Because I’ve already spent the past 24 hours talking about this bug.

Yesterday, at an hour early
I arrived at Amy’s, feeling surly.
My Posse friends weren’t even near
When, look, behold, what’s standing here?

Bug 1

So green, so cute, so freaking bright
Standing on my car, this sight!
A bug of some exotic flavor
Upon my car bestowed his favor.

Bug 2

I was filled with joy and so delighted
Surely he had just alighted.
No passenger just clinging lightly
Would survive me taking turns so tightly.

Bug 3

He stood there cleaning his antennae
Crap, words that rhyme with this aren’t many.
I snapped pictures; he seemed so chill
Despite a camera up in his grill.

Bug 4

After photos, I went inside
For all I know, he baked and died.
But later on last night his kin
Chose my outdoor dinner to drop in.

And led to the sharing of this story
About a green bug and all his glory.
But now I think I’ll take a breath
This horse is officially beat to death.

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July 4th 2010 | Posted in Friends, Life, The Log Posse

What An Excellent Year For An Exorcism!

For the past three years, I have begun each new year with a review of how I did with my previous year’s resolutions and a discussion of my new resolutions. That sounds boring, so I’m not going to do it. Instead, I’m going to do a quick recap of the past year in list format, which saves me the time and trouble of developing thoughts and connecting them meaningfully in paragraphs. Also, it’s probably less tedious for you to read.

Things That Sucked in 2009

1. Grandma died.
2. My fiance left me and moved out.
3. I drowned uncomfortably at a job that tried to eat my favorite coworkers after it had chewed me up and spit me out.
4. Scout went blind in one eye, which now glows radioactively whenever it catches the light.
5. I killed every plant I owned this year (four of them).
6. The military does not want me.
7. I started a new anti-depressant. This could fall under the “Sucked” category, since the reasons for deciding to start medication again were not happy reasons, or it could be considered a “Good” thing, since it’s like a positive step or something. My therapist would probably be peeved to see that I’ve settled on putting it here.
8. I exercised bad judgment. That description will have to suffice.
9. Racing cyclocross became too mentally taxing, so I bailed in early October.
10. Bobby’s contribution to this list: “You left a huge, irreparable stain on the carpet in the spare room.”

Things That Were Good in 2009

1. I paid a lot of money for a free, middle-aged, overweight dog. He turned out to be many different flavors of awesome.
2. The (5) Days of Summer were a lot of memorable fun.
3. My fiance came back (but remains self-demoted to boyfriend status).
4. I was gainfully employed for the majority of the year, while many people were not (or so I read while surfing the Internet all day long at work).
5. My carelessness led to accidentally cashing out my retirement plan early, resulting in a large check appearing in my mailbox. Whoops. And also, score!
6. I folded 1,000 origami paper cranes. I also learned that one can fold just shy of 30 cranes per hour while riding a stationary bike.
7. I only visited the emergency room once.
8. I hosted the first annual Log Posse Weengiving Dinner in November and acquired my first pair of homemade, bejeweled underwear. There’s a story and a post behind all of that, but Hello, Laziness.
9. It was a good racing season. I was the Kenda Cup East Champion for my category, I had a lot of podium finishes, and I completed the Shenandoah Mountain 100 in 11 hours, 11 minutes. And I did all that while only crying before 50% of my events.
10. I discovered that slathering Bag Balm on my saddle region really improves the quality of my life. Or at least the quality of my bag.
11. Nobody else close to me died, I had great times with my friends and family, I didn’t get hit by a bus, it snowed a lot in December, my carbon footprint probably shrank, whatever, so on and so forth.

If I did not include something that you feel was good about my year, I mean no offense. It was undoubtably a wonderful contribution to the parts of 2009 that did not suck, and I just can’t recall it right at this moment. Mom, I am certain you are going to add your own list of positive things to my comments. You go on with your bad self.

In the breaking of the year-end post tradition, I’m also not going to bother doing any New Year’s resolutions. Sure I have goals and shit, but I’m not going to come up with anything specific that will become a to-do list item that stresses me out. This year, I’m just going to do whatever the hell I want and to hell with the rest.

Happy New Year!

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January 4th 2010 | Posted in Biking, Bobby, Employment, Family, Friends, Life, Sadness, The Log Posse, The Pups

This is long and somewhat depressing. Enjoy!

Hello there. It’s been a few days, a lot has happened, a lot of it has been a crapload of suck, so let’s get caught up and back on track with the whole regular posting thing.

