Silver Lining

October 19, 2009

Amazing hikes done this morning: 1 (Camelback Mountain)
Great massages had this morning: 1 (At the Intercontinental Montelucia)
Hours it took the day to go to shit (post massage): .60

So there’s one good thing about the van having been broken into this morning. I no longer have to worry about unpacking any luggage when I get home. No green satin Prada evening bag to put away on the top shelf of my closet. No uber-funky, balloon-y Skunkfunk skirt (found in an awesome little boutique in Barcelona) to hang up in the closet. Same for a green cordouroy skirt bedazzled with sequins and beads. And the world’s best jean jacket? Whoever picks it up off the side of the road or buys it at some thrift shop or consignment store is one lucky woman. I wonder if my homeowner’s insurnace will pay for me to go back to Nepal to replace two necklaces I no longer have? Thankfully the 14k, made-in-Morocco hoop earrings with embroidery inside the hoops weren’t purchased in Morocco but five blocks from my house. Worst of all? No bike to haul upstairs into the office and put on the trainer so I can ride while watching Tivo-ed episodes of House. Rat Bastards. Paradise Valley, Arizona was anything but paradise this morning. How can someone punch out a lock in a busy parking lot in broad daylight and offload a bike and sundry pieces of luggage out of the driver’s door without anyone noticing? I miss Wyoming.

 

Going both ways

October 15, 2009

Courses eaten at dinner tonight: 4
The course that took the longest to read (and eat): the “pistachio icebox cheesecake tempest” dessert. Really. I wish I was making the “tempest” part up. And that wasn’t even the most pretentious part of the description. Unfortunately, I can’t remember what was as it took pretty much an entire paragraph to describe the concoction. I do remember the last line talked of a champagne infused fizz bubble. I’ll post a photo and complete description (and translation) as soon as I track down a copy of the menu.

Two nights ago I “showered” in the bathroom of a Chevron station. Although perhaps “shower” is too strong a word. Redistribute? I brought a lot of Grand Canyon dust and sand back up from Suapi with me. And only a few pounds of it were in my sneakers. But I digress. The Chevron shower was followed by a night spent in the van in the back parking lot of the Best Western Prescott. It was a great night. Really. I love van camping.

Last night? I spent 90 minutes having caviar – caviar! — massaged into my face before wrestling with an armada of down pillows in a king size bed. Better than the fireplace next to the bed? The bathroom – complete with a flushing toilet – at the foot. Just a little different from van camping.

 

Out there

October 14, 2009
Miles driven in the last three days: 1,000+
Highway engineering feats marveled at: 1 (Hoover Dam bypass outside Vegas)
Pounds of sand emptied from shoes: 7
Cute cafes discovered in Prescott, AZ: 2 (Raven Cafe and Wild Iris Coffee)
Websites relaunched: 1

I swear I didn’t plan this at all, but it would seem that in the span of five days I made my way to two of the country’s most remote towns: Stehekin, Washington and Supai, Arizona.

To get to Stehekin, at the upper end of the 51-mile long Lake Chelan in the North Cascades, you can either take a four-hour ferry ride (one-way), or a 25-minute flight on a float plane. Since I was there for work, I got to do the latter.

Bike rental in Stehekin.

The town is home to around 100 people year-round and #3 on my favorite bakeries/cafes in the world, Stehekin Pastry Company. And although I didn’t have time to do do any hiking, the town abuts North Cascades National Park, so there’s plenty to do. I will be back. And I’ll stay at Stehekin Valley Ranch, 9 miles up river from “town” and with cruiser bikes available for rent on an honor system.

Supai is the only permanent village in the Grand Canyon. Sixty miles down a patchwork of asphalt outside of Peach Springs, Arizona, Supai is the capital of the Havasupai Reservation. To get there? It’s foot, mule, or helicopter. It’s the only place in the U.S. where mail is still delivered by mules.

And I thought mail delivery to Jackson Hole was slow!

Seeing mule mailmen isn’t the only — or even main — reason to make the eight-mile hike down to Supai from Hualapai Hilltop. You go to Supai to see some of the coolest waterfalls in the world.

Havasu Falls, two miles past the town of Supai in the Grand Canyon.

And maybe to say you paid over $10 for a box of Wheaties.

There aren't any Bonus Buys at the Supai Grocery store.

