakfast, I did 5 loads of laundry, remade Iz's bed (due to a case of the horrible runs last night), cleaned her room, and then I pondered what to do with myself. I thought I could go to the gym and run. I thought about that most of the day, well, when I was not thinking how much I missed my biking buddies. And, at 4:30pm, I realized that it was best to take the day off, given that I hadn't in a long time.



And I realized, that tomorow (well, the next best cycling day) is not a day away in this case, according to www.boston.com; it's two days away, but I can wait (no, maybe I can't) to cycle with Bill, Bob, and et. al again. <3

Friday, August 28, 2009

What About Bob?

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Today was my third day riding with Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. These guys are either going to kill me or get me into the best shape of my life. God, I so hope it’s the latter. And, I know I’ve talked a lot about them this week, but they are now my way of life. Okay, it’s sounds like I’ve joined a cult, although we all do dress similarly! Some people join the Peace Corps when they are searching for purpose, well, I’ve joined Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd.

I assembled my gear at 9:20 this morning. Then, I realized that it might have been a week or more since I last pumped up my tires. I got out my pump and gave the rear tire some air. I tried to attach the pump to the little thingy jutting out from the front tire, but every time I began to pump, I heard “Psssssssssssssssssssssssst” as in the pump wasn’t attached properly to the little thingy jutting out from the tire. At that point, I texted Bill to tell him I was going to be running 10 minutes late.

On my 18th attempt, I finally got the pump attached to the little thingy jutting out from the tire, and within in 10 seconds, my front tire was good to go. Though, when I took the pump off, the top of the little thingy jutting out from the tire snapped off. Shit! I really wanted to ride, but now I was afraid, because I thought the TOP of little thingy kept the air IN the tire. I was now having a major flat tire premonition. I said, “Screw it,” got on my bike, and I headed down to the rail trail. I’d ask Bill his opinion, and he would let me know whether I should stay or go.

When I got to the trail, I saw Bill and rode over to him. He was on the phone chatting away; from his tone on the phone, it seemed like the call caught him by total surprise. For example, it was like he standing there minding his own business when his cell rang, and when he answered, it was President Obama calling to ask him what he thought about the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act.

I then heard Bill say, “Yes, Jean’s here.” I was thinking, “That Barack is so thoughtful thinking about me!”
Bill said, “Yes, we’ll meet you there.” I then thought, “OMG, we’re having lunch at the Oval office tomorrow. What will I wear?!”

Bill got off the phone and said to me, “You’ll never believe who that was?”
No, I didn’t say, “President Obama?”
Bill said, “It was Bob!”
I thought to myself, “Okay, it was Bob. Why is that so unusual?” Bill and Bob had been friends for 5 or 6 years, so why would it be odd for Bill to get a call from Bob?
Bill said, “Bob NEVER calls me! And, he just called me.”
And, when I thought about it a tad-ted-tid-tod-tud more, I could see Bob not being a phone kind of guy.
I asked, “Maybe he’s lonely?”
Bill said, “He wanted to know who was around to bike. He’s going to start biking and meet us along the trail. I still can’t believe he called me, Jean!”

I then said that I wasn’t sure I should ride today and showed him how I had snapped the top off of the little thingy jutting out from my tire. I said, “I’m afraid I might flat. Maybe I shouldn’t ride.” He told me that he had a spare tube and a CO2 cartridge, and that if anything happened, he’d take care of me. I said, “Are you sure that’s going to work?” He smiled (and was probably thinking right at that moment, “How can it be this girl has ridden since 1986 and does not know this?”) and said, “Yes. Trust me. That is part of the tube; if I change the tube, it’ll be fixed.”

Note to Self:
It might be time to take some courses like “Bike Maintenance 101” and “Everything You Wanted to Know About a Triple But Were Afraid to Ask.”

So, we climbed on our bikes and headed down the trail. Bill told me how that for the longest time Bob did not have a cell phone. When the others asked him why he didn’t have one, he told them that they all had one, so why did he need one. If he was in a jam, he could use one of theirs.

Apparently, Bob had resisted getting a cell phone for the longest time, because he was afraid of identity theft; he didn’t want to give his social security number to anyone. Bill said he finally found a company that only asked for the last four digits of his social security number, so it was then and with them that he got a cell phone. Bill said, “Maybe I should be more worried about that stuff, but it just seems it’s like one of those things you shouldn’t spend a lot of time worrying about.” I agreed. Then Bill said, “Of course, when he was on the phone, he asked me if you were with me!’” I had to laugh; I was now officially part of Bob’s cycling chick harem!

As we biked, I asked Bill if he got my text message earlier, and he said that he did. He said that when his phone buzzed, he was surprised to see a message from me, because the only person who texted him was his grandson, Joel. He told me that it was one of the only ways his grandson communicated and that he joined Facebook just so he could keep track of what was going on in Joel’s life. Bill said, “He puts his grades on there; well, there are a lot of things he shares with people that I never would!” T.M.I, Bill? I wouldn't know anything about that, nope. :-)

When we passed the intersection of Smith Street, we rode for about 100 yards when Bill said, “Jean, we need to have a moment of silence right here.” This was the spot where he broke his pelvis. I so hope I never need to have a moment of silence anywhere on the rail trail!

About 10 minutes later, Bill’s cell rang and he stopped to answer it. I stopped and got off my bike. It was Jeff. Yes, the Jeff who felt I was “catchable.” When Bill got off the phone, he told me that Jeff had just got on the rail trail where we had first started and was going to meet us. Thinking that it would take Jeff a while to reach us, I then asked, “What about Bob?” He told me that Bob was supposed to meet us along the way, and we’d still do that. Jeff would have to catch up to us.

Before we could get back on our bikes, my phone rang. It was Nathan. He was about to go to soccer practice and needed a few forms filled out and my signature on one of them. “Mom, can I forge your signature?” I told him that was fine, arranged a time to fetch him, and then I hung up. I stood there for a moment saying to myself, “Wow. He just asked if he could forge my signature. What a good kid!”

We got back on our bikes, and 5 minutes later, Bill’s cell rang again. More and more, I was beginning to think that this cycling was just as much about being social as it was about exercise. Bill got off the phone and told me that Bob was wondering why we hadn’t met him at the parking lot yet. Bill said, “I told him that he was supposed to meet us on the trail. We’ll give him a break on that one because of his age!”

When Bill and I arrived in the parking lot, we met up with Bob and a new rider, Steve. Bill told Bob we were waiting for Jeff, who showed up about 5 minutes later. When Jeff was introduced to me, he said, “Yes, I’ve seen you fly by me!” Bob then said to Jeff, “Well, now you see her, and once we get biking, you won’t!” Just then two women showed up in the parking lot and started unloading their bikes out of a Subaru Outback. Bob went over to, err, investigate. I said to Bill, “Is there a woman he doesn’t know?” Bill said, “No!”

When Bob came back, Bill said to Bob, “Jeez, Bob, if it wears a skirt and has a bike, you are there!” Bob smiled. It was then that I realized a huge difference between men and women. Bill was always kidding Bob about his fondness for women. Men seem to be able to tease each other without any fear of retribution; whereas, if one women kidded another the way Bill had kidded Bob, well, it would have resulted in a total knock-down drag-out cat fight!

