Reaching for Water

Spending lots of time on the roadbike has improved my speed and endurance more than I ever thought possible. Unfortunately, my bike handling skills are lagging so far behind that the gap is becoming almost comical.

What's causing some frustration at the moment, is that I can't drink water on the bike while in motion. Other cyclists will nonchalantly remove their water bottle from the cage without reducing speed, drink while continuing to cycle as if this were the most natural thing in the world, then replace the bottle in the cage and keep going as if it never happened. For me this maneuver is impossible to execute; I need to stop the bike in order to drink.

Prior to now this was never a problem. For the most part I cycled alone, and if I needed a drink I simply stopped the bike any time I felt like it. And the paceline rides I went on were only 20 miles, plus our stops at intersections were sufficient to sneak a quick guzzle. But now that I am going on longer rides and with groups of people, I am finding it more difficult to manage my water intake. I need to learn to drink without stopping the bike!

It's just so sad, because I've been practicing the water thing since summer, but progressing at a snail's pace. I can now grab the bottle with my left hand, but the bike jerks wildly when I attempt to yank it out of the cage. And if I do pull it out, what on earth will I do with it? Should I need to turn or stop the bike suddenly, will I be able to do it with one hand holding a bottle? Panic! Panic! Swerve! Panic! Yes, I am really that neurotic.

It doesn't help matters that I am extremely resistant to being taught. "No, really! If I could do it, so can you. Look, I'll teach you." Yeah... Suffice to say, I've never met a well-meaning cyclist whom I couldn't frustratewith my inability to learn technique. So, for now I'm stuck drinking water at stops and gazing in awe at those who can drink while cycling. Maybe some day I will read this post and laugh. Till then, I can only resume my snail's progress.

Waxwing and Mountain Ash Berries

With the cold weather hanging on for another night, I figured I would get up early and drive to Grand Marais to photograph the steam behind the lighthouse. What I wasn't figuring on were the thousands of Waxwings that were hanging out in the various trees in the Grand Marais campground. I found one area where all the Mountain Ash berries had blown off the trees and down onto the ground. I watched as hundreds of Waxwings hopped around amongst the berries, choking them down just as fast as they could pick them up. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to isolate this one bird against the backdrop of berries. It is my favorite shot of the morning.

Sunflowers

School Days in D.C.

It was the fall of 1921 when my father started kindergarten at Wheatley Elementary on Neal Street NE near Gallaudet University. His sister, Catherine dragged him by the hand, and he cried all the way. The teacher kept asking him his name, and he told her “Yorgo” which must have mystified her. He wouldn’t do anything she told him because he didn’t understand her. Things did not go well that first day. School life improved, however, once it was established that he couldn’t speak English, although he soon learned. He remembers being the only Greek in the class. The only other kid he remembers then was Harry Chase -the boy up the street who did scary shows in his basement. (Isn’t there always one?)

Meanwhile, in Mount Pleasant, my mother was having her own troubles starting school at HD Cooke Elementary on Bryant Street. She didn’t like it, and vaguely remembers being locked in a closet. She was very shy all through school. Then, in 1929, the family moved to the brand new Broadmoor Apartment Building on Connecticut Avenue and Porter Streets. The children in the building were provided with a little bus that took them to John Eaton on Lowell Street every day. One of those children was John Hechinger who would grow up to be a hardware magnate. My mother’s only good memory of John Eaton was the bakery truck which came around at recess. Her biggest decision each day was choosing the eclair or a cinnamon bun.

My father’s family moved to Cleveland Park in 1927, and so Dad was at John Eaton as well. He remembers that bakery truck, and that it was from the Holmes Bakery. He also remembers that John Eaton was bigger than Wheatley and had a better playground. He and his sister walked from Macomb Street until Dad got a bike. That year the school system established a student patrol. Between owning a bike and getting a recommendation from his neighbor, Mr. Burka, of Burka’s liquors, Dad became captain of the first boy patrol in the city.

Washington Tech High school, (now McKinley) was built in 1929, and Dad’s big sister, Catherine decided she wanted to go there because it was the new, and they offered the latest in Home Economics. He remembers it was a big school on T street in Northeast. When Dad graduated from John Eaton the next year, he had to go there as well to keep an eye on his sister. Their father would drive them across the city every morning, and they’d take the street car home. When Catherine finished, Dad was allowed to go to Western (now Duke Ellington) as a sophomore.

