I NEED MEAT!

Hydration and nutrition are two of the most important aspects of cycling. Timing, portion control, and calories become a necessity on any ride longer than 10 miles. Forget Gatorade, Kool-Aid or a Snickers…the science behind proper body fueling is noted by athletes world-wide.

As my training is progressing, I have started the task of hill repeats which is just what it says, repeating a hill with a set amount of trips up and down…up and down…. Within our park system, Louisville is home to many hills, one of which is, Cochran Hill a snake-like hill slap dead in the middle of the park. Repeating it burns your calves, your hamstrings, and your caloric intake.

While proper nutrition guidelines suggest the consumption of appropriate proteins, no sooner than I had finished my seventh trip up and down the hill did I desire one thing….MEAT. In fact, on the 6 mile trip to return to the car, all I could picture in my head was a heaping plate of MEAT. By meat, I mean BBQ…smoked and delicious coated in a sugary sauce thus possibly defeating any restorative powers to my twitching muscle fibers. Combine the heaping plate of meat that I did consume in record time at a local BBQ joint with the sugary goodness known as a “buttermilk pie” and you have a satiated cyclist void of hunger and possibly considering never eating again.

Every cyclist has pre, during, and post-ride foods that are their signature foods. I have seen cyclists consume Big Macs, pizza, and fried chicken (not all at the same time). I have also seen cyclists consume broccoli, baked chicken, and nutritional bars made up of 40 or so chemicals meant to restore muscles and hydrate the body. High end performance foods are always recommended by the pros. However, I am not a pro. I am a girl training to have a successful cross season and when I finish a ride, I am not about to crave a peanut butter soy honey bar and an electrolyte energy water. Hell no! I am craving proteins…heaping, smoking amounts of fatty proteins. Dare I say, I need it slathered in sauce and by sauce, I do not mean a Gu gel, or a HammerGel gravy, I mean, sugary, molasses laced, preserved BBQ sauce. I think it is safe to assume, I probably will not be asked to join some SUPER serious road team anytime soon.

Memorialized

The kick-off to summer is usually Memorial Day weekend which includes one paid day off and a total of three days of cook-outs, friend hopping, and endless snacking. This tradition was not deterred by occassional storms or relentless humidity which kept your clothing constantly "damp."

The weekend became a "new parent weekend" as the boyfriend and I navigated our future parenting skills with one golden retriever who is void of ANY usual adolescent behavior. While I was prepared for furniture climbing, shoe chewing, constant rough housing, carpet "accidents" and incessant begging for all human foods, we were  met with quite opposite behaviors. He prefers the leash, is quite even tempered and rarely barks unless his needs are not being met socially (he likes to greet EVERY dog and EVERY person). Even his separation anxiety is limited to a few minutes of barking and whimpering. He enjoyed a Saturday morning at the farmers market and greeted the locals as if he had been doing this tradition for years.These wonderful absent puppy habits allowed the "new" parents to sleep in Sunday and avoid dressing until the noon hour.

Buddy checking himself out before a walk through the neighborhood

It is important to take a break from parenting and thankfully we summed up the courage for a friend to attempt clipless pedals again while also battling overgrown trails on the mountain bikes. Vines, grasses and thissle bushes seemed dead set on slowing down a quad female bike group but we exceeded our own expectations by plowing through the trails and dodging an onslaught of sweaty runners. No one wrecked...no one dry heaved and this we agreed was a good end to the ride.

Self portrait in HOT sun...

Post bike ride bliss was followed up with the FIRST seasonal dip in the chilly pool. A loaded recyclable bag of tortilla chips, melted chocolate, strawberries and other salty, ooey, gooey snacks provided the post ride food buffet necessary for an afternoon in the sun. The sun, however, hid behind a massive dark cloud which never dumped rain directly on us (whew, thanks!) but aborted our chances for severe sunburn (we are thankful for this). Swim lessons and learning to float in a device that resembled an oversized diaphram provided ample hilarity.

