Something happens to pull me back in. Bike and Build has a surprisingly lot in common with heroin addiction: it will give you scars and withdrawl can kill. Maybe this blog shouldn't be connected to my profile on the Bike and Build website? Ehh.
If my subtlty hasn't clued you in yet, it is very likely that I will be having at least one more Bike and Build adventure. I'm really excited. As things stand, I'm poised to begin the interviewing process for a leadership position. Who knows if I'll get it, but I have to admit that I'm enthusiastic and hopeful. A lot of my friends have told me how different it is to lead a trip, but I'm not particularly daunted by the task. It feels like the right progression, to be honest, and the perfect opportunity to try and give something of myself to an organization that has given me so much over the last two years.
My top picks for routes right now are, in order, P2SF, CUS, NC2SD, NUS, and SUS. Maybe B2SB is somewhere in there. Honestly, I think all of the routes are great, but I'm a little scared of the idea of logisticizing (yeah that's right, I made up a word... so did Willy Shakespeare) a route as new as SC2SC. I'm really excited to see so many alums from 08 return this summer to ride; I'm sure there are a ton from 09 that came back as well, but I don't know 'em. In particular, one of my leaders, Joe, is registered as a rider for NC2SD. Freaking sweet.
I decided that this decision was worthy of resurrecting Country to Concrete, and should I get the position I'll be using the blog to chronicle my experiences of the trip part deux, with leadership action! Life is good, ladies and gents, life is good!
Peace Out Hombres,
Mark
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Somewhere in the heart of the Aftermath
Well, bike trip's done but the adventure of course continues. I'm checking in from the beautiful city of Berkeley, California, loafing around the apartment of some friends before heading out to a bike shop. Really missed that, loafing, I mean. After a month of insane activity, laziness is truly sweet. But anyway, a bit of a recap.
Life's moved pretty fast since my last posting; my bike trip's ended in the San Francisco Bay Area, a little prematurely but certainly merited. Faced with the option of biking alone or having a vacation on my own terms, I chose the vacation. I have not been disappointed. I think, of all the places that I've seen and visited on the west coast, San Francisco is my favorite. Lots to do and see, and lots of amazing bike rides to go on. Just yesterday I took a leisurely and scenic ride through the Berkeley Hills and up Grizzly Peak. Don't let the semantics fool you, it wasn't a bad climb at all!
So here's the game plan as it stands. I'll be staying in Berkeley for a few more days, headed back into San Francisco for their Pride weekend. I've decided to take a meandering route back to Virginia, opting to take Amtrak's Zephyr train from Oakland to Chicago. I'll be arriving at Union Station on the 3rd of July, where I'll be picked up by friends and then we'll roadtrip back to Virginia. Slowly, I think. If all goes as planned, we'll be spending the 4th in St. Louis, enjoying a free show and free lodgings with a friend. I should return home by either the fifth or sixth of July, bike box and panniers in hand.
In other news, I got a job! Or rather, a paid internship that will end in my full-time employment. Inner Quest, a renowned Outdoor Experiential Education company in the D.C. metropolitan area has offered me a position in their apprenticeship program. From late August to early November I will receive valuable training and work experience as an outdoor instructor. Following that, I'll decide whether I want to continue working with Inner Quest, or take a position elsewhere with a company like NOLS or Outward Bound. So, my life is turning out pretty nicely at present. I'll have a little time in July and early August to get a jo-schmo job to pay bills, and more importantly to join a cycling club and do a little volunteering. Life is good.
Life's moved pretty fast since my last posting; my bike trip's ended in the San Francisco Bay Area, a little prematurely but certainly merited. Faced with the option of biking alone or having a vacation on my own terms, I chose the vacation. I have not been disappointed. I think, of all the places that I've seen and visited on the west coast, San Francisco is my favorite. Lots to do and see, and lots of amazing bike rides to go on. Just yesterday I took a leisurely and scenic ride through the Berkeley Hills and up Grizzly Peak. Don't let the semantics fool you, it wasn't a bad climb at all!
So here's the game plan as it stands. I'll be staying in Berkeley for a few more days, headed back into San Francisco for their Pride weekend. I've decided to take a meandering route back to Virginia, opting to take Amtrak's Zephyr train from Oakland to Chicago. I'll be arriving at Union Station on the 3rd of July, where I'll be picked up by friends and then we'll roadtrip back to Virginia. Slowly, I think. If all goes as planned, we'll be spending the 4th in St. Louis, enjoying a free show and free lodgings with a friend. I should return home by either the fifth or sixth of July, bike box and panniers in hand.
In other news, I got a job! Or rather, a paid internship that will end in my full-time employment. Inner Quest, a renowned Outdoor Experiential Education company in the D.C. metropolitan area has offered me a position in their apprenticeship program. From late August to early November I will receive valuable training and work experience as an outdoor instructor. Following that, I'll decide whether I want to continue working with Inner Quest, or take a position elsewhere with a company like NOLS or Outward Bound. So, my life is turning out pretty nicely at present. I'll have a little time in July and early August to get a jo-schmo job to pay bills, and more importantly to join a cycling club and do a little volunteering. Life is good.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Too Many Cyclists
I've always been irked...well, I've been irked for as long as I've ridden my bike for what others would consider an insane amount of miles, that motorcylists are called "bikers" as well. Because it makes for a lot of confusion. For example, hearing that there is a "bike shop" in a town where you sorely need one, only to find that it is a shop catering to the motorized variety. And not to get my chamois in a bunch, or be that "uptight, asshole in spandex", but WE WERE HERE FIRST! There were bikes well before we stuck motors on them, we deserve that name.
