Right Down The Line

Hmmm.  Another true story about my driving came to mind.

On a summer vacation trip to Sunriver, we loaded the kids’ bikes in the back of the car and the grown-up bikes on the roof rack. The rear wheels were strapped down tight, and the front forks of the bikes were locked into their quick-release devices. The front wheels of the bikes were removed from the bikes and mounted separately on their own forks.  Get that mental picture, it’s important.

Okay, so we’re traveling over the Santiam Pass on Highway 22 which is a gorgeously scenic drive through the Cascades.  You leave the Willamette Valley and immediately find yourself surrounded by these tall foothills that resemble a postcard from Austria. When you drive this beautiful, winding, two-lane highway along the Santiam River, with occasional views of Three Fingered Jack, Mt. Jefferson, and Mt. Washington, you understand why it’s so popular.  On that day, there was a lot of traffic.  Just at the top of the pass, I had to hit the brakes abruptly for some reason.  When I did, a story was set into motion.  Actually, it was a lesson on how kinetic energy works.

If you suddenly change your speed from 55 mph to, say, 15, stuff in your car wants to lurch forward. So does the stuff on top of your car. That’s why we have shoulder straps and lids on our coffee cups.  It’s why we lock our wheels down on the overhead bike rack.  Or at least, it’s why we should lock...our...wheels...

Uh-oh.

We heard this noise above our heads, and suddenly we watched as Mrs. C’s front wheel rolled right down the middle of our windshield, bounced off the hood, and hit the pavement in front of us.  Clearly I didn’t lock it down well enough, and the sudden braking was all it needed for a successful launch.  The wheel took a vertical hop, and began its own forward momentum down the center line of the highway.

It took up speed while we slowed down. My first response was to strain against my seat belt as if I could reach out and grab the wheel, but it was long gone.  We watched in horror as it was about to encounter a long string of oncoming cars. 

This could be bad.

It kept rolling, directly down the center line.  With two-way traffic moving in both lanes, it was kind of surreal to see this unmanned bicycle wheel maintain such a perfect, unlikely path straight down the middle of the road. It was like a remote-controlled drone, but it was definitely on auto-pilot. I’m sure the other motorists saw it, but there would have been very little time to react.  Oddly, there was no need for them to do anything but drive on by.

So they did.  The oncoming traffic passed, a little gap emerged, and the wheel--right on cue--made a polite and sudden left turn.  It crossed the lane, then the shoulder, and stopped in the foot-high grass as if it had found a parking space. At that moment the wheel took on its own personality, smugly smiling at me. I have to say, I felt a little admiration. I took a deep breath, got out of the car, and retrieved the little wheel that could.  It rode inside the car for the rest of the trip.

All I could think of at that moment was a song by Kenny Rogers.

“You picked a fine time to leave me, loose wheel...”

Do Something!

Years ago, I called my spouse in a panic one afternoon.  I was one block away from the paint recycling station, with a collection of used, partially full paint cans.  I thought I had taken my left-hand turn gingerly enough, but...no.  A nearly full can tipped over, the lid popped off, and a very large pool of Martha Stewart’s mustard yellow paint plopped onto the carpet of our car.  I never really liked Martha in the first place. This sealed the deal.

I was panicked because a gallon of paint was loose on the floor of our car, and I was miles away from home.  I was mad and I needed somebody to blame.  But I was the only person in the car.  I was the only person who put those paint cans IN the car.  I was the only person who didn’t check to see if the lids were on tight. HA! Clearly, it’s Mrs. C’s fault!  So I called her.

“yourcanofmarthastewartyellowpaintspilled

andivegotyellowpaintsloshingaroundonthecarpet

andineedyourhelpimmediately!!!”

“What?”

What does she mean, “what?” Don’t play that calm and collected game with me, lady.  I invented that game!

“You heard me!!!”

“The yellow paint spilled?”

“YES!!!”

“Oh no...how much?”

Ooh, that’s priceless...she’s the one that brought Martha-in-a-can home to adorn our kitchen walls, only to find that her designer yellow looked like diaper goo. She knew exactly "how much." We had nearly a full gallon...well, before I managed to spill it, that is.

“How much?! ALL of it!!!”

