Camping in Shenandoah

As you may remember, one of the many exciting, active things on my list of 25 things to do before I turn 25 is to set foot on the Appalachian Trail. Well, I am embarrassed to report that I was within a mile of the trail this weekend and was too oblivious to accomplish the goal. But don’t worry, this is nothing but inspiration for another weekend in the mountains.

This past weekend, Josh decided to go for an unconventional birthday party and dragged four friends (and me) into the woods. We reserved a site at Big Meadows Campground in Shenandoah National Park. As a way of getting away from DC, hanging out in sweats all weekend with friends, and eating and drinking around a campfire, this was perfect. But as a way of “roughing it”, it was not. There were lots of RVs and kids running around.

The campsites were big grassy lawns with a driveway, fire pit, and picnic table. But we made the most of it. And, despite the mocking of the “Rent an RV”s and campers with iPads, we ended up spending almost every minute of it at our campsite. Laughing, playing cards, drinking, eating, singing (happy birthday), and cozying up in LONG sleeves and pants (best part of all).

Somehow the days got away from us before I even read the brochure we were handed by a ranger on our way in. Finally, as we headed home along skyline drive, I read about all of the hiking, swimming, and gazing opportunities in the park and was filled with some regret for not taking advantage of any of them. And then, when I discovered that we had slept within a mile of the Appalachian Trail, I decided that regret is a waste of time. So instead, Josh and I plan to return to Shenandoah and stay in a tents-only site in the woods. We will have at least two nights there so we can spend a full day hiking, finding the trail, taking pictures, and maybe even seeing some animals (just not bears!).

Don’t get me wrong, this trip was awesome. It was my first time sleeping in a tent since Ragbrai 2010 and that made me nostalgic. And it was yet another excuse to try and convince everyone in my tent to DO RAGBRAI 2012. Hear that Nikki? I’m talking to you! Even more than a weekend at Big Meadows, a week of biking across Iowa will be the experience of a lifetime!

Happy Birthday weekend to Josh and happy Appalachian Trail dreaming to me!

Getting Organized

When I began writing this blog, it was sort of a fun public journal, a place for me to tell stories and let my thoughts just spill out. But, 14 months later, I think maybe you’ve heard enough about just me. It is time to expand the scope of what and who I write about. I am going to think of at least one weekly column that will specifically focus on one thing each week- whether it be stories of organized bike rides, interviews with local riders, studies or reviews on different bike shops. And as I develop the first weekly column, I will hopefully incorporate more. Rest assured, I will continue to share stories about my life. I’ll just try to be a little more informative and consistent as I go.

I will be spending 16+ hours in a car over the next three days so, along with listening to Harry Potter and Between the Assassinations on CD, I will brainstorm the ways I can make my blog more exciting to you readers.

If you have any particular interests or ideas, I’d love to hear them!

Ideas

Tonight my brother said, "If it's not fixed, it's broken." He rides a fixed gear bike. And, though he was kidding, I think he's a snob. A hipster just mockingly confirming his hipsterness. But there's a lot more to him than that.

Tonight my brother also said he would travel cross country with me next summer. I am going to ride my bike and he will maybe follow me in a car with a video camera. I will write a book and he will make a movie. About the same experience. Our parents may join. It's all a new and crazy thing but it's something I've been thinking a lot about recently and it is something I am so so serious about.

And I want Joyce to respond to my most recent e-mail confirming that she is still interested in being a part of this adventure. After all, the idea was ours at first, thought up one afternoon last July as we rode our bikes alongside the cornfields. We've continued to talk about it and I know it will be a crazy time for her, with graduation and all, but I hope she's still as serious as I am. And as the rest of the Shaws are now.

