Hair Again....

Well it had to happen. I badly needed my hair cut again and I was far away from my beloved stylist in San Diego. I don't think I'll ever get over losing her. Sometimes I time it just right and get my hair cut while I'm down there and everyone lives happily ever after. Other times I just get desperate and my hair gets so out of control that it just needs to be cut.

My last hair cut was a cut/color combo. It didn't go horribly but the fact that it's only been two months and already my hair needs to be cut again tells me something. Usually I go six months. She also managed to get two different color dyes in my hair (not on purpose) one of which was too dark for my complexion and she ended with putting something in my hair (probably hair spray) that made it so sticky that I couldn't even run my hands through my hair to get rid of the part she put down the middle.

The last two weeks my hair has been refusing to cooperate in the slightest, so I knew I needed to do something about it. I didn't want to go to the last lady and I was really nervous about trying some one new (we all know how that goes). There's a lady about a half hour south of here that generally does a good job but I really didn't feel like making the drive, especially now that I've got a miserable cold and I'm trying to get packed for the big move.

So I chose going to someone new. But I had a plan. I would go in with specific instructions. Merely saying "the layers need to be freshened up" is not specific enough. I realize that most stylists like to express themselves and showcase their talents, but that would not be happening on my head, not today, no ma'am.

The stylist (we shall call her Michelle) noticed me looking through a book of hair styles that I had settled down with being as I was 15 minutes early. "Did you find a style you like?" Oh boy. "Oh, no. I was just browsing, I already know what I want".

So we went back, got all tucked into my cape and discussed what needed to be done. I told her I wasn't looking to go shorter and the big problem here is mostly with the layers. I need 1 to 1.5 inches taken off the overall length and the shortest layer should be no shorter than shoulder length. She clarified by pulling my hair to my upper arms and asked "You mean shoulders here, or shoulders here" and rested her hands on top of my shoulders. Right, see now we're communicating and being specific. I put my hands on top of my shoulders. "Shoulders here. Also, my hair is really curly in the back but totally straight on the sides. The curls relax as my hair dries and flatten out (I'm now seeing where this conversation took a wrong turn). Usually I wear it straight."

We got my hair washed and went to cutting the hair. I could already tell I was not in love with the way she was cutting my layers. I've noticed there are two types of layer-cutters. One will leave all your hair down and grab at sections, lifting them up above your head and cutting them at an angle. I suppose that's a perfectly acceptable way to go, but that's not how my hair looks best and I'm just now beginning to realize this. The other way to cut layers is to separate hair into how it falls off your head, cutting the longest layer first, releasing and cutting the next layer, then the next and so on. It layers beautifully and grows out well. The first technique layers ok but does not grow out well.

After cutting, she grabbed what looked like mousse and put it in my hair. Damn-it, she's going for the curls. This is another thing that my stylist in San Diego has never done to me. Why do some stylists do this? Did I go in with curly hair? No. Well then unless I specifically ask for it, then it probably means I do not want to leave with curly hair.

As I watched myself in the mirror and she fluffed my hair and dried it, I got a little irritated. Let it go, it's just style, you can wash it out when you get home. I thought about running home to shower before I went to the store, but decided to go ahead and see how I liked the unruly curly look (never mind the fact that the reason I went to cut my hair in the first place was because it had turned unruly). And just so you know, I sometimes like the unruly curly look. It can be cute and sexy. Sometimes I even like it on me, but mostly I like it on other people.

So here's what it looked like when I got home. Mind you, I am sick and don't look so fantastic at the moment, and the pictures are lacking in quality.

The only actual curling that she did to my hair was two chunks in the front that don't curl naturally. Now, I haven't seen the movie, but it reminds me of the girl in "Brave". Crazy curly red hair. Maybe after a day of surfing, not this day.

When I got home I washed and dried it. Usually I let it dry on it's own and comb it as it dries so that the curls will flatten out, but for the purpose of this blog I decided to actually do my hair.

So the two photos above are after just drying it. It doesn't look bad at all and if for whatever reason I dried my hair one day, I would just stop there. It's still a little poufy though and would need to be tied back. 

Then I took a straightening iron to it which I normally reserve for special occasions. It doesn't change it much but takes the pouf out of it so I feel comfortable leaving it down. As I straighten it, I give it a slight curl at the end.

