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: 0
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.)

 

Food Coma

July 13, 2009, Steamboat Springs, Colorado

Kids I want to kill at this moment: 5
Parents who deserve to be killed at this moment: 3 sets (b/c really, the misbehaving in a restaurant isn’t the kids fault, but the parents’)
Miles ridden today: 60
Maximum speed hit: 50 mph (Coming down the Steamboat side of Rabbit Ears Pass, I didn’t have to break once … kudos to the engineers who designed it)

Tour de Wyoming's tent city. Mine is the green one. No reason I'm separate from the herd other than seeking shade.

So day 2 of the Tour de Wyoming has us again in Colorado. Tour de Wyorado? Not that I’m super eager to return to Wyoming though as tomorrow night we’re in Baggs. I didn’t even know there was a town there. I thought there was just a gas station, albeit a much nicer one than the one in Arlington, Wyo., which, when I was running on fumes and pulled in there en route to Laramie, had closed 15 minutes prior. And didn’t have pumps that took credit cards. I had to pay an Arlington resident $40 for 5 gallons. And this fleecing was perpetrated by a Wyoming Highway Patrolman! Obviously one of the state’s finest. I’ll bet I wasn’t the first person to get stuck in Arlington without gas (and with the nearest station 33 miles away). I’m certainly never going to patronize the gas station there, even if it’s open the next time I pass through.

Thank god. The world’s most misbehaved kids have left the building. (“The building” being Beau Jo’s Mountain Bistro. I have heard so much about their pizza over the years I had to try it. Now that I have, I can say it’s nothing special. The pizza at Jackson’s South Side Pizza and Pub is better. Best of all is still the pizza at The Bridge in Missoula.)

The Bridge never has annoying kids either. Its scene is college kids trying to discover themselves. So good people watching. But back to Beau Jo’s. I can now hear myself think. And I’m starting to think about what sort of baked goods might be available in Steamboat. Perhaps I’ll go look.

July 13, post baked-goods hunt.

Success! Winona’s rocks. Although the brownie-like confection as big as my head that I ate has left my stomach a bit troubled. Only because I shouldn’t have eaten the whole thing at once. I think I might have to go back for breakfast tomorrow morning. Because if I don’t treat myself pre-ride, I fear tomorrow will be treatless. Because Baggs? I can’t imagine them having much in the way of treats outside of candy bars bought at the gas station.

 

Insomnia

April 29, 2009

Times I read myself to bed tonight: 3

Times my brain immediately turned on as soon as I turned off the light: 3

How long ago I gave up trying to sleep and started puttering around the office: 87 minutes

Time it is at this exact moment: 1:47. A.M.

 

Ugh. I swear my brain thinks it is noon. Even if my eyes are registering darkness as I look out the office window. (They’re also registering snow which doesn’t bode well for outside bike riding tomorrow, but I’ll try not to worry about that now.) I might be ready to try a sleeping pill. Although I don’t think they really work for me.

Here is what my brain starts thinking about when I turn the lights off (in no particular order):

— getting my motorcycle off the sidewalk in front of the condo

— the wonderful shade of green on the reply envelopes for my brother’s wedding in June

— the asshat editors I sent dozens of pitches to last week who have yet to respond

My vote for color? This azul. Root red would be second. I wouldn't mind a bathroom painted in this azul color either.

— a cute Athleta dress that could be perfect if I end up getting an assignment in Morocco in June. And it’s only $69. And available in tall.

— how can dry-hands fingercracks hurt so bad. The ends of two fingers are pulsing. Dialing a phone hurts. But not as bad as trips to the bathroom.

— Fancy Plants going out of business. Sad.

— what I’ll have for breakfast tomorrow. Do  I want eggs badly enough to go to the store in the morning or could I settle for buckwheat with blueberries?

— how much I love Indian food and why Jackson can’t have an Indian restaurant. Three Thai places and no Indian. Really?