30 Minutes Out and Back

In less than six days, Josh and I, with Betsy and Sandy, will be riding our bikes forty two miles through the five burroughs of NYC. So we thought it might be a good idea to do a little training. We had a hearty breakfast yesterday morning then got on our bikes and rode an embarrassingly short .2 miles to our first pit stop, the zoo. It was nice to walk down and uphill on a sunny Sunday but, otherwise, it only confirmed my dislike of the place. I’m not a big fan of zoos in the first place, though I can be a sucker for the vast savannahs and the snake tanks (snakes are probably the only animal I don’t feel bad seeing in captivity) at Busch Gardens, and couple that with the hoards and hoards of tourists at this one and I go a little crazy. But it was a short visit- we saw some unhappy looking animals L and Josh got some decent pictures. But crazy from the madness, I was ready to move my legs! We rode to our usual Frisbee spot, uninhabited by the Somerset Frisbee crew on this holiday Sunday, and got on the trail there. We had never ridden south through Rock Creek from there so had no idea where it’d take us. We had a little over an hour to ride so I, naively, decided that we’d ride 30 minutes out and then turn around, and that we’d ride hard. About 7 minutes in, we were passing the four seasons and it was becoming apparent there wouldn’t be 30 minutes worth of trails laid out before us to ride, unless we wanted to cross the river and ride in Virginia, but there probably wasn’t time for that. So within ten minutes of leaving Woodley Park, we were in Georgetown and we stopped to chill for a few minutes in the grass by the Watergate. We sat on the wall, Josh took a few pictures. There were people fishing and grilling and sleeping. We headed back and barely broke a sweat… until we reached the Frisbee field, where we rode up the grueling hill to Calvert Street and that was enough training in and of itself. So we’ll go into next weekend not having ridden more than a few miles at once. But we’ll be totally fine, it was more of an excuse to take a long ride yesterday than a real need for training. In the end, it is so great to know how insanely close we are, via bike path, to Georgetown and to the mall. We can ride to our soccer games on the Polo Grounds in ten or fifteen minutes. And I found a place where I can run and breath a little less smog. I can’t think of anything better. And next time we want to try a long bike ride without crossing the river, we’ll know to turn left at the park and head north.

127 Hours

This February, I challenged myself to see all ten Oscar best picture nominees before the show. Even though I hate the fact that there are ten nominees, I have been tricked into handing lots of money over to the film industry but I have been highly entertained by most of what I've seen. Josh and I had already seen The Social Network and The Kids are All Right so we netflixed (if google is now a verb then I'm instating that netflix be one too) Toy Story 3, Inception, and Winter's Bone. In the past two weeks we've seen Black Swan, The King's Speech and True Grit in theatres. I'm almost there and I have 24 hours until the red carpet starts but I think I'm going to have to go it alone. Josh is all movied out and I don't want him to waste his money on films he doesn't care about seeing. I, however, refuse to be done. I still have yet to watch the most important picture, or the one that is most important to me at the moment.

I mentioned this week that I just finished reading 127 Hours Between a Rock and a Hard Place and it upset and inspired me more than any of the movies I've seen have. Of course, reading a book lends much more to the imagination and to the heart than watching a movie does as it is a more real time commitment and journey than is watching a movie. But what a journey this was. I felt this book a lot more than I do most. As impossible as this may seem, given my profound attachment to Scarlett O'Hara and Gone With the Wind, I felt almost as attached to Aron Ralston and his powerful (or powerless) situation in the book. It is interesting to reflect back now that I've finished it because I did have several negative thoughts earlier on in the book, which he writes by switching every other chapter between telling about his entrapment in Blue John Canyon and recounting wild adventure stories from earlier in his life. In the flashback stories, Aron is like the definition of a lose canon. He is often reckless, takes unnecessary risks, and seeks the wildest thrills that put him face to face with death a number of times. Along the way, he matures some as he loses two friends (loses as in they stop talking to him, they do not die) because of the risks he encouraged them to take with him. He also grows as he contemplates the reasons for which he lives the life that he lives. A friend and colleague worries that he does what he does for some of the wrong reasons, that he does it for others just as much as for himself. But he discovers that he didn't become a retired engineer at age 25 for anyone but himself. He changes his lifestyle to solo climb fourteeners, to ski in avalanches, and to swim in the Colorado River to make him feel alive. To quench some inner thirst for adventure and to achieve an understanding and connectedness with the earth. Still, I was entertained by these stories and had a hard time not noticing the lack of humility, and possible air of selfishnesses, that Aron Ralston possessed in his endeavors.

Despite my apprehensiveness toward this character, and his life stories, he was captivating and his perseverance and outlook on life grabbed me. The real story, obviously, is in his entrapment in the canyon. The despair he feels is so painful and heartwrenching that I found myself in near tears envisioning his situation. The reflection on his life, his memories with his friends and family, and his acceptance that the people in his life, and his experiences with them, have been the most important thing are true. And his certainty that he is stuck there waiting for death opens his eyes to how stupid and selfish he has been in his recklessness. He ponders how he goes out looking for adventure so that he can feel alive and that it, ultimately, is killing him. But hopefully we all know that his apparent stupidity and selfishness didn't end up killing him. Instead, his fighting determination and his engineer's brain got him out alive as he broke his bones, sawed through his flesh and tendons with a cheap pocket knife, and hiked over four miles with one arm out of the canyon. His will to survive was undying and his tale is powerful. This one is a non-fiction story of true grit.