But anyway, fear not, there is a reason and a purpose behind this anti-chopper rant. Presently, I'm sitting in Garberville, CA. A sleepy little town that has been positively over-run by oldsters bedecked in black leather and their chubby wives. Apparantly there's some sort of harley event a few miles south of here. Now, normally I bear motorcyclists no ill will. I get it. Motorcyles are cool, and so are leather jackets. Own on myself. But the novelty has worn off. In fact, it wore off back in the Avenue of Giants when the millionth thirty biker chain gang passed us and honked at us. Sort of soured me on the experience.
Ohh, but let's take a pleasant turn on this post, now that I've said my piece on bikers. We're in California now! It's a pretty rad state, with lots of redwood trees and quite a few mountains and like a bajillion more people than WA and Oregon had. And it's been relatively sunny here as well! That's always a plus. Tomorrow we climb the legendary Legget Hill, the highest point on the Pacific Coast Bicycle Route. Apparantly it's a killer. It's only a 1000 foot climb. Only... Well, we can do it, but it'll probably be a bit tough with the gear we're hauling.
I've taken about a million pictures, and by that I mean almost four hundred. Which is a bit scary, since I only have memory enough for five hundo. California's a big state, and the scenery is going to do a good deal of changing from now until SoCal and San Diego. I'll make the camera thing work, for sure. But I have a feeling the photo album is going to be a bit weighted in the Northwest's favor, just because I got a bit trigger happy with all of the really gnarly cliffs and stuff.
Be sending us your good thoughts and I'll be sending postcards!
Peace and Bike Grease, Hombres!
Mark
PS When I get back I totally want to sit down and just watch a movie in a theatre. Anyone want to see Terminator Judgment in July, if it's still out in theatres? Hit me up, biotchhhhhh!
But anyway, fear not, there is a reason and a purpose behind this anti-chopper rant. Presently, I'm sitting in Garberville, CA. A sleepy little town that has been positively over-run by oldsters bedecked in black leather and their chubby wives. Apparantly there's some sort of harley event a few miles south of here. Now, normally I bear motorcyclists no ill will. I get it. Motorcyles are cool, and so are leather jackets. Own on myself. But the novelty has worn off. In fact, it wore off back in the Avenue of Giants when the millionth thirty biker chain gang passed us and honked at us. Sort of soured me on the experience.
Ohh, but let's take a pleasant turn on this post, now that I've said my piece on bikers. We're in California now! It's a pretty rad state, with lots of redwood trees and quite a few mountains and like a bajillion more people than WA and Oregon had. And it's been relatively sunny here as well! That's always a plus. Tomorrow we climb the legendary Legget Hill, the highest point on the Pacific Coast Bicycle Route. Apparantly it's a killer. It's only a 1000 foot climb. Only... Well, we can do it, but it'll probably be a bit tough with the gear we're hauling.
I've taken about a million pictures, and by that I mean almost four hundred. Which is a bit scary, since I only have memory enough for five hundo. California's a big state, and the scenery is going to do a good deal of changing from now until SoCal and San Diego. I'll make the camera thing work, for sure. But I have a feeling the photo album is going to be a bit weighted in the Northwest's favor, just because I got a bit trigger happy with all of the really gnarly cliffs and stuff.
Be sending us your good thoughts and I'll be sending postcards!
Peace and Bike Grease, Hombres!
Mark
PS When I get back I totally want to sit down and just watch a movie in a theatre. Anyone want to see Terminator Judgment in July, if it's still out in theatres? Hit me up, biotchhhhhh!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Greetings from Oregon!
So, after a long absence I have brushed off Country to Concrete to keep as many people updated about my unassisted tour from Vancouver, B.C. to San Diego, obviously California. We're in the lovely little town of Tilamook, OR right now. Home of Tilamook Creameries and Cheese. Which means pretty much nothing to you East Coasters, but over here Tilamook has a stranglehold on the dairy market. And rightly so; their cheese is delicious. But anyway, what to report...? The weather has been pretty much spectacular this entire trip; it "rained" on us for one day in Washington. Quotations because it was more of a sprinkling than anything else.
That said, the trip has had its ups and downs, mostly stemming from FedEx Canada screwing me over and trying to deal with that on the road. It's been hard, but I think it's been a learning experience and will only serve to sweeten the effect of this whole experience. Suffice it to say, the only thing I ever plan on shipping via FedEx Canada from the U.S. would be a rabbid tiger to attack as many of the CEO's of said shipping company as possible. Yeah, wicked bitter. But anyway, the ride has been spectacular in terms of scenery and both Katharine and I really love the Oregon Coast. It's totally better than Washington's, although I think that state will always have a special place in my heart as well. Cannon Beach was spectacular; I am super jealous of CUS trips (that's the central u.s. bike and build route, btw) which ends in Cannon Beach. It's definitely a cooler destination than the Puget Sound. Mostly because it's actually the Pacific Ocean.