Kelley Acres Race Report
I was going to do a full report on this event, but I procrastinated and then Grandma died, so it went by the wayside. To summarize, I spent the days before this race feeling dread and doom yet again. The Saturday night before, I even broke from my standard pre-race teetotaling and had a beer, and then ate my feelings in the form of fifteen Nutter Butter wafer cookies and three servings of candy corn. It was ugly. The morning of the race was spent agonizing over whether or not to go (including a sobfest in the car after arriving at the venue and registering), until I finally decided I would hate myself more if I backed out at the last minute.

I did a quick warm-up on the trainer while dancing to music that I refuse to admit is on my iPod, lined up in my second row starting position, and promptly blew the start. No idea what happened; one minute I’m pedaling hard and the next minute girls are flying past me. All of the dread and depressing feelings flooded back in and I quickly slid to the back of the pack and considered dropping out, but then realized the only thing worse than quitting after registering would be quitting after slipping to dead last. I picked it up at that point (I may be shortchanged on the mental fortitude, but I can ride hard when forced), played back-and-forth with some of the women grouped behind the top three, and then pulled off a strong fourth place in the 1/2/3 Elite Women and first place out of the Cat 3 Women.

Grandma
The viewing/wake was this past Monday evening, and after arriving and greeting my family, I went to see Grandma lying in her open casket. It was weird; she looked like herself but she also didn’t and because I am completely immature, I touched her hand to see how it felt. It was icy and firm, nothing like the warm softness it had been a few weeks earlier, and I decided then that my grandma was not there in that odd-smelling box.

The funeral mass was the next morning and I was scheduled to give a speech as a result of an impulsive act of volunteering the previous Thursday. Most of the ceremony was spent wiping the pooling sweat off my palms and onto my suit, until the part after communion when it was time for me to speak. It went well, despite my nerves. Then my father spoke, the mass ended, we joined the funeral procession to the cemetery (and ran roughly every red light in Maryland), and fifteen minutes later, the whole thing was done and that was the end of the road for Grandma. It was also the end of the road for my car’s front tire, which died on the way to the funeral reception.

Now I am back at work, wrapped up in everyday life, and it feels almost normal except when I remember that my grandmother no longer exists. I can’t quite wrap my head around that part. I did not cry at the funeral; instead, I am holding out for a more appropriate time to feel the full force of the loss, like say during a meeting or in the grocery store. One thing that helps is that I’ve reinvented a small part of my largely non-existent religious beliefs to now include a place for my grandma that is in a heaven of her very own, hanging out with my grandpa and the other people she loved in her life. It makes me feel better than to think that she just winked out, leaving that cold body in the box. I also like to imagine that she is sort of around all the time, which is comforting when I think about her being there in spirit during my next race, but less comforting when I think about her being there the day after I’ve had Chipotle for dinner.

The Log Posse Does Seven Springs
Back in July, I started a post about a trip with the Log Posse, but I never got around to finishing that post. Here it is:

July 2009: This past weekend, we joined the Log Posse at a cabin in Pennsylvania for a weekend of riding. This included a visit on Sunday to Seven Springs Ski Resort, where Bobby and I rented bikes to try true downhill biking for the first time. Sunday started a little too early after not quite enough sleep, but somehow the six of us all ate breakfast (including me, with my scientifically prepared, highly regimented meal), got ready, and made it out the door in one hour, using only one small kitchen and one bathroom. Do you realize how amazing that is, that six adults shared one bathroom, left the house on time, and didn’t have to kill each other or resort to pooping in the woods? I suppose we may have left roughly ten minutes late, which to some people (ARNE) probably felt like an eternity, but to me it felt like we were early and had time to bake muffins or polish the windowpanes.

We drove to Seven Springs, rented bikes, bought our lift tickets, and rode up the mountain for the first run of the day. The big debate was whether or not the chairlift would be scary for those of us less fond of heights, and at first it was a bit unnerving. The ground drops away fast and the chair feels pretty minimal, but after a minute or so, Bobby and I switched to playing If You Had To Jump Off This Chair, At What Point Would You Do It?

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The first run of the day sucked. I was nervous, the rental bike felt awkward and unfamiliar, I couldn’t keep my feet on the platform pedals, and I was too scared to let go of the brakes. It was also cold and windy on top of the mountain, and I started wondering if this was just a bad idea and should instead spend the day in the resort’s bike shop, buying Fox merchandise with money I didn’t have. Six more runs later, I was bombing down the mountain, whooping on the especially fun parts, and refusing to sit out any rides. The only thing bothering me by then was my hands, which refused to unclench from the deathgrip I had on the handlebar at the end of each run.