“....well, what do you need from me?”

And this, friends, was the moment the world slowed down to a crawl, and I was the only person on the planet still operating in real-time.  One of those split-seconds at which I know I’m about to say something regrettably stupid. Still, I proceed because I’m preprogrammed to be an idiot during these moments.

                     ....“DO SOMETHING!”....

Brilliant, Kel..Really?  That was your big profound thing you needed from her?  

That statement hung in the air momentarily, unsupported...like a hot air balloon that was about to experience a rapid descent and a crash landing.

There was a long silence, like maybe we were cut off or something.

                  ...”did you hear me?!”

Geez, I’m going to have to spell out my plan for her.  Hmmm...I’d better make up a plan while I’m talking.

“I need you to get the garden hose ready...”

Yes, the stupidity just kept going from there.  Not one of my proudest days. We never got the paint completely out of the carpet.  We eventually just got rid of the car.

Nowadays we can laugh about that interaction. “Do Something!” is one of those framed memories in our journey that just hangs by itself on the wall of infamous blurtations.

My spouse seems to understand that there are not always explanations for the things I say or do, but she seems to stay committed to the idea of keeping me around.  

Besides, I’m much more careful on left turns these days.

Breathing

A relative and a friend of mine both recently found out they have asthma. That’s got to be hard news to process.  What does living with asthma even mean? What will I need to do so I can be back to “normal?”  Well, first the bad news: there isn't really a "cure" for asthma. The good news: there’s been a significant amount of research on how to manage and treat asthma symptoms. A good doctor who is knowledgeable about asthma can really make a difference. A daily maintenance prescription can really help keep flare-ups from happening. This is truly one of those things that if you’re proactive and work your plan, you don’t get into a jam as frequently.   Staying out of jams is really the ultimate goal in the asthma game. I can tell you from personal experience: you don’t work your plan, you’re jammed.

It’s hard to explain what it's like to a person who’s not felt asthma symptoms firsthand.  Simulate for yourself not being able to get a full breath, or even half of one. Imagine repeating that experience over several minutes, or hours. The heart accelerates, your eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of your head, everything feels swollen. In this situation it’s easy to panic, but that takes more energy than you have to expend, so you sort of go into this shut-down mode until relief comes from somewhere. Both my parents and Mrs. C can recognize in an instant if I’m struggling to breathe. They've seen it too many times to count:  I get sort of buggy eyed, hands on my knees, leaning forward; my shoulder and neck muscles are trying awkwardly to help pull in air, but the problem is the swelling of the lining inside the lungs.

Sometimes an emergency inhaler won’t help, and you have to get a more involved kind of treatment like a nebulizer. Certain prescriptions with steroids in them will help calm asthma down as well. This is not usually a quick fix.  It takes time, and time lets you replay the situation in your head over and over.  What lessons should I learn from this experience?  How many times have I had this same experience before? Most of the lessons I’ve learned about asthma have come the hard way.  I shudder to think of all the times I’ve brought bad episodes onto myself.  Too many times!

Breathing well is such a gift. I try not to take that for granted, and I try to remember that I do have much of the control! If there’s anything I’ve learned about asthma after nearly 50 years of living with it, it comes down to this: learn to respect it, but do not fear it or ignore it. I’ve tried ignoring my asthma, and that’s just plain stoopid. Fear tends to be irrational, and I don’t think fear helps you know what you can control. Respecting your asthma acknowledges that you’ve got triggers that set it off, figure it out, know your threshold. Work the plan.

Part of that plan must include physical activity. Good aerobic exercise is just as important--perhaps even more so--for a person with asthma as it is with anybody. That’s why cycling is so compelling for me. Riding a bicycle works better than most other physical things I’ve ever tried. It’s a way of celebrating what I can do, and not dwelling on what I’m not able to do.  I can control my pace and intensity, or whether I can even get on the bike at all.  And a good workout on the bike really gets my lungs and heart working (I was going to say "working in tandem," but that just feels like a cheesy cycling pun). There are days that the bike has to stay in the garage, but lately, there have been more days when the hum of my wheels remind me that I'm livin' and breathin' the good life.