See that? Simple. Maybe that's the problem. I don't think stylists want their clients to leave with a "simple" do. But I am not incredibly concerned with how other people like my hair to look. I am however, very concerned with how I want my hair to look. 

When I move to San Jose I'm either going to have to find a new stylist or only get my hair cut when I go to San Diego. I might just wait until I'm in San Diego. Looking at the layers that are in it now, I can forsee a haircut in the next few months. This one won't last 6 that's for sure.

Not even a long run...

It's 2pm...and it's not getting any warmer. I'm about to go run 5 miles in the cold, with a cold, and without warm enough clothes...because the Weather Channel said it was going to be 50 degrees today. Well it's not. It's 35 degrees. Screw you Weather Channel.

Airport Musings

My flight out of Medford is "delayed indefinitely" so I'm re-booked onto a more complicated plan: Medford to Portland, Portland to Seattle, Seattle to Phoenix. I still get in around 6 pm, so it works for me. Someone standing behind me trying to re-book flights was commenting that they could just drive. I looked at my watch and started counting on my fingers. Yep,  could've driven. Side note: my spell checker says "could've" is not a word and I'm too tired to figure that one out. Could have? But could does not look like a word to me. Anyway.

So while getting my flights re-booked, someone radios to the lady helping me that another plane is delayed due to iPad technical stuff. I asked the lady if I heard that right. Are you kidding me? I'm about to go on a rant about technology, even as I'm using a notebook laptop in an airport to write this.

The more technologically advanced something is, the more opportunities for failure. I was discussing phones with a co-worker last week and commenting on how I keep hearing people with SmartPhones saying "my phone was dead" or "my phone died". Not that smart then are they? I told him I never have that issue with my phone. He replied "That's because your phone doesn't do anything". Well, it makes phone calls, which is way more than a dead SmartPhone will do. The battery on that thing lasts forever, and if it's getting low you have at least a 2-3 day lead time in which to find a way to charge it.

An issue with an iPad is causing the delay to Seattle, which isn't my flight but it irritated me slightly anyway. Maybe it was because I hadn't had breakfast yet. Planes flew fine before iPads came along, why on earth would you install one of those things in and rely on it to be able to fly? Technology is crippling us people!

I did, however, get a $12 voucher for breakfast for my troubles which is awesome because I needed to get breakfast anyway...and I sat waiting for my breakfast while reading my Kindle...so I know, I'm guilty of the technology thing too. But at least if my Kindle dies it's not going to cause flight delays.

So I read a really great quote on my Kindle this morning that I also wanted to share. I've been making my way through "The Gift of Fear" by Gavin de Becker. It talks about survival signals and intuition that keep us safe, how to listen to that intuition and also how not to be paranoid. After covering an entire book of sources of violence in our lives, he ends with a discussion about how our survival signal of fear is different from anxiety and phobias. He ends with a great conclusion:

"Though the world is a dangerous place, it is also a safe place. You and I have survived some extraordinary risks, particularly given that every day we move in, around, and through powerful machines that could kill us without missing a cylinder: jet planes, subways, busses, escalators, elevators, motorcycles, cars-conveyances that carry few of us to injury but most of us to the destinations we have in mind. We are surrounded by toxic chemicals, and our homes are hooked up to explosive gasses and lethal currents of electricity. Most frightening of all, we live among armed and often angry countrymen. Taken together, these things make every day a high-stakes obstacle course our ancestors would shudder at, but the fact is we are usually delivered through it. Still, rather than be amazed at the wonder of it all, millions of people are actually looking for things to worry about."

Put that way, it does make me marvel at it. I have phobias and anxiety about things. I don't want to call it fear anymore because as the book points out, fear is a very specific emotion that arises out of a need to survive. In a car accident for example, you feel fear just as it starts to happen. When someone puts a gun to your head, that's fear. Fear is not walking to your car in a dark lot thinking someone might pop out an kill you. That's anxiety. Fear is not thinking a friend who didn't return your text must have been in an accident, that's worry. These are things we make up in our own heads. I'm not saying these things can't happen, because they certainly do, but they aren't happening or they haven't happened yet. This is what I'm very guilty of. I assume the worst and have anxiety about things the could happen to me.... but that haven't or may never happen to me, or isn't happening now.