By then he had a car since he had lied about his age to get a license. He remembers saving fuel by coasting down Macomb street, but he had to use gas to get home again so he would charge his buddies 15 cents for a ride. Amongst his friends was Carl Langmark whose family was Danish. His dad was their phys ed teacher at Western. Another friend, Malcolm Levi, was fairly well off. His dad was vice president of the Hecht Company. (Malcolm later helped Dad get that instrumental job picking up hangers.)
One of Dad’s life long friends from Western was Jerry Peake. Jerry’s dad had died, and Jerry had two jobs- one on a bakery truck and one at Sidwell Friends’ golf range. In exchange for the golf job, Dad would ride Jerry on his bike up Wisconsin Ave to the golf range where they would both pick up balls.

Dad didn’t like school very much, but he was on the track team. He remembers running against big 18 year olds since there was no age limit back then. He had a red uniform which he kept when he graduated. Later his younger brother, Nick wore it to school and was yelled at because Dad was supposed to have turned it in. (Nick ended up going on to the brand new Wilson High School in Tenleytown as soon as it was open.)

Dr Newton was the principal at Western. He was a pleasant man with a little white goatee. They called him “Fig” which tells you how old that cookie is. The vice principal was Nelson Stricter. Dad also remembers going to dances. His mother always let him go if he was home by 10 and didn’t dance with any girls.

My mother’s memories are more vague . She remembers having a scary English teacher who seemed 95 years old and made them read their pieces out loud. She stayed home from school just to avoid that, but when she came back, she still had to read her paper. She remembers students were supposed to eat in the cafeteria, but the “hep” kids would hang out during lunch at the corner stores across from the school on 35th Street.

Neither set of parents came to their graduations in the big beautiful auditorium which is still functioning as a theater for Duke Ellington School of the Arts. They were all probably working. Dad graduated in 1933 and went to GW when he wasn’t making money to keep the car going. Mom graduated in February 1935 in the same pastel blue dress which she would get married in a few months later. She got an office job on K Street and filed papers until Memorial Day-and that’s the day everything changed for them.

Mountain Bikes... Approaching the Beast

Of all the lakes in the vicinity, I had to fall in love with the one on top of a mountain, accessible only via a steep rough gravel road. I have been up there in a car with friends a few times now. But what I really want is to be able to go on my own - ideally without motorised help. My tentative plan was to ride up the paved part of the mountain on my roadbike, then hike the remaining 2 miles up the gravel lake road - either leaving my bike hidden in the woods below or dragging it along.




"Or..." said my friend Keith, "I can lend you my mountain bike, and you can ride all the way up through the woods."




Quickly I began to mutter something about it being too much trouble, but Keith saw right through that and laughed."No it's not, we ride the same size bike. Lower the saddle and off you go."




Damn. Quick, say something to make this sound like a bad idea, I thought. But I could come up with nothing, other than the truth - that I feared the mountain bike. That I would rather sit through a root canal than have to ride one 6 miles up a winding forest path with 1,500 feet of climbing, and then - gulp! - back down.








But I said none of these things. And two days later I found this propped against the side of the house when I came home.




So... Oh my God, I don't know where to start. Beefy aluminum frame, suspension fork, 2" knobby tires, narrow straight handlebars, disc brakes, and a drivetrain with a triple crankset and thumb shifters. The bike is a Carrera Kraken- an inhouse brand of the UK department store Halfords. However, this is not a "department store bike," as the concept is known in the US. According to locals in the know, Halfords actually sells very decent quality budget road and mountain bikes. Keith's bike is a good few years old and everything is a little rusty - though it all works fine.







The bike is a Small (16" frame with a 56mm virtual top tube) and the fit feels pretty good to me. I wouldn't mind it if the handlebars were a tad lower, but what do I know about mountain bike sizing (how upright are you supposed to be?).



What took the most getting used to was the super-high bottom bracket.I kept playing around with the saddle height and it took me a while to set it properly; I couldn't believe how high I had to make it in order to get good leg extension. Being on the bike felt a little strange at first as well - so high off the ground! The disc brakes are insanely grippy, especially the front, but modulating them became intuitive with some practice.Slowly, the fear began to turn to curiosity.





I spent an easy afternoon with the bike, just trying to get to know it and get comfortable with the idea of riding it. There is a back road with some steep pitches just outside my door, as well as woodsy stretches of dirt, gravel and grass I could try. Skeptical that on a bike this beastly-looking I could handle the long steep climb up to the lake, one thing I wanted to do was see how it went uphill. As it turned out, not bad - even on pavement, with those knobby tires. The gearing is low enough to climb a fairly steep pitch seated, so I don't have to worry about stalling out. Standing up on the pedals feels different than on a roadbike - like I have to heave myself forward more forcefully to get my butt off the saddle - but once I got used to it, it was fine. And descending felt much, much nicer and less scary than I anticipated - the bike has an easy, tame feel to it when going around bends.