STP#3: A Century For The Ages

I laugh thinking about how long it took to compose yesterday's post. I got really sleepy while sitting on a bench at Centralia College at the end of a long hard day of riding and a big ol' plate of spaghetti. The world started spinning pretty quickly after that. I kept falling asleep as my fingers were still typing! There were a few other people right around me. I would imagine that sight drew some pretty good chuckles. I would doze off, then wake up to see that I'd been typing some very interesting jibberish.  Come to think of it, that's probably how some folks would describe all of my posts, so there you go.

You know how there are some days that simply defy all the odds and are unexplainably awesome? Yep, that was today. The cool overcast conditions were ideal for riding.  It actually got a little misty, as if a downpour was thinking about dumping on us, but it was only momentary. The big chainring got a workout as we covered 106 miles; all the way into Stumptown, the bike just zipped along. My best century ever. Yeehaw!

From Castle Rock to Longview, I joined a paceline group that formed behind some powerful riders on a "triple" (think tandem, now add one more rider). We were hauling!  They had tunes blaring from their stereo on the back rack of the bike. The Village People's "YMCA" blared through the countryside while our impromptu peloton laughed and sang along at speeds that approached the sound barrier.

Kudos to the hundreds of folks that make the Seattle-To-Portland 2010 Bike Ride on for everybody to enjoy.  The amount of support volunteers, who all must know how to keep 10,000 riders safe, fed, housed, entertained, hydrated, and celebrated is amazing and highly appreciated. The bike mechanics who volunteer their talents and supplies to keep bikes in good repair were stellar. Thanks especially to the Cascade Bicycle Club for their commitment to make this happen every year.

Update on my good friend Steve-O: In his typical gracious fashion, he called to offer congratulations for successfully completing the ride. He tells me that he is indeed mending from his injuries. When he told me that news, it was a perfect finish to a perfect day of riding. We are both eagerly awaiting our next opportunity for a two-wheeled adventure. Undoubtedly, a headwind will be lying in wait for us when that happens.


Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, we will both be there for the STP 2011.

STP#2: A Day Can Feel Like A Century

Ideal weather for riding a century: cool, overcast, dry...we took full advantage and conquered the ride quickly. At least most of it. At mile 94 I managed to pick up a nail into my back tire. It did a real number on the tube which took four patches and a ton of patience. But everything else about the day was awesome. I had such a great time I think I'll ride another 100 miles tomorrow!

STP#1: The Line Starts Here.

This morning I got a pre-ride reminder of just how big Seattle-To-Portland Bicycle Ride is going to be. It's been a few years since I last took this ride. Today's task: get to Seattle. I drove to Portland where a line of gleaming bikes, their riders, and luggage wrapped around two corners of the city block. We are carefully loading bikes onto trucks, then hopping onto buses where we will join a moving city--10,000 riders--for a 200-mile weekend ride.
It's really quite a spectacle; this annual pilgrimage of steel and spandex, ridden and worn in all colors and shapes, stretching for miles and miles. So many cyclists in one event requires some patience. There are lines for everything, even just to get yourself and your bike to the start line. No worries, this morning everyone seemed pretty relaxed, a little subdued, and just eager to get there. Sometimes it's a kick just being part of something this humungous.
Within a few hours we were re-unite with our bikes, then we scattered for carbs, plus some of that coffee that makes Seattle Seattle. A few of us took short spins on our bikes, others were chillin.'
Tomorrow at sunrise, the lines will form at Husky Stadium, and we'll be rolling.

Talking Points

Time for another confession: when I’m out on the open road on my bike, I talk to myself. Loudly.

For instance, when I’m approaching a big hill or headwind, I yell, “C’mon, kids!”  

Why do I do that? It’s kind of dumb; there are no kids around me. Are the “kids” my pedals?...legs?...I don’t know, but I do seem to listen and respond to, well, me.  

Sometimes I’ll shout, “giddyup,”  like I’m some sort of jockey and my bike is Sea Biscuit.  Really?  Sure enough, I pick up the cadence and gallop on the pedals.  Good horsey.