After a lunch in the resort’s employee cafeteria (a lunch that took me five years longer than anyone else to eat because apparently I am a digestive sloth), we all headed back out to the slopes to ride. The rest of the afternoon was spent going up and down the mountain as fast as possible, while working on letting go of the brakes and learning to get air on the tabletop jumps. The whole experience was so much fun and really helped me relax on downhills, which has been one of my big weaknesses during races. I didn’t even mind dangling my 40+ pound bike off the chairlift, except for the time it was sliding off my lap slightly as I announced to Bobby, “This will be fine as long as the chairlift doesn’t stop.” The moment the words left my mouth, the lift halted.

At one point, while about halfway down the mountain, I felt something weird happen with my bike and my foot flew off the pedal. Not knowing what had happened, I kept going and was only slightly bothered by a weird sound. Our group stopped a minute later to take a new trail down a different run, at which point I noticed and remarked that my derailleur cable had gotten caught in and chewed by the cassette. I was so wrapped up in the drama of that minor problem that it took Mike saying, “Um, where’s your chain?” for me to notice that my chain had fallen off. A while ago.

And that’s as far as I got. The reason I’m sticking that in here now is because the Posse went back up to Seven Springs this past weekend. Bobby and I changed our plans a bit after the events with my family, but were fortunately able to get in some quality time with the group and spend a whole day downhilling. Details will probably follow later, but I wanted to at least mention this in my update, since everything else here is somewhat dark and gloomy.

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What? You Said Dark and Gloomy?
Since my grandma died last Thursday, there have been a lot of moments that have had me ready to throw my hands in the air while screaming WHY?!? I was shamed by a Genius at the Apple store who “fixed” my non-broken iPod with a touch of technical expertise and a huge helping of smugness. I smashed my head on the door of the bathroom not once, not twice, but three times in a hugely painful, shriek-and-tear-up way. Scoot scratched his eye and has spent the last three days curled up in a miserable ball, licking his paw and squinting at us in a sad, pathetic, probably expensive to fix way. My car tire came apart after the burial and has been a nightmare to replace for reasons that include a misquote from Sears, a lack of credit card acceptance by Costco, a delusion on the part of NTB that tires should cost my life savings, and an expired state inspection on the car I’m borrowing while I wait for a new set of tires to grow organically on my car. My father’s car died the day of the viewing in the parking lot of the funeral home (oh, the irony). And I made it almost all the way to work yesterday before realizing I’d forgotten my laptop at home. After going back to get it, I actually made it out to the parking lot before realizing that I’d forgotten it again. Right now it feels like the fun will never stop.

But This Too Shall Pass
Flat tires, death, sick dogs, and good friends are all part of life, so I guess I need to just keep moving forward and wait for the unhappy times to pass. There are some lights at the end of this tunnel – I’m racing the B Men’s category at Granogue this weekend, which should be interesting,  and also getting ready for Halloween and my 25th birthday. Onward and upward…I hope.

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October 16th 2009 | Posted in Biking, Family, Friends, Life, Sadness, The Log Posse, Travel

Race Report: Welcome to the Thunderdome, Bitches.

This past Sunday was the Shenandoah Mountain 100, a one-hundred mile bike race through the mountains of Virginia. I did the race for the first time last year with Bobby, but decided to fly solo this year. The Log Posse came out in full, with Steve joining me in the race and the rest of the Posse providing moral support and volunteering at one of the six aid stations along the course.

Log Posse headquarters. Photos compliments of Mike, Log Posse Magnate.

In the interest of keeping this race report a manageable length, I’ll break it up into a rough synopsis of my status at each of the checkpoints, as well as at the beginning and the end, followed by a summary of the overall race. If it still takes forever to read, I’m sorry. It took forever to ride.

The Start: In 2008, we started in a huge pack in the middle of the field; this year, the start was packed onto the road running directly in front of our campsite. Steve and I lined up right by the Log Posse tent, towards the middle of the start group, and rolled out slowly with the hundreds of other riders. I had hoped to start closer to the front (ideally in sight of Sue Haywood, so I could desperately try to hang onto her wheel for the first 0.02 miles), but a long line for the bathroom and my slowness in getting ready killed that dream and left me starting back with the masses.