What I find so interesting and confusing about this movie is how controversial it seems to be. Almost everyone I talk to either doesn't want to see the movie because they are grossed out by the thought of someone cutting off their own arm or they think this is an unworthy plot about a person who did a stupid thing and shouldn't be getting all this media attention and fame for their tale. Even my mom, who has seen the other nine nominees and tends to see them all every year, is not going to see 127 Hours because it grosses her out. This is understandable, I spent an hour on Tuesday night making painful sound effects as I sat on the couch next to Josh reading the gory details of the amputation. Still, I think it is a shame that fewer people will see the movie because of it, when I think that the rattlesnakes in True Grit and the hallucinations in Black Swan were just as disturbing. What really gets me is that this story is discounted by some as stupid and unworthy of being put on the big screen. I had an argument with Eric last night, who thinks that the "premise" of the film is dumb. And the other Erik, the one who is an outdoorsman himself and lived in Aspen probably just blocks from where Aron lived, told Ingrid this guy is stupid because he didn't follow any precautions and didn't notify anyone of his plans. Maybe he made a mistake but don't write off the entire movie and story because of it. Or maybe I'm giving him too much credit. But I want people to read his 350 page memoir and then tell me that they don't sympathize with him, that his story wasn't unbelievable, that he doesn't deserve to be making millions of dollars off of this movie about himself just because his story was based on his own stupid mistakes and mis-judgement. We all misjudge, we have all been in the wrong place at the wrong time, we just aren't all as unlucky as Aron Ralston was on Saturday, April 26, 2003. It's hard for one to know how they would respond in a crisis such as his but, in my opinion, it's easy to admire him for they way he responded. I admire him and now I just hope the movie is as good as the book.

Davenport's Mississippi River

My mom has many attachments to Iowa. Obviously. She grew up there, she went to school there, she has many many friends there. She lived in both college towns: Iowa City and Ames. But there is no place in the state that she is more attached to than Davenport, the place where she lived from ages 5-18, the place where she took her kids home to many times, the place where she goes for all of her High School reunions, and, unfortunately, the place where Ragbrai neglected to include in their route for the past four years. This is understandable, as it is a large state with many east coast river towns for the ride to end in. But, every year since 2007, my mom has planned on biking Iowa in July, she's been on the website the day the route is announced to see where it will take her. And since 2007, it has taken her to the Mississippi in Bellevue, LeClaire, Burlington, and Dubuque. Ending in Davenport is not the reason she rides by any means, but I'm sure it's something she hopes for every summer.

Well, if you can't already tell where this story is going, here it is: For the first time since 1982, Ragbrai is ending in Davenport. And, for the first time since 2006, my mom was not planning to bike Iowa. She and my dad have a three week trip to France planned in August, a week of which they will spend biking around Birttany. They thought they'd have their fill of summer biking but now they have to re-think everything. Despite the hassle, the oh so complicated logistics, and the need to work some this summer, my mom is trying to ride at least the final 3 or 4 days of Ragbrai XXXIX and dip that front tire of hers in Davenport's Mississippi River. She loves that town and the people in it. But now she's got me all confused as I revel more in the nostalgia of last summer's trip. Do I want to join her for a few days? Kind of. A lot, actually. In all honesty, it's probably not worth the hassle and logistics for me. For now, though, I'll remain optimistic. And I'll wish my mom the best of luck in her planning and optimism.

5 boros by bike

Yesterday morning, my mom so patiently signed herself, my dad, me and Josh up for the five boro bike tour in New York City. This is is a 42 mile ride through New York's five boros, beginning in Battery Park and ending with a "lively" outdoor festival on Staten Island. It is an annual ride, taking place the first Sunday in May each year. It is a carless ride and, based on it's history of having over 30,000 participants, I imagine it's a slow one. But the appeal of this ride is not the speed. The opportunity to see so much of New York City in such a real and unusual way seems hard to beat. And the commitment to an organized ride is uplifting for this cyclist (if I can still call myself that) who hasn't been on her bike in two months. Unlike Ragbrai, this doesn't seem like it will require much training, but it gives me something to look forward to and will inspire me to re-adjust to my hard bike seat and drop down handlebars. Besides, the groundhog has spoken: spring is coming early this year and that means dry roads and warm air for many warm-up rides in the city. This (nation's capital) city, that is.

MogulFULL Diamonds

It's been a long time and it's hard to know where to begin. This will be long and detailed and it will include variations of the words "ski" and "double black" and "mogul" many times. This is your decision point. Proceed at your own risk.