The last thing I'll say about Cannon Beach before I move on to other things is that if you need a mental picture of a point of reference, Cannon Beach is the place where the final scene of The Goonies was filmed. You know, the big rock where the pirate ship comes out? Yeah, totally was there 24 hours ago. But you probably already google imaged "Cannon Beach", right? Of course you did. So, after my internet is timed out we're headed out towards the Three Capes Scenic Route, which takes us past more spectacular scenery, and I'm also very excited to say that we'll be camping with some Kiwis (that's New Zealanders) who we met in Tilamook briefly.
Scenery aside, the other highlights of the trip have been the people we've met touring the West Coast by bike, just like us. While we were in Washington we camped a few times with a pair of Montrealans (I have no idea if that's the propper word but the spell check on this blog didn't correct me, so I guess it must be). They were pretty friendly, but not nearly as chatty as I would've liked. Perhaps we'll see them again and we can eek more info out of them. We also met a girl who is biking down to Las Angeles. Alone. With platform pedals in converses. And she says that biking isn't really her thing. What?! I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that she survives. Last night we camped with a really rad dood named Dave, who is from LA and is biking down there right now to raise money for a trust fund. His tour was impromptly planned (the best kind in my opinion) and he needs to get down to LA before the 22nd of June or he'll lose his job. His days have ranged around 80 miles a day and in this terrain it's really impressive that he's moving that fast. Even more impressive, or perhaps worisome, is that he's carrying panniers on an aluminum bicycle with carbon seat stays and a carbon fork. Essentially, he's carrying a fair amount of weight on a bike that's meant to carry just a rider, and made of a material that is prone to litterally shattering if too much weight is put on it.
It's highly unlikely that we'll see Dave again, since we're moving at a much more leisurely pace than him, but I've gotten his e-mail and I'm excited to do a little networking with riding buddies on the West Coast. He seems the sort of eccentric guy who would welcome an off the cuff visit at any time AND he knows all these great places to ride in the LA area. Good tidings it would seem!
Okay, I think that's all that I have to report. I shall try to mind this blog a little better as we finish up Oregon and head to California. Until then,
Peace Out Hombres!
That said, the trip has had its ups and downs, mostly stemming from FedEx Canada screwing me over and trying to deal with that on the road. It's been hard, but I think it's been a learning experience and will only serve to sweeten the effect of this whole experience. Suffice it to say, the only thing I ever plan on shipping via FedEx Canada from the U.S. would be a rabbid tiger to attack as many of the CEO's of said shipping company as possible. Yeah, wicked bitter. But anyway, the ride has been spectacular in terms of scenery and both Katharine and I really love the Oregon Coast. It's totally better than Washington's, although I think that state will always have a special place in my heart as well. Cannon Beach was spectacular; I am super jealous of CUS trips (that's the central u.s. bike and build route, btw) which ends in Cannon Beach. It's definitely a cooler destination than the Puget Sound. Mostly because it's actually the Pacific Ocean.
The last thing I'll say about Cannon Beach before I move on to other things is that if you need a mental picture of a point of reference, Cannon Beach is the place where the final scene of The Goonies was filmed. You know, the big rock where the pirate ship comes out? Yeah, totally was there 24 hours ago. But you probably already google imaged "Cannon Beach", right? Of course you did. So, after my internet is timed out we're headed out towards the Three Capes Scenic Route, which takes us past more spectacular scenery, and I'm also very excited to say that we'll be camping with some Kiwis (that's New Zealanders) who we met in Tilamook briefly.
Scenery aside, the other highlights of the trip have been the people we've met touring the West Coast by bike, just like us. While we were in Washington we camped a few times with a pair of Montrealans (I have no idea if that's the propper word but the spell check on this blog didn't correct me, so I guess it must be). They were pretty friendly, but not nearly as chatty as I would've liked. Perhaps we'll see them again and we can eek more info out of them. We also met a girl who is biking down to Las Angeles. Alone. With platform pedals in converses. And she says that biking isn't really her thing. What?! I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that she survives. Last night we camped with a really rad dood named Dave, who is from LA and is biking down there right now to raise money for a trust fund. His tour was impromptly planned (the best kind in my opinion) and he needs to get down to LA before the 22nd of June or he'll lose his job. His days have ranged around 80 miles a day and in this terrain it's really impressive that he's moving that fast. Even more impressive, or perhaps worisome, is that he's carrying panniers on an aluminum bicycle with carbon seat stays and a carbon fork. Essentially, he's carrying a fair amount of weight on a bike that's meant to carry just a rider, and made of a material that is prone to litterally shattering if too much weight is put on it.
It's highly unlikely that we'll see Dave again, since we're moving at a much more leisurely pace than him, but I've gotten his e-mail and I'm excited to do a little networking with riding buddies on the West Coast. He seems the sort of eccentric guy who would welcome an off the cuff visit at any time AND he knows all these great places to ride in the LA area. Good tidings it would seem!
Okay, I think that's all that I have to report. I shall try to mind this blog a little better as we finish up Oregon and head to California. Until then,
Peace Out Hombres!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Bodies Braking, Bikes Breaking, Earth Shaking
Today was not my day. I really think that Murphy guy must've been onto something when he said that "If something can go wrong, it will". Today has been a model example of Murphy's Law. I'll preface this story by saying that this post will not be particularly cheery, although I'll be trying to counterpoint most of the negatives with a positive.