Aid Station #1: This was supposed to be a waterbottle exchange checkpoint ten miles into the race, but it was clearly operating in stealth. I kept looking at my clock and wondering why I hadn’t seen the aid station yet when I had been riding hard for over an hour, until a guy next to me explained, “Um, we passed it a while ago.” Sweet. I guess it was a good thing I had conserved fluids by forgetting to hydrate, since it was going to be another twenty or so miles until a refill.

Aid Station #2: I came into this checkpoint with a group of riders and, determined to not be the slow one that hung around too long and got dropped, I hauled over to the food/water table, inhaled five orange wedges, filled up my bottles, and rolled out. My plan worked; I reconnected with my riding friends and stuck with them through the next long climb. Too bad I didn’t actually take the time to properly hydrate, rest, or refuel. At least I only had sixty-nine miles left to go.

Aid Station #3: This checkpoint was packed with racers when I came through. I slathered on more chamois butter, nibbled a PB&J sandwich square, devoured a few pieces of watermelon, and swapped out my swampy gloves for a fresh pair. No part of me wanted to mess with the Clif Blocks or bars, the clean socks or jersey, or any of the other supplies stuffed in the drop bag I’d packed for that aid station. After spending roughly five minutes longer than I should have hanging around, I left the checkpoint alone.

Aid Station #4: The Log Posse was working this checkpoint, but by the time I rolled in, I was too dazed and fatigued to muster up much enthusiasm. All I remember is getting my bottles filled, drinking some Coke and eating a few Fig Newtons, watching a man slather a frighteningly large amount of chamois butter inside his spandex (EW), and then leaving. This was the beginning of my descent into hell; unfortunately, that descent actually involved almost non-stop ascending up to the next checkpoint.

Aid Station #5: Getting to this aid station took everything in me. The first fifty miles of the day were spent riding hard, spinning strong, and feeling only a bit sore and tired. From Checkpoint #4 on, my lower back hurt intensely and I felt like there was nothing but miles of climbing ahead of me (which was true). About five miles outside of Aid Station #5, I had to stop on a steep climb and stretch because I could not possibly keep going. I didn’t start moving until a guy walking his bike came by, at which point I walked with him until we both remounted and pushed on. At the actual checkpoint, I had more watermelon and part of a slice of pizza, which I ate while sitting in a little hunched ball in the grass. Volunteers kept asking me if I was doing okay and while I wanted to scream NO KILL ME NOW and then cry in their arms, I settled for a feeble, “Yes.” It was pretty cold up there on the mountain, so I eventually got up and left the checkpoint to enter the next set of crushing climbs. It was still ninety minutes before the cut-off for leaving the aid station without a light, so I decided to skip the extra baggage and go without. The only thing I took from my second drop bag at this station was another package of Power Bar Gel Blasts. So much for my meticulous preparation and packing.

Aid Station #6: As this was the final checkpoint of the day, I was overwhelmed with excitement when it appeared ahead on the road. I knew there were only twelve miles left to ride and, even though at least half of that was climbing, I still felt optimistic about reaching the end. I talked to a friend who was volunteering at the station, sipped some more Coke, and pedaled out enthusiastically. That lasted for about ten minutes, until my back started complaining again and my knees joined the party and it seemed like the climbing would never end. One guy actually threw a shouting, swearing fit about the horror and unfairness of it all after we turned a corner and saw another climb winding into the distance. I felt his pain, but it wasn’t exactly like the race promoters put the mountain there.

The Finish: I rode the downhills into the finish area like a freaking bat out of hell, which was cool since I am not usually the best descender. Even the other riders on the trail yielded to my requests to pass, since I was clearly not going to go anything other than breakneck speed. When I passed the grassy area where Steve had his aerial peeing display last year (I could explain, but really that says it all), I knew the end was so close. Crossing the finish line felt blurry and awesome and long overdue, yet surprisingly quick in a Can’t-Believe-I’m-Done-Already kind of way. I smashed the finishers’ gong with everything I had left in me (nothing), collected my pint glass, and that was the end.

At the finish. I love the completely dead, empty look in my eyes.

The Good: For the first six hours, I was riding strong and hard with the guys. My legs felt good, I rocked the technical sections and cleaned parts that herds of men were walking, and I rode steadily up the climbs and quickly on the flats. When it came to the downhills, I was so thrilled to not be climbing and so eager to keep up a fast pace that I bombed through everything, even the loose, rocky sections with drops. One guy at a checkpoint even told me that I “descend beautifully” and another guy on the trail commented that I was riding faster and stronger than “seventy other guys back there.” Compliments like that felt pretty awesome, especially when they were about parts of my riding that aren’t often my strongest.