Gavin points out that we can be aware of our surroundings and learn to listen to survival instincts, but that we must also not put anxieties and worry in our head because they can block out survival signals from real dangers. It's a very good book and I highly recommend it.

Now I'm off to over-caffeinate myself.

Boston Bound (BB) Long Run #1- 8 miles

I was laughing at myself this morning as I was trying to get ready to go for my first long run of my Boston training plan. The conversation in my head was amusing enough that I decided I should blog about my long runs, especially since it's been several months since I've posted anything (and no I never figured out how to wrap those darn portable food things, I just gave up).

0945- You can't be afraid of 8 miles. Ok, I guess I'm really not- it's the cold I'm afraid of. I hate the cold. I've gotten as far as 2 cups of coffee and oatmeal. I've taped my toe that I may or may not have broken to the toe next to it and put on my compression socks. My Garmin GPS unit is on the charger. I look outside- it's cloudy, Garmin might not work. Ok, 8 min/mile for 8 miles is 64 minutes. Run for 32, then turn around.

Girl, please. You're out of shape. Better make it 36.

It's a whopping 33 degrees out there. Ugh.

I've pulled up all the running inspiration I can find on Pinterest and I'm feeling a little better. Maybe I'll try a little honey in my water bottle to keep the cold out of my throat?

I imagine doing something remarkable at Boston. I feel recharged.

My stomach hurts. I don't want to go.

Well, I have to run because of all that chocolate almond toffee I ate yesterday... and so I can have more after my run.

Ugh. What an ugly gray day. Not bringing the Garmin. I pull on my running clothes and braid my ponytail.I take a Zantac to keep the acid down, put on chapstick and pee one last time. Pull on my gloves, earband (headband?) and a light jacket.

1202- Well I made it, and as always, it wasn't nearly as bad as I had envisioned. I did overdress so I got home soaked in sweat. It's been a couple of months since that has happened, so that's actually kind of nice. 41 minutes in I realized my legs knew what they were doing, they hadn't forgotten how to keep going when my mind was elsewhere. The last two miles were a little rough but I got the job done and managed about an 8 min/mile pace.

I've stretched, had another piece of almond toffee and now I'm icing my IT band (chronic injury). I've got leftover steak in the microwave and then I'm off to the hot tub which will be sorely (get it, sorely?) missed when I move.

Man I stink.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Biju Thomas,

WTF?

I recently bought your book "Feed Zone Portables" and was very excited to try out the recipes. I had a number of issues that drew me to your book.
1. I'm always hungry.
2. I'm always on the go.
3. I'm a hungry athlete.
Your book seemed written just for me.

As a matter of fact, when I opened to the picture of you standing over the hot stove, I knew you had written this book just for me and that we were destined to meet- for these few reasons:
1. You're hot.
2. You appear to be in good shape.
3.  You can cook. Enough so that people call you Chef Biju.
Hi, my name is Carrie and we're supposed to get married and you will be all hot and handsome while cooking my food.

However.

There are a few things we need to get sorted out before this relationship can continue any further.
1. In the first chapter you address the question of whether I need to be eating all this food to begin with. Maybe it was your co-author, but regardless, I'm offended. I have a fast metabolism! I work out! And if you're cooking it for me, of course I will be eating it!
2. When you say fresh Thyme leaves, you should specify that I should remove the twiggy part of it. I won't even go into the hardship this caused me. Shame on you.
3. Sticky rice. Let's talk about that. My rice is not sticking together. I bought the kind you told me to (except it's the brown whole grain kind) and prepared it how you suggested. I wouldn't call it sticky, Bob.
4. Ok, my biggest beef. This alone has me second guessing our relationship. Let's address the section on how to wrap these scrumptious portables.

First off, individually wrapping each square of rice cake is incredibly wasteful, but I see the utility in it so I'm willing to let that go. For now.

Second, when you say "Fold the two open sides of the foil into triangle tabs as you would to wrap a gift." WTF do you mean? I know how I make triangle tabs to wrap a gift and it certainly does not provide the security and closure that you're suggesting. My triangle tabs require scotch tape which I thankfully own, otherwise my rice cake would end up on the floor of my jeep while dodging deer on the river road tomorrow morning. It probably still will...sticky rice....