Then we all headed off, and it was apparent to me after 15 minutes that Bob chose a hilly ride. I wanted to say “Uncle” early on, but I felt that much better when Bill came up beside me and said, “This is killing me,” and I said, “Me too!” After biking 80 miles the past two days, the hill climbing had me ready to feign a flat tire, pull out my cell phone, and call my neighbor to pick me up!

After one long downhill, Steve, the new guy, biked next to me for a bit. He asked me how I liked my Lemond. I said that I loved it. (Greg, if you’re reading, you make a damn good bike!) He proceeded to tell me how much he loved his “Zurich” and how it fit him just right. Then he said, “But, the only thing is that I miss my triple!” Oh, jeez, again with the freakin “triple” talk! Thank goodness, I know what that is now. I do so. They are my “Granny gears.” Well, that’s what Quinn, Nate’s Dad, calls them. I had to call him last night to fact check my story, mind you! Apparently, Steve has to get out of his saddle to climb hills now, because he has no “Granny gears.” I guess I’m a lucky girl, cuz I still have “Granny gears!”

Once we crossed the town line into West Groton, Bill wanted to go straight on some road; however, Bob wanted to go left. As it turns out, the destination point was the same – the Clover Farm Market. Bill didn't understand why we just couldn't go straight. I got my first hint of a bit of male rivalry here. Bill then said, “Bob wants to go his way, and when you don’t, sometimes he gets bent out of shape. But, sometimes, I just have to go the way I want to show him that it makes no difference.” Okay, I didn’t really get it, but if Bill’s way had no hills, I was totally going to bike with Bill. And, I said, “Bill, I’m going with you!”

Bill said we were going to stop at the Clover Farm Market, because no matter what, Bob had to stop at noon to eat his sandwich. And, Bill said either route got you there, but his was more direct. (Bill was also antsy about getting home, because he needed to skedaddle to Toys ‘R Us to buy his 3-year-old grandson a nerf gun for a birthday present.)

And, this was one concept I had to get used to on these “marabikathons.” (This is what one of my friends calls these rides.) The concept was eating while riding. Usually, none of my rides were long enough to merit a snack, but now I found myself hungry after riding for only an hour with this group!

As we biked toward the luncheon destination, Bill told me about the wonderful cookies the market had. They were called squannacookies. The Squannacook River goes through West Groton; thus, everything in the town is named Squannacook; well, instead of West Groton, I guess. I did end up having a bite of one of these cookies. They were very good, almost like a chocolate chip cookie; however, they had a crispy texture and dried cranberries in them along with the chocolate chips. And, here’s the market.



Once at the market, Bill and I went in. Bill got coffee. I couldn’t imagine having a cup of coffee at this point! So, I bought a Limonata. We sat there and waited for Bob, Steve, and Jeff to arrive. Bill said, “You know, this store has been in a few movies. I can’t tell you which ones they are, but there aren’t many of these stores left.” Cool, a vintage store!

When Bill saw Bob, Jeff, and Steve in the park across the street, we got up and went out to meet them. Bob and Jeff were noshing on their sandwiches. Bill had bought a bag of Squannacook cookies to share.

We sat down, and the conversation went from “What was your most tragic biking accident?” to “Where do we bike from here?” and ended with “I Can’t Wait Until my 18-year-old Leaves the House.” They all started to chat about some guy who had biked into a truck going 30 m.p.h. who was now brain dead. Then Bob said his worst accident, which landed him in the hospital, was when he swerved to avoid a cat.

Bill then said, “I hate cats! They’re sneaky, don’t come when you call them, and I don’t like the way they look at you when you undress.” We all howled at that last anti-cat statement. And then, channeling Nathan, I told Bill, “Don’t be a hater! I have three lovely cats.” I think Bill felt badly about his “I hate cats” stance right then, and then he recalled the story about the only good cat he owned.

Then began the chat about where we would be going next. Bob said was going to take Steve and Jeff to Devens, but Bill and I both knew we had to get home. He had to buy that birthday present, and I knew my sick daughter was headed home prematurely from Philadelphia. I had said this to them, and then Bob asked me how old my children were. I told them I had Iz who was 6, and Nathan who was 16. When I mentioned I had a 16-year-old boy, Steve groaned. He said that his son was now 18, and he couldn’t wait until he moved out. He said that his son was 16 when he first starting giving him trouble. I said that my son was stellar, and I had to laugh to myself, knowing that this was the kid who had called me two hours earlier and asked me if it was okay to forge my signature!

After everyone was hydrated and had food in their stomachs, we got back on our bikes and headed off. Within 10 minutes, Bill and I separated from Bob, Jeff, and Steve, so we could head home. Once Bill and I arrived back to the parking lot, I said, “Well, it’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow, but are you going to be out on Sunday.” Bill laughed. He told me that, given he was out biking during the week, on Sunday, he’d stay home and spend time with his wife. He said, “Jean, take the weekend off!”

I thought about it. I had biked 185 miles so far this week. I then said to Bill, "To tell you the truth, Bill, I'm really glad it’s raining Saturday and Sunday!" He laughed, because I think he was, too. <3

Thursday, August 27, 2009

As My Crank Turns

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Tonight, everything below my waist is a tad, ted, tid, tod, and tud achy. Yes, I went out and biked another 40 with the boys and the girls today.

As I was biking around beautiful places that I’d never been before, I was thinking that it was official. This week, I had given up on ever getting another job, and since I started biking with Bob and Bill, I decided that, like them, retirement was my new way of life. Okay, not really, but this spending time with your kids, not stressing out about work pressures, and cycling 40 miles a day is something I could get used to. Note to Self: Stop looking for “technical writer” jobs and start looked for “Kept Woman” jobs. :-)

I met Bill on the rail trail at 9:30 this morning. We waited about 5 minutes for any other potential cyclists; these potentials would be Jeff (who hadn’t shown up to ride since he deemed me “catchable,” scaredy cat!) and Jim. Apparently, Jeff had just bought a new crapp, err, “used” bike. “Used” was how Bill was now referring to Jeff’s bikes, as perhaps he had a think and felt he was being a tad too hard on Jeff’s bike budget. Jeff had wanted to bike with us, but his “used” bike needed new tires. He tried to put the tires on, and one of them blew, and there were various other issues with his new “used” bike. At this point, this “used” bike was sounding pretty crappy to me. And finally, Jim, who was supposed to bike with us yesterday, because his rotator cuff surgery had been postponed, had not been heard from since.

Other potentials, who would meet us elsewhere, were Leigh and Lisa. Leigh wanted to ride with us, but she had made plans to cycle with her friend, Allison. Bill said that Allison used to be a fast cyclist, but she had somehow let herself go and was now a casual cyclist averaging 11 or 12 miles per hour. Leigh, wanted to get out of the cycling date, if she could, and ride with us, so she was a “maybe.” Lisa, the truck driver, was definitely coming, but when and where we’d meet her was still TBS.

Bill and I headed down the rail trail at 9:35. As we biked along, Bill chatted away as usual, which I love, because when I’m at home, I spend most of my time chatting with Liam (the cat) and Monty (the dog); it was nice to have an actual human to listen to and exchange conversation with.

After we crossed Broadmeadow Street, Jim’s cell phone rang. He said to me, “I better get this.” Bill stopped, and I stopped about 50 yards ahead of him. He chatted for a bit, and then put his cell back in his little pack. Apparently, Jim was out biking on his own yesterday and was in a terrible crash. He had a major case of road rash, took “most of the meat off of his shoulder right down to the bone” (or something equally ghastly like that), and he was now in a world of hurt. Bill said he was biking on the rail trail when this occurred.

