Lots of Talking

I think it's safe to say that I'm not entirely honest when I write this blog. Because I'd really prefer that the casual reader envies me, rather than pitying me, I'm never going to air dirty laundry, talk in detail about friendships or relationships, or give too much air time to the negative emotions that we all have to deal with at some point or another.  It's a delicious truism of the blogosphere that no one ever reads what you write until you put your foot in your mouth--and then suddenly everyone is reading. (As a quiet, creepy blog reader I relish it when a distant acquaintance overshares in public...)

All this to say, this post will be a little more "dear diary" than most. Maybe because I haven't raced or traveled in a bit, or maybe because I have some stuff to process.

So I'm leaving in the fall. I'm doing it. I've said it every year since graduation, but now I'm doing it. I've just spent an embarrassing number of hours reading the posts at Geargals and I think Jill is my new favorite person. She steals the thoughts out of my head and writes them down way more articulately than I could ever manage, all while wielding power tools and fearlessly playing in the snow. I aspire to all of these things. She described what I want to do as a walkabout, which is just right; I know where I'll end up, when all is said and done, but I have to put the time in first. I need to run away from the homeland, the cushy place of easy, easy living and glorious trails and awesome people, and just get some damn experience out there in the big scary world.

I'm very envious of my friends that can drop everything and live the nomad's life on a whim. After living in the same apartment for all my adult years, I took an entire month to move into a friend's house four blocks away. I've done some hardcore purging of my possessions and tamed my acquisitive nature (no more buying clothes, ever, but I can't seem to stop spending money on my sexy, demanding bike). In this very slow, very timid little endeavor, I've found that I am not a hoarder, not overly attached to stuff, and that I can force myself to be organized and (almost) tidy when necessary. Good things to know, because if I want to take this party west, I'll need to simplify even more, be even more frugal, and to keep my shit together.

I really hate Brevard sometimes, for all of the same reasons I love it. Everyone freaking knows me. This is not gross egotism speaking, it's just a result of growing up in the bakery, going to school here, and becoming a part of the very large outdoor community. I really, really didn't want everyone to know I was planning to jump ship, but of course it leaked, and now I get the same questions every day. Where in Cali? How long? Why? So you've found a job, right?

It's okay though, because now I'm being held accountable. If I don't skedaddle come leaf season, I'll have to face another six months of conversations about it. It's all in kindness, of course, but I really. Really. Really don't like talking about myself and my plans to all the well-meaning customers and acquaintances in this little town. I'm a hermit at heart, obviously.

So. Watch this space, I guess. Also, some pics might surface eventually of wonderful weddings and picturesque bike rides...but I can't make any promises.

The Good

These days have seen a steady progression of pleasant events. The goings-on in my life conspire to make me feel like a complete and contented person, at least for the time being. It's funny how much I vacillate between utter bliss and antsy wanderlust, although if those are my only two settings, I really don't have anything to complain about.

Since Morgan took a wild hare and signed up for the 111k, it was only fitting that we spend a morning clambering over the top of Black Mountain. It was a stellar ride that left us both grinning. I've been doing the same sports for long enough and with enough consistency that I rarely take inventory of fitness gains, but climbing Black I definitely noticed. The whole ride was almost effortless and didn't feel much harder than the Big M. I only put myself in the pain cave on the road home, sprinting to make it to work on time.

Like I mentioned, the John Rock trail race was next up on the agenda. The parking lot was filled with locals and those poor interlopers who wished they were locals. I was reminded how cool the running community is around here: Baker Bill (of course), Cason, Jackie, Sara, Wild Bill, Chanley, Sadie, Mr and Mrs Squirrel, the dude who works at the Hatchery...It was a good scene.

The race was short and the stakes were high (just kidding) so I decided to lay it all out there, which I neverever do in running races. The kilometers ticked by and I continued to feel like a baller, and this time I took it a bit easy on the descent, not wanting to jeopardize the surprise lead. I finished twelfth overall with Chanley breathing down my back as the second woman. A beautiful day, an energizing run, and mad props from everyone--an unbeatable combination.

On Sunday my little sis persuaded me to crash a high school pick-up game, which left me sunburned, bruised, battered, and wickedly stoked on life.

It's not just the sporting life that has been treating me well. Work is going smoothly, my taxes are safely filed, the daffodils are blooming under my window. Of late there have been many memorable get-togethers and social gatherings, evenings of Wii, burritos, Coors Light, sing-alongs, club-hopping, fire-sitting, beard-stroking, playing catch-up with old friends and meeting new, going home with someone I really like at the end of the night...

No, I certainly can't complain.