Swimming with a large diaphram-looking device 

Being  new parents, getting used to doggie schedules, discussing optimal food options, treats, and potty breaks made for an exhausting weekend all in all. The best way to shut things down was with a grill, some gin and tonics, and a dog panting with the rythum of a freight train.

Feed and water daily...

This is THE year for my hostas at home. Three years of steadily growing tiny two-leaved plants have resulted in a harvest of hosta plants on steroids filling my front yard to the brim with greeness. My pride runneth over. Secure in the fact that I could grow a few plants, I have escalated my prowess to animals.

Victor Hugo (the cat, not the author) is a staple in my house. In a room of 150 cats at the local shelter, I came to know Victor and the past three years have been an easy, breezy walk in the sun. Victor's activities include long naps, eating, taking even longer naps and making biscuits on my stomach (kneading activity done with his paws while purring vivaciously). Thus, people come over and marvel over my plus size, over friendly, easily amused cat. He is void of the "normal" cat behaviors such as hissing, urinating on favorite furniture, and generally despising the world. This makes him a fun attraction at my home like a carnival ride. Seeing that I enjoy challenges...I am once again adding another complexity to the rearing mix.

First note....Buddy is not MY dog. My boyfriend has longed for a dog for sometime. Since the first night we met, I have heard about a golden retriever he helped raise into his senior years. Leave it to me with one afternoon of googling, plotting, planning to find "Buddy", a spry 2-year old golden retriever bursting at the seams with energy. Buddy is being housed in middle Indiana surrounded by Amish farms, small towns, and a collection of rusted out American autos. This past week we drove 1.5 hours (yes, hours) to visit Buddy. I had every finger and toe crossed that the union of he and the boyfriend would be a happy one. Thankfully within seconds of meeting Buddy, we found him upside down smiling up begging for belly rubs. (Whew).

Two VERY happy boys...

Tonight he comes home...and he will be a wealthy dog because he will have 2 homes for living comfort. He will live with the boyfriend the majority of the time and visit his "relation-not-yet-decided" feline sibilng. My duties as an “alternate rearer” will include walks, park strolling, running, playing, and coordinating social events for him including play dates and dog parks. I am pretty sure he will request I do his Facebook updates since he lacks thumbs.

I would be amiss if I told you that we also want to train him on the trails. The boyfriend has wanted a trail dog for sometime and this dog has the spunk for it. This will require some work and dedication but I am certain that if I can grow hostas from a single celled life form, convert a cat into a social being similar to Frank Sinatra, multi-task a household with laundry, cooking and decorating, take care of a relationship, I can work with Buddy and welcome him into the fold of successes.

Now, children may be a whole different story...

The comedy of errors known as vacation...

Early in the throws of winter, I attempted a weekend away to the North American Handmade Bike Show. This trip resulted in $1,349 worth of work on a car, many exhausted hours in an overpirced hotel lobby and true hatred for Virginia or West Virginia. In fact, recent conversations have concluded that me and my signifigant other DO NOT think of those areas as states anymore due to the enclave of negative memories. Like he said, "Virginia is for f&*kers!" (he was angry when he said it).

You can imagine that there was some hesitation, nerves and even jitters about this next trip. A longer drive with a fully loaded car of bikes, bike parts, clothes, lotions, creams, and snacks all eventually headed to Brevard North Carolina. The long weekend agenda included nothing but bike riding, hiking, nestling in oversized chairs, and truly relaxing. Attempting to relax when you think your car may blow a vital part is extremely difficult but as the miles wore on, we seemed to settle into a rythum with myself as the navigator and the boyfriend as the wild Indy-car driver.

Suprisingly, the drive was without hazard other than a missed exit and squealing tires to reach said exit. The oversized rig that was cut off behind us did not even apply his horn but that might have been because his nerves filled his seat and he was too distracted to press on the wheel. Besides, we were FULLY aware of our mistake! We attempted a wave when we stopped sweating. The trip was divided into a brief overnight stay in Knoxville, Tennessee which is landscaped with churches, firework shops, and fast food stops. Before settling in for the evening, we treated ourselves to some spa treatments working our the knots in our muscles and minds. The night was spent in a cozy, quaint and off the beaten path bed and breakfast overlooking the French Broad River. The quiet and tranquility felt wonderful and being able to sit in a swing watching the sunset definitely defined vacation.