Bill had told me yesterday that all the bad accidents happen on the rail trail. Bill had broken his pelvis on the rail trail in 2004; he was in the hospital for 26 days and missed 11 months of work. I was puzzled, because the only accidents I had been close to having on the rail trail were ones that, um, were my fault – like cycling while taking movies of yourself. Don’t try this at home or on a rail trail!

Bill and I got back on our bikes and continued to the destination point, which was the end of the rail trail in Nashua. Five minutes later, his cell phone rang, and we stopped again. After he hung up, he announced to me that it was Lisa, and she was on the trail in Pepperell. We would meet her somewhere along the way. Ah, Lisa! The truck driver! I really wanted to meet her. Bill told me that he couldn’t kid Lisa about her helmet anymore. Like me, she had a blue helmet, and Bill had always told her that he could identify her by her blue helmet. Well, I have one that same color, so now Bill knew two women with blue helmets. Note to Self: It’s now time to get that pink Hello Kitty helmet you always wanted. (And, I already looked online; they only make them for kids. No fair!!!)

Ten minutes later, Bill said, “There she is!” We stopped, and Bill introduced us. She and Bill chit-chatted, and then Lisa responded to something Bill said by saying, “Shit!” Okay, so she swore once; she really didn’t seem like she had much of a truck driver’s mouth to me. Bill had told her that I had met Bob, and she said, “Oh, watch out when he tells you he’s got a chipmunk down his pants” or something like that! I was getting the distinct feeling that Bob liked the girls…a lot.

She then complained about how cool it was. The weather here the last week or so has been hot and humid; it was very cool and dry this morning, almost like a Fall day. Lisa then asked Bill, “Can we get off the trail and get into the sun? I’m cold!” Then Bill said to Lisa, “Oh, don’t be a pussy!” At that point, I wondered who was really the truck driver – Lisa or Bill!

We all got on our bikes and headed off, hoping to bump into Bob somewhere along the way. When almost to the parking lot, Bill said, “Well, now is the time we should be seeing Bob if he’s around.” As we biked by the parking lot, Bill said, “There he is!” Bob was unloading his bike from his car.

While we all waited for Bob, a woman, who had a mountain bike on the back of her car, came over and said to Bob, “Excuse me. But, does the trail over there go for a ways and is it all dirt?” Bob said, “Yes. You follow it down, but you need to take a right by the abandoned barn….” As Bob spoke to her about the trail, Bill moved himself over toward me and said, “This is where he tells her he’ll show her the back roads if she’d like!” I giggled. Apparently, this was Bob’s “pick up” line, but as far as I could tell, he was happily married, and he just liked to be around women.

After the woman walked back to her car, satisfied that she would not be biking unknown territory, Bill repeated what he had said to me to Bob. Bob leaned over to me and said, “Charisma!” I said, “I can see you have that, and it’s quite subtle, too!” We all laughed. Bob asked where we’d like to ride, and Lisa was quick to say that if we were riding to Florida that she would not like to go by way of Alaska. Bob said, “Okay, I know where we’ll go,” and we were off.

At one point during the ride, it became apparent to me that, well, we were going around in an infinite cycling loop. We stopped at one point, and Bill asked Bob if he knew where he was going. Bob claimed that he took a left when he wanted to take a right, or was it that he took a right when he wanted to take a left? Either way, we were going in circles, and I was beginning to feel like I was starring in the movie, “Groundhog Day.” Lisa then asked Bob if he was (think Massachusetts accent here) having a “brain faaaaaaaaht.” I smiled and thought, “God, what a lovely group of characters I was fortunate enough to stumble upon!”

AND, talk about a small cycling world, at one point, we went to take a right (before Bob really figured out where we were going), and who should be cycling up the road but Leigh. And, some of you think I do a lot, well, Leigh was just biking back from a Pilates class, decided to bike with us for a bit, and then she was going to go home and cycle with her daughter. Okay, who’s the crazy one now? Not me; it’s Leigh!

After a think, Bob finally got his internal GPS straightened out (at least, we weren’t in Miami, Steve!), and the plan to get us back on the straight and narrow involved biking to Leigh’s house. Leigh and I took off, and Leigh mentioned casually that this meant we would be cycling up a massive hill by her house; oh, I couldn’t wait for that. She then said you’re probably going to have to use your “triple,” and though I didn’t speak, I said to myself, “My what??!?!!?” Remember: I just ride the bike and ride it well; I don’t “get” the bike nor do I ever want to, even though I LOVE my Greg Lemond Buenos Aires to bits. Are you reading my blog now, Greg?!

When we reached Leigh’s, her daughter was out in the driveway with another friend. This black cloud of smoke wafted into the street, and I then smelled this terrible odor. I asked, “What is that?” She said, like it was what most teens did on a Thursday morning, “Oh, she’s making a pair of sandals out of rubber.” I said, “Oh. I think I’m going to have to move up the street [and I didn’t mince words here, because it was bad], because I think I’m going to puke if I have to smell that much longer.” She then yelled at her daughter to cease and desist; however, it was too late, as I was already 200 yards up the street.

About 5 minutes later, Bob and Bill showed up. What happened to Lisa? Lisa decided to turn around, because we when first met her this morning, she said she woke up feeling a tad under the weather. And, then there were four.

We all headed off, and within 5 minutes, we were facing that massive hill Leigh warned me about. Bob, as usual, said, “See you at the top!” Leigh sprinted up that hill like it was nothing, though Bill said later, “Well, she probably only weighs all of 100 pounds when soaking wet.” She is the best hill climber I’ve ever seen, and for that matter, so is Bill. I am so-so, and right now, I don’t know whether I will always be so-so or once I have a month or more of 40 mile rides under my belt if I will be flying up the hills too. Somehow I doubt it!

Shortly after climbing up that hill, Leigh told me that she was returning home, err, probably to now go out and ride 4o miles with her daughter! And, then there were three.

As we biked down one road, Bob biked next to me and started asking me a bunch of questions like “Do you boat?”, “Do you mountain bike?”, and finally there was “Do you know where you are?” I replied, “Um, nope.” He said, “Good.” Yes, Bob liked a captive cycling audience, especially if it comprised one female!

At one point, Bob shouted out to Bill, “And, stop telling people I’m 77! My birthday is in December. I’m only 76.” I laughed out loud. Bob cycled ahead, and Bill said, “You know, I still think he’s 77. Actually, I wasn’t sure how old I was ‘til I googled him.” It was funny to think that Bob might be google-able, because a character like him seemed anything but google-able. Bill said, “I even asked his brother once how old he was, and his brother couldn’t even remember!” As the miles of roads biked passed us by, it seemed to be that I was yesterday’s urban myth; however, Bob was an urban myth every day!

And, just so you don’t think I’m still just biking up and down the rail trail by myself and these new friends are figments of my overactive imagination, here’s Bob. :-)



After I took this, he said in true Bob form, "Just don't send it to the police!"

