Bike riding at night and Communism...

Good in theory, but in application? Not so great.

Bobby got off work yesterday at 5 pm, which is the earliest he's gotten off work at his new job. He was excited because it meant he could go on a group ride, but sadly, there was no group ride scheduled. So shortly after he left for work, I get a phone call.

"How about we bike to Olathe and back?"

I wanted to argue that it would be dark, but we have bike lights, so I agreed. A good long bike ride would be good for me.

It was 32 miles there, so I anticipated it taking just over an hour and a half to get there. I failed to consider the head wind, the hills, and the fact that there were only two of us. It took just over two hours, so we got to Bobby's mom's around 8. My legs felt a little fried, and I was a little concerned about making the ride back.

Bobby's mom wasn't home, but we raided her fridge anyway. Well, Bobby raided her fridge... he kept telling me to eat, but I wasn't hungry. At all. I managed to force down my Clif bar, and part of a banana, and a few bites of a veggie burger. All I really wanted was liquids, so I felt I got enough from a couple glasses of orange juice.

At about 8:30, we left to make the trip back. Less than a mile into the "back" part of our "out 'n back" I stopped and threw up. I could tell this was going to be a fun ride.

Not long into our second leg, we turned on our lights (our very powerful, very expensive lights) as the sun was falling behind the horizon line. It wasn't quite pitch black yet when my light flickered a couple times. I assumed it was because I hit something in the road that just shook the wiring between the light and the battery. After traveling a few more yards, my light went out. Completely.

Uhh...

Bobby played with the wires a bit, checking to see if it just shook loose, and nothing happened. Being the chivalrous human being he is, my husband gave me his battery pack so I would have light. Ten minutes later, the sun had completely set, and we were under the cover of night with just one light. If that one went out, we'd be done.

Since I had the only light, I rode in front, meaning I wouldn't have the benefit of drafting behind Bobby. My body was feeling a little ragged from the miles already ridden, and we weren't completely confident about how to get home. Given my complete lack of sense of direction, I was feeling extremely unsure about our travel, and with how exhausted I felt, I didn't want to waste any miles in the wrong direction.

Bobby was feeling a little gutsy, and started riding to the side where there wasn't much light. I hit something in the road that caused my handlebars to swivel a little, and the light hit the opposite side of the road. Five feet in front of Bobby was a deer.

"OH CRAP!"

I'm really surprised Bobby didn't go down.

In case you were wondering, back country roads are really terrifying at night. I was really regretting all those times I watched "Children of the Corn" in my youth. My only comfort was in knowing we had prayed before we left, and my energy came from knowing I was the one with the light, and the faster I rode the sooner we'd get home.

Then I saw a freaking snake in the road.

Not just in the road. The light was pointed down to the road right in front of my front wheel, simply because I'm more interested in what I'm about to hit than what's in the road a few yards ahead. What kept me calm was that in the next second, I wasn't going to hit anything that would kill me. So when I saw the snake, it took a second to register that it was a snake, and then to register that it was in my path of travel. So my only response? Swerving and screaming. Loudly.

I wonder what the people in that little country house we were riding by thought?

Bobby's really good at comforting me. "It was only a bull snake. Want to go back and catch it so we can take it home?"

One of the things our friends at the bike shop in Utah always said was "butt hurt." If someone was bothered by something, they were "butt hurt." I thought it was silly. How are they related? I found out last night. I was butt hurt. And very irritable. Fortunately, we saw lights up ahead, and since we'd already passed Eudora, we knew it was Lawrence. FINALLY!

We got to Mass street, and then turned onto 9th. It was the quickest way home with the steepest hills. I totally granny-geared it all the way up, and with the encouraging cat calls by a car full of drunk men, I made it.

Once we rolled up to our apartment, my Garmin said 63.7 miles. Not the longest ride I've ever done, but the longest I've done in a while. Not bad for someone whose only been back on the bike for a couple weeks.

PS: Snakes = the devil.

As my clever husband said,

"I knew their food could kill you if you ate it... but not if you made it."

Oh em geez.

I thought this was great, until they brought up anorexia/bulimia. Uhm, lifestyle vs. mental illness? Not really an equal playing field.

Something to think about, though.

Enough said.

Hi. My name is Katie, and I am struggling.