Last year, my biggest problem was a crippling fear of riding on loose, off-camber descents along drop-offs. It was so bad in places that I had to walk just to get through sections without panicking. This time around, I didn’t even look at the drop-offs; I rode carefully, enjoyed the flow of the downhills, and followed the wheel of the guy in front of me. It was a big boost to my confidence, especially when I was able to pull off technical descents despite being really fatigued. By the end of the race, I was in a swamp of discomfort and exhaustion, but I stayed on the bike, crawled steadily up the climbs, and rolled cleanly through the descents.

I was also lucky enough to not have a single crash, mechanical, flat, or cramp during the entire day.

The Bad: From shortly after Aid Station #4 until halfway to Aid Station #6, I hunched on the bike in survival mode and struggled to just keep turning the pedals. When riders would pass and ask how I was doing, it took everything to not cry and instead say cheerfully through gritted teeth, “I’m in a world of hurt. It’s GREAT! And you?” Going so slowly also meant that I rode almost entirely alone along long, empty fireroads. It felt very desolate and while I knew I was not going to quit, the thought was definitely in my head.

Eating and drinking also presented a problem. I was working so hard through the whole ride that food sounded terrible and even drinking was a chore, which meant that I was continually undernourished and slowly trying to force down chewy blobs of energy food. If I had managed to eat more, the suffer-fest would probably have been somewhat reduced.

The Ugly: One guy I was riding with noticed the dirt streaked all over my face and commented that I looked like a guy from Kiss or a freaky circus clown. He was right.

Couldn’t Have Done It Without You: The event volunteers. The Log Posse. The awesome racers I rode with who kept me pedaling all day long. Bobby, who had to share a tent and an air mattress with the most fidgety, restless sleeper on the planet. My mother, who kept Kobe and Scoot entertained all weekend. My father, who used our absence to fix all of the home repair issues with our condo. Sue Haywood, for providing tips on improving my technical skills and for approaching me after the race (and thrilling me and the whole Log Posse in the process). Megan, the waitress at Bob Evans who is forever scarred by having to serve the Log Posse a post-camping breakfast feast in which Arne tried to “shoehorn” (thanks for the word, Steve) an entire other meal into his order as a replacement for a small side of eggs. The maker of Handi-Wipes.

Sue Haywood, fresh and perky after winning the race, and me, drained and filthy.

Final Time: 11 hours, 11 minutes. My goal was to finish in under 12 hours. I am satisfied.

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September 8th 2009 | Posted in Biking, Friends, The Log Posse

(5) Days of Summer

When I first left my job, I had big plans for how much fun Bobby and I were going to have together. There was talk of making a list of fifty “must-do” activities, and we planned to make each day our own version of a summer vacation. That didn’t happen. There were some good times, but more often than not the days would either creep by in a swamp of apathetic boredom or fly by in a whirlwind of crossing off to-do list items. The lack of money also scared us into trying to be cheap.

Once I found a job and had an official start date, though, we got serious and decided to go all out for my last week of not working. Each day was going to have an agenda and we were going to cram as much excitement into that week as two people reasonably could. The promise of future income also encouraged me to cash in my savings to help us enjoy the week without restraint (or responsibility).

In the end, it was a wonderful week. We had only intended to “vacation” from Monday through Friday, but with Bobby’s birthday falling on the following Monday, it ended up feeling like a Monday through Monday party. The one remarkable thing about the whole experience was how much eating we did; every fun activity was bookended by a meal and every meal was another excuse to indulge and celebrate our vacation. As a result, I had to add a third wheel to my bicycle and a second mortgage to my house.

Now the vacation is done and I’m back in suits and high heels, sitting in a cubicle under glaring flourescent lights. In order to remember the epic Staycation of 2009, I’ve documented each day so that they can be remembered fondly when work has carved my fragile soul into shreds.

Monday
The week started with a trip to the Reston Zoo, a small, local collection of generally non-carnivorous creatures formerly known as the Pet-a-Pet Farm. Bobby and I were invited to join my friend Mary and her adorable 18-month-old daughter who, as it turned out, was not a big fan of any animals that moved or made noise. I also discovered that motherhood means always having a delicious buffet of food in your purse and being willing to wipe goose shit off a small pink shoe with a single baby wipe. The animals were interesting, especially the mating tortoises and the camel that chased down and aggressively mouthed the upper arm of a grumpy old man.