So... I think I am ready to try riding this thing to the lake and back. The path through the woods is winding dirt for the first part (with roots and things, but nothing too bad), then loose rough chunky gravel for the final stretch. There is nothing technical there, so if I can take 6 miles of straight climbing on a mountain bike and then not get scared and do anything stupid on the descent, I should be fine. And look: I will be using this bike for transportation to the lake, not for "mountain biking" as such, so please don't think this is the beginning of an interest in mountain bikes. I mean, that would be crazy.

Anise Swallowtail Caterpillar

Anise Swallowtail in the making.

Leics Round 10 - Burrough Hill to Launde Abbey via Owston and Withcote

With Marta. Fine day, cloudy and warm - muggy even. Muddy in little Dalby Wood, muddier in Owston Wood. Quite up and down - 528 ft of climbing. 8 miles and a bit.


Marta picks me up at Launde Abbey, and drives to the Burrough Hill Car Park - the pay machine is working again now! After a couple of hundred yards along the farm road we take the first path signed to the right, heading north across a couple of fields where a farmer on a quad bike was herding sheep - with the help of a dog as well.

I'm familiar with the route from a previous walk, so we walk along the edge of the second field, then downhill to the Dalby Woods Path, which goes east - fairly muddy as usual, and I realise I've left my trekking pole in the car.



We avoid turning right or south at the gap ion the trees, and continue successfully along the Leicestershire Round path, uphill and climbing the two sets of steps to the ridge.

Looking back from the top of the steps

The route ahead has been made good, and it's probably the first time I've followed its line according to the map - a couple of times it's been much easier to use the edge of the field.

A clear path ahead

The route is clearly marked and clear on the ground all the way into Somerby.

Guard dog in Somerby

We walk through a narrow ginnel into the village, and just opposite is Manor Lane - no LR sign, but this is the way. The first sign is when we arrive at the end of the road.

The view towards Owston

We walk up a narrow track between two fields, all clear and easy walking - but it's time for our break as we top the next small ridge.










We carry on down hill through three fields, keeping the hedge on our left. We cross the stream using a footbridge. We turn right along the stream to the corner of the field, then walk uphill. We follow the waymarkers - there's a memorial bench in the corner of one field. Our path is clearly marked until we reach the road, at a bend. We turn left here to walk into Owston.

I'm rather taken with some curved brick walls and a kitchen garden.







We glimpse the church through the houses.



We ignore the road to Lowesby, and then the Knossington Road, and carry on along Main Street as far as the Tilton Road. We pass an old pump and then a well in a field.







We turn right along the road to Tilton, then left along a path to Withcote after about 100 yards. This is well marked, though you could be confused by other marked paths. We follow flattened grass paths which take us through fields and eventually to the way into Owston Woods. The path through the woods is straight and clear, but, as usual, very muddy.

Walking in the footsteps of giants?

We try leaving the path, but it is not much of an idea! Still, my feet stay dry, though the boots are muddier than for some time. Last time I walked this was after snow.



When we come out of the wood we think of having another break, but in this muggy weather there are too many flies around - we give that idea up and head downhill towards Withcote. Last time I was here there were horses everywhere - no longer. We decide to go and investigate the chapel, which is looked after by the Churches Conservation Trust.

Withcote Chapel

As we pass the Hall, we ask the owner, who's outside gardening, if it's ok to go and have a look. She assures us that it is "But be careful - you could get roped in to help".

Two volunteers are giving the place a bit of a spring-clean, as there will be a service there in the near future - something that happens no more than once a year or so. They're very helpful and informative, ply us with leaflets, and even offer us a cup of tea, though we need to get moving by then.





We go back to the LR footpath, through the farmyard, then divert briefly to have a peep at the lake, where there is a swan family and other water birds.







Then it's through the gate, aim for the top of the hill, down the other side, over the footbridge, up slightly and down towards Launde Abbey. Once again, I recommend their baguettes with salad and coleslaw, and the coffee or tea - £1.50 for a pot - three cups at least.

Wordless Wednesday :: Another Icelandic Sunset

Near Keflavik, Iceland. Summer of 1973.Copyright © 1973/.. by Rebeckah R. Wiseman

Ha-Ha-Harvest

Garden Blogger Bloom Day and Blog Action Day are rapidly approaching. While I struggle with those large concepts, here's a small post - and small is the appropriate size since what passes for a harvest here is paltry, in spite of 3 years of amending and working the soil, buying good quality plant starts and an abundance of water this summer.