Which leads me to my next point. The photos you provide to illustrate how this origami should work are clearly lacking in any, well, clarification. WHAT TRIANGLE TABS?!

You go on to say "Tuck the triangular tabs at each end underneath the wrapped edges." Above is a terrible photo of you seemingly doing just that. And to top it off, the next photo is of your cute little bundles stacked on top of each other- no scotch tape involved.

I tried this with the mushroom thyme breadcake (yeah, that one, the one with the thyme leaves). I gave up after annihilating 2 sheets of paper foil (Why not just aluminum foil?).

I tried again tonight with the (ahem!) sticky rice.

I don't think we can be friends anymore. We are obviously struggling with some severe communication issues. When you come up with a better way to speak to me, you just let me know.

In the meantime I will just stare at you cooking and taste your scrumptious recipes... while eating them from a bowl.

Regards,

Carrie

Accomplished...and then not.

I was feeling super proud of myself this morning until tragedy struck...or I struck it anyway. More on that in a minute, first the background on why I was exuding awesomeness in the first place.

 This week has been a little hectic and it has required me to be always "on". As exhausted as I am at night, it's hard to wind down because all day long there has always been "the next thing" that I'm running off to do.

Every morning I'm in the gym at 5 am, then off to work. On Mondays and Wednesdays I get to work, eat a snack, check my email and then go for a run. I leave work early to head up to Medford for my Algebra class. Then I come home, split wood and haul a load in, eat and go to bed. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I have long ten hour days to make up for the short days on Mon/Wed. Have I mentioned we've all been furloughed (but have to work anyway because we're "essential") and basically got an IOU from the government? It's been a mess here. On Friday it's regular length day after gym and running.

 So last night on my way home I had a list going in my head of the things I needed to accomplish. Gas, split wood, haul in wood pellets, cook up the veggies that are about to go bad, shower, eat, bed.

 I got gas and when I got home saw there was a package on my doorstep. My new car stereo made it in! It's nothing fancy, just a cheap one to replace my old tape deck that went under recently. I brought it inside, split two loads of wood to haul into the house, brought in a bag of pellets and started a fire in the wood stove. While the wood started to catch, I grabbed my package and opened it. I glanced at the brightly colored wires. Yeah, I can do this, no problem.

 I got my tools and my flashlight (it was getting dark) and set about removing my old stereo. I looked at my watch. 1900. I needed to be in bed by 2030 at the latest in order to get up at 0430 for the gym. You're not going to make it.

 I removed the old stereo and started stripping and twisting wires together. Mid-way through I started thinking about how well I was doing in Algebra even after hearing a couple guys seated next to me talk about how they're so lost. First algebra, now I'm wiring a new stereo into my vehicle. Bad ass.

 The instructions said to solder the wires together after twisting them together. Solder? Seriously? Who just randomly has a soldering iron laying about? Not me. No one's soldering anything. After soldering, they should be taped. I went on a manhunt to find my electrical tape and could not find it. Masking tape it is. Lord help me if this causes a fire.

 There were a couple extra wires in the end. One that was labeled Auto amplifier. I was pretty sure there was no amplifier in my vehicle. The other coming out of the new stereo was labeled "Illumination". What? Like to light the face? There was no matching orange wire coming out of my vehicle. Crap. Hopefully I can still see this thing in the dark.

 The only other one left was a brown one. Something about a telephone. I didn't have one of those in my vehicle either, so I let it go. I put it all in place and re-attached the negative cable on the battery. I turned on the vehicle.

 Bam! Music! And the face is all lit up. I don't know what the illumination wire was all about. Who is not only rocking algebra but also wiring stereo equipment? This girl! Hell yeah!

 I cleaned everything up and looked at my watch. 2030. Damn. I still haven't eaten dinner. I ate some quinoa quiche muffins while I loaded more wood into the wood stove and packed my lunch and clothes for the next day. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Crap! Forgot to shower. Oh well, not happening tonight.

 I went to bed feeling pretty bad ass.

 In the morning I was tired and didn't want to get out of bed. UP UP UP!!! Always up!