Pain Please

After a couple weeks of rather shameful sloth, this weekend I endeavored to hurt myself in a variety of ways. First up was the Mind Over Mountain 15k, a tiny inaugural trail race in SC. On a wet Saturday morning we wound up out of Jones Gap State Park and for the first four or so miles, despite picturesque waterfalls and splendid views, I was vaguely disappointed with the terrain. "Not for beginner trail runners or the faint of heart," boasted the race description. "Do not underestimate the difficulty of this course." C'mon, my inner mountain goat bleated. Gimme the goods. Then the trail pitched straight up endless staircases à la Art Loeb or Presley, and my elevation fiend was satiated. The race topped out at Caesar's Head then plunged southward again. I had been chilling on the climb but the downhill was so long, so sweet that I gave it my all, chasing dudes down and bounding through dry creek beds, praying I wouldn't place a foot wrong and smash my face on the waiting rocks. 


Totally awesome.

The next morning, my calves crying out for respite, I joined a gang of 111k hopefuls to ride Laurel-Pilot from the shop. We had a more epic ride planned but the 15 miles of climbing before Laurel, the plummeting temps, and CB's untimely mechanicals deterred us and we hauled ass home on the road, leaving bonking and frozen friends behind us like decapitated soldiers in the Mekong Delta. 


One might, if one were so inclined, argue that I should've gone snowboarding that chilly, snowy day, instead of Tuesday, which was sunny and 60°. Pshaw. Hungry to get in one last evening on the slopes, I cajoled Chuck and Dan into accompanying me, and for what it's worth we had a good time on the stupid icy runs...minus a couple of painful yardsails. I still suck at snowboarding (three trips does not an expert make, no matter how much it frustrates me) but oh man is it fun. 


This weekend brings with it the John Rock 8k in which all the local runners talk shit and throw down for bragging rights appreciated only by few. I can't wait! 




As usual, no pics because a: the internet does not deign to acknowledge my existence and b: ain't got no camera. 

Oh Yeah, That Trip...

only a month late...thanks to mitch, sarah, and brad for the lovely pics...

someone should make a movie about us

waco, tx: happiest place on earth...
right? 

a very fine looking bunch of rumps

there's a first time for everything

having entirely too much fun.
must remember to make serious face during races

in other news, after standing still for what has felt like a very long time, i've taken some small steps forward (with larger steps to come). my secret new year's resolution was "get out and get some", and also to a lesser extent "try new things"...more ambitious than my usual resolutions, but surprisingly successful so far.

i don't mean to be cryptic, but i'll spill more when i've held myself to my own promises. i don't want to jinx it by showing my hand too early. 

And Then the Icycle

To the amusement of our cabinmates, we rolled into Fontana around 10:30 PM and piled out of the heavily weighed-down Purple People Eater, reeking of swamp rot and Chinese food, outfitted in camo and full of somewhat-entertaining anecdotes.

The next morning we were all stoked to race, because as everyone knows, road trips are the perfect preparation for competition: dehydration, sleep-deprivation, countless hours in the car, a glut of country music, a dearth of coffee, debilitating starvation and/or heinous over-consumption (depending on whether you ask the boys or the girls).

Needless to say, Dan won. And Sheedy won. And Geoff B won. And Sarah raced her first expert race LIKE A BOSS. And I won. And then I sort of tumbled down the hill during the night DH, and then sort of started eating Oreos and drinking and dancing, as you will have at the Icycle. As usual it was a weekend of joyful festivities with intermittent and only quasi-serious bike racing sprinkled in, and I think as usual everyone had a great time.

Ode to the Road

Once upon a time the BC team drove to Fort Collins for road nationals, and I was admittedly a little disappointed. Every road trip movie and book ever made has lead me to believe that the experience should be chock full of camaraderie, gut-busting laughter, spontaneous ridiculousness, annoying inside jokes, too much food, not enough sleep.

Years later, I finally got my wish.

We assembled a crack squad of road trippers, based off two important criteria: desire to ride bikes somewhere new, and ability to get time off work. Somehow this rigorous selection process yielded a foursome that meshed perfectly. 

I have access to no photos as of yet, so use your imagination.
Here we are brandishing Mitch's arsenal on a debris-littered gun range.
We're wearing so much camo that all you can see is
surreal floating torsos and heads. 

We started the trip off on an unbeatable high note--embracing our inner rednecks in the hinterland of southwestern Arkansas, where Dan's BFF Mitch outfitted us with all the guns, off-road vehicles, and Natty Ice necessary to fully appreciate the splendor that is the south. Fueled by a heavy meal from Country Vittles (the jewel of Crossett, AR), we ventured out into the ragged swamplands to shoot clays, knock over deer stands, splash through as much parasite-ridden mud as possible, and generally make asses of ourselves.

Here we are, dry and happy in sunny Waco,
which is apparently the best town ever,
home as it is to Uncle Dan's BBQ, the taco shack, and Cameron Park. 