The day we got to Colorado, I called Erik to make plans. We had trouble making our schedules fit but he asked me to do something that completely transformed my attitude toward skiing for the week. He asked me to ski the Aspen Highland Bowl with him sometime before I left, something he'd had Ingrid do two weeks before while she was out there for Christmas. I studied it on a map and discovered that the highland bowl, the peak of which requires an 1,100 foot hike from the highest chairlift to get to, is super steep and complete with eighteen runs, all of which are double black diamonds. So began my quest to ski a double black and my endless dreaming about the deepest mysteries of the mountain.

Highland Bowl

Our first day of skiing, Sunday, was marked by a wild white-out blizzard. You couldn't see more than 50 or so feet in front of you. What a perfect day for Josh to learn how to ski! I kid. But also, it kind of was perfect because the snow was powdery so he didn't get going too fast. He face planted a lot but he also pizzaed a lot and that helped. Eventually he went inside and the rest of us had a wild day in the storm. I did one black by myself but it had been ten years since I'd been on skis and I was a little rusty. The snow was deep and fluffy and my legs were burning and it was wonderful. Legs, body and spirit happy and well worked, I fell asleep on the couch at 8:30 pm and I am not ashamed.

The next day it was cold. Really really cold. Our lift tickets went into hibernation for the day and we spent an hour skiing via the free fanny hill gondola so that Josh could get some more practice in. We went into Aspen in the afternoon and tried to have fun exploring but it was a little too painful to be outside. We met up with Erik for a little while and toured his studio, perused the insanely expensive ski shops, bought a sweet pair of vintage cowboy boots, had drinks and fromage at the historic Hotel Jerome, and went to the newly re-opened Red Onion restaurant for dinner and a viewing of the BCS National Championship game. We went home at half time and, right on cue, I fell asleep by 9 pm and slept soundly through the night.

Aspen Town

We were up and on the slopes bright and early on a sunny and freezing Tuesday morning. We all took turns skiing, reaching higher altitudes than we had in Sunday's haze. Dad and Nathan and I went up to Big Burn, the highest point in Snowmass accessible by traditional chairlift. Mom and Nathan and I went to the top of Elk Camp, from which we had a crisp purple view of the Maroon Bells. On our way down, we skied alongside the Hanging Valley Wall and it's many double diamonds. I marveled at them, took pictures, and looked them up on the map as if I believed I'd actually ski them sometime. Josh and Nathan and I finished the day on greens labeled "easiest way down the mountain" on the map. As we repeated this, we noticed how Josh had improved immensely in his three days of skiing. I got a little nervous every time he got too close to a chair lift pole but he made it down multiple times without falling-- a vast improvement! I felt pride like a mother must feel when her child learns and succeeds at something new. Of course, Nathan doesn't love Josh like I do and was a bit less entertained by multiple trips down "the easiest way down the mountain" and had to do what he could to keep interested. He took whatever little paths through the woods he could find and decided to attempt a jump that should have been meant only for those training for the upcoming X Games. I went first but I pizzaed the shit out of the downhill so I took the puniest little jump you've ever seen. We decided that my wimpiness led Nathan to be much more ballsy than he otherwise would have been. He went BALLS TO THE WALL on that jump. I don't know how it happened but he landed kinda face and hands first, legs spread eagle, and just slid down the slope that way. And, on the easy greens, entertainment was fully born. My only regret of the week is that I didn't video tape that jump. It is recorded only in the three of our memories and we are still laughing about it.