Some plants grew well, but made little fruit - look at that pitiful Bell pepper. The fig tree finally started to grow - these four figs at once are a bonanza! We can't make sauces when one small tomato per week, pre-punctured by some critter, is the norm. This is the first year ever for an edible pecan - and it took nearly 40 inches of rain to get them. I cracked a bucketful to get the nuts on that plate - the rest were empty, not developed, or moldy. If you want to flavor food, we can offer rosemary, English mint, lemon thyme, basil, culinary sage, Mexican oregano, chives, Pineapple sage, parsley and Mexican mint marigold, AKA Texas tarragon, pictured above.
Instead of Bell peppers we can pick fiery Indian peppers or hot-as-blazes Mariachi peppers. Our garden could not sustain us for long - it's not a root cellar - it's more like a refrigerator containing nothing but condiments.

Spider poetry

One morning we awoke to find that spiders had woven diamonds during our sleep.

Salty Lemonade for Cycling

A few people have asked about the "salty lemonade" I mentioned in the previous post, and it's really very simple: When I fill my water bottles before a long ride, I add a pinch of salt and also some lemon juice to the water. In conjunction with snacks containing potassium, magnesium, calcium and sugar (i.e. bananas and milk), this mixture helps replenish electrolytes lost during cycling, especially in hot weather - which in turn can help prevent leg muscle cramps and lightheadedness that some experience on long and strenuous rides. Several cyclists I know prefer this method to consuming commercial sports drinks and gels, and it works for us.



Some points to consider about the Salty Lemonade:



. Do not overdo it on the salt. What I call a "pinch" I have seen defined as 1/8 of a teaspoon, which seems about right.



. The reason for adding lemon juice is mostly to balance out the salty taste. The sourness of it adds a nice refreshing element as well.



. Some like to fill one bottle with a weaker concentration of the mix than the other, alternating between them depending on how much they are sweating. Having bottles that look different from one another helps if you're going to do this.



. On long trips where you know you'll be able to refill your water bottle, you can also carry single-use salt packets to add to the fresh water.



. If you have been advised against a high-sodium diet, obviously consult with your physician prior to consuming anything like this (including commercially available sports drinks).



. As mentioned earlier, salty water alone is not enough to restore electrolytes, so make sure to supplement with appropriate snack foods. Bananas work best for me in this regard, and they are easy to eat while on the bike.



While many cyclists thrive on commercial sports drinks, others prefer more natural, home-made solutions and this can be one of them. Please feel free to share your own.

When a Bike Is Not for You, What to Do?

Regardless of how much time we put into looking for a new bike, how much research we do, how many reviews we read, and even how wonderful the bicycle seems during a test ride, sometimes it happens: We buy a bike that isn't right for us. Perhaps the handling ends up not being to our liking. Or perhaps the bike is too heavy, too aggressive, not aggressive enough... There can be so many reasons. And often, those reasons only become apparent after we get into the swing of using the bike.



And so there we are: As far as resale value goes, our new bicycle is now a used bicycle. And we feel excruciatingly guilty for having made the wrong choice.



Once we realise that the bicycle we so longed for is not all we had hoped, the question is: what to do next? We may try to deal with the situation by continuing to ride the bike even if we are not entirely happy with it, hoping that over time we'll get used to it. We might make modifications to the bike, in attempts to get it to handle how we want it to handle. Or we could admit defeat and sell it. Some of us tried the first two approaches, before ultimately deciding to sell. Others just cannot bear to sell the bike - either because of the monetary loss they will incur, or because of sentimental attachment.



It's a tough call which decision is best. It took me a while before I could bring myself to sell my Pashley, while an acquaintance sold her Batavus just a month after buying it. "Mama Vee" of Suburban Bike Mama has been struggling with her Sorte Jernhest cargo trike for nearly two years now and is still torn over what to do (in fact, she has just issued an exasperated plea for help, so perhaps someone can advise her!).



Not counting myself, I know of about half a dozen ladies in the blogosphere who either have recently sold, or are considering selling the bicycle that was supposed to be their "dream bike." We did everything right and the bike seemed like the perfect choice at the time. And yet it wasn't. If you've ever been in this situation, how did you deal with it and what was your ultimate decision?

Big Bend Revisited :: Cerro Castalon

Saturday, March 2nd - - In English, Cerro Castalon is called Castolon Peak. Whatever you call it, it dominates the landscape in the Castalon region in the southern realms of Big Bend National Park.





The southern view is the
most photogenic side of Cerro Castalon. As you drive in from the
north the peak appears from out of nowhere as you crest one of the
many hills. The road winds through the area with virtually no place
to pull off to get a picture.