At around 12:45, I left Bill and Bob on a stone wall where they both planned to eat their sandwiches. Bob asked me, “So, what do your friends think about you cycling with us?” I said, “Err, I think they might think I’m a bit crazy.” Bob responded with, “"A little crazy is good. A lot of crazy is better." And, you know what, I agree. <3

I’m Not the Only Fierce and Psycho Bicycling Chick Out There Note: I can’t take credit for this. My friend, George, sent me the follow note tonight, “Hey, psycho bicycling chick – check out these PBCs!!” and the link to this video on youtube. I’m going to start to learn how to do this next week, and then I will join the circus. Does the circus pay well? :-)


Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Turning Up the Heat

Blog soundtrack:



Did you see this in the Business section of the New York Times today?

(AP) Boston – Fierce and Psycho Cycling Chick, Inc. was acquired by and merged with Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. today. The deal was sealed during a 40-mile ride over the rail trail and numerous local back roads.

I was present and accounted for on the rail trail this morning at approximately 9:30am to hook up with Bill and the rest of his cycling crew. I waited for about 10 minutes, and when I was still there by myself, I began to wonder if they were indeed all afraid of me!

As I was standing there, Bill cycled by me not noticing me. It was probably, because we all look differently when we are dressed in our biking best rather than when we are wearing street clothes. It’s like when you see someone from the gym (always in their t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers), and then when you see them outside of the gym in street clothes, you say, “Wow, you look so different with clothes on!” This often leads to those around you sporting immediate puzzled looks.

Anyway, I yelled “Bill” as he cycled past, and he stopped and turned around. We waited for a few more minutes to see if anyone else would show up, but no one did. Bill said we should start off and perhaps we would meet people along the way.

As we rode, I asked if there was any kind of email list he used to coordinate rides, and he said, “No. I’m just always usually here between 9:30 and 10:00, and I end up biking with anyone who happens to be here that I know.” I said, “So, you don’t really plan these rides?” He then kiddingly said something like, “Plans are for gals!”

We headed up the trail, and Bill filled me in on how he became a cyclist. Apparently, the rail trail didn’t happen overnight. They had planned to build it, but each year its funds were funneled into other state projects. His wife, who had cycled in her youth but who had never been a big cyclist, read about the plight of the rail trail and started writing letters to local politicians to encourage them to get the project underway; eventually, after a few years, they did.

This all occurred when GW handed out those checks to everyone for $600. Bill said that Americans were encouraged not to invest the money but put it back into the economy; in turn, he thought, given his wife’s rail trail efforts, that she should get out there on a bike and enjoy the rail trail. So, he bought a bike and all the accessories for her with the money. He was worried about her falling off her bike or getting lost, so he decided that he’d dust off his ’72 Schwinn in the garage and bike with her.

This is when he became hooked, and the Schwinn became history shortly thereafter, trading in that for a much better bike. That was in 2000, and I believe in 2004 he started participating in the Pan Mass challenge and has done so for the last five years.

We chatted back and forth while moving along at a leisurely pace. Bill told me that there were two four-letter words in cycling; they were “rain” and “wind.” He said, “Once you’re wet, well, you’re wet. But, with the wind, you deal with it at every turn of the crank!” Then out of nowhere, he asked, “Jean, what do you think of these women with all the tattoos?” I told him that I didn’t care for it on either males or females, but it seemed to be an increasing trend. I then said that I always wondered, “How’s that tattoo going to look on 82-year-old sagging flesh?” But, to each their own.

He then started to tell me about all the people he bikes with. He said that Leigh was a 50-year-old woman. Okay, there wasn’t too much information there. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to meet first when he described Lisa and Bob. He described Lisa as a person with the “mouth of a truck driver,” and well, Bob was seventy-seven years old and, up until a few years ago, rode 10,000 miles a year! Bob cycled, kayaked, and hiked around the woods in snow shoes in the Winter. After a short think, I was saying to myself, “I’ve got to meet this Bob guy!”

Bill said, more or less, that Bob was, well, quirky; for example, if Bob began a ride intent on biking 40 miles and got back to the parking lot (the ending point for most rides), looked at his odometer, and realized he had only biked 39.3 miles, he’d hop back on his bike and do loops around the parking lot until he reached 40. Okay, is that quirky or is Bob just really VERY goal-oriented? :-)

Bill told me that Bob leads a ride out of a health club in NH twice a week. Apparently, on the first ride, he took the group (mostly casual cyclists) on a 40 mile ride. After that, no one showed up for his rides anymore. Bill tried to hint to Bob that perhaps 40 miles was a tid too much. Bob complained, “Well, they want to stop and see all the animals and the plants!” Bill suggested to Bob that maybe he’d have a larger ridership if he too slowed down to “smell the roses.” Bob said, “They don’t need me for that!” By then, I was thinking, "Yep, I definitely had to meet this Bob guy."

When Bill and I were almost to the end of the rail trail, we passed two cyclists and he said, “Oh, there they are!” He stopped and turned around, and I followed. He got off his bike and then introduced me to Leigh and Bob. Bob said, “Hello. Nice to meet you. So, you're the one we've been hearing about.” I laughed; but secretly, I was beaming.

Bob then asked everyone where they wanted to go, and it was agreed we’d get off the trail and cycle on the roads. (Earlier Bill told me that another one of Bob’s quirks was to lead them on these roundabout rides; that is, Bob would plan to go to a certain destination, say like Florida, but they’d go by way of Alaska first!)

We got off the rail trail, and we began to cycle over some of the loveliest roads (only miles from my house) that I’d never been on. At one point, Bob asked, “Do you know where you are?” I responded, “I have no idea.” Bob smiled, because he knew I needed him to find my way home again. (Again, earlier, Bill told me that Bob liked to have a captive cycling audience; well, he didn’t need to capture me. Given all he was at 77, he had me at “Hello.”)

After cycling for so long on the rail trail by myself, it felt so good to be out on the roads with Bill, Bob, and Leigh. We stopped every now and then at a park, so someone could use a port-a-potty or eat a granola bar. Bill stayed with Leigh or I was up cycling with Bob. Or, I was with Leigh and Bill, while we all wondered where Bill was. It’s funny how good you can feel in the company of people you’ve not known long; but after biking 40 miles with them, you feel like you know each and every one of them inside out.

At about 12:15, we ended up back on the rail trail riding to the end point – the parking lot. I still had plenty left, though after having Leigh and Bill pass me by on the hills, I knew I needed to ride more hills to catch up with them. So, Bob and I rode the last 5 miles together. Remember, he’s seventy-seven. I looked down at my speedometer, and for those last 5 miles, he and I averaged 20-23 m.p.h. Bob’s quirky, but he is a cycling God, and much more so than Lance Armstrong, in my mind.

When we reached the parking lot, we both clicked out of our pedals and stood there, waiting for Bill and Leigh. He extended his hand for a shake. I reached out, grabbed his hand, and shook it. He said, “It was nice to ride with you. You’re a helluva rider.” That was one of the nicest compliments I’ve received all year. One, I so hope I'm alive when I'm 77, and two, I hope I can still bike like he can when I'm that age.

Anyway, I’m a glutton for punishment, because between 9:30am and 10am tomorrow morning, I’ll be back out there on the rail trail waiting for Bill again. <3

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Take Your Blog Readers to Work with You Day!

Blog soundtrack:



Since this blog is a mostly audio-visual, you will want to play this song before you read, after you read, or perhaps not at all. It's your option. And, it's always good to have options whether they be about stock or otherwise, yeah? :-)

So, I get zillions of emails every day from my readers, and....k, pants on fire....err, so since NO ONE asked me, I thought that you all might be interested in spending a day at "Fierce and Psycho Cycling Chick, Inc."