Hanging Valley Wall-- Maybe next time

On Wednesday morning, the three of us started the day off together, just as we'd finished it. Nathan decided he had to get it right and he attempted the jump again. This time, I was sure to have my camera running. The wimpiness kicked in, unfortunately, and his jump was as puny as mine had been the day before (even though he'll argue otherwise). What matters is that he didn't give up. When Josh went inside for a break, Nathan and I rode up to the Slot, our most notorious black diamond. This may have been the first black I ever skied back in 1998 and it was about to be Nathan's first as well. We skied to it's sign for a picture of him and he fell right off the bat. So we took his picture sitting down. He got up and he skied slowly and steadily. He had burning legs but he made it down and was ready for more. We went back up to the top and skied Campground. We cut off the bottom on Hustler, a supposed mogulless black. Little did we know, not all mogulless slopes had been groomed since Sunday's big storm and this huslter was very mogulFULL. This was  Nathan's first experience with moguls and, well, talk about burning legs. After the moguls, we went in to eat and veg. Of course, vegging never lasts long when you're sitting on a lift ticket that cost you $100 for the day and your day is quickly ticking away. Mom and Nathan and I went up to big burn and jumped on the new Cirque lift. This is a Poma lift on which you don't ever leave the ground but, instead,  put a little T-bar between your legs that pulls you up the mountain. We held our poles, gripped the bone chilling metal bar, and watched as we headed into this seemingly desolate abyss of blowing snow and sunshine. Turns out it wasn't so desolate. There were plenty of people at the other end. Some were all business, efficiently skiing on to the Cirque Headwall, Hanging Valley, and other double black diamonds of my dreams. Others were touristy like us, taking pictures of themselves with a John Denver quote or with the sign stating that you've reached 12,510 feet above sea level. And another was climbing, in his ski boots, up a hill in the distance to a gate with a sign we couldn't read. I didn't know where he was going but I decided to follow him. Nathan started to come with me but the altitude, the ski boots, and his tobacco poisoned lungs made him change his mind pretty immediately. I reached the gate and it was covered in signs signifying death and disaster. I had reached the edge of the ski area. Passing the gate meant entering the "back country" where dangerous (and I'm sure really crazy, awesome and spectacular) things happen. I went through and impossibly tried to document the beauty. I watched as real skiers planned their route down these untouched slopes. I never wanted to stop seeing what I was seeing in those moments. But I was being yelled at from far away, and rightfully so. I was holding up the others whose precious lift ticket minutes were also ticking away. I went down and we skied the only blue down from the Cirque. If I left right then, my trip would have been complete. But we weren't leaving and I still had to ski that double black. That afternoon, I became independent and skied some good blacks by myself. I explored slopes that my cousin told me were harder than the double blacks she'd skied. The first was called Free Fall Glades and for good reason. It was unbelievably steep and covered in moguls. I stopped one turn in to take pictures and that was a bad idea because I became even more acutely aware of my situation and my knees and hands began shaking. I put my camera away and skied. I didn't stop, I just went and by the end I felt more adrenaline than I have in a long time. I was yelling "fuck yea" and "woooooo" more from the heart than I ever have. I was so elated and tired and proud and I knew at that moment that I'd ski a double diamond before the week was through.

Thursday, we skied a half day so we had to take full advantage of our measly four hours on the slopes. Dad and Nathan and I went out and did the Slot and Campground several times over. After a while, the two of them went in to meet my mom and I stayed up top. I did my free fall glades again along with a few others in the area. I tried traversing these woods between the slopes that Katy and Tony had written about in their recent guest book entry. That was scary and not something I want to do again alone. I was riding up the lift, looking at the map and picked out a short little double black called Buckskin that started on Sheer Bliss, the run I'd be on. There were a few others before it but they'd all be longer so I should hold out for this one. Skiing Sheer Bliss, I got to KT Gully, the first of these double blacks and just kind of gazed off at the mystery. As I was standing there, a ski patrol came by and roped off the run. He then skied on to close the next one. It was 2:45 and all these doubles were being shut down for the day. Well shit, I had finally decided to go for it and now it might be too late. I hurried on and got to Buckskin before he did. I skied by the sign without even stopping to have second thoughts or to take a picture of myself with it. I just had to get in before it closed. I did get in and was immediately scared for my life. Not only was it steep as shit but it was entirely in the trees. Lucky for me, my little ski patrol friend came in to rope off the slope and chose Buckskin as his way down the mountain. I told him shakily that this was my first double black and I was fucked. He said I could either take my skis off and hike out or I could follow him down. Follow him I did and it was awesome. What a treat to have a free lesson on my first double diamond run?! My mom and I skied blues the rest of the day and for the first time that week I was so ready to be done by the end. In a good way.

Buckskin is in those trees in the center there

Friday Friday Friday. It had to come even though I hoped it never would. Though the Cirque trip on Wednesday was hard to compete with, Friday takes the cake as the best day of the week. It was just full and perfect. Nathan and I skied together pretty much all day. We stuck mostly to blacks. And we did another double black. It was called Powderhorn and it wasn't too too hard it was just really long and full of moguls. Go Nathan! This little boy who hadn't skied since he was 9, who has a completely different body than he did then, who looked awesomely ridiculous in his purple thrift store onesie and 40 year old ski mask comes into the week never having done a black and here he is finishing his first DOUBLE BLACK DIAMOND. It was great. My mom and Dad took the day off but I finished it up with Josh, who had made it onto little blues by then. Unlike Thursday, I was not ready to be done. But we were and we'll be back.

We did other things besides ski, of course, but not too many. We swam in the pool and sat in the hot tub, we drank beers that went straight to our heads, we saw a man my mom had been watching since the 1970s do magic, we had a few good dinners out, we also cooked in a lot, we went to town at the Aspen Thrift Store, we watched a lot of Friends, we took pictures and played games, and we slept a lot. The family time is valuable, the hot tub is relaxing, and the exercise is great, but the spectacular view of those mountains and the love of skiing are what will keep me going back to Snowmass. Next time I'll make sure to bring my shovel and probe.