 I got up and coaxed the wood stove back to life, changed, drank coffee and a protein shake and headed to the gym. After a great workout, the last of the week, I headed to work.

Here's where it gets tragic people. Avert your eyes if you're squeamish.

 I was bopping along to Pon de Replay by Rihanna on my new stereo, driving the winding river road to work in the dark. As I came around a left curve I saw a couple pair of beady blue eyes moving up the embankment as they came out of the road. Uh oh. I started to brake.

 As I got into the curve, my headlights shone onto an entire herd of baby deer. I kid you not. What was this, some sort of kindergarten field trip?! Everything happened in slow motion.

 I braked harder as I bore down onto 3 baby deer. "Ooomphh!" Came the sound out of my mouth as I braced my core to try to keep from being thrown forward in the vehicle. I didn't want to brake hard enough to lose control of the vehicle but I had to stop quickly. The baby deer kept their trajectory, right into my headlights. One disappeared to the right, the second disappeared under my headlights. Wait for it... CRUNCH, CRUNCH. "Arrgghhh!" I growled as the front right tire lifted up and over the little body of the baby deer.

 The third little guy turned around and headed back in the direction from which he came. My vehicle came to a stop and stalled...being as I did not have my other foot on the clutch. I put it in first and started it back up again and watched the third baby deer scamper off down the road. I steered the vehicle to the left a little to avoid running the darn thing over with the rear tire...although in retrospect maybe I should have run him over again just to make sure he wasn't still laying there suffering on the side of the road. Good lord.

 As I continued to work, I mulled it over in my head. Deer have got to be the dumbest animals alive. Those things ran straight into my headlights. I'm serious. I have a very vivid memory of that third deer coming right at my vehicle just before changing direction. Those jerks need to stay out of the road.

 I had a brief thought of the survivors coming out to check on the little body lying in the road. I wonder if the dump truck coming behind me hit any of them.

 (As an added note, as I sat here at my desk editing this thing...kinda in the dark, something crawled onto my leg. It was too dark to see what it was. I jumped up, gasping and brushing at my leg. I flicked on the light and searched for it. When it finally started to move again I found it. I have no idea what it was. Lately we've had some very strange bugs in this place. But I'll have you know that instead of killing it, I scooped it up onto a piece of paper and tossed it outside, Just like the other unrecognizable bug I tossed out yesterday.)

A Short Thought

I'm reading a book about overhydration in endurance sports and how we've taught for so long to drink as much water as we can and how that advice is killing people.

At work yesterday I had a conversation with a coworker who is giving up meat because studies have shown it contributes to cancer in genetically predisposed individuals.

Shortly before leaving work yesterday, I skimmed the Yarnell Fire Serious Accident Investigation Report. In 122 pages it said absolutely nothing. I knew it would. Our agencies have a knack for covering their asses and sugar coat anything that happens in order to keep people's feelings from being hurt and keep themselves from being sued.

From what I understand, from not being there, looking at facts and conjectures, who ever was in charge of the crew at that time made a poor decision.

The report diagramed where each man lay, the condition of his shelter and the condition of his clothing. My coworker looked at it over my shoulder. "Who's number 20? I'm number 20, what's his name?"

I scrolled down to the name and got the connection. I looked at where number 8 lay. I'm number 8. We're all numbered. The superintendent is 1. The captains are 2 and 3. The squad leaders are 4 and 5. Seniors are 6,7,8,9. Then apprentices and temps. I wondered what made them deploy their shelters in the position they were found in. Number 8 laid next to 5. Were they friends? Did 8 trust 5's judgement more? Or was it just where they were when the fire got too close and they had to drop what they were doing and deploy?

I read how their shelters were incinerated, how their helmets melted, their pants and shirts burned off, their leather gloves shrunken. There was a chart showing the temperatures and destruction of certain materials. Fire shelters: 2,000 degrees. Fire resistant clothing, gloves. And a two word phrase I've never seen before. Human tenability- 300 degrees. I don't know, but I can guess.

My superintendent went to Yarnell to help with the critical stress debriefing of all involved. When he came back he didn't say much, but he said this: "They did not die easy".

No, they did not.

Everybody dies. You can eat the perfect diet, drink the right amount of water, do all the right exercises, watch your weight. The outcome is the same. So go ahead and eat meat, drink wine, eat cheese. Kiss your loved ones.