Obviously we were sad to leave, but our next stop made up for it. Cameron Park in Waco, TX provided hours of thoroughly entertaining mountain biking on roller coaster trails that made the Floridians giggle. Then we stuffed ourselves with excellent BBQ and hightailed it to Austin.

Unfortunately, rain and storms dogged our step. Austin received something like 50% of its annual rainfall during our visit, which elicited from us a hearty WTF?! Of course, there were still Goodwills to troll, Texmex to consume, Mellow Johnny's to explore, exorbitantly expensive and beautiful cowboy boots for Sarah to buy, and so many bars to hop. Sixth Street had it all in spades: billiards, dubstep, mechanical bulls, fantastic margaritas, swanky hotels, crispy bleached blonde girl bands, and bearded dude blues.

Here we are presenting our muddy posteriors,
the aftermath of a day of mountain bike misadventures in Austin. 

Which is not to say we didn't try to ride in Austin. A foray into the slippery, silty Barton Greenbelt was entertaining if somewhat frustrating, but at Rocky Hill Ranch the carnivorous clay devoured our drivetrains and our spirits. The towel was thrown. So what else was there to do but retrace our steps to Waco and play there some more?

And then (why not?) we did some climbing in the sandstone haven of northern Alabama. Which is to say, Dan and Sarah did some climbing and Sarah gently and expertly ushered Chuck and me up the rock. I've gotta say, that bug has bitten me. Anyone have a pair of climbing shoes I can buy?

Here I am scaling a rock face at Palisades Park,
with a determined/constipated grimace on my face.
I was sure I'd never make it to the top. 

And so, to sum it all up (or to "shine the light", as it were): shotguns, mud, Shiner-Bock, cheap motels, expensive hotels, cowboy boots, live music, rock climbing, gubernatorial facial hair. All in all it was a marvelous adventure.

A Few of My Favorite Things

on saturday night most of brevard's best and brightest showed up downtown to herald in erica's thirtieth year, and my goodness it was a good shindig. the ladies were gussied up and the gentlemen were dapper and no one was above boogying down to LMFAO...except a certain councilman, who just played paparazzo all night. i feel so lucky to have such a huge pack of awesome, dance-happy friends.

the next morning the soles of my feet were ragged and my legs were leaden. i missed the early caravan rolling down to charlotte but refused to skip the short track race so i drove myself, aware of the patent absurdity of driving four hours to race forty minutes. sometimes i'm just selfish like that. because lord have mercy, i do love short track. it's the only kind of racing i get. at the start line all the charlotte ladies were aflutter to have a new face in their midst, and a couple of them helpfully explained the race format and pointed out the local favorites. i considered myself warned.

the course was so fun. after the start lap the twelve of us became three, then two. my favorite lap in short track is always the one where you're done playing around, you've figured out the other girls' weaknesses, and it's time for business. that's the kitten shittin' lap, when you look behind you and see faces contorted with pain and disbelief. i crossed the line and actually managed to raise both arms in a half-assed victory salute.

Braaaap

of course, it was the first race of the season. i resolutely refuse to have off or on seasons, i just stay the same year round, so in february when i come back to charlotte i'll probably get my just desserts from women who have been doing their computrainer sessions. but while they head back to their suburban tract housing, my drive home consists of watching the sun set over the still-snowy mountains past the saluda gorge. so that's always kind of a win right there.

Hooray

what a difference a day can make. as 2011 drew to a close i was perhaps a little cranky, a little antsy, feeling schlubby, whatever. the first day of 2012 left me bruised, exhausted, joyful.

after three hours of sleep and three hours of housekeeping, i joined the guys for the sycamore cycles new year's ride. it was warm and sunny and spirits were high despite the aftereffects of the previous night's, um, spirits. because we are all a little stupid, we merrily set off to ride 477 to club gap and over the top of black mountain. on the road i struggled to maintain a conversation with wes while trying to pretend i wasn't dying, but eventually as the trail pitched up, and up, i felt better. i do love technical climbing. and lisa really, really loves it.

of COURSE this was the only picture taken. thanks carlos! 

i think you have to be in the right mood to enjoy black mountain. i think we were all in the right mood. as the sky went crazy overhead and the sun glittered over the pink beds side and storm clouds glowered over the looking glass side and random precipitation soaked us and the wind tugged us towards the precipice, we all smiled and pushed onward. it was dramatically beautiful so of course there wasn't a camera to be found. as usual the downhill was big and scary and fun. i went ass-over-teakettle into one of the most egregious wheel-swallowers past turkey pen, but lived to tell the tale.

so now that i have remembered how to ride a bike, i think perhaps i will race one. the first snake creek tt is this weekend and i've convinced morgan to come along for some north georgia suffering. then maybe some charlotte short track, because as everyone knows short track is the most wonderful thing there is. then THE ICYCLE, which is also the most wonderful thing there is. it may very well be a good january.