*I never skied the Highland Bowl with Erik- all the more reason for a return trip asap!

Sweet Dreams

Tonight, I'm dreaming about memories like these:




Leichenhearth Number Nine

 


Ski Love




babetastic shades




Santa always found us...




Colorado Shaws





hey neighbor

 


Nathan, is that you?




such form



weird kids for life




PIZZA




FRENCH FRIES




Oh, if I only had a pink onesie ski suitand fanny pack at age 23




the coolest








Tomorrow, I'll see what's changed in the past ten years and I'll begin creating all new snowmass memories. SWEET DREAMS!

The Countours of a Country

It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them. Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle.

-Earnest Hemingway


This is why I have had to dispel the common misconception on many occasions that Iowa is flat. Of course, most people that said this to me had never been to Iowa but assumed that, being near Indiana and Illinois, it was as flat as the rest of the middle west. I am so glad I learned the hard way, and fun way, that Iowa is, in fact, a state of rolling hills.


This is also why I want to Ride The Rockies with Joyce next summer. We all know that the state of Colorado is either as flat as Kansas or as steep and mountainous as they come. Well, "Ride The Rockies" implies that you'll be in the mountainous part which I've driven through and skied many times. But I want to learn the contours of the land better, to sweat and coast through the mountain ranges. And I just want to spend a week with Joyce. If we could survive Potters Hill, and the rest of "Little Switzerland", we can call ourselves mildly prepared for some rocky mountain range bike riding.

Super Human

After several weeks of not riding more than a mile or two at a time, I finally rode to work and back on Friday. It was a ride, normal and refreshing. The ride home was really a ride. A friend from high school asked me early in the week if I wanted to go to the B-CC homecoming game on Friday night. This was our high school's homecoming game. On Monday, this sounded like a fun idea. I talked to Josh about it and he thought we were going. On Friday, I was skeptical and decided that happy hour in Bethesda was far favorable to a night reliving my self-concsious days of partying behind my parents back and living up to everyone else's expectations when all I knew about football was that there was a quarterback and yellow field goals. This game ended up not being full of the weirdness I thought it was and I was really glad I went. Just watching live football is really nice sometimes. Especially in the cold... that's not something I had much of the past four years. The point is that I stayed at work until 5:30, when Josh called me and told me that he thought we were going to the game and that it started in an hour. He had left a work golf outing (yes, we're serious adults now) to get home in time for it so I wasn't getting out of it. I had to rush home and I did. It was fall so I sweat but not too much. As I rode by a woman walking her dog, another dog cam running up to them to play. She yelled frantically, saying something about being scared of dogs. I shook it off because who is scared of dogs, walking their own dog down the street. But as I rode off she continued screaming to the house the dog came from for the owners to "CALL YOUR DOG". I feel bad I never stopped to help. I felt bad for the next ten minutes. But, really, why are you walking a dog if you're afraid of them?! And how can you expect people to stop for you and believe that you are afraid? It was sad but the dog that approached them was harmless and I'm sure she was fine. And, what can I say, I was in a hurry.

Not as much of a hurry as I was in the next morning though, as I rode to Adam's Morgan from my Bethesda apartment. I had quite the busy day ahead of me. Crafty Bastards, an annual art fair on 18th street started at 10 am. My soccer game started at 11:30 and I was supposed to arrive for warm-up at 11 am. And Josh and I were leaving immediately after the game to drive out to Castleton, VA to spend the weekend with our friends Julie and Kevin. I was determined to attend Crafty Bastards for the first time so I had an hour to do it. Ingrid and I made plans to meet at 9:45 to make the most of it. Of course, I was unprepared for the weekend and packed the morning of. I didn't leave by 9am, as planned, and, instead, called Ingrid at 9:25 to say I was on my way. I told her I'd be there at 10 which was a stretch/lie because it takes me 35 minutes to ride to work (at Van Ness) every morning. I was riding to 18th Street and Kalorama, 2.4 miles past Van Ness which, at 15 miles per hour, would add 10 minutes to my ride. So, leaving at 9:25, I would get there at 10:10. Why is all this obnoxious, on-the-dot math necessary? Because I am here to brag about how I did this ride in UNDER 30 minutes on that sunny Saturday morning. It was like those instances you read about when moms get superhuman strength and lift cars or concrete to save their dying babies. Well the clock was my concrete and Crafty Bastards was my dying baby. I put my heart and soul into that ride, I rode the majority of it on Wisconsin and Connecticut Avenues among speedy cars, and I rode an average of 18 or 20 miles per hour. And I got there in 30 minutes and my baby came alive because instead of getting there at 10:10 and leaving at 11, I got there at 9:50 and left at 11:10. That extra thirty minutes made a world of difference. Not really, but it let me see how I can push myself. And I rode on the streets and wasn't afraid. It was Saturday morning so the road was nothing like it is at 8:30 am on weekday mornings, at which time I'll continue to use the sidewalk, but, in a crunch, I know I can run with the cars.