We'll start with a positive and follow it with the first of the negatives of the week/day. So on Sunday I biked up Reddish Knob again, this time with a few riders I didn't know too well. It was beautiful and difficult, as Reddish tends to be. I started up front, but as usual fell back during the climb. It was a slow plod, but it was perfect. My knee started hurting a bit around mile six of the climb, but more on that later. Suffice it to say, the ride ended in the best way possible: at an all you can eat buffet. I'll just come out and say it... EVERY SINGLE LONG BIKE RIDE SHOULD END AT A BUFFET. Totally perfect afternoon/evening. But onto the crux of this post, the sad-clown stuff.
So, to begin, I'm currently injured. Sometime during or shortly after Shamrock, I developed Patellar Tendonitis and Runner's Knee. Not particularly serious injuries, but irritating. My right knee hurts quite a bit and gets fairly stiff when I do any significant exercise. Running is the worst for it, but even when I cycle it gets a bit sore. Anyway, I wasn't certain what was wrong with it until yesterday's ortho appointment. I was relieved to hear that it wouldn't incapacitate me, and that I could continue exercising as long as I used a brace, took a prescription anti-inflamatory, and perform some stretching exercises to strengthen supporting muscles and relieve inflamation. I did my first run in two weeks, four or five miles, yesterday. It was phenomenal. Slow, but phenomenal. I don't intend to go so long without running ever again. Not running was torture. Sadly, I might have to go without biking for a little bit.
Today started off pleasantly enough. It was a balmy forty something, probably closer to fifty in the sunshine, this morning. Hardly a cloud in the sky, and no wind. Perfect riding weather in my opinion. When I got to my instructor's house, there was hardly anyone there. Apparantly Tim is at a conference somewhere and just asked us to ride on our own, to keep in shape. I was a bit disappointed, because I'd wanted to talk with him about the pros and cons of touring with paniers versus hitching a trailer on back. Ohh yeah. So I bought my ticket to Vancouver last night! C2M is on, baby! But anyway; not having Tim there meant making up our own route, which was something most of us were uncomfortable doing, so I led.
That was all well and good, until we went over like four sets of train tracks. Didn't beef or anything, but the bike got really jostled. Somewhere down the line, my chain jumped and for some reason it jumped at a very severe angle. Maybe I was cross chaining when the chain dropped, but in any case, it got jammed. Bad. Like beyond my ability to fix on the road. Essentially, the chain is jammed between my smallest chainring and my right seat stay. It's twisted and bent, and I'm pretty sure it's dead. At least nothing's wrong with the frame. In either case, Jonas has been locked up on a ligh post downtown. With the way things are going, I'm really worried that he's gonna get stolen or something. Even though he basically can't even be wheeled away, and certainly not ridden away, because of the chain.
Hopefully a bike shop can perform some much needed surgery, and it won't cost too much!
Peace out, Hombres!
We'll start with a positive and follow it with the first of the negatives of the week/day. So on Sunday I biked up Reddish Knob again, this time with a few riders I didn't know too well. It was beautiful and difficult, as Reddish tends to be. I started up front, but as usual fell back during the climb. It was a slow plod, but it was perfect. My knee started hurting a bit around mile six of the climb, but more on that later. Suffice it to say, the ride ended in the best way possible: at an all you can eat buffet. I'll just come out and say it... EVERY SINGLE LONG BIKE RIDE SHOULD END AT A BUFFET. Totally perfect afternoon/evening. But onto the crux of this post, the sad-clown stuff.
So, to begin, I'm currently injured. Sometime during or shortly after Shamrock, I developed Patellar Tendonitis and Runner's Knee. Not particularly serious injuries, but irritating. My right knee hurts quite a bit and gets fairly stiff when I do any significant exercise. Running is the worst for it, but even when I cycle it gets a bit sore. Anyway, I wasn't certain what was wrong with it until yesterday's ortho appointment. I was relieved to hear that it wouldn't incapacitate me, and that I could continue exercising as long as I used a brace, took a prescription anti-inflamatory, and perform some stretching exercises to strengthen supporting muscles and relieve inflamation. I did my first run in two weeks, four or five miles, yesterday. It was phenomenal. Slow, but phenomenal. I don't intend to go so long without running ever again. Not running was torture. Sadly, I might have to go without biking for a little bit.
Today started off pleasantly enough. It was a balmy forty something, probably closer to fifty in the sunshine, this morning. Hardly a cloud in the sky, and no wind. Perfect riding weather in my opinion. When I got to my instructor's house, there was hardly anyone there. Apparantly Tim is at a conference somewhere and just asked us to ride on our own, to keep in shape. I was a bit disappointed, because I'd wanted to talk with him about the pros and cons of touring with paniers versus hitching a trailer on back. Ohh yeah. So I bought my ticket to Vancouver last night! C2M is on, baby! But anyway; not having Tim there meant making up our own route, which was something most of us were uncomfortable doing, so I led.
That was all well and good, until we went over like four sets of train tracks. Didn't beef or anything, but the bike got really jostled. Somewhere down the line, my chain jumped and for some reason it jumped at a very severe angle. Maybe I was cross chaining when the chain dropped, but in any case, it got jammed. Bad. Like beyond my ability to fix on the road. Essentially, the chain is jammed between my smallest chainring and my right seat stay. It's twisted and bent, and I'm pretty sure it's dead. At least nothing's wrong with the frame. In either case, Jonas has been locked up on a ligh post downtown. With the way things are going, I'm really worried that he's gonna get stolen or something. Even though he basically can't even be wheeled away, and certainly not ridden away, because of the chain.