Later that afternoon, we met up with several members of the Log Posse for a ride. I was only supposed to be doing a recovery ride, which I used as an excuse for being lazy and going painfully slowly. Arne waxed poetic about how Wakefield Park smelled like trash, Bobby kept trying to go back to the car, Mike rode like he was training for the Olympics, and Steve scared a deer away from a major highway by being uncharacteristically (ha!) loud. A good time was had by all.

I capped off that night by staying up far too late watching a movie starring Hilary Duff that I am ashamed to have ever seen.

Tuesday
I was on my own today and had made plans to have lunch with friends, but then got an email from my mother saying that my grandmother was still in the hospital and was not doing well. I changed plans immediately and instead drove into downtown DC (using directions my mom gave me that I’m certain were actually intended to lead to Ohio) to see my grandma. As expected, she was very weak and sick, but could still manage her characteristic grace and dry, snarky zip, especially with the priest who was also visiting her and sharing stories about all of the people in their congregation who had recently died.

After she kicked me out for the day, I met my father for a shopping trip at Performance Bike. He’s gotten into biking recently and wanted assistance in choosing some new clothes for riding. We shopped, I made him try on every single article of clothing in the store as well as a handlebar or two, and he left with two nice looking, sporty, non-spandex outfits. I then met my mom for dinner, where I reaffirmed that (1) her new BlackBerry Storm touch screen is a nightmare for anyone with real fingers and (2) my mother can make anyone do anything just by talking to them enough. It’s an impressive skill; I’ll have her call you and by the time you two hang up the phone, her mortgage will be in your name and you’ll be paying it.

The night ended with another embarrassingly stupid movie starring absolutely nobody noteworthy, compliments of i-Tunes’ weekly $.99 rental offer. That was ninety minutes of my life I’ll never get back.

Wednesday
This day was supposed to start bright and early with a perky breakfast and a happy trip into DC to see the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History; instead Bobby and I woke up groggy and then bickered for an hour. Once I was done holding a grudge and hiding under the bedspread, we headed downtown and decided to begin our visit by having lunch. After debating between Teaism (new to us, healthy, packed) or Oyamel (our favorite, delicious, packed), we settled on Oyamel and had a fantastic lunch with amazingly crappy service yet again. Seriously, what is it about us that says “Please seat us at a wafer-sized table in a mosh pit and then ignore us”?

We made it to the Natural History Museum just in time to catch the last two IMAX 3D shows, “Dinosaurs: Giants of Patagonia” and “Deep Sea 3D”. The former was entertaining because the 3D effect meant the dinosaurs were literally ripping apart flesh in your face, but wasn’t nearly long enough. Evidently actual film footage of dinosaurs is in short supply. The deep sea show was excellent, with extensive ocean video, adorable snapping scallops, and delightful fish swimming right past our noses. Less excellent was the way every child in the audience felt the need to “grab” the schools of 3D creatures, resulting in a sea of tiny flapping arms and flailing toddlers. Revenge came in the form of three-dimensional angry, aggressive squid scaring the shit out of every fidgety little person.

After spending approximately ninety minutes taking in several extensive floors of natural history, Bobby and I were sufficiently bored and left in search of food. Because, you know, like six minutes had passed since I felt full to the point of queasiness. We settled on grabbing a snack at Teaism, which morphed quickly into grabbing a full dinner and dessert, not because we were actually hungry but rather because there was a menu with food on it. Our day in DC ended just in time to enjoy the climax of rush-hour traffic.

The plan for Thursday was a trip to the beach and, after a quick examination of my closet showed I had nothing appropriate in which to swim, we went to Target so I could try on every unflattering bikini in stock. When Bobby vetoed the very best option, an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, unattractive blue bikini, I settled on a cute $7.98 bikini bottom that I could reasonably pair with a black sports bra. The night ended with a rushed trip to get lattes from Starbucks before they closed so we could read in Barnes & Noble before they too closed. Why must these places close for the night?! Didn’t they know I was unemployed and had all the time in the world to sleep later?

Thursday
After checking the weather for Rehoboth Beach on Wednesday night and seeing that Thursday looked stormy, we moved the beach trip to Friday. The plan for Friday had been a movie day to help us recover from our beach trip, but with nothing from which to recover, I wasn’t about to make Thursday movie day and plant my butt on the couch for the twelve hours. Bobby didn’t mind the change of plans, except for the part where he kept sighing, “So much for movie day…”

The morning was spent doing…nothing, maybe? I can’t recall doing anything remarkable. There was a recovery ride somewhere in there, and I know I showered and even *gasp* blow-dried my hair. Then I dragged Bobby to the bike shop so I could get my bike checked out for the millionth time this season. After that, we got frozen yogurt and decided to kill some time before going to pick up the pizza we were getting for dinner. My choice of activity was to get a glass of wine at Passionfish, a fancy new seafood restaurant with comfortable outdoor seating. Bobby was inordinately full from his frozen yogurt and perched uncomfortably on an armchair the whole time, grimacing at me and refusing to order anything. (His version of the story would probably go something like, “Lindsay ignored what I wanted to do, made me sit in the blazing sun, and spent money she didn’t have on wine and ceviche she didn’t need in order to spoil her appetite for dinner.” But if he wants to tell that version, maybe he should start his own website.)