By Thursday, we were on the road to roll into Brevard and a cabin with 7 other adults (by age only) all ready for an epic weekend of riding and hiking. This weekend did not disapoint in the area of being EPIC. First, the boys on a wild race pace mountain bike ride neglected to account for one of our crew...a taller than average guy with a super calm personality. Our shaken nerves were hampered with an enormous rain storm  and a winding two lane road with drop offs longer than a skyscraper. As we drove (and walked) up and down the busy road hoping to find him, we only found frustration with the lack of cell phone service and relaxed sense of urgency among the locals who told us they had not seen a tall guy in a bright jacket ride by (WELL! DID YOU LOOK?!). Finally as the rain tapered, there, riding up the road was our lost bunkmate surfacing unscathed and calm as a bug in a rug. Cheers, high fives, and even tears met him at the cabin followed by a lecture from a distraught, angry, and now relieved wife (STAY TOGETHER ON THE TRAILS PLEASE!!!).

On the next day with the weather cleared, it was the girls turn to ride the mountains and we did. After carefully plotting our route and detailing our description in the event the rangers needed to be called for a search party, we left the cabin towards DuPont National Forest. The onset of the ride was some of the most picturesque hills and scenery I have ever laid eyes on. We dreaded the last 10 or so miles due to the fact that the ONLY way to return to our cabin was to ascent a 12-mile stretch of road known as 276 or Geer Highway. The road is a two lane, narrow, curvy, hilly invention that serves as the only throughfare through the area. There are no short cuts but we were ready for the challenge. I was overly thankful for the "granny gear" I had, although it was slightly different from my old cassette. My embarrassment of riding in the granny gear diminished when I knew the other rider was also feeling the hills. My accomplishment was nearly reached until my encounter with a Subaru Forrester.

On a tight turn approaching a "slow car turnout", I became aware of two old ladies crawling up the hill in their car. When clear, I waved them on from their crawling pace but quickly realized they were not going to pass me. In a second attempt, I waved them on but still did not hear the accerlation of their engine. As I approached the next curve, I planned to stop and make them pass but when I turned my head back to the left to secure my point, I realized not only were they NOT going to pass...they were NOT going to avoid me and their mirror smacked my kidney. In the best efforts to compose myself, I straightened my wheel and prepared to turn into their car as we were approaching one of those dangerous guard rails. Then, they passed...slowed (I thought they were going to stop to check on me)...and sped off. It was then, I sprang off the bike. My helmet came off and I immediately dismounted mid-hill. We had the last 5 miles to go...but my nerves had bonked. Thankfully my ride partner retrieved the car and we returned home, safely.

I later learned that the boyfriend, who had gone out on his own EPIC ride, also found the mountains to be challenging heaps of rock and had to battle acid reflux, awkward cross bike gearing (rear cassette needed more gears), and muscle cramps which sporadically occured throughout the ride, mostly on the uphills (nothing like an added challenge). His hydration choice of a beer was probably not the PRO choice but he also refused any rides from people. Lessons learned.

You might think with a lost husband, a clipped cyclist, and a bonked roadie, we would call this weekend a bust. Instead, we celebrated with a 6-mile hike to an amazing bald rock face known as John Rock. The female only hike included a confused left turn which lead to an uphill, stair studded climb marred with moss, waterfalls, and hemlock. The climb was well worth the woes and sweat soaked clothing. The summit opened up to a rock ledge overlooking a hatchery and Looking Glass rock. It was an instant distraction from a clipped cyclist, a lost mountain biker, over energized husbands, cramping boyfriends, and too hot to sample coffee or tea. The reward after a quick 30-minute downward hike was Dolly's Dairy Barn which is overloaded with democracy. Literally hundreds of flavors caused quite the confusion for decision challenged, starving women craving carbs.