Ingrid and I left the arts late and barely made it to our game on time. We lost, as usual, and it sucked. Because we know we're good and we kill ourselves to play well and play like a team. But we have guys with egos and we don't pass enough and our offense can't score. So we lose and that's our story. But it's ok because Josh and I left for the county where we went apple picking, cooked grass-fed lamb from Mount Vernon farm, drank lots and lots of pumpkin beer and watched some disappointing football. Kevin, who just bought a new bike off craigslist, a 10 speed Peugot, requested that I bring my bike and that we go for a ride. We ended up riding around the farm on Sunday morning, on hilly and grassy gravel roads/fields. This wasn't exactly a bike ride but it was a party for Lucy and her new friend (Kevin, does your bike have a name?). Man, what gorgeous scenery and weather and people. I'd like to go back there, get off the farm, and ride those country roads like they've never been ridden before.

Here are some pictures of the weekend.

The Great Graffiti Tequilla Conquistadors

Yesterday afternoon, Ingrid and I did "Hill and Go Seek", a bike ride scavenger hunt on Capitol Hill. We didn't have a solid idea of what to expect, the descriptions online were kind of vague but it sounded fun anyway. I read about it on the Washington Area Bicycle Association's (WABA) website and we were sold. Plus, the $20 entry fee was hard to pass up. The ride started at 5 so we left Bethesda on our bikes at 3:45 (intended to leave at 3:30... you can probably guess who held us up...) and got there in an hour. We were a little skeptical of riding by the mall with all the tea partiers but the metro wouldn't have been any better. There was a ton of traffic around the mall but, on our little bikes, we just hugged the curb and sped by everyone on the right.

Upon arrival, we were told our start time was 5:20. We were given instructions on what to do and a packet containing these items. We had 2.5 hours to finish the race, if it took us longer than that we'd be disqualified. The packet contained: a card with ten checkpoints and their addresses, a map of the area with little bike doodles on the location of each checkpoint, two spoke cards, and two pbr wristbands for the after party. We had until 5:20 to figure out our route. We also had to come up with a team name. We were The Great Graffiti Tequilla Conquistadors because of our colorful outfits, our love of tequilla, and our drive to conquer the hill that afternoon. We had our route selected in no time and were lined up to start. It was hard for people not to have similar routes because of the proximity of certain checkpoints to the start line and the proximity of others to the finish line (the race was not a loop, it started and ended in different places). So at the start, it was really like a race, with most people going in the same direction, over grassy patches, avoiding trees, trash cans, and other bikes on the Eastern Mark plaza. We got to the first stop, Frager's Hardware, in no time but neglected to do the task (throwing baseballs at the target on an empty dunk tank with nobody sitting awaiting a dunk) because there was a slow line. We would have been more inclined to do this had their been some real dunking involved. On to Wisdom, the next check point where we completed the task of painting our team name on a canvas mural. That was easy. Third stop: Capitol Hill Bikes on 8th street SE where we had to lube one of our chains for the task points. I lubed Ingrid's chain, after which my fingers turned blue. It may have been a prank? Next was Peregrin Espresso by Eastern Market, where Ingrid high-fived the owner for extra task points (too easy!!). Fifth stop: Tunicliff's Tavern at Eastern Market where I pumped a bike tire from 0 to 85 PSI for task points. At Tunicliff's, there was an opportunity to sing karaoke for 25 bonus points. You better believe we weren't passing up that opportunity. We had a choice of four songs, three of which we didn't know, so we sang Under Pressure by David Bowie. Ingrid and I both can not sing for our lives but we do it anyway, especially together. We were a step above awful but it was fun and points were awarded for completion not for one's ability to carry a tune. This is us waiting to sing Karaoke. We moved on to the sixth stop, Pour House, which has a dear place in my heart. Pour House is DC's Florida game watch location and is, hence, one of the first bars I went to after moving back here with Josh and one of our most frequented bars last fall. Finally, Pour House offered a more challenging task, three opportunities to correctly answer a question off a trivial pursuit card. We missed the first two: naming the musical instrument that could also be used by a lumberjack, and naming some movie that neither of us had heard of. We got the third by naming six independent countries in South America. We sped on to the 7th stop, Schneider's of Capitol Hill. We're not sure what Schneider's is because we didn't have to go inside and had our eyes too focused on the prize to care about finding out. We were excited that the place was called Schneider's, though, and wished Ben had been cool enough to join us on this ride! The only task there was to fill up our water bottles. I am all about adequate hydration and was excited to fill up with cold water but I wanted to be more challenged by the tasks! With full bottles, we continued on to Metro Mutts, a puppy store on H Street. On our way, we saw lots of people stopping at a Yoga studio a block before it so we stopped to get the task out of the way early. Ingrid, the talented Yogi, did downward dog expertly for the full 15 task points. We got our cards signed at Metro Mutts and rode to Fruit Bar where there was, unfortunately, no task to complete. We went to the last stop, Sova, where there was also no task, and were at Atlas Theatre, the finish line, by 6:05. At the finish line, Ingrid told the people collecting our cards that we had biked 14 miles from Maryland before even starting the ride and requested that we get bonus points for it. They noted it but didn't give us points.