After Passionfish, we picked up the pizza I was no longer hungry for and went home to watch “Bart Got A Room”, a random indie movie that turned out to be adorable. I also read a trashy novel called “Daddy’s Girls” that my mother gave me, but in retrospect, that admission should probably be saved for a time when I am at gunpoint.

Friday
Kobe had some, um, stomach issues on Thursday night (problems Bobby described as “explosive”), so it came as no surprise when I woke up at 6:30am to see that Kobe had “issued” all over the bedroom carpet. Horrified but exhausted, I pointed out the mess to Bobby and then the two of us went back to sleep for another thirty minutes. Gross, I know, but we needed sleep before our long day and it’s not like the poop was going to, like, run around and make a bigger mess while it waited for us.

We got on the road to the beach at 10am, an hour later than planned, and I spent the entire drive making Bobby reassure me that we would still have time to have fun. I whined as we crossed the Bay Bridge, as we stopped at a gas station where I refused to use the Port-o-John, and as we crawled through downtown Rehoboth towards the beach. I didn’t stop fussing until just after 2pm, when I stuck a toe in the ocean, lost it to hypothermia, realized there was no way I would ever need a full day to be in that frigid water, and promptly shut up.

The beach was completely packed, probably because I had us set up on the sand along the busiest stretch of the Boardwalk, but once we settled in it was actually quite nice. The water took some getting used to and never really warmed up, but I’m proud to say Bobby and I went in all the way on two different occasions. We also laid in the sun reading (hel-LO “Daddy’s Girls”!) and strolled around the Rehoboth Avenue shops on our trips to feed hundreds of quarters into the parking meter. I bought a foam football to toss around in the water, which was cool except for the part where it filled up with water and felt like a sack of bricks slamming into my hands. To stay warm and avoid the pain of catching the ball, I had Bobby throw it 15 feet away from me so I could swim frantically to grab it. You know, like a Labrador Retriever.

After spending the afternoon on the beach, we changed clothes and had dinner at a decent restaurant. Our waiter was a friendly guy in his twenties with the intellect of a stapler; he tried to list the beer options, couldn’t remember more than a few, excused hemself to go find out, came back out to recite them, and promptly forgot them all again. It bcame a running joke that ran on for the fifteen years it took for him to remember to bring us our food and eventually our check.

The last thing I wanted to make sure we did at the beach was visit the two Boardwalk rides I loved as a kid: the Haunted Mansion and the Sea Dragon. We waited in line for thirty minutes to see the campy but entertaining haunted house, and then spent another ten minutes waiting to get a good seat on the Sea Dragon. That one was a delightful scream-inducer that made me want to puke afterwards. Not enough, however, to keep me from capping off the night with a Kohr Bros dip-top frozen custard and a final walk on the beach.


We left Rehoboth an hour later than planned, putting us on the road at 11pm and home, sandy and sunburned, at a painful 2am. Then we went out and danced the night away. HA! Who am I kidding? We passed out immediately and slept until 10am the next day.

Since this post is already epically long, I will summarize the events of Saturday, Sunday, and Monday as succinctly as possible: We ate, there was a Log Posse incident with an inflatable rocket, we ate, Bobby turned 27, and we ate. I also recovered from the sunburn that had scorched the middle of my back during our trip to the beach, which was coincidentally the only section I’d asked Bobby to cover with sunscreen. I wiped my butt on his birthday card in return.

This week was not the trip to Costa Rica I wish I could have taken and it didn’t involve anything particularly wild or extravagant, but looking back on it now, it makes me pretty damn happy to think about all the good times. Three cheers for Staycation 2009!

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August 13th 2009 | Posted in Biking, Bobby, Family, Friends, Life, The Log Posse, Travel

Log Posse Story: Words are not required.