That evening, our last by the roaring fireplace (it was 75 degrees outside) made for a quiet night of couch cuddling, leg rubbing, and the realization that we had to return to our real lives the next day. All of the excitement...all of the adventures folded back into our minds and made for good conversation on the way home (which we did in record time thanks to me understanding that I own a "race wagon"). Until next year...

Percolated

As we all know, I love my coffee. Coffee and I have a love affair spanning nearly 20-years. A vital and necessary part of my morning is the obligatory coffee stop. When I change jobs, one of the first tasks is to locate my nearest local coffee spot and train the counter person to get it juuuust righhht. My order is always simple, ONE 12-14 ounce cup of java with a minimal of one inch of room (so technically I drink 11 -13 ounces of coffee)…4-Sugar in the raw packets and please have a carafe of half and half chilled. Any deviation from this recipe will cause me to have a fit like a toddler in a toy store who is told not to touch anything. I will melt down and possibly find myself kicking and screaming. Coffee addicts MUST have their coffee THEIR way. There is no compromise or contentment unless…the cup…is perrrrfect.

In the past several years though, Louisville has seen a wide birth of hometown java hot spots all peddling their roasted black beans (black gold). I pride myself on trying all of them judging the coffee on taste, texture, and lid. Cheap lids come off in the car and create a mess…which also causes me to have a toddler fit. Something has happened though…an awkward turn of events has resulted in ample coffee shops and a realization of my decreasing coolness.

You see, some of our coffee shops are also segregated social hot spots each with their own niche. If you are a reader, you will likely be found at Heinie Brothers which has two locations with two book stores nearby. They have tables and wifi so you can fire up your kindle and enjoy some strong coffee. It is a Louisville original. If you are more of a younger social bug with a sweet tooth, there is Sunergos, a true hip place with the best caramel latte in the city complete with the friendly design in the foam (I am a big fan of the oak leaf). The shop also shares a wall with a bakery boasting a maple bacon donut and I will warn you…do not judge the donut until you have bitten into it. It is delicious. If you are the person who likes the hidden shops, there is Red Hot Roasters which is now operated by one half of a divorced couple (he has another coffee shop and the dog across town). It boasts a drive thru and once they REALLY get to know you, it is guaranteed they will make your coffee perrrrfect. Most recently if you were a coffee drinker who also liked to sample a wine bar, you could enjoy a place called Blue Mountain but unfortunately the trendiness of the location, the bar, and mood lighting proved too high an expense and it recently decorated its door with a cheaply printed, “sorry we have closed” sign.

Then, there is the “OTHER” shop. It is for the cool, hip, trendy youths. The skinny jean wearing, tattoo boasting, pierced nipple crowd that spends a majority of their time modifying their mod wardrobes and being ironic—but, they also enjoy coffee. You can imagine that this is not the shop for the reader or the socialite also wishing to sample a merlot. On one given morning, I dared venture into the fully restored building to purchase a cup of coffee with scolding eyes bearing down on my name brand purse. The staff has an attitude like their coffee…strong. For the person who values the true taste of coffee, this place rocks but you have to prepare yourself for a walk down the judgment aisle and you might want to invest in a quality pair of skinny jeans (wait! Is that ironic?! Crap).

Yuppie Evolution

Vacation is officially marked on the calendar for 2010. I have turned in all the appropriate forms for the new job. It is official. A group of bike/ outdoor/ fire pit enthusiasts are gathering in Brevard, North Carolina mid-May for a long weekend of biking, hiking, and cardboard burning. A congenial meeting which assigned all of us with various tasks yielded the understanding that sometime between the ages of 22 and 33, I have become a full fledged yuppie.