— how I can manage to have so many book ideas that are among the greatest ideas for books ever, but that no one else has the brilliance to appreciate them as such.

— Am I going to ski anymore this season or should I transplant all my ski paraphernalia from the backseat of Tootie to the gear room?

— The gear/garage sale we’re planning for May 9. Will anyone buy stuff?

— Will we ever sell the fricking Audi? This has to be some sort of record for a working, totally pimped-out car sitting for sale.

— Who would actually steal windshield wipers off a car? (Brian and I noticed that the new ones I bought for the Audi in January are no longer there.) Windshield wipers, really? Really? That’s more ghetto than the tent we have sitting over the car keeping all the precipitation of the last few weeks from entering via a stuck-open sunroof.

And I've got 11 more where this one came from.

— How much of a tragedy it is that Reese’s doesn’t make Reester bunnies all year long … and how fortuitous it is that I happen to have no fewer than one dozen on them stockpiled in the basement.

Well, I could go on forever with this list, but I think I might go and try to sleep again. I love having so many ideas for articles and books, but I’d love it more if they kept to a more civilized schedule.  And I’d love to know who the fuck stole our windshield wipers. Is that a sign of the bad economy or of a very creative skid with loose morals?

 

Time at this exact moment: 1:56. If it wasn’t raining outside, it’d be just about time to get up — well, maybe 1.5 hours too early — for a morning of corn skiing. But it is raining. And snowing.

 

All good things must come to an end

March 21, 2009

 

Planes flown on so far: 3

Planes still to fly on: 1

Proving you can put the girl in a classy lodge, but you can’t take the serial snacker out of her, number of chocolate muffins and croissants I took with me as snacks from Machaca Hill Lodge this morning: 2 (muffins) 1 (croissant).

Ungodly hour I woke up this morning: 4:45

Reason I was up at above-mentioned ungodly hour: to get in a bit of a workout on Machaca’s wonderful stairs (358 of them totaling 200 vertical feet each lap) between the lodge and the Rio Grande

Latest I slept any of the four mornings I was at Machaca: 5:25

Reason for the early wake-ups: same set of stairs (yes, I realize I might have a problem … the food at Machaca was just soooo good though; I wanted to eat as much of it as my stomach could hold and not feeling totally guilty about that)

 

 

So I could go on forever with this list, but I’ll get on with my post. Machaca Hill is an amazing, amazing property – and will be one of the coolest places in the world once they’re finished putting all the trails they have planned in and redoing all the rooms so the shower is an 8×8, river-rock-walled den of deluxe deluge. And the furnishings in the redesigned rooms? Well, just take a look at this awesome chair. I want it.

 

It's not in the budget, but it's beautiful.

 

And pillow.

 

So maybe my cuddling with its down-y goodness is hiding its coolness a bit, but you should still be able to tell it's awesome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, they’re starting to board us. I’ve got a little way to go though. They still do the boarding-from-the-back-of-the-plane thing here and I’m in row 15. They’re doing 21-16 now. Actually, I guess I’ll be in the next group. So I guess I’ll catch up with you on the plane.

 

March 21, 2009 – in the air over Belize, TACA flight #410

 

I’m sitting next to a 21, soon-to-be 22-year old who doesn’t know how to spell jewelry (“jewlry”) and who needs a calculator to do basic addition. WTF? I think she’s in college and about to graduate too. What is the world coming to? What is she prepared to do? Was I that clueless when I was almost-22? I sure hope not.

 

So another reason to love Belize? We actually pulled back from the gate 10 minutes early. Amazing.

 

Not amazing is how much work I have to do. Sans internet for three full days – Machaca’s internet connection must not be used to having 12 guests at a time that all need to be on the internet downloading and uploading files; we totally crashed it – I’m so far behind with all sorts of posts and turning articles in.