 

Seatbacks in their upright positions

October 4, 2009

Power hungry flight attendants encountered: 2
Miles flown: 1,300-some
Beginning destination: Jackson
End destination: Hyatt at Olive 8 in Seattle
TiVo-ed episodes of Ruby watched while riding the indoor bike trainer in the wee hours of this morning: 3

I’m back after a long, long hiatus. It’s not that I haven’t had things to write about – sitting Lotoja out; turning my attention to hiking rather than biking; carrying on a five-minute conversation with a friend and calling her the wrong name (even introducing her to someone else with the wrong name) the entire time (is my amazingly crappy memory a result of MS or of Avonex?; starting to lift weights and strength train again only to find out I can no longer do push-ups (unless on my knees) and can only do two pull ups (down from a high of 16); finding way, way too many cute clothes on outnet.com; filming my first episodes of Wyoming Chronicle. It’s that WordPress is sometimes smarter than I am and I can’t figure out how to put in links and insert photos. And then I get all annoyed and stay away. Because a blog totally lacking in links and photos can be boring, even if the text is as titillating as the stuff I write.

Anyway, expect some tales of good food and wine and bike touring in central Washington this week. If I don’t first get arrested for kicking a power hungry flight attendant – over the intercom: “the seatback pockets are not approved storage spaces; any books or water bottles in them must be put underneath the seat in front of you.” I’ve got something to put underneath the seat in front of her … a can of whoop ass.

 

Why can’t I upload any images?

August 13, 2009

I’ve got plenty of adventures to report. And I really, really want to share this most awesome dress I’m in love with and would buy if I won the lottery, but I can’t seem to upload any photos. WordPress is sucking right now. Here’s a link to the awesome (and awesomely expensive … but on sale) dress:

http://www.theoutnet.com/product/51388

I think any guests I’m interviewing on Wyoming Chronicle would take me seriously in it. Yes? (BTW, outnet.com has totally replaced Bluefly in my heart.)

 

Ass Whooping

August 2, 2009

Sport legs pills swallowed: 20
Bottles of Heed melon-flavored drink drank: 5
Bottles of water drank: 5
Cans of Sprite consumed: ¾
Different post-race meals I had in my hands at Whole Foods but then didn’t buy (b/c I couldn’t decide on any one or two): 5
Dinner idea I finally came up with: LaBarge’s Moonlight Diner: Mojo burger with fries and a vanilla shake. (We’ll see if the burger gives my legs any of their mojo back.)

Trying to get my mojo back via a burger.

A mighty ass kicking was meted out today. To me. By the Tour de Park City.

Going into this 170 mile race that climbs nearly 10,000 feet coming off of only three weeks of riding outside and a food poisoning-induced fast this past Tuesday, I knew it would kick my ass. But I didn’t think it would really kick my ass. After all, the first year I did the 206-miles-in-a-day Lotoja, my longest training ride had been 110 miles. So was it really a big deal if my longest training ride for a 170-mile race was 90-some miles?

Well, Lotoja is wuss-y compared to this race. I don’t know how race organizers do it, but the race isn’t only full of climbing, but also has riders battling a headwind no matter which direction they’re heading. Magnificent. There really is no easy stretch. You look ahead and think it’s flat, but it’s 30 miles of false flats (with a headwind). You’re on the rivet trying to keep a pace of 14mph. And then, after you pass the 100-mile mark somewhere along here, you’re watching every .1 of a mile tick by on your cycling computer; teasing yourself onward only with promises of a rest every two miles. Yup, I stopped my bike, unclipped both feet, got off my bike and just stood in the grass by the side of the road three times in the last seven miles I rode. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I had my ass kicked.

While I’m bummed I didn’t finish – I’ve never DNF’d anything before – I have to say I’m a little proud of myself for proving that I’m not the most stubborn person on the face of the planet. My legs felt like total shit: the slightest rise had me off the back of the pack from the very beginning. And I started getting chills around mile 80. I don’t know what to blame the former on (other than not enough preparation), but the latter I’m going to blame on dehydration. Even though I thought I was drinking plenty, I’m guessing I wasn’t. When I stopped at the feed zone at mile 107, about 15 miles from the top of Bald Mountain Pass, I thought I had somehow managed to blow snot all over my chin. It was so crusty. Upon further investigation, my entire face was that crusty. Reminded me of the days I could afford to get microderm-abrasion facials (ahhh, I miss those … and spas in general). My neck, arms and shoulders (including all around my new, big collarbone scar) were that crusty too. Impressive. I thought I had sweat before, but evidently not. This is a whole new level. I bet I had seven pounds of crystals all told. Or maybe not. But it sure felt and sounded like seven pounds as I was scraping and scrunching them all off.