In my early 20’s, I owned a dilapidated Volvo wagon with double digit rust spots. It did NOT have a CD player…but it had a rad tape deck. The leather seats were cracked in such a pattern that after hours of sitting, your legs look like they had been grilled and in the hot summer sun, they may actually make a sizzling sound. The air conditioner sometimes worked, other times it blew out musty warm air from vents that smelled of wet creek bed. Otherwise the crank down windows were always available to send a breeze your way. A vacation during this time consisted of the following tasks:

1. Place a twin size mattress in the rear of the car. By folding down the rear seat and gently modifying a twin mattress, I basically drove a hotel on wheels complete with a 360 degree view. The cost of the hotel was around whatever gas was for the day….$1.02/ gallon.

2. Load the floor of the car with salt/ sugar infused foods. Standards on long road trips included: Doritos, Triscuits, Chocolate covered donuts, Double Stuffed Oreo’s, 2-3 jars of peanut butter, cheap wheat bread, and a 5lb bag of trail mix from Sam’s Club (you have to have at least ONE healthy thing).

3. Map out the route. No external communication devices were to be had. There were NO CELL phones on trips…no GPS…no I-Phones for back-up entertainment. I had to sit down the night before, map out a route and places to stop to call and check in with the homestead.

4. Pack one bag. One bag rule. If two people were traveling in a car with a mattress and 10lbs of oreo’s under the rear seat, then clothing and toiletries were limited to ONE bag, usually an LL-Bean backpack with my initials on it leftover from grade school (no joke….this thing lasted through the second year of college).

5. Destination optional. Sometimes there was no real destination. Sometimes the drive just resulted in park sleeping and roadside visits. Other times, the evenings ended with Phish shows or Indie Rock Festivals still holding onto grunge.

Well, things have changed….it is official. I am a yuppie. I am a peace loving, travel craving, expensive hobby enthusiast…YUPPIE…

Results of Sunday night planning meeting/ dinner:

1. The newer Volvo with polished leather seats, dual climate controlled air conditioning and CD player will be loaded with bikes. It will be covered with road and mountain bikes. Forget the modified mattress, bikes come first. Bikes will be polished and loaded appropriately for the car, of course.

2. Reservations made at a B&B. Forget camping or sleeping in the back of the car swatting off night creatures…instead, we will be stopping halfway in Knoxville, Tennessee for a night of pampering with Egyptian cotton sheets, home cooked breakfast and a deep soaking tub.

3. Don’t forget the coffee grinder and traveling coffee bar. One thing that came out of this meeting…MOST PEOPLE LOVE THEIR COFFEE…and we are far too refined and adult to drink Maxwell House. Instead, I am to bring my grinder so that every morning the first sound we hear atop the mountain are fresh oily beans being ground for the most perfect cup of roasted java. Also in tow will be organic sugar, organic half and half, and biodegradable stir sticks. I may throw in some cinnamon and nutmeg to compliment the perfect cup of coffee.

4. We don’t need no stinking maps! Forget maps, within minutes of the email with the physical address arriving in our in-boxes on Monday, I plotted the route in the I-phone complete with turn by turn directions and satellite mapping. Honestly, if we get lost it is because we are illiterate and we deserve to get lost.

5. We need more luggage. Not only do we have to pack enough bike clothes for the weekend…shorts, bibs, jerseys, socks, etc…we have to pack clothing to hike, have dinner in, and of course, more casual “walk downtown like a tourist” clothing. If something is truly soiled, then our full size washer and dryer can handle it and even steam out the wrinkles if necessary. Asides from this, there are also a host of hair care products and skin care that MUST make the trip.

6. The food….Oreo’s are good…but we devised a menu complete with waffles, chicken parmesan, and a full American breakfast. There will be no fast food run thru’s here. No, instead, we will use the newly remodeled gourmet kitchen to crank out delicious food. A large industrial sized pan of Espresso brownies and host of other desserts will replace the multiple boxes of Little Debbie cakes of yesteryear.

Am I ashamed? Do I feel I have sold out? No…my needs have changed. Some may use the word…”evolved”…I need comfort when I travel. I have worked hard and deserve not to have to spend my free vacation time worrying about running out of gas or replacing a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. I like hot showers, clean clothes, good food, and a car with air conditioning. If these things make me a yuppie, so be it…I have been called worse.