Hopefully a bike shop can perform some much needed surgery, and it won't cost too much!
Peace out, Hombres!
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Sham Rock On!
I have a shoe attatched to one of my bike pedals right now. I have a special pair of shoes that does that, and it all works very nicely when I am also attached to my shoes. Clipless pedal systems are great for power transfer and efficiency, not so great when they won't clip out. Which is precisely what happened this morning when I tried to get off my bike after riding to class. In retrospect, I had been having trouble clipping out on my right for a while; I fell at the top of Port Republic on Friday. It was pretty funny. Having to take off my shoe and leave it on the bike when I locked it up was not such a side-splitter though. I'm glad that road cycling tomorrow is in the shop, so I can have Tim show me how to fix it. Anyway, this past weekend was a fairly eventful one, both in terms of fitness and also in general good times.
The Shamrock Half was on Sunday, and it was everything that I'd hoped it would be. Jared and I headed out for a full blown race weekend experience on Friday afternoon. Prior to heading out at 4:30, Chris and I hit the road for a thirty mile ride; it began fairly chilly, just barely fifty degrees. Still, after a little sprint through campus the only things that were feeling the cold were our fingertips and ears. It was gorgeous out, with little less than a light headwind to slow us down. The route took us through the town of Dayton, down Dry River Road, and finally back to Harrisonburg via Route 33. The ride was very organic, with no planning at all; we just rode. Serendipitously, Sacha appeared in our parking lot and accompanied us to a post-ride carbo load at Vietopia. It was heaven.
The drive down to the coast with Jared had very few bumps, aside from one missed exit and a little backtracking we ended up at Cliff's house essentially on time. We were greeted at the door by my fairly inebriated friend and led to the kitchen table, three more drunken faces, and several bottles of wine. I think Jared was a little taken aback by the ease in which we were treated like part of the family, but it took all of two seconds before we were both grinning ear to ear. It was definitely a portent of the good times that were to come over the next seventy-twoish hours. We polished off a few glasses and got acquainted before the oldsters got to bed and we headed out the door to give Jared his first taste of gay nightlife.
I'd built up the first encouter probably a little bit too much for Jared prior to getting there. He's a pretty churchy guy, definitely conservative, but I think he figured out that I wasn't going to take "no" for an answer and agreed to a night out on the town. It's good, because we would've dragged him out kicking and screaming if he'd said no. Anyway, Virginia Beach doesn't have much of a gay scene. We hit two bars, one of which was exceedingly sketchy and whose name escapes me. I'll just call it "The Manhole" for fun. The other was much more congenial and had a very fun atmosphere, and was called "The Rainbow Cactus".
For one reason or another, both bars had Western themes. The Manhole was definitely more of a bar, with a crumby little dancing stage with a few erratic go-go types. One was most certainly a drag queen minus the drag, the other seemed to have an affinity for flailing around and calling that dancing. Probably a meth queen. Of course, no seedy gay bar is complete without a quiet, sixty year old man staring out from a dimly lit corner. It was absolute heaven! We had a few drinks and waxed philosophic (read: judged everyone who walked in the door) while I did my best to break Jared out of his stupor. But for one or two instances of two men dancing together, we could have been at any crappy bar. Not the case with "The Rainbow Cactus".
Following a brief sojurn out to CVS to get some cash, as well as my brief stint in public urination (still haven't been arrested whooooooo!), we made our way to bar #2. Definitely had a good feel to it, many more young people there, most of them infinitely more attractive than the patrons at the previous establishment. Ohhh. And there were drag queens. I'm not exactly a patron of drag, but damn if that wasn't a really good show. I'm probably just biased though, because the second song out on the dance floor was "Single Ladies". Coupled with my slight buzz...let's just say "Dance Machine" doesn't even do it justice. A few other highlights from the night include the group of senior citizens sitting squarely next to the dance floor, and mine and Cliff's subsequent rescue of two drunken old ladies who fell out of their seats. Sadly, Jared never joined us on the dance floor. Epic fail. Ohh well, baby steps right?
Woke up the latest of the bunch at 9:30 on Saturday morning with a slight headache and got to fumble with a strangely complicated shower. Once in a blue moon I find a shower aparatus that stumps me for a good two or three minutes, generally ending with my near scalding/hypothermia. Afterwards it was gravy. Jared, who had never been to Virginia Beach, and I decided to head out to the beach and take in some sights, as well as picking up our packets from the convention center. Afterwards, we took something like a three hour lunch at a nifty hole in the wall bar with one cook. The jury's still out on the clam chowder. Of course, the crowning achievement of the day was the twenty five mile bike tour of the city and surrounding suburbs, hitting various historical landmarks from Cliff's life and childhood. We got lost a bit, and ended up doing some pretty hairy urban riding, but all in all definitely an adventure. Tied for best part of the ride was the sweet national park we rode through, or the extremely bitchy woman we met outside the food lion. Or the fact that all twenty five miles were completed on a shiny red cruiser with a forty pound frame.