“Oof!” That’s a high-pitched noise I make when I’m rolling on top of loose gravel or some object that I just couldn’t avoid. Don’t know why, it’s just what I do. Another sound I’m fond of making is “ee-yaw!” which is an ascending-descending glissando that peaks at a high c#.  Maybe I’m telling myself to “see sharp.”  

Maybe I need to go see a cyclo-analyst.

The thing is, most folks probably don’t hear me because they’re whizzing by in their cars with their windows rolled all the way up. Besides, they’re way too busy talking on their cell phones while changing radio stations. They don't have time to pay any attention to what else is happening around them.

So I’m out in the great wide open on a bike by myself, talking out loud and making sound effects.  Am I losing it, or do other people do this, too?

Shut up, Kelly.  Nobody's interested in this!

‘kay. Sorry.

When Sting Rays Ruled

This past weekend we got together with some family members up in Washington.  My brother-in-law, who loves all things from back in the 60’s, is a bit of a collector from that era.  He pulled out one of his prized possessions, a Schwinn “Pea Picker” Stingray that used to belong to his brother.

Man, just seeing that bike took me back forty years, when all of us kids in the neighborhood ruled the world on our bikes...poppin’ wheelies, making little ramps and jumps, perpetually skinning our knees, and drinking water from the garden hose.

These bikes were not only indestructible, they changed your image and status. If your ride had a banana seat with the sissy bar, the 5-speed shifter, and those sweet chrome fenders, you were 10% cooler than any other kid on the block.

Just to be clear, I was one of those "other" kids.

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A Time To Heal

Steve-O keeps himself in excellent shape because he’s a disciplined rider; he comes home from long days at work and unwinds on the bike, either on his trainer or out on the road. On weekends he'll get to the yardwork after he's done his 50 mile ride. Unfortunately, it’s going to take more time to heal up from the end-over he did two weeks ago. He got banged up pretty badly from it. Talking with him last night on the phone, I could hear the frustration in his voice.  He’s no wimp--if this was just about pain he’d be out on his bike right now, preparing to kick my behind on our next climb. Injury is very different than pain, however, and this is just going to take some time for his body to mend.

Anybody would want Steve-O as a riding partner. He has a super sense of humor, wants to share the big and small things of life, and likes to push himself on the pedals. I can’t describe what it is exactly, but getting a little bike time with Steve-O is just good medicine for the soul. I hate the thought of him being sidelined. I know it has to be tough for him to let go of riding the STP.

The beauty of living in Oregon is, there’s always a “next ride.”  I’ll look forward to that. And I know that the minute he gets back on the bike, he'll be living on the large chainring.

Here's to our next headwind, buddy!

Sun and Wind. Dude.

Hey, we suddenly got summer heat today!  I didn't hear a single complaint, even from the folks in the office where the a/c is on the fritz.  We've been waiting a long time to see weather reports like this: 80's, 90's, for as far as the forecasts can see...YES!


Took the bike to work today...pounded on the pedals into a pretty stiff headwind in the morning.  I kept thinking I'd find some magic gear that would lift my speed up into the 20's, but that was wishful cycling.  


My colleague Ron said that he notices when it's hot here, we get a pretty good northerly wind coming down through the valley.  His theory certainly held true this afternoon when I headed back for home.  The wind had picked up considerably and I was moving in the right direction to take full advantage of a gnarly tailwind.  28 mph sustained on flat road! On that stretch of pavement, I felt like Crush from Finding Nemo, catching the EAC. 


Most Excellent, Dude!

Willamette Valley Scenic Bikeway: North of Salem

Yesterday I had the opportunity to head north and try out a portion of the Willamette Valley Scenic Bikeway.

I’m a big fan of country roads with few cars, which is exactly what this bikeway provides. Smooth roads, mostly fields and orchards everywhere, and very, very few cars. North of Salem, you’re definitely riding on the valley floor the whole time so there’s virtually no elevation changes. This route is not as direct as 99E (which has a very good shoulder in most places), but it’s not even a contest when it comes to the scenery or the noise and fumes of vehicular traffic.