 

And, to prove the life of a travel writer isn’t nearly as glamorous as it seems from the outside, there was the schedule I was keeping: up at 5:15 most mornings (except for this morning’s 4:45) and not to bed until midnight. A few days I didn’t even have time to do my notes. I’ll have to recreate as best as I can from my memory (and we know that isn’t what it used to be). One thing my memory won’t be fuzzy on? Machaca’s two resident troops of howler monkeys. Those things really scream bloody murder better than perhaps any animal on the planet. When they really got up and making their noises the second night I was sure the entire region’s population of jaguars had congregated immediately outside the screened-in deck 15 feet from the end of my bed. But you know what? I was so tired, I didn’t care. I put a pillow over my one exposed ear and was like, “If the jaguars want me, they can come get me, but in the meantime, I’m going to get some sleep.”

 

I won’t be fuzzy on the aerobic benefits of peeling, winnowing, and grinding cacao beans either. Yes, I have a tendency to exaggerate, but I’m not at all exaggerating when I write that both using the matata – a volcanic stone shaped just-so to perfectly cradle a collection of cacao beans – and the mata – another volcanic rock that fits into the matata just-so and is

Mata, meet matata. And both you you meet the cacao beans we've peeled and winnowed.

 the actual implement that does the grinding – and the hand-crank grinder were full-on aerobic activities. My turn at the hand crank got a sweat going and, for the few seconds I tried to do it one-armed, got a pump going in my bicep that I haven’t felt since, well, I can’t remember.

Maybe I shouldn’t be counting on my various book ideas as a way to fund the house, but rather I should develop an aerobic workout utilizing cacao beans. Although any caloric benefits gained from the workout would be mostly cancelled out by the fact you’d want to eat the chocolate you had made at the end of it. I think you’d probably still come out with a slight caloric deficit if you peeled,

 

Chocolate is good for the heart in more than one way.

winnowed, ground and then ate a portion of cacao beans, but not much of one. Who knew chocolate could be one of those foods that burned more calories than it contained? Isn’t celery like that? Celery doesn’t taste nearly as good as chocolate though.

 

Anyway, it was awesome to be so hunter-gatherer. We took our chocolate back to Chef Ken – who actually slightly resembles South Park’s Chef – at Machaca. He made a chocolate teacake from it the next day. It was tasty, but not nearly as much so as his lime cake the day before. The tastiest thing at Machaca though? The jalapeno jelly served with their over-the-top dessert cheese plate. I’d take an IV of that hooked up to me at any point I wasn’t already getting an IV infusion of that key lime sorbet from Cayo Espanto.

 

I had thought Key lime pie was the best thing a Key lime could aspire to, now I'm not so sure.

I miss Cayo’s rolls.

 

All right. Time to get to work. I’ll start with a post for Athleta’s Chi Blog. And of course I’ll let you know when it’s up live. It’ll be another — hopefully the last — about the 24 Hours of Sunlight.

 

Changing up Offices

March 13, 2009, 9:32 a.m., Denver International Airport

Amount Paradise Bakery in the Denver International Airport wanted to charge me for 1 inch of hot water: $1.67

The 7:12 United flight out of Jackson is just way, way, way too early. I swear I entered REM sleep before the flight attendant, seven minutes before we landed in Denver, nudged me to put my seat back in the upright position.

After stumbling down the B concourse to Paradise Bakery, getting a double espresso instead of a double Americano (I’m opposed to any coffee outfit that charges more for Americanos than espressos), I’ve woken up though and have set up a temporary office.

Denver International Airport office. 9:03 - 9:41 a.m.

I LOVE that DIA now offers free airport-wide wifi. Go DIA. Almost makes up for the stupid coffee pricing at Paradise. (Actually, their very ample free samples of their most delicious chocolate chip cookies almost makes up for their ass-hat Americano prices … but not quite.)

Anyway, I’ll be utilizing three temporary offices today: here, Houston, and, saving the best for last, a beach in Belize. Ambergris Caye. It rather amazes me that I’ll be in Belize by 4:45 this afternoon. It was 0 degrees when I left Jackson this morning. At the ungodly hour of 6:20.