Our day ended like all good days should end, with good food and good drink and an open fire. I slept like a rock, which was good since we had to be up at 5:00 AM the next morning for the half. Surprisingly, I woke up the spryest of the young guys, with Jared moaning about how he had to do this all the time student teaching (and yet still had trouble doing it), and Cliff taking his sweet time as usual crawling out of bed. I downed some fruit, granola, and oatmeal with brown sugar before pinning on my bib and hopping out into the cold air. A short ride to the boardwalk, and we scattered off to our different corrals. Ohh, so a short explanation of the race.
Runners are seperated into corrals, which really are exactly like you'd think: holding pens for all of us until the race starts. There are five corrals in total, segregated by our estimated race time. I was the only one in the first corral, with a race time of around 1 hour 45 minutes. Jared was in the second, Cliff and his dad Rex were in the fifth. Since most of our group had already scattered, Cliff, Jared, and I agreed upon a rendevouz point and headed off to the start.
My corral was populated by all the elite runners. Most of them were tricked out in full marathon regalia like belts and ironman jerseys and such. I began feeling a little out of my depth, but excited. The air practically buzzed. There really is nothing like the exhale before the start of a race. I soon saw that I really did belong in the front after a few miles had gone by and I realized that I wasn't breathing anything like the other runners around me. In fact, I never really went beyond a little deep breathing for the entire race. The course was absolutely beautiful, beginning in the city and taking us through a pine forest and eventually rouding into Fort Story and putting us abreast the coast. As usual, the last few miles of the race really seemed to crawl. To call them exceptionally difficult wouldn't have been true. I hurt a bit, sure, but I distinctly remembered hurting more from much shorter runs in the past. I could tell that I had trained correctly for the race. I ended strong near the front of the pack, well in front of everyone else in our group.
Jared finished about twelve minutes after me, with Rex pulling a surprising 2 hour finish time. Cliff rounded it off at 2 hours fifteen, impressive considering he'd never done more than eight miles and hadn't run for almost a month. After we collected ourselves at the beach, we headed into the tent for some food, and of course, beer. A lot of strangers gave us their beer tickets, so I ended up downing eight pints or so before we left the beach. Drinking after a long run is a funny thing; with your blood volume so low afterwards, a few drinks can be all it takes to bring you down. Let's just say I was pretty happy when I poured myself into the car afterwards. We ended up at an authentic Irish bar for one last drink, before heading back to the Hamaker's for one last small gathering. Food was epic, company was epic.
I'd like to close off an incredibly long, and probably quite dull, post with a declaration of thanks for our hosts. Thanks Rex and Lisa for letting us into your home and feeding us and entertaining us, and most of all for making us feel like family. I will most certainly be taking you up on your offer of a return visit sometime in the future. As for you Cliff, I can't fit enough "thank you'"s on this blog, but trust and believe, I'll be returning the favor.
Peace out, Hombres!
The Shamrock Half was on Sunday, and it was everything that I'd hoped it would be. Jared and I headed out for a full blown race weekend experience on Friday afternoon. Prior to heading out at 4:30, Chris and I hit the road for a thirty mile ride; it began fairly chilly, just barely fifty degrees. Still, after a little sprint through campus the only things that were feeling the cold were our fingertips and ears. It was gorgeous out, with little less than a light headwind to slow us down. The route took us through the town of Dayton, down Dry River Road, and finally back to Harrisonburg via Route 33. The ride was very organic, with no planning at all; we just rode. Serendipitously, Sacha appeared in our parking lot and accompanied us to a post-ride carbo load at Vietopia. It was heaven.
The drive down to the coast with Jared had very few bumps, aside from one missed exit and a little backtracking we ended up at Cliff's house essentially on time. We were greeted at the door by my fairly inebriated friend and led to the kitchen table, three more drunken faces, and several bottles of wine. I think Jared was a little taken aback by the ease in which we were treated like part of the family, but it took all of two seconds before we were both grinning ear to ear. It was definitely a portent of the good times that were to come over the next seventy-twoish hours. We polished off a few glasses and got acquainted before the oldsters got to bed and we headed out the door to give Jared his first taste of gay nightlife.
I'd built up the first encouter probably a little bit too much for Jared prior to getting there. He's a pretty churchy guy, definitely conservative, but I think he figured out that I wasn't going to take "no" for an answer and agreed to a night out on the town. It's good, because we would've dragged him out kicking and screaming if he'd said no. Anyway, Virginia Beach doesn't have much of a gay scene. We hit two bars, one of which was exceedingly sketchy and whose name escapes me. I'll just call it "The Manhole" for fun. The other was much more congenial and had a very fun atmosphere, and was called "The Rainbow Cactus".
For one reason or another, both bars had Western themes. The Manhole was definitely more of a bar, with a crumby little dancing stage with a few erratic go-go types. One was most certainly a drag queen minus the drag, the other seemed to have an affinity for flailing around and calling that dancing. Probably a meth queen. Of course, no seedy gay bar is complete without a quiet, sixty year old man staring out from a dimly lit corner. It was absolute heaven! We had a few drinks and waxed philosophic (read: judged everyone who walked in the door) while I did my best to break Jared out of his stupor. But for one or two instances of two men dancing together, we could have been at any crappy bar. Not the case with "The Rainbow Cactus".