Moment of Bliss

I'm having a brief moment of bliss before the rest of my day takes hold. I'm home from the gym, sitting at my breakfast table having a cup of coffee. It's cold outside (32 F) but cozy inside. There's a fire crackling in the woodstove and the warm sun is just starting to glow through the house. It's quiet, warm and peaceful.

It's moments like this that I don't want to let go of my current life to move on to another. But then I'm quickly reminded that this is not the majority of my life. This is a very brief moment that will pass all too quickly and I will rush off to work, load up in trucks and drive out a long slippery road. I will throw my gear on in the cold winter air, grab a drip torch and proceed to hike around a steep mountain slope, slipping and falling on the slick pine needles, lighting piles of brush.

I don't want to go out. It's nice inside. I'm tired from the gym. A week of the gym actually, and all the burning we did yesterday. If this moment right here were my life, if I could afford this house and frequent plane tickets home, if I could stay indoors when the weather was too hot, too cold or too rainy, I think I would stay right here.

My favorite time in this house is right now. When it's warm inside, cold outside. The sun hitting the east windows casts a warm glow into the house despite the winter chill outside. My coffee cup is warm in my hands, My sweats are soft against my skin. It's quiet. It's so incredibly quiet.

But this moment will pass, and I will have to get ready for work. For now I will drink my coffee and listen to the silence.

Photography Day!

I set out this morning to take some more pictures of the balloon fair, hopefully with one that had Mt. Shasta as a backdrop. They didn't launch this morning though, probably due to weather. But I had a small window of opportunity for some awesome pictures.

I bundled up (it's cold here now) and hopped into my jeep and headed north. I knew just the place I wanted to set up. By set up, I mean park my jeep on the side of the road and start snapping away.

As it turns out, both Shasta and the neighboring mountains got a fresh blanket of snow. Sunrise over Shasta Valley (where I live).

 

 

 

This picture here is an attempt at a scene I've been wanting to capture for awhile. But usually I don't have my camera. Here, I've got my camera but the light is just not right. I need a day that's a bit sunnier. I feel like it's the quintessential Shasta Valley: pasture and cows, the Little Shasta River, and of course Mt. Shasta. The sun wasn't cooperating though. Oh well, another day.

 

 

 

The eastern edge of the Shasta Valley has a line of foothill mountains with a larger range behind it. The clouds were rolling over the foothills like ocean waves. I love black and white photography but also had to capture a color photo since the colors are just so gorgeous out here. 

 

Around Montague

The Montague Balloon Fair is this weekend, and while I've worked most of it, today there should be a launch as well...as long as the weather holds up. It rained pretty hard here yesterday. On Friday though, as I was getting ready for work, I went out on my front porch and realized I could watch the balloon fair from my house! Here's a few photos.

 

 

And then yesterday as I was driving home from work, I captured these few images:

 

 

 

The other night I missed a great opportunity at a gorgeous shot of the harvest moon sitting on the shoulder of Goosenest Mtn because I didn't have my camera with me. So I'm trying to make a point to have it near more often. 



The Price of Habit

People speak so highly of will power and self-discipline, but I find those characteristics miserable. I crave habit- the result of a few weeks of will power and self-discipline. When I no longer have to dig deep for motivation to get me out of my soft, cozy bed when it's still dark outside.

I'm working on getting back into my winter routine: gym in the morning before work and another workout at work. I've been to the gym a few times lately and have done a couple runs. I'm out of shape, tired and unmotivated. Some of you might scoff in disbelief. Hey people, it's hard for me too!

This morning I awoke to the sound of my gurgling coffee pot. My bed was warm and soft, my body tired from a weekend of yard work, cleaning the house and moving and stacking two chords of firewood. Not even the coffee pot could lure me out of bed.

I watched the clock. 5:10. Yeah you're fine now but in two weeks you have to actually be arriving at the gym right now. Get up!

Without turning on any lights I stumbled to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Yes, I pour my coffee in the dark. Lights are harsh. I brought my coffee back to bed with me and sipped it in the dark.

5:20. Geez! How did that happen? Guess I'm not making it to the gym at 6am. I turned on the lights and got dressed.