Greetings!



Meet the BOD!

Meet Human Resources!

Tour the Executive Offices!

Let's Get to Work!

A Map?!?!!?

I <3 My Job!

"This is the toughest job I’ll ever love, or is it the funnest job I’ll ever love?
I have a think about it and get back to you, k?"


The Favorite Part of My Work Day!



This Employee Should Be Fired!

I Make It All Look So Easy!



My Competitors are Vicious and May be in Need of a Rabies Shot!



Human Resources Hosts a Welcome Back Party!



SPAM and Lima Beans Happy Hour!

Fierce and Psycho Sponsorship Idea: So, while many people try to get sponsorship for their blogs, I don't think I ever want to go that route when I become famous enough, which I am nearing, well, not! While on the rail trail, I did think that it would be cool to have one sponsor; thus, this is why I'm writing Greg Lemond a note tomorrow asking him if he will sponsor my blog. Hey, I was there in '89 cheering him on, and I pretty sure he won the Tour de France just because he heard me, an American, in a sea of French people, yelling, "Go, Greg go! Kick Fignon's butt!" So, do any of you know Greg? Um, do you think he's on Linkedin? :-)



Hey, I was so there!!!! I still remember standing there with Nathan's Dad in a crowd; he asked out loud at the end of the time trial, "Who won?!?!?!?" Neither of us spoke French (well, just enough to order food and not to get seriously lost), so we couldn't understand what was being said over the loud speaker. Some Frenchman heard him and said, "Lemond." Of course, we both started jumping up and down. Yeah, it's a good thing we both weren't killed by an angry mob then; and, I feel fortunate to live to tell about it. :-)

Yet Another Reason Why I Love My Son So Much Tangent: I love him because he "gets" me, but I love him because he also gets me without me having to make him "get" me. Tonight was one of those 5:30-7:30pm rush-around-and-do-everything kind of nights. I got off my bike at 5:20, rushed in, changed, brushed my hair, did the dab of deodorant with the power washing with perfume kind of shower, threw on clothes, raced to pick up Iz from camp, got her to "cheer," sat there for an hour, dropped her off at home, raced out to shop (in dire need of food for the "BOD"), picked up a calzone for them, arrived home, put away groceries, fed them, cleaned cat boxes, tucked in Ms. Human Resources in her please-keep-the-other-cats-the-hell-away-from-me crate, made Iz's lunch for camp, loaded the dishwasher, and then made the coffee for tomorrow. After getting Iz off to bed, I went back downstairs and heard lots of noise coming from the family room. I yelled to Nathan, "What's that noise?" Nathan said, "I'm just picking up, Mom." The Iz tornado had hit the family room earlier, and he picked up EVERYTHING for me, without me even asking.

Ooo Sha Ga La Ga La Cheer Update for Brenda and Steve: Hey, she's getting better, and I think she's got one of the loudest voices on the squad. Jeez, wonder where she gets that from? :-)

Monday, August 24, 2009

Fierce and Psycho Cycling Chick, Inc.

Blog sountrack:

Since today is Monday, I went back to work like the rest of you. Well, I began my job at the newly formed, “Fierce and Psycho Cycling Chick, Inc.” Yes, it’s official. I got my “offer” letter this morning via special messenger. He rang the doorbell at 6am, and I think he said his name was Lance.

Hey, if you don’t believe me (well, not about the Lance part), here’s the letter.

Dear Jean,

We are pleased to offer you a job as a Fierce and Psycho Cycling Chick. We trust that your knowledge, skills and experience will be among our most valuable assets. Your primary job responsibility will be to ride our trail 25 miles each day.

Should you accept this job offer, per company policy you'll be eligible to receive the following beginning on your hire date which is August 24, 2009: 52 weeks of vacation, options (to ride 25 miles or to ride 50 miles, to say “on your left” or “on your right”, or to choose to let the guys catch you or not), and a generous health plan, which comprises a box of Hello Kitty band-aids, which you must supply yourself.

In turn, we offer you the competitive salary of approximately 1057 calories burned per day.

Sincerely,
The Nashua River Rail Trail

So, at 12:30pm today, I assembled my employees in the FrontStepsoftheHouse conference room, and I took attendance.

Hermione Helmet – check!
Isadora iPod – check!
Gabby Gloves – check!
Sedgwick Sunglasses – check!
Sasha Cycling Shoes – check!
Wendy and Warren Water Bottles – Ooops, they were still on coffee break on the kitchen counter.
Buenos Aires Bike – check!

I then gave my first inspirational speech.

“This is our first official day at work. Now, let’s be a team today and ride this 25 miles like we’re just tying our sneaker, okay? And, remember, if someone tries to catch us, everyone is expected to put in overtime. Okay, group hug!”

At that moment, Rover walked out and said, “Mrrrrrrrrreow!” I had forgotten that I had hired her as a “consultant.” She’s my 20-year-old cat, and she really knows nothing about cycling, given that she’s a cat; however, she’s always the last one I see before I begin work and the first one I see when I get back. So, Rover has the unofficial title of “Cheerleader/Greeter/Human Resources.” Granted, I was the only “human” on this team, but at 20 years of age, Rover deserved every title she could get.

Anyway, Rover was a “dotted line” report to me as was the “weather.” And, I have no idea what a “dotted line” report is. In my company, I use it to indicate “uncooperative and unreliable.” For example, Rover doesn’t always greet me, because she is deaf, old, and is often fast asleep on the porch sofa when I leave for work. Also, the weather here, especially in the last 9 months, has been anything but predictable.

At 12:45pm, I headed back into the corporate offices to get Rover her bonus. Yes, it was early for bonuses and nowhere near holiday time, but I never know how much longer Rover will be in my employ.

I grabbed Rover’s bonus (i.e., wet cat food) out of the refrigerator with my left hand, and then I turned to go outside and caught a glimpse of Wendy and Warren Water Bottles on the cafeteria counter. I reached for them, putting Wendy under my left armpit, and took Warren with my right hand. Unfortunately, this was not meant to be, and Rover’s bonus fell to the floor. I saved all the wet cat food I could. Gawd, I hate wet cat food, especially the smell of hot wet cat food (when you rinse the cans out to recycle). Cleaning up wet cat food off the floor is right up there with things you never want to do, but you do it because you love your ancient cat.

At 1pm, I gave Rover her bonus, and I climbed onto Buenos Aires Bike and headed to the rail trail. All systems were go, well, until two miles into the ride. Who let me down? Well, who else? One of my dotted line reports. No, not Rover. By now, she was fast asleep on the sofa on the porch. It was the weather!

Half of the sky was sunny and half of it screamed, “I’m so gonna rain on you and kill ya with a lightning bolt, Baby!” I actually stopped, and here’s a picture of what was behind me and what was in front of me. Confusing, yeah?!!?!?



So, one minute it was sunny and raining, and then the next, it was gloomy and raining. As for the temperature, it went from 70 degrees in the shade to 85 degrees in the sun. It seemed that if I had checked http://www.boston.com/ for the weather report before I left, there would have been this bitchy icon displayed. Err, “"No wire hangers, ever!"



And below it, it would have said “Menopausal!”

Anyway, shortly thereafter, the weather seemed to get on some kind of hormone replacement treatment, and it was cloudy and warm for the rest of the ride.