Anyway, so I’m a bit proud of myself for quitting. (Quick aside: I wasn’t so proud of myself when I was still at the 107-mile feed zone and there was some chumbawunba dude hopping about on one leg with bags of ice pressed against his other knee while wondering aloud whether he should 1) push on or 2) suffer permanent bodily harm. All because of a tight IT band. “My IT band is serious,” he kept telling his riding buddies. What was really serious? His attention grabbing and excuse-making. Especially as 10 minutes later he got on his bike and went pedaling away just fine. IT band my ass. Setting down excuses for a DNF is more like it. I’ll bet an all-you-can-eat pizza night at Betty Rock that he didn’t cross the finish line, or, he’d be the type to sag in, but have the sag car drop him a mile from the finish so he could still ride in. My sag driver offered to do that. Really, if you do that do you tell people you rode the whole race?)

But enough of the IT band choad. While it’s going to hurt my pride to tell everyone I didn’t finish, if I had kept going, I’d probably still be out there right now (12 hours after having started). Which would hurt my body much more. Of course I now have a goal for next year: Top 3. If I ever get my legs back, the climbing on this course is actually my kind of climbing – power rollers and then long and gentle.

I’m totally in awe of anyone who finishes this race though. (Anna – you rock! Thanks for keeping me going on those false flats.) It really is incredibly burly. In the last 15 miles there are two highway climbs, each between 1,000 and 1,500 vertical feet. And – of course – they had riders climbing straight into a headwind. Pushing up them in the sag car? I was still getting tired. Even the downhill off Bald Mtn. Pass wasn’t easy. You guessed it, into a headwind.

Lotoja really is child’s play next to this.

All right. Time to go to bed. I’ve got a great van-camping spot along the banks of some river just south of LaBarge. It’s only 9:30, but I was too tired to drive anymore.

I had to “wash” all the crystals off me – no shower yet – with a little Stridex zit pad. Reminds me of the “showers” I used to take in Nepal. Except I evidently didn’t really sweat there as I never had stalactite-like crystals growing anywhere on my person. Despite trekking through an equatorial forest. (In case you didn’t know – as I didn’t the first time I went – that Nepal is pretty dang close to the equator.)

 

First Step

July 29, 2009

Articles written: 4
Articles still to write that are due today: 1
Hours slept last night: 12

So I might have been moaning a bit and my stomach might have been grumbling a bit on this evening’s bike ride — last night at this time I was still deep in the clutches of a bout of food poisoning — but there were worse noises eminating from my bike. I passed three people on total clunkers that were quieter than my $5,000 (approx.) ride.

I am embarassed by my bike.

There. I’ve said it. Hi, I’m Dina Mishev and I’m embarassed by my carbon race fiber, Dura-ace component-ed, SRAM crank-ed, creaking, clicking Cervelo S2. Maybe now that I’ve admitted it, it will start to get better. After all, it has been fixing itself off and on since the noise first appeared this spring. (It hasn’t been fixing itself for the past two weeks though.)

Judged on performance alone, the bike rules. Going downhill at fast speeds? It’s actually fun versus terrifying. Super fun.

Tonight though, noodling out to Teton Village, my calorically-deprived legs protesting every other rotation, was not super fun. It was creaky. I fear I’m going to DNF at the Tour de Park City this Saturday not becuase I can’t ride 170 miles, but because I’ll get so unbelievably annoyed at the creaking I’ll throw my bike off a cliff four hours into it.

 

Stupidest thing ever

July 25, 2009

Miles ridden today: 92
Vertical feet climbed: way too many
episodes of Weeds watched: four (finished the first season)

So I’m now thinking that my decision to do the Tour de Park City next week — 170 miles with plenty of climbing — might be one of the sillier things I’ve done. Much worse than running a marathon having only run twice in the seven months prior to it (Chicago, 2004). It might even make skiing uphill for 24 hours look sane (February 2009). At least I was properly trained for that. Agreeing to compete at the British Indoor Rowing Championships … without having ever been on an indoor rower? Again, sanity compared to doing the Tour de Park City (170 miles?!) having only been riding a bike outside for three weeks?

When I made up my mind to do this race (170 miles?!) last Wednesday, I knew it was going to kick my ass, but I didn’t think it might turn out to be the hardest physical thing I’ver ever done. After today’s ride — a measly 92 miles (give or take a few miles) — I’m now thinking it will be. If there hadn’t been a tailwind helping me up the pass from the Victor side (so I’d already climbed the Pass once and been to the top of Grand Targhee), I don’t know that I would have made it home. The five waterbottles of Mountain Dew (diet) might have helped as well. From Cole Creek up I had to actively talk myself out of stopping. I knew once I stopped, even if only to supossedly eat a gel, I might not start again. I was also thinking about excuses I could use to make hitch hiking seem not so silly. I came up with a white lie along the lines of having gotten two flats. After I came up with this white lie though, reality came up with something: my right knee was fricking hurting like all get out. All that mashing up Teton Pass.