Following a brief sojurn out to CVS to get some cash, as well as my brief stint in public urination (still haven't been arrested whooooooo!), we made our way to bar #2. Definitely had a good feel to it, many more young people there, most of them infinitely more attractive than the patrons at the previous establishment. Ohhh. And there were drag queens. I'm not exactly a patron of drag, but damn if that wasn't a really good show. I'm probably just biased though, because the second song out on the dance floor was "Single Ladies". Coupled with my slight buzz...let's just say "Dance Machine" doesn't even do it justice. A few other highlights from the night include the group of senior citizens sitting squarely next to the dance floor, and mine and Cliff's subsequent rescue of two drunken old ladies who fell out of their seats. Sadly, Jared never joined us on the dance floor. Epic fail. Ohh well, baby steps right?
Woke up the latest of the bunch at 9:30 on Saturday morning with a slight headache and got to fumble with a strangely complicated shower. Once in a blue moon I find a shower aparatus that stumps me for a good two or three minutes, generally ending with my near scalding/hypothermia. Afterwards it was gravy. Jared, who had never been to Virginia Beach, and I decided to head out to the beach and take in some sights, as well as picking up our packets from the convention center. Afterwards, we took something like a three hour lunch at a nifty hole in the wall bar with one cook. The jury's still out on the clam chowder. Of course, the crowning achievement of the day was the twenty five mile bike tour of the city and surrounding suburbs, hitting various historical landmarks from Cliff's life and childhood. We got lost a bit, and ended up doing some pretty hairy urban riding, but all in all definitely an adventure. Tied for best part of the ride was the sweet national park we rode through, or the extremely bitchy woman we met outside the food lion. Or the fact that all twenty five miles were completed on a shiny red cruiser with a forty pound frame.
Our day ended like all good days should end, with good food and good drink and an open fire. I slept like a rock, which was good since we had to be up at 5:00 AM the next morning for the half. Surprisingly, I woke up the spryest of the young guys, with Jared moaning about how he had to do this all the time student teaching (and yet still had trouble doing it), and Cliff taking his sweet time as usual crawling out of bed. I downed some fruit, granola, and oatmeal with brown sugar before pinning on my bib and hopping out into the cold air. A short ride to the boardwalk, and we scattered off to our different corrals. Ohh, so a short explanation of the race.
Runners are seperated into corrals, which really are exactly like you'd think: holding pens for all of us until the race starts. There are five corrals in total, segregated by our estimated race time. I was the only one in the first corral, with a race time of around 1 hour 45 minutes. Jared was in the second, Cliff and his dad Rex were in the fifth. Since most of our group had already scattered, Cliff, Jared, and I agreed upon a rendevouz point and headed off to the start.
My corral was populated by all the elite runners. Most of them were tricked out in full marathon regalia like belts and ironman jerseys and such. I began feeling a little out of my depth, but excited. The air practically buzzed. There really is nothing like the exhale before the start of a race. I soon saw that I really did belong in the front after a few miles had gone by and I realized that I wasn't breathing anything like the other runners around me. In fact, I never really went beyond a little deep breathing for the entire race. The course was absolutely beautiful, beginning in the city and taking us through a pine forest and eventually rouding into Fort Story and putting us abreast the coast. As usual, the last few miles of the race really seemed to crawl. To call them exceptionally difficult wouldn't have been true. I hurt a bit, sure, but I distinctly remembered hurting more from much shorter runs in the past. I could tell that I had trained correctly for the race. I ended strong near the front of the pack, well in front of everyone else in our group.
Jared finished about twelve minutes after me, with Rex pulling a surprising 2 hour finish time. Cliff rounded it off at 2 hours fifteen, impressive considering he'd never done more than eight miles and hadn't run for almost a month. After we collected ourselves at the beach, we headed into the tent for some food, and of course, beer. A lot of strangers gave us their beer tickets, so I ended up downing eight pints or so before we left the beach. Drinking after a long run is a funny thing; with your blood volume so low afterwards, a few drinks can be all it takes to bring you down. Let's just say I was pretty happy when I poured myself into the car afterwards. We ended up at an authentic Irish bar for one last drink, before heading back to the Hamaker's for one last small gathering. Food was epic, company was epic.
I'd like to close off an incredibly long, and probably quite dull, post with a declaration of thanks for our hosts. Thanks Rex and Lisa for letting us into your home and feeding us and entertaining us, and most of all for making us feel like family. I will most certainly be taking you up on your offer of a return visit sometime in the future. As for you Cliff, I can't fit enough "thank you'"s on this blog, but trust and believe, I'll be returning the favor.
Peace out, Hombres!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Some Housekeeping
The day is fast approaching when I get to see just how out of riding shape I and my bike are. Today I had my first day of Road Cycling; the class was consigned to a quick run down of the syllabus, a questions sesh, and a brief meet and greet. Pretty standard. The class is big, considerably bigger than mountain biking, with about twenty people in attendance. I'm looking forward to some group riding, and the inevitable mishaps that occur because of them. Hopefully there's no gnarly road rash in any of our futures, or worse. I have to admit that I spent the start of the class sizing everyone up and comparing myself to them. It's hard to gauge everyone's ability or experience, but I sincerely doubt I'll be the fastest person. I hope I'm not, anyway. The men are all powerfully built, athletic looking sorts, so assuming they're on actual roadbikes and not mountain or hybrids, they'll all probably be good contenders. A few of the women seem to have some significant experience, or at least the right equipment. It'll be nice not being the only one in span and chams. We all love to dress the part, but techy clothing does not a good cyclist make, afterall.