Halfway to Nashua, Isadora decided to die on me. I said, “Come on. You’re fully charged, so what’s the problem?” Isadora said, “You’ve played ‘Catch Me’ five times in a row now. I getting sick of it. Let’s move on to ‘Animal Bar,’ okay?” Of course, I wouldn’t hear of it, and Isadora feigned low battery and died.

Note to self: Report Isadora to Rover (Human Resources) for a bad 80s dance attitude!

After reaching Nashua (12.5 miles), it was clear that Sasha Cycling Shoes had an issue. Its Velcro strap on my right shoe kept coming un-velcro-ed. Is that even a word? And, to all you cycling people out there, how do you fix this?!???!



I had to report Sasha Cycling Shoes to Rover as well. I think Sasha had gotten a taste of Steve Madden in my previous blog and was already starting to move on, hoping to break out into the sexy pump world! :-)

Anyway, I arrived home after 25, and it was a good first day of work. I had a business meeting I had to go to at about 4:30. Err, even if no one can see your toes, it’s always good to keep them purple and flowered!



And, finally, after a long day at work (err, in total, approximately 2 hours of it with prep and riding time), it’s good to suck up to the boss and buy her flowers.



By the way, the hostile takeover that Fierce and Psycho Cycling Chick, Inc. had planned over Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. didn't take place as [hopefully] planned. I saw Bill tonight, and I asked, "Hey, what happened to you guys? Are you afraid of me?" Bill said, "No. I'm not. But, maybe Jeff is. Should we be afraid?!?!?" I said, "No. But, you didn't email me!" Apparently, Bill just got back into town today, and he thought that Jeff wasn't due in 'til tonight. So, we have tentatively planned that Wednesday will be the day.

Corporate Photo of CEO and CAT (Rover):



Things Look Classier With Pearls Tangent:

Door knob (before and after):



Kitty litter (before and after):



SPAM and Lima Beans (before and after):

Stinky cycling socks (before and after):



Massachusetts Unemployment Website (before and after):

Sunday, August 23, 2009

The Accidental Cyclist

Blog sountrack:



This song is the soundtrack, because I was reminded of it today in a roundabout-short-story-long-story kind of way.

I attempted a 25-mile ride today. I say “attempted,” because it felt like “attempting” was all I did for an hour and a half before the ride. And, yes, I know, another cycling blog, Jean?!?!? Cycling is now my life. Didn't you people get that memo? In case you didn't, here you go. :-)



So, at 11:30am, I assembled my biking gear. Yes, it’s a lot of “stuff,” isn’t it?!



I was intent on a 52-mile day. And, to be honest, while I don’t really have to think about a 25-mile ride anymore, I still have to ponder, consider, contemplate, evaluate, excogitate, mull over, ruminate, and weigh heavily the 52-mile cycling trip.

At 11:45am, I hopped on my bike and off I went. I took a right onto Taft Street, and then I took a left onto Pearl Street. I love Pearl Street, because it’s all downhill; it’s the only time during the whole ride where I can reach 27 m.p.h.

Unfortunately, it’s also a very bumpy street. While I try to get up out of my seat when I go over the bumps, I went over one particular one, and I had a “flat tire” premonition. After cycling for so long, you can just tell. I thought I had escaped, because when I took the right onto Park Street, my front tire was still intact. I took a right onto the rail trail, and there it was!

Pssssssssssst.
Flat front tire.
Never ignore the “flat tire” premonition.



So, there I was, about a mile from home; I turned around and began to walk back. Yes, IF I carried a spare tire, a pump, and knew how to change a tire, I could have fixed it right then and there. BUT, those were a lot of big IFs for me! I had a “spare” bike at home, so I thought once I got there, I’d just hop on the Cannondale and address the flat tomorrow. No, I wouldn’t fix it myself. I would bring it to the bike shop in town! :-)

Things I Don’t Mind Spending Money On: Someone fixing my bike and someone doing my taxes.

As I walked up Pearl Street, I felt a drop of sweat run down my back. (Okay, here is where I finally tell you why “Dream Girl” is the soundtrack for this blog!) When I used to run at “work”, we’d all sit around for 10-15 minutes after the run on the grass outside the building. Many times, I’d be sitting there and feel a single drop of sweat slip all the way down my back; I always found it a very interesting feeling. Anyway, I have always loved this song and the video, but the feeling of the drop of sweat always reminded me a tad* of the lyrics to this song.

I was feelin’ like a creep
As I watched you asleep
Face down in the grass,
in the park, in the middle of a hot afternoon
Your top was untied
And I thought how nice
It’d be to follow the sweat down your spine.


*Tangent Tad Note: Did you know that “tad” (a slight amount or degree of difference) can be conjugated? Yes, and I invented it, surprise, surprise! Besides “tad,” there is “ted,” “tid,” “tod,” and “tud.” These are all varying degrees of “tad.” Now I want you all to start using them; thus, when everyone in the world is saying, “Yes, it hurts just a tid,” I can say that I invented this word trend. And, I can put it on my resume next to “Bikes 25 miles like it was opening a can of cat food!”

About 15 minutes later, I arrived home. I put the Lemond in the garage and pulled out my spare Cannondale.



I just had it tuned up, though I was a little hesitant about riding a bike that I hadn’t been on in several years; it was also much lower tech than my Lemond. To me, it was like putting on Crocs (with socks...ewwww!) instead of Steve Madden pumps! I got on the Cannondale, put my feet in the pedals, started to pedal and womp!

There was absolutely no resistance! I almost fell off the bike, because it would appear that the Cannondale’s pedals had gotten a bit possessive over time (jealous of the Lemond no doubt!), and it did not want to let my right foot out of its grip. One second before I was about to fall over in the road, I yanked hard and my foot came out. I stopped, looked down, and realized that the chain had come off or had never been put back on.

I pulled my other foot out of the pedal, dismounted, and I walked the bike back to the driveway. I leaned it against the car, and I put the chain back on. Just say “No” to greasy fingers; this is why I don’t do my own bike maintenance!



With the chain intact, I climbed back on, and I turned onto Taft Street for the second time today. After a few minutes, it was clear to me that I had outgrown this bike; this bike was not me, nor did I even want to be on it. This was the bike I had raced with way back when and had logged tons of miles on, but it just didn’t seem right anymore. I felt a bit like Goldilocks – “This bike is just not right!” So, I turned around, arrived back home, and the Cannondale went back into the garage. I put it in a far corner, because as I wheeled it by the Lemond, I swear it said, “Redrum, redrum!”



It was now an hour later after my initial attempt to ride, and there was only one thing left to do. No, not give up, but I was so close! It was time to take the Lemond down to the bike shop!



When I got there, the shop was closed, but the owner saw me in the door and must have sensed the desperate “I must bike 25 miles today, or I will not be complete” look on my face. Twenty dollars later (money well spent!), my tire was fixed, and I was on my way back home.

I climbed back on my Lemond; God, it was good to be “home” again, and I left the house for the THIRD time. Will she or won’t she make it to the rail trail this time? She did!