On my way back from Elena Canyon, I
shot this through the front window, stopping in the middle of the
road. There wasn't much traffic... Shooting through the windshield
adds a greenish tint to photos so I converted it to black and white
and adjusted the contrast a little.





At the base of the peak, on the western side, is a pull-out. This too, is Cerro Castalon though it doesn't look quite so impressive from this vantage point... which just goes to show, you need to look at everything from different perspectives!

Brilliant Orange Colored Poppies

By a consensus of opinion of my readers, it has been determined that these are a variety of Poppies! As are these and these. Thanks to everyone for their input... and that's all of the flowers!! No more, at least until the next time ;-)









The "pod" after the bloom is done.



The dappled coloring comes from the bright mid-day sun. A cloudy day would have been much better for taking these pictures. In reality, they were the darker orange color all over, as in the first photo. Temple Square Gardens – Tuesday, June 7th.

Blowin' in the Wind

For much of the past week the winds have been blowing in West Texas and Eastern New Mexico. On Sunday (April 10th), after wandering in the dry, arid desert, fighting the 25-35 mph winds (with gusts up to 60mph), seeing nothing but brown earth and beige colored skies, I did an “about face” and headed eastward.



Yes, I know. That's the opposite direction I've been going. But there is another reason for the about face – a doctor's appointment awaits me in Indiana in less than two weeks. It is one that was made in February as a follow-up to the sinus and ear infection I had after Mom's funeral and an appointment which I never canceled. So I knew that if I was going to keep it, I didn't want to get too far west and have a really long drive back. The wind, the brownness, and the wind were just the things that turned me back a little sooner than anticipated.



I had thought about canceling the doctor's appointment, but with the way my leg has been acting up, figured I had better take advantage of it to find out what is going on. I think it is just a pulled muscle, but who knows?



I will admit, I terribly missed the green that I left behind a week ago. I'm not sure why the desert conditions bothered me so easily this time. Last year I spent more than two months in Texas, Arizona and the deserts of California. Perhaps it was a part of my state of mind this time around – thinking a lot (too much) about my Aunt Phyllis, my Mother, and my friend Lorene. Realizing that I will never see them again...



So, I'm going back to Indiana. At least for as long as it takes to find out about what is going on with the leg. And then? Well, I'll let you know when I know! But "The Journey" isn't over yet!





Brantley Lake State Park, New Mexico. April 7th.



Driving conditions east of Amarillo on Sunday, April 10th. The sky was really much more beige colored than gray as this photo shows. This was typical of the drive on Sunday. I was just glad I was going east – the wind was coming from the west. The hundred miles or so that I had to drive north was a real challenge!





Great Plains State Park April 10th. Compliments of Mother Nature throwing a hissy fit – the sand and dust in the air makes for a great sunset filter!





Great Plains State Park April 10th. In southwestern Oklahoma on the shore of Lake Tom Steed, a reservoir that provides water for the area.

More Toddler Camping ..

Another last minute decision to make the most of time off and go camping. Packing for camping with Mirabelle always seems not worth it as we struggle to wrangle her and gear to pack in the morning of a trip. This usually has Jennifer second guessing our decision to go, and also has us leaving later than I'd prefer. Not to mention forgetting some things. (more on that later)



The idea was to drive up and secure a site at Tinkham campground off I90, then take a hike up to Denny Slide while Mirabelle takes her nap. Securing a site was not a problem and we soon took the short drive over to Denny Creek Trail Head for out hike.



Mirabelle is at an age where she does not want to be cooped up in the pack for a trip and enjoys doing some of the hiking on her own. (Although she is not at an age where she can keep from getting tuckered out pretty quickly.) She wanted out of the pack early and proceeded to inspect every rock leave and hole near the trail. She didn't want to sleep in the pack or the Ergo that we brought along as well. So we all soldiered on to the slide.







It was surprising to see so many people there early on a Friday afternoon. She got good and tuckered out there, and we continued up to Keekwulee Falls while she napped in the Ergo until we got back down to the slide. She did a fair amount of the hiking back to the car and then we headed back to camp where we needed to borrow a lighter to start our stove to make dinner.



After dinner we headed to the river where Mirabelle just had to get in and wade in the South Fork.






As you can tell from the jackets, the air was not warm.




After a breakfast of fresh picked red huckleberry oatmeal, we headed to Twin Falls State Park to get in another hike. Unfortunately, all the hiking Mirabelle did the previous day left her a little too tired to accomplish that hike and we cut the hike short just after the switchbacks leading closer to the falls.






Speedy little hiker