The Salem portion is another story.  Riders who don’t like sharing the road with cars will be  frustrated with the downtown Salem portion of this ride.  And I don’t care much for the Front Street section where cars are coming on and off the bridges. Not to worry, there are ways to do this. My strategy in these spots is to chill out, pull back on my speed, and wait for a space to open.  Salem traffic changes dramatically with commuter times, so sometimes it can feel like you’re the only one on the streets.  Believe it or not, I’ve found drivers in Salem to be a little more courteous than up in Stumptown.

There’s a great website for the Willamette Valley Scenic Bikeway, with printer-friendly maps and details.  Signs are posted along the way to help you stay on the right roads along the way.

My suggestion: put a little part of this ride on your summer to-do-list. Start at Champoeg Park, or Willamette Mission Park, or the little town of St. Louis.  Go a few miles in one direction, turn around, and go a few more in the opposite direction. Then go into town and cap off your trip with some ice cream.

Day Hike at Silver Falls Park

Yesterday we took a short hike at Silver Falls State Park.  It's very close to Salem, but it's been some time since we've been there.  A day hike there was on our “summer bucket list.”  Spectacular!  Hiking behind these falls, you get a pretty good spray coming off the falls, as well as a sense of the power of the water's flow. It was a popular place to be yesterday; the parking lot was full when we left mid-afternoon. Nat brought Puckett, and we met up with Mart-o, Mrs. W, and their youngest son Stretch.

Trail map  

Park Video 

Happy Independence Day, everybody!  Be safe!

It's The Unexpected Things

Sometimes the odd memories from bike rides just stay with you...so then you blog about them.

Did You Forget Something, Sir?

Last week on a ride I rolled up next to a car at a red light. As I typically do at intersections, I positioned myself just far enough forward  to be visible to the driver next to me.  This guy apparently had the same idea so he inched his car forward, which was kind of odd. I looked over and the driver apparently forgot to wear anything from the waist down. Maybe he was on his way back home to finish dressing, but I sort of doubt it.

Seeing Red

Steve-O and I were on a ride through North Portland on a Saturday.  We had on our red cycling jackets, which must have been the wrong color. Geez, I'm a school administrator. I should have seen this coming. Anyway, a couple of "young ambassadors" for the neighborhood were standing on the sidewalk, staring us down as we rode past them, and one of them demonstrated his skills with a butterfly knife.  Even though he seemed to be very skilled, we didn't stick around for further conversation. 

Sobering...Or Not

I remember almost getting nailed head-on by a drunk on a bike.  I was cruising on the Springwater Trail at 26 mph when it became obvious this guy on an oncoming bike was moving fast, way out of control and headed straight for my handlebars. Life went into slow motion as I did the math (really I did) and figured this was a 45+ mph impact in the making.  I imagined losing my front teeth and my bike getting mangled.  I honestly had no idea how this was not going to end up in a bad crash. I squeezed the brakes hard and went into a straight-line skid until just before contact and then swerved just enough to totally miss him. The smell of booze should have been enough to knock me over, but somehow we both kept upright and went on.

Creating An Impression

Once at an intersection, I came alongside an expensive Mercedes convertible. At just the wrong moment, a stone wedged between my tire and the pavement. The high pressure from my tire launched the stone like a missile into the right side of the Mercedes. It hit the car door with a loud "kersmack!"  I'm sure it left a good sized dimple.  Coulda seriously hurt the driver if it flew any higher. I was anticipating a "conversation" with him, but he drove on like nothing happened. Sorry!

                                                                         Chemawa Road

“Cyclers see considerable more of this beautiful world 

than any other class of citizens. A good bicycle, 

well applied, will cure most ills this flesh is heir to.”

-- Dr. K. K. Doty of New York, ‘How to Bicycle’, 1892 

Lately my bike has been rolling on Cordon Road on the east side of Salem.  It’s a nice long stretch with a great bike lane on the shoulder. The singular exception being the pinch you feel on the highway overpass...that’s where my inner chicken makes me wait for traffic to pass so I have time and space on my side. It’s a good spot to grab some water and look around, anyhow.

                                                               Cordon Road

Hopping on the bike instead of getting into the car gets me to notice and appreciate the surroundings in a deeper way. I see that the crops are taking shape and growing in the fields along this road. There are the occasional glimpses of Hood and Jefferson in the distance.

Although riding brings its own rewards, the surrounding views ain’t half bad.