While on the rail trail, a male cyclist drafted me for about three miles, but then he faded when we got to Pepperell. You can tell a lot about a person by the way s/he cycles. This guy stayed on my tail the whole time, never passing me and letting me draft him. What does this tell me? He’ll receive but he won’t give; thus, um, he’s selfish on the rail trial and probably in other locales as well! :-)

At one point, I chased a cyclist. He was going at a pretty good clip, but it was odd because he couldn’t seem to cycle in a straight line; he swerved back and forth. He kept looking back at me, and when I finally caught up to him, I drafted him. I waited to see if he’d play the cycling game with me, but when we got to the next road crossing a minute later, he waved his arm to the left. I then heard him say, “I’m getting off here.” (And, I only heard him say that, because my iPod died when Mr. Selfish Cyclist was tailing me. Um, I downloaded “Catch Me” by Pretty Poison this morning and put it on my iPod. What can I say? I loved the 80s!!!!) I wondered if he really had to get off or whether Mr. Swerving Back and Forth just didn’t want to play the game now that I had caught him.

I know it seems like I have turned into this fierce cycling psycho chick. And for those of you who know me, you know I’m usually anything but fierce and psycho (well, just a tod mad!). As I said before, cycling lost its exercise value months ago. And lately, for lack of a job, it’s become my job to ride every day, and, as you can see, I take it seriously, err, maybe way too seriously. :-)

When you don’t have a job, I think you leave Funky Town faster if you give yourself a job; a job that involves something that you love to do. I loved my old job, but I am really glad I’ve got my new job on the rail trail.

What's my job description? "Ride 25 miles on the rail trail every day." While I don't get paid, well, except for that small bit I get from the State of Masschusetts once a week, it's a pretty good job. I make my own hours, work from home, don't have to fret over stock or stock options (just really over guys who want to catch me!) AND I get to decide where the "holiday" party is held! (December 19th, my living room, champagne and chocolate, be there or be square, people!)

While I miss my co-workers above all, the new job does have Bill, Jeff, Mr. Bounce Tropical Breeze, Mr. Selfish Cyclist, and Mr. Swerving Back and Forth, and hopefully, they're just temporary co-workers. Anyway, for now it’s all I’ve got; but, most importantly, it’s a job that I do every day and love. <3

And, it's a sweaty job, but someone has got to do it! (Eeek! Biking hair is far worse than beach hair, isn't it?!)

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Catch Me If You Can

Blog soundtrack:



I had mentioned before that I met this lovely 65-year-old guy named Bill, and that he works at the local beer/wine store. He rides the Pan Mass challenge every year. Every day, he rides 50+ miles with a few other guys his own age. He was the one who told me that one of the guys he rides with saw me on the rail trail and deemed that I “move.”

The other night, I went to get a bottle of wine, and when Bill saw me, he smiled, and said, “Oh, I got an email about you today!” I was like, “Oh, damn. They’ve all seen me in the bubble bath in that *&^%$#@ book, Cats and Their Women!” But, no, that wasn’t it.

Bill said, “Jeff saw you on the rail trail today.” I was really beginning to wonder whether these 55+ guys were stalking me on the rail trail or if they were making me into some kind of urban cycling myth.

At that point, I tried to remember my ride. As I told my friend, Jeff (not to be confused with the cycling Jeff), a few Tuesday lunches ago, riding 25 miles now is like nothing to me. (Sorry, Suze, but it is!) I gather all my needed biking things, I get on my bike, I head to the rail trail, and when I return home, I often have to ask myself, “Err, how did I end up here?”

So, when Bill mentioned Jeff saw me, I had to think – really hard – about where I might have seen Jeff. I did remember an older gentleman who I passed to and fro, who smiled at me. And, it wasn’t the normal “nice to see you” smile; it was more like an “Oh, I so know you’re the girl who moves” smile.

I then asked Bill, “I think I might remember him.”And Bill said, “He rides almost in a sitting position.” When I thought back to the “Oh, I so know you’re the girl who moves” guy, I did recall that he was sitting straight up in the saddle when he passed me. I said to Bill, “You know, I think I do remember passing him now.” Bill said, “Well, Jeff sent me an email saying he thinks you’re ‘catchable’ now!” I said, “Oh, really? What makes him think that?" Bill said, “I don’t know!”

Bill went on to tell me that Jeff is a 59-year-old guy who is a good cyclist but rides "crappy" bikes. He doesn’t do any bike maintenance, so when his bike dies, he just gets a new crappy bike. I told Bill that I don’t “do” bike maintenance either. I just ride the thing, which I am good at, and I get someone else to fix it. Apparently, Jeff won’t do that, and Bill thinks he could be a stellar cyclist, well, for a 59-year-old guy, if he had a decent bike.

Bill then mentioned again that Jeff thought I was “catchable.” And I said, “Bill, I think Jeff is in la-la-land. I am not. I will send you email tonight, and I want you to forward it to Jeff.” Bill said, “You do that!” It was almost as if the “old” boy cycling club needed an infusion of “moving” cycling chick to spice up their rides. And then I asked Bill, “Are you guys riding this weekend?” He said that he was going to be in the Vineyard and that Jeff was going to be in the Poconos with his wife, BUT I should send the email.

And, I did, and this is what I sent to Bill:

Hi Bill,
It’s me, Jean.
So, Jeff thinks I’m “catchable,” yeah, well, all I have to say to that is a big…………………………….NOT! :-)
Nice to see you tonight as always.
-Jean

Then Bill sent this email:

Hey Jeff,

I don't know but this sounds like a challenge to me. Maybe when I get back from the Vineyard and you get back from Pennsylvania, we can all get together for a friendly bike ride and maybe learn some tricks from each other on how to be faster.

BF :)

It’s funny, because I never thought by cycling on the rail trail by myself that I’d form a fan club, but somehow I have. And, actually, it’s wonderful. I responded to Bill’s email with:

So, Monday…what time and where?

-J

Anyway, I remain, as always, not catchable by any man on the rail trail, well, except for Mr. Bounce Tropical Breeze. And, if and when I do become catchable by a man, it will only be by my choosing; and, he'll have to have biked long and hard to have caught me.
<3
Rainy Day Shadow and Wet and Soggy Dirty Biking Legs and Socks Always Get me Down Note:



Friday, August 21, 2009

Negative Nancy Sandy Pants

Blog soundtrack:





Earlier this week, I made plans with Suze to go to (where else!) Crane Beach today. Her daughter, Katie, was also going to come along.

When I woke up this morning, it was dark and gray outside. I thought to myself, "There's no way this is going to be a good beach day. I should call Suze to check if she still wants to go." Before I did so, I checked the weather. The icon for today was:



Well, in my neck of the woods, it was not partly sunny; no, it was mostly gloomy and hot as hades. Hey, I'd like to see an icon for that on http://www.boston.com/.

I called Suze. (Later in the day, Suze had told me that when she saw my cell number show up on caller ID on her cell that she said to Katie, "Uh-oh; it's Jean." And, I'm sure that was not an "Uh-oh, it's that crazy Jean girl!"; no, it was an "Uh-oh, crazy Jean girl might have second thoughts about going to the beach!")

I asked Suze if she thought we should still go. She hesitated and asked, "Well, do you still want to go?" I had a 5-second think, and I said, "Well, yeah." I thought the worst that could happen was that we'd drive the hour and twenty minutes to the beach while catching up on on life, it would down pour as soon as we paid our $5, and then we'd turn around and head to the mall or something like that. I then said, "I may be 10 or so minutes late. I'll pick you guys up in a bit."

When I arrived at her house, which is 20 minutes away from mine, the sky looked no better. She and Katie packed their cooler and beach bag in my trunk and off we went. And, just as I suspected, Suze and I caught up on life.