I made it to the gym at 6:15, grabbed a 30lb barbell and took it to the basketball court. I did a couple warm up lunges with no weight and then lined up on the red line behind the barbell. I would lunge across the gym with the barbell and go immediately into a one minute plank. Repeat for 3 sets.

Go.

My balance was off and my knee hurt from putting it down on a nail while painting the house- full weight of my body onto the thin edge of the head as it lay on the ground. I made it to the end of the court (lengthwise), set the barbell down and lowered myself to the floor.

And there it was.

I don't even know what to call it. It's this child-like whimper of a voice that cries out from the depths of my soul. This is what I battle day in and day out. You could say it's weakness trying to take over,  but that doesn't even begin to describe it.

It was in that very brief moment that I realized exactly how much aggressiveness successful weightlifting depends on. And at that moment my very heart and soul lay curled in a fetal position, whimpering on the gym floor. What's a girl got left to hold on to?

Habit, I told myself. I glanced at my watch, put my elbows down and planked. You have done this a hundred times before, you will do this now. One minute, sip of water, repeat.

Awesome. Demon conquered. Now squat.

I managed to half-ass my workout, did a decent stretch and slunk on home. The weather called for rain. I stayed in my gym shorts and headed for work.

Clouds loomed overhead. I was going to get rained on. Thankfully another guy at work was going to run as well. So off we went, a bit faster than I had planned on going. We got rained on, but finished the hilly 3.2 mile run.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, can hold a candle to the power of habit. Once established, habit will get you out the door and running in snow storms. Relying on will power and self-discipline leaves me naked and ill-prepared for that whimpering child that tugs me back towards bed or the nearest floor. I've heard it takes two or three weeks to develop a habit. Let's hope it's two.

Habit does what self-discipline and will power cannot. Habit hears that whimper, puts on a pair of headphones and gym shoes and walks out the door- leaving that whimpering child at home in bed where she belongs.

What we endure to get by

Sitting on my front porch with a pint of Raspberry Brown from Lost Coast Brewery, I consider the lives of the van Goethem girls in the book I just finished. Their father dead and their mother lost at the bottom of a bottle of absynthe, the three sisters struggle through life to pay the rent and put food on the table by dancing in the opera, working in a laundry house or working as a prostitute. It's a harsher side of life than the one myself and my family live in, but it makes me think about the things we do to get by.

My forearms are covered in scratches from hauling brush and trees away from the fire side of a razor-back ridge. During a swing shift of 10am to 2am I attempted to rescue an unresponsive tree from the fate of smoke inhalation. Gagging and choking on hot smoke, I pulled embers out of the "green" and tossed them into the black to prevent spot fires from flaring up. My eyes burned and my nose ran snot into the back of my stinging throat. Through the smoke I got a glimpse of a silhouette of one of my crewmembers, hunched over, frozen by the thick astringent blanket of smoke.

"Hey! Are you alright?!" I shouted. There was no response. I felt the other crewmembers around me grow silent. The figure didn't move, didn't respond. I had to get him out of this smoke! I blinked my tears away and lunged toward him.

"Hey!" I shouted as I reached my hand out to grab his shoulder. My hand went straight through a tangle of branches. What the hell?

I stepped forward and parted the branches. It was the tree we just cut down that had caught fire on the wrong side of the line. There was no person there. I knew my crewmembers were somewhere in the smoke, awaiting word on the crewmember in trouble.

"I'm talking to a tree!" I said, loud enough so everyone could hear.

"Carrie, get out of the smoke!"

I laughed and stumbled out to cleaner air.

Days of disjointed swing shift up a steep mountain, taping the wounds on my feet with duct tape as it is the only thing that can withstand the rigors of steep terrain and 16 hour days of hot sweaty boots. I think of the back pain, the bug bites and the scratches on my arms that will take another week to heal. Then I consider the letters to all the professors, praising their work and asking to join their research team and I wonder who I'm selling my soul to this time.

Montana Roll

I'm sitting in the Portland airport on a 3 hour layover. After two weeks on two different fires in Montana, the crew has been extended a third week and I have been blessed with a trip home to complete my college applications that open up tomorrow.