The after party didn't start until 8 so we had almost two hours to kill and what else were we going to do but start drinking? We went to The Pug, a bar down the block for chips and a beer. We ran into Ingrid's work friend, Claire, and some of her friends who had also done the ride. After an hour or so, we went to check out H Street Country Club early and got more chips (amazing nachos!!) and beer. Neither of us had been to H Street CC and it is pretty sweet. The food was really good, there is a lot of space and, well, there is a DC themed mini golf course inside so that pretty much explains it. Also, this is what their bathroom doors look like.



Come 9 o'clock it was time for prizes to be awarded. They began with honorable mention and the first was "This team gets mention because they biked here from Maryland! The Great Graffiti Tequilla Conquistadors". We got Pedal Pushers t-shirts and a PBR gift bag with a t-shirt, tank top, bike bells, trucker hat, and some other pbr logo goodies. It was exciting and go Ingrid for notifying them of our commute! Here we are on the left after receiving "honorable mention" and awaiting our prizes. There were prizes awarded for the quickest to finish, dfml team, most creative name, and most overall points for all male team, all female team, and co-ed team.

Our original plan was to bike home at the end of the night but the combination of drinking beers and having already biked 20 miles for the day pretty much turned us off. Winning the prize for biking there re-inspired us for the trek, however. It was a pretty easy ride to get from H Street to the mall and then on to Georgetown. On the way, we accidentally turned onto Pennsylvania Ave. instead of Constitution and were so excited to be using the new and controversial bike lanes for the first time! I have biked the capital crescent trail so many more times in my life than I could ever count but never after sundown. I was a little ambivalent about it and it was scary but also pretty cool. Cool because it was only us and even being in such an urban area, we were in the woods in the dark feeling so isolated from everything, barely able to see or do anything but just talk and ride. Scary because it was so very dark and we could barely see and we could have hit a crack and crashed or had someone jump out and accost us and we never would have been seen again. We had bike lights, which I've ridden with many times but always on roads where there are street lamps so I never realized how truly ineffective they are for lighting one's way. I know their purpose is more to alert cars and other bikers that you are coming, which they do, and that is probably the most important thing. But they were nearly worthless on the trail where they did little more than dimly light the few feet in front of our tires.

While we were riding home, still downtown, Ingrid said we should do this more often... ride through the city at night. I agreed, it is so much more peaceful, and a really cool way of seeing the city at night, especially the mall and other areas that are obnoxiously congested during the day. After completing the ride, which took almost twice as long as the same ride did earlier that afternoon, I still agree with her. I think the only thing I'd do differently next time is ride home through town.

At the end of the day, we were exhausted. So much so that I almost passed out without showering. The day was so much fun though and so different from any other day. I am really a fan of this Hill and Go Seek race and I hope that the District 6 government continues the tradition for a second year. My only suggestion would be that there be a task at each checkpoint and that the tasks be much more challenging and competitive. Most of the tasks were easy enough that everyone could do them and it would take everyone pretty much the same amount of time. So the biggest thing to set any team apart would be their bonus points for early registration or for referring a team. Maybe it sounds like I'm just bitter and making excuses for why Ingrid and I didn't win. But I don't really care about that. I just felt, even during the ride, that their needed to be more competition. This would also ensure that the ride take longer and teams wouldn't finish so quickly. For their first year, though, the whole thing was such a success and everyone seemed to have lots of fun. Whether it changes or not, I'll probably do the ride again next year. Ingrid and I tasted the blood of life and that is what really counts!