As a social worker, I should be used to the idea of people being afraid of change. I know all of the sayings-- old habits die hard. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Blah de freaking blah. So why is it that I'm working on a power point for nutrition class tonight, and I'm completely and utterly discouraged in the process? Because maybe two people will show up. Which would be leaps and bounds in improvement over how many have shown up for exercise group. I can't really complain about that one, because I haven't been going (and I'm supposed to lead it), but after a week of dragging my sleepy body to the church building at 6:30 a.m. to find that I was the only one to do so, I don't feel motivated to set my alarm anymore.

The reason I knew I couldn't become a teacher was because I have great difficulty separating my ability from my expectation of others. Bobby would come home from his Chronic Disease Prevention class every day and tell me the things he learned, and almost immediately, our pantry and our fridge were cleared out and replaced with good things. We started eating 5 servings of fruits and vegetables every single day, and the information about the benefits of daily exercise far outweighed my desire to sit and watch t.v. when I got home from work. So when others get the same information and file it in an "I don't really care" folder, I get frustrated. And want to kick things. Knowing that probably should have been my red flag that leading a nutrition class and exercise group would be a bad idea.

Last night was my first experience on the Bambinos Ride, which I was told would be 20 miles at 17 mph, no one gets dropped. It turned into a 20 mph ride for 24 miles, which was fine, because it was SO fun. I was a little worried at the beginning, simply because the pace seemed a little slow for me. I was getting bored, but it allowed me to talk to the people riding next to me, which was fun. On the way back, though, the pace increased quite a bit, and it was SO much fun. I can't believe I waited so long to do group rides. Riding 24 miles with other people (see: drafting) is a LOT more fun than riding 24 miles by myself.

Le sigh. Back to the nutrition power point. Someday it'll mean something to someone, right?

A new understanding.

In an effort to be more physically active, I've taken to riding my bike places more than before. Rather than driving to campus, I ride my bike, and carry it up to the third floor to put in the same room as me, because my bike is far too pretty (and impossible to replace given our current financial position in life) to lock up on a bike rack. In my experience, I have discovered something that is quite bothersome.

Lawrence differs than Provo in that cyclists are allowed on the sidewalks. At first, I found it strange that a cyclist would even want to ride on the sidewalk, but discovered quickly its appeal. While all the entrances into Lawrence city limits have signs indicating the community is bike friendly, many motorists failed to receive the memo. This is especially upsetting since I learned that bike laws became mandatory testing materials in order to obtain a driver's license. Riding on 6th or Iowa becomes a request to die young, apparently.

Riding on the sidewalk has brought to light something I think I would not have noticed otherwise. Many sections of sidewalk look like they've fallen victim to various earthquakes, and the transition from sidewalk to cross walk seems like a blatant afterthought for many construction workers. Perhaps it's the humidity that creates such violent cracks and holes, but I've not seen any effort made to repair sidewalks. On a bike, this can be terrifying, especially for those of us who have had bloody bike accidents, and any lip or inconsistency in the pavement can cause a spike in anxiety. However, what I find extremely alarming is considering the individuals in wheelchairs who are doing their part to lighten their carbon footprint, and then are punished unnecessarily for their mode of transportation. My observations of the sidewalks around Lawrence are not hyperbolic in order to complain about something-- I genuinely think it would be nearly impossible for someone in a wheelchair to get from point A to point B in Lawrence through using the sidewalks. Several transitions from sidewalk to crosswalk are so uneven that many appear to require a ramp in order to successfully roll over the large lump of concrete and tar.

In addition to individuals using wheelchairs, I would imagine parents pushing strollers have experienced extreme difficulty in attempting to enjoy an evening stroll. I thought it odd that I didn't see nearly as many jogging strollers out here as I did in Utah, and initially wrote it off as a cultural difference. Now, I see that such physical activity could be deemed hazardous, both to the expensive stroller being pushed and the precious cargo inside.

These complaints worsened when I rode my bike downtown to watch the fireworks, and I discovered that thousands of dollars were spent on blowing things up. Pretty lights and loud noises to be enjoyed by a community over a few hours, when such money could be spent to repair the roads for the members of the community to enjoy every day of the year. I guess tradition and morale trump safety.

If you think I'm overreacting, this guy died from hitting a pothole on his bike. He wasn't on the sidewalk, but still-- even the roads aren't getting repaired.

On a slightly related note, I'm in love with the new Nike commercial. I'm told I won't like Lance as much when I read his second book, but right now, I'm kind of in love with him, mostly for what he's doing for cancer. Love, love, love. All around.