My legs have been bothering me a bit recently. I suspect that running on the beach did that, although I couldn't say for sure. In either case, they haven't hindered my running much but I worry about whether they'll be able to crank out the watts in a pinch. My bike's as big a problem. I've been meaning to give it some love for a long time now, what with the rear hub rattling in protest everytime I take it out. The chain also likes to scream at me every so often, and doubtless the crank and casette should've been replaced about a thousand miles ago. If my bike were my boyfriend, I'd definitely get in some serious trouble for domestic abuse or neglect. It's with a blend of reverence, apathy, and lack of free time and money that I've rationalized not taking the bike to a shop.
I really can't believe I'm still riding Jonas at all; I feel like I should have him bronzed and hung up on a wall. A loving caption beneath reading, "The Bike I Conquered The Country On", or something to that effect. He's a year old, maybe, and he has six thousand miles on him. Six thousand... God. More than some-many-people will bike in their lifetime, more than some people have traveled, by car even. And it's funny; some people, a lot of people, will think that this makes me a good cyclist. Maybe I am. All I know is that I love it, a lot. The fact is, I'll probably get dropped by guys and girls who've ridden a fraction as much. And I cannot wait; good things on the horizon, not the least of which is Shamrock Half on Sunday.
We're heading out towards VA Beach first thing...well, as soon as Jared gets out of school and gets back to Harrisonburg. From there, it's just a few measley hours 'till we're on the coast and heading towards what I'm told is the crappiest gay bar in the world. I'm looking forward to judging it against what are considered good ones. I've never really warmed to the experience, since I am a terrible dancer and have on at least one ocassion been kicked out of a bar. A word of caution to any of you reading: don't dance with a drag queen when she's putting on a show. They don't like it. That said, it's fun to make out with the ocassional stranger that you usually can't see very well while you're trying not to step on him. It's also going to be really fun putting Jared into that environment. I've let him know that he's going, like it or not.
Ohh yeah, and the running should prove to be lots of fun as well. If I were to make a guess as to what the ranking will be... Jared will beat me by virtue of his longer stride, I will beat Cliff by virtue of my better fitness, and Cliff will maybe not even finish by virtue of the fact that he hasn't trained propperly. In any case, we're going to eat really well. Hopefully Jackie will also join us for the evening, and we can spend the remainder of our Sunday cheering her and Zach on. And getting wasted. I love it when your blood volume is so low that you're slammed after a few beers.
Well, there you go. Life is good and the cotton is high, baby. Now all I've gotta do is make it to graduation. Peace out, hombres!
My legs have been bothering me a bit recently. I suspect that running on the beach did that, although I couldn't say for sure. In either case, they haven't hindered my running much but I worry about whether they'll be able to crank out the watts in a pinch. My bike's as big a problem. I've been meaning to give it some love for a long time now, what with the rear hub rattling in protest everytime I take it out. The chain also likes to scream at me every so often, and doubtless the crank and casette should've been replaced about a thousand miles ago. If my bike were my boyfriend, I'd definitely get in some serious trouble for domestic abuse or neglect. It's with a blend of reverence, apathy, and lack of free time and money that I've rationalized not taking the bike to a shop.
I really can't believe I'm still riding Jonas at all; I feel like I should have him bronzed and hung up on a wall. A loving caption beneath reading, "The Bike I Conquered The Country On", or something to that effect. He's a year old, maybe, and he has six thousand miles on him. Six thousand... God. More than some-many-people will bike in their lifetime, more than some people have traveled, by car even. And it's funny; some people, a lot of people, will think that this makes me a good cyclist. Maybe I am. All I know is that I love it, a lot. The fact is, I'll probably get dropped by guys and girls who've ridden a fraction as much. And I cannot wait; good things on the horizon, not the least of which is Shamrock Half on Sunday.
We're heading out towards VA Beach first thing...well, as soon as Jared gets out of school and gets back to Harrisonburg. From there, it's just a few measley hours 'till we're on the coast and heading towards what I'm told is the crappiest gay bar in the world. I'm looking forward to judging it against what are considered good ones. I've never really warmed to the experience, since I am a terrible dancer and have on at least one ocassion been kicked out of a bar. A word of caution to any of you reading: don't dance with a drag queen when she's putting on a show. They don't like it. That said, it's fun to make out with the ocassional stranger that you usually can't see very well while you're trying not to step on him. It's also going to be really fun putting Jared into that environment. I've let him know that he's going, like it or not.
Ohh yeah, and the running should prove to be lots of fun as well. If I were to make a guess as to what the ranking will be... Jared will beat me by virtue of his longer stride, I will beat Cliff by virtue of my better fitness, and Cliff will maybe not even finish by virtue of the fact that he hasn't trained propperly. In any case, we're going to eat really well. Hopefully Jackie will also join us for the evening, and we can spend the remainder of our Sunday cheering her and Zach on. And getting wasted. I love it when your blood volume is so low that you're slammed after a few beers.
Well, there you go. Life is good and the cotton is high, baby. Now all I've gotta do is make it to graduation. Peace out, hombres!
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