You’re gonna do what?

It was bound to happen. I have been riding bikes long enough that sooner or later, it was going to happen…the racing bug has bitten. I have been around enough cyclists and in the saddle long enough that I want to race. I talked about racing two years ago only to quickly talk myself out of it for fear of utter humiliation. Wait! I am not a shy person! Why did I do that? Maybe it was because I did not have enough money to pay the registration fees…that sounds more like it.

With the realization that I will be racing, comes the reality that I have to face some challenges…

1. I am 33-years old. There are racers out there that have done it since birth (you have to have pity on their mothers) or from the moment their leg muscles developed. My legs are only 3-years into it. I raced BMX in my teens but I was under my parents health plan which afforded me more resiliency and bravery to try erratic maneuvers. Now, I pay my own premiums, I have deductibles and my bones are more brittle. Casts would have to be set for 8-10 weeks instead of 4-6. Part of racing at my age is also being fluent in my own body language. I need sleep, recovery food, regular hydration. Unlike my teen years where I could go for 2-days on a box of Cheese-Its and a 2-litre of Coke, I now need a more mature schedule and diet. I require a bed on a regular basis.

2. My height. Not only do I want to race, but I want to race cross. Stop staring at the screen. Yes, I want to race cross and right now you are recalling that I am barely 5’2”…and that my inseam is roughly 24.65”…and you are picturing the barriers…and then me attempting to hop the barrier with a bike on my shoulder. I have looked into leg lengthening surgery but it is costly, painful, and S-T-U-P-I-D. However, my height and weight in a sandpit is ideal…I am not sinking down anywhere and if I am toting a carbon bike…I will barely leave a footprint.

3. My gender: I am a girl. I am a girl who wants to race. The starting line for females at cross races are missing ONE THING…MORE RIDERS. Not a lot of women want to race and in this area, there are very few. The ones who do race are pretty good. This is intimidating. Girls are mean on and off the bike. I am not too shy but utter humiliation is generally NOT what I strive for. I am going to face plant, wreck and wrench my body in front of everyone.

There are some things working on my favor though…

1. I have a good team (Bob's Red Mill, yes, the baking mix). I have a team mixed with quality racers of all ages. They have good intentions (AKA: Win). They are quality riders. Although, I am not sure what to do with 50lbs of products that we will receive. How many muffins is that really?

2. I am competitive. Without a doubt, put me in a sports situation, and I am a competitive, 5’2” beast (can a 5’2” chick really be a beast? Probably not…but I would like to think so. However, I am more like that gnat in your face than a weight on your back). I will have no problems elbowing my way to the front. I am not afraid of crashing. Years on the mountain bike make this a certainty but most of the time after a fall, you pick yourself back up and get right back on. Less skin=less weight= better performance (not a proven formula, FYI).

3. I am a much stronger rider now. Compared to 3-years ago, I am much stronger and focused on proper riding. I prefer long rides...I love to climb and as a result, I have endurance.

4. Did I mention I am competitive? Yes, I did, see above.

5. I will be coordinated. Our kits will be coordinated and that does matter on the course. If you fall, you want to look good doing it.

As if all of these things were not factors to consider, then consider the added stress that the boyfriend races and has since birth (yes, he is one of those riders), so besides overcoming my physical/ mental deficits, I also have to worry about not completely embarrassing myself in front of the boyfriend. Sure, I am secure at 33, but I am still a girl who wants to impress her boyfriend and who wants to eat a face full of sand in front of their significant other with cameras looking on? No one, but it will happen.

Other than those things I mentioned, I only have a few things I have to do to get ready which include (1) purchase a cross bike that fits, (2) learn to ride the cross bike, (3) learn to race the cross bike, (4) race the cross bike. Other than those FEW things, I am ready. Well, in my head I am ready and sometimes things in my head do not turn out as I pictured them in reality. Either way, I will have 50lbs of baking mix to make enough muffins for a quality Fall season of racing.