As we got closer and closer to Ipswich, the gloomy dissipated and gave way to sun and wispy clouds that floated in a white sky tinged with the faintest blue. I said in amazement, "Wow, I think it's going to be nice at the beach." (Of course, later in the day, I cursed that I didn't have my sunglasses, because I thought the sun would NEVER come out, and Suze yelled at me, "Negative Nancy!")

When we arrived at Crane, I panicked, because I had forgotten bug spray, thinking that the greenheads (nasty horse flies) would be out; however, the usual sign "Greenheads in season" wasn't posted, so we were safe.

We unloaded the car, trekked to a spot on the beach, and spread out our towels. It was humid, but there was a very nice breeze. We all had books to read. Suze had Shannon McKenna's "Out of Control", Katie had "Native Son", and I was still working on David Sedaris' "When You are Engulfed in Flames." Katie was the only one who got around to reading as Suze and I continued to catch up on life.

It was so hot that a dip in the 62 degree Atlantic was mandatory every 45 minutes or so. Each time I went down, I dove into the water. Suze said, "I went up to my shoulders!" I didn't blame Suze for not submerging herself; but, I was so hot, I didn't care what my hair ended up looking like. And, that's apparent from this picture!



A few times, I ventured down to the water on my own with my camera. Of course, I needed pictures and movies from the trip! Upon return to our beach blanket bunker, I sat on my towel and tried to review the pictures and videos I had taken.

Due to the sun, I threw my t-shirt over my head, began to review my spoils on my camera, and then I said out loud, "I'm really weird, aren't I?" Well, I was sitting there on the beach, looking at my camera, with a pink t-shirt over my head. For a moment, Suze didn't say anything. I thought, "Oh, good. She didn't hear that." Then 30 seconds later, she said, "Yeah, sometimes it makes me wonder why we're friends. I'm so normal, and sometimes I wonder if I bore you."

I said to her, "No, you have never ever bored me. Jeez, we've been friends since 1985. If you bored me, do you think we'd still be friends?" Friendships are interesting that way. While Suze and I are very different people, I think that each of us brings something to the other that completes us in a way that might not have been completed had we never met.

I then said, "Remember when you came to NYC with me for the vintage show?" She said, "Oh, that was so much fun. We should do that again!" I don't think she ever would have done a trip like that without me. And then, Katie mentioned something about sewing (Suze is a great seamstress), and I said, "Yeah, we need to schedule a Saturday or a Sunday in the Fall for a sewing lesson. You'll show me how to use my machine to sew on patches?!" Likewise, I could never do that without her talents, which are infinite and go way beyond sewing.

At one point, Suze mentioned that Katie's friend had given her a wonderful bumper sticker for her car. And, Suze, I give the same back to you now.



We had a lot of beach blanket talk, and when I started to talk about biking, I told Suze she should try it. She said, "I tried that. After I did, I wondered why would anyone want to do this for fun?!?!?" I laughed so hard. It was then that I pulled out my pad and pen. Suze saw this and then said to Katie, "Be careful what you say, Katie, because tomorrow it will end up on the Internet!" Um, yeah, Suze was right. :-)

Here's me and my shadow. Yes, my real shadow is not a Pembroke Welsh Corgi (see http://goddessofallthingslovely.blogspot.com/2009/08/me-and-my-shadow.html).



One thing I love about the beach is digging my toes deep into the sand and letting the waves wash the sand away.

Hey, who stole my Steve Madden sexy shoes?!

This was how I got sandy pants. :-)

Later in the afternoon, the wind picked up and sand was blowing everywhere. On the way home, Suze and I concluded that there wasn't one place on our bodies where sand hadn't invaded.

Here's the day in pictures.

When showering tonight, I reached for a scented body wash. As I rubbed it on my neck, I thought, "Jeez, I don't remember this being a "scrub" body wash. Well, it wasn't. It was just that I had sand all over my neck and in my hair!

Suze, you have never bored me. I loved spending the day with you and Katie. And, we should never wonder why we're friends; we should only ever wonder when we're not the best of friends. <3

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Dancing with Myself

Blog soundtrack:


This morning, my daughter was off to the beach for the day with one of her former pre-school teachers. My son had slept over a friend’s house last night in order to enjoy a rousing game of D&D.
So, at 9:25am, this morning, I found myself totally home and alone.

At 9:30am, I sipped my second cup of coffee and enjoyed one of my favorite sounds, which had not previously been cataloged in this blog (http://goddessofallthingslovely.blogspot.com/2009/07/these-are-few-of-my-favorite-sounds.html). And, it was the sound of silence.

And, you all know me well enough to know I love my kids, but every once in a while, it’s SO nice to be home and not to hear the following:
“Mommy, Liam frew up!”
OR
“Mom, you don’t have to say ‘Yes’ right now, BUT….”

Unlike the previous days this week, I had no plan for lunch. So, today, it was just me and the house. I started on my “To Do” list, which began with my nails.

They were a mess. Actually, my nails have two states – good or a wreck. Hey, wow, they kind of mimic me! :-) Well, they either look good or they don’t. And, I have to say my nails are confused. I either treat them like they’re gold, or I use them like they’re a Swiss Army knife, depending on the circumstances. When they’re a wreck though, I’ve NEVER resorted to fake fingernails. I hate those.

There’s this woman at Registry of Motor Vehicles, and when you see her, it’s as if she screams “Hi, I’m _insert_name_tag_here_,” and these are my ten fake fingernails! It's as if her fingernails are her mini-me. Ironically, I remember reading a review of the “The Prince of Tides.” And the reviewer said of Barbra Streisand, "Her nails upstaged her entire performance." http://articles.latimes.com/1992-01-17/news/vw-309_1_barbra-streisand
Enough about fake fingernails then….

So, today, I put out the trash and the recycle items.
I took Monty for a walk.
I emptied the dishwasher.
I vacuumed the downstairs of the house.
I put in two loads of laundry and folded two more.
At about 12:30, I went for a 25-mile bike ride.
And, when I got home , I realized that I had not spoken to a sole all day.

Have you ever spent an entire day where you haven't spoken to anyone?
And, for me this wasn’t a day where I intentionally avoided people. No, it was not a funk.
It was just a day where I spent several hours with myself and by myself, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Hey, when you’re home by yourself, did you know that…

You don’t have to make conversation.
You can walk around in a t-shirt and your underwear. (Sorry, no visual provided here!)
You can kiss and hug the cats and the dog without feeling like you should be committed.
And, most importantly, you can take pictures of yourself like this (with false eyelashes wearing purple eyeliner glitter) and not worry about anyone saying, “Wot the hell are you doing?!”



I, like everyone else, wants to be with someone who makes me happy, but when I can’t, it’s good to know that I can dance with myself and love it.

When I was 19, my Mom told me that she didn’t think that she loved my father anymore. Despite their love letters, I think my parents were two ships who passed in the night. While they went into their marriage with good intentions, they both always wanted something different. When I asked my Mom why she didn’t leave my Dad then, she said, “It’s better to be with someone than be alone.” I should have committed that to memory and learned from it, but I didn't.

During the last 10 years, I have found that it is really, more often than not, better to be alone that to be with the wrong someone. And, when you can’t find the right dance partner, it’s that much better to be dancing with yourself. And, when you do so, always pick a pair of your sexiest shoes and AC/DC. Hell ya! <3