But I did make it back up and over the Pass. Flying down into Wilson, it was like a horse getting close to the barn. All of the energy I had been missing since Cole Creek re-appeared. Damn the headwind I had from Wilson back to the Y junction. I was cruising along at 20 mph. I could smell McDonalds. Yes, I had already decided that this ride was worthy of my first stop at McDonalds for the summer. I had nearly finished the small vanilla shake by the time I had made it home. The double cheeseburger with Big Mac sauce fit nicely into a back jersey pocket. I scarfed it down in four bites while walking in my front door. It was awesome.

The one good thing that will come out of an ass-kicking at Tour de Park City? The food I’ll get to eat after it.

 

Battle Pass is the BEST!

Sierra Madre scenery. Almost at the top of Battle Pass.

July 15, 2009

Saratoga, WY

Vertical feet climbed: 5,000+ (on Battle Pass)
Max speed hit on the descent: 61 mph
Salted Nut Rolls eaten: 0
Muffins consumed at the breakfast so wonderfully provided by the students of Baggs: 6 (just the tops though)

Traded camping for a hotel tonight. Not because I needed a break, but because I’m actually writing a piece on lovely Saratoga for AAA Via (http://www.viamagazine.com/about_via/bios/mishev_dina.asp) and I need to make sure the Saratoga Resort & Spa is still up to snuff. And, aside from the contradictory fixtures in the shower and the poo-colored tiles in the bathroom, they are. The beds are super comfy. And the Pendleton blanket they’ve given me isn’t as ugly as I find most of them.

So today was 76 miles from Baggs to Saratoga, via the 9,985-foot Battle Pass. It was about 4,000 feet of climbing over 20 miles. A very kind climb. There was even a stretch near the top I could get into my TT bars and pound at 30 mph. That was awesome. Almost as much so as the descent. I had thought Rabbit Ears pass down into Steamboat on Day 2 was cool because I didn’t need to brake at all. Perfectly cambered corners. But coming down Battle Pass was superior because there were only two real corners. There were more stretches of straight 7% grade. The first one saw my spiffy, speedy Cervelo S2 (which seems have fixed its last creaky noise on its own) hit 52 mph. The second one, which leads right into the town of Encampment (home to a museum with a two-story outhouse in its permanent collection), had me at 61. Coolest of all was that the town’s police had one of those digital speed signs sitting at the bottom. The speed limit was 30. I was down to 48 when I went whizzing by.

Tomorrow is an even bigger climbing day: over the Snow Range and into Centennial. Nearly 6,000 feet. Unfortunately, because I neglected to bring some “shower coupon” given out at the mandatory rider meeting I missed the night before the TdW started, it seems I won’t get to wash all the accumulated salt off me. Is there a river in Centennial?

 

My new Favorite place EVER!

July 14, 2009

Baggs, Wyoming

So I was a bit down on Baggs before I got here. And actually, I was still down on it after being here for five hours. And then I walked by the Bobcat B&B and cafe. I wandered in the front door and was immediatly assaulted by the smell of Nepal. I can’t say what makes this particular smell, but I can tell you the Bobcat B&B is the only place outside of Nepal I have smelt it. And it’s pervasive in Nepal: Thamel. It’s there. Namche Bazaar. There too. Lukla. Yup. Gorek Sep. You guessed it. The smell is there.

So immediately I was intrigued by the Bobcat as my senses were thinking Nepal while my brain was very much in Baggs. And then another smell came wafting my way: BBQ. I still hadn’t seen a person, but I continued further into the house — which I later learned was built in 1898 — and out into the cutest little backyard paradise. And it really was paradise as it was at least 20 degrees cooler than everywhere else in Baggs. And there was smoke coming from a grill.

I could go on forever about the ‘cat, but hopefully I’ll get to do it for some pay in the near future so I’ll keep this version short. Why the “bobcat” B&B? Wel, Helen and her husband John had bobcats for pets. None are currently alive but Dakota, the most recent, was potty trained (and we’re talking toilet here, not litter box) and ate rabbit and deer. He never did get the hang of walking on a leash, so he’d just wander around te beighborhood on his own. He was declawed, but no de-fanged. Evidently he was in love with this little boy.

You can buy pet bobcats like this one in South Dakota.

I could go on forever about the “Bed” part of the Bobcat B&B, but I don’t know if words can really do any of them (there are 6 justice). Perhaps this photo can.

This blanket is as fluffy as it is fierce.

So if anyone’s heading to Baggs, make sure to pop in at the Bobcat and say “Hi” to Helen and John. And then you’ll also know what Nepal smells like.