I was not excited to be dispatched to Montana, being as Montana is home to the dreaded "bear grass" that nearly made my hands permanently inoperable two years ago. Bear grass does not give way to a swinging tool and the rocks buried between their potato-like roots dull our tools to the point of being like a round rock. If you've never tried to dig a ditch with a round rock, I suggest you give it a try. After 12 or so hours of doing so, your hands, arms and shoulders will know what it's like to dig a day in bear grass.

Anyway, so off we went to St. Regis, MT. We spent several days prepping roads and dozer lines for a burn operation that never occurred. Prepping means to cut down brush and trees within 20-40 feet of the line that you'll be using to burn off of. After the chainsaws cut everything, the rest of us move it to the other side of the road- called "swamping". Swamping is exhausting. There are swampers on the crew who work directly with the chain saws on a regular basis. I do not have the brute strength and stamina of a swamper, therefore I am on a tool. A Pulaski to be exact. Anyway, but when we're prepping the roads, the only person not swamping is the sawyer. So after a few days of swamping, I was exhausted.

One day we actually got to burn. I was in charge of one side of the hill while the rest of my crew worked the other side. All day I hiked around and stood on a steep slope (standing on a steep slope is horrendous) directing guys with drip torches where to put down fire. My feet were done.

We spent a few more days putting out that fire and then were sent to Helena to stage...except that we weren't. We were directed to Philipsburg where there was a fire. After some finagling, my superintendent got us on that fire. It was too far to hike in, so they decided to fly us in to the fire on a helicopter. I like helicopters. I think they are cool and I like that it saves me from a lot of walking. My superintendent does not like helicopters. I think he's been in a few "hard landings".

My superintendent was in the first load, I was in the second. We laughed as he settled into the ship and then waved at us on take-off, knowing that he was thinking how he was about to die and this was the last he would ever see of his crew. Just after take-off, the helicopter stopped it's forward motion and hovered strangely. We saw the pilot's door open for a few seconds. I looked over at the helitack crew (helicopter crewmembers and support personnel) on the ground, knowing that if it was no big deal, they'd be going about their business. They both stood and stared, frozen in place. Oh my god. I thought. They're really going to crash. One crewmember had just finished telling me that she was strangely nervous about this flight, more so than her last one.

"Is the pilot's door open?" She asked. Helicopters are fairly fragile. They're made of very lightweight materials and very susceptible to movement inside the aircraft. A door opening can be very hazardous.

The door closed again, the ship hovered not very far above the ground, the helitack personnel continued to stare. We all watched and muttered obscenities. Finally it lifted a little higher and was off over the mountains. When I later asked my superintendent what that was all about, he said there was a bee in the cockpit. Geezo.

Next it was my turn. My group and I loaded into the helicopter and I got a window seat. We lifted off the ground to the loud drone of the rotors. All of us wore our regular hard hats instead of the flight helmets that allow you to talk to the pilot or the people on the ground. The new guys snapped photos of the mountains and ground that fell away below us. I closed my eyes. I knew when we set down on the ground we would get to work. It was already past 7pm. I was tired and ready to go home. I opened my eyes again and looked out across the horizon. Another fire burned some 50 miles away. Trees killed by bugs lined the valleys below us. We passed a bright green meadow. Suddenly the fire appeared below us, a big column of smoke to the left and a “spotty burn” out the right window. It was going to be a long week. Spotty burns, where the fire’s edge is sporadic instead of one solid front, are much more difficult to deal with and a lot more work. I didn’t want the helicopter to land.

But we did finally land and went straight to work. Within the first 10 minutes I slammed the (very sharp) ax end of my Pulaski into a rock, taking out a large divot. That would take days of sharpening to work out. Loud swearing ensued. I continued on in a bad mood. Finally they called it quits for the night and we hiked to our “spike camp” where our personal bags were waiting with our sleeping bags and snugglies. We ate military rations (MRE’s) for dinner and I got to bed around 11pm. It was a restless night and at 6am I unzipped myself from my cocoon and wrestled my sore feet back into my cold and shrunken boots.

By 9am I had broken open a blister on the palm of my hand and every rock I hit vibrated into my wrist. By 10am a second blister opened up. I asked around for medical tape and no one had any. One guy had “New Skin” which is basically clear fingernail polish that seals off