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August 9th 2009 | Posted in Friends, The Log Posse

Meet the Log Posse

Bobby and I ride with a group of friends that are collectively known as the Log Posse. We met them in the later part of 2008 and have been riding, eating, drinking, and being very loud and highly inappropriate with them ever since. They’ll be coming up in future posts (and were also giving me a hard time about not mentioning them sooner), so I’d like to introduce you to each Posse member.

Arne:

Arne is the founding father of the Posse. He’s ancient (circa 1300 BC) and wise and if I have a question about what bike to buy, how to refinance my house, or how to overcome crippling depression, Arne will have an answer. He also has heard of every musical artist since cavemen (probably his old neighbors) banged sticks on rocks to make rhythmic sounds. Arne has a slight obsession with promptness, with unsurprisingly conflicts with my slight obsession with being late.

Nicky:

Nicky is like a badass, metalhead cheerleader. You meet her and she seems sweet and perky, and then suddenly she’ll come out with some of the most outrageously awesome, not-fit-for-printing-here profane things. She is also extremely rubbery and resilient – no crash dampens her spirit, even if said crash results in a hole in her body in which you could store a grapefruit. Petite Nicky is married to toweringly tall Arne and keeps both him and their gigantic Great Dane in line using nothing but iron fists.

Steve:

Steve is truly a snowflake; I’ve never met a more unique person in my life. He is an exceptional biker who is afraid of nothing and immune to pain. Steve will try riding over any log, any rock, any cliff and will do so until he rides it successfully, even if he finishes with ribs poking out of his torso. He also likes to buy bike parts at deeply discounted prices, collect everything in the Universe in his Man Room (and parade each item out for a show-and-tell when we go to his house), eat unbelievable amounts of cheese, pass gas regularly (likely related to the former), and remind me that I am on THIN ICE for not riding with the Posse enough. There is not enough space in this post – no – this Internet to adequately describe Steve, so I will stop here.

Jenny:

Jenny only rides a mountain bike when absolutely required, but is an active member of the group and also the one most likely to reorganize your refrigerator, plan your birthday party using a color-coded Gantt chart, or understand how to turn your discarded eggplant crate into something gorgeous for which I would happily pay $50 to have in my home. Deep down, I think Jenny is my twin sister, except more ladylike and with better style and taste. Jenny has been dating Steve for six years, despite his early attempts to falsely convince his family that Jenny was trying to steal their good silver.

Mike:

Mike knows literally everything: the name of the lead singer of that obscure band from the 70s, the chemical compounds in cyanoacrylate, the color of the underwear you wore last Thursday, and everything else in between. This talent has earned him the name “Factard” and the hatred of anyone trapped in a Trivial Pursuit game with him. Mike is also evidently able to buy a bicycle wheel for every day of the year, although that claim has not been tested. He doesn’t often ride with the Posse, but the guy can haul ass down a mountain when the urge moves him.

Amy:

Amy is the newest member of the Posse, but also one of the most enthusiastic riders. If anyone anywhere mentions the prospect of riding, she’s in, even if the offer is to ride over hot coals or to ride through dung-filled swamps. Amy also likes to collect injuries and scars, and recently extracted a long thorn from her leg that had been imbedded from a ride three weeks earlier. She also enjoys poking campfires.

Bobby:

Bobby is no stranger to this site. The Posse calls him FunChip because he will dig through any serving of tortilla chips, both in the privacy of a home or in the public space of a restaurant, just to find oddly-shaped chips. When it comes to riding, Bobby likes to shave years off my life by trying to ride whatever insane thing Steve just rode, whether that is a five-foot high log pile or a unicycle. Lately the Posse has developed a fondness for watching Bobby wiggle his pectoral muscles.

Lindsay:

Yeah, whatever, this whole site is an endless introduction to me Me ME, I don’t think you need any more. If somebody else from the Posse were to write my bio, they’d probably say something like “Lindsay likes to ride her bike ALONE WITHOUT THE POSSE [which is not true; I just have to train a lot], Lindsay eats a lot of weird, healthy food, Lindsay likes fancy or fruity beers, and Lindsay is always late.”

Each member brings their own charm and unique qualities to the group and when you put all of us together, like last night at a Mexican restaurant in Bethesda, the combination is hysterically funny and deeply offensive to anyone nearby. At the risk of being superbly cheesy (although Steve would probably enjoy that), I am so glad to know these people and be part of their group. They’re those friends you can’t imagine not having at your wedding, the friends who will take you out to dinner when you have a crappy week, who will show up at your first big race of the season to cheer you on, and who will be delighted when you fart in public.

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August 2nd 2009 | Posted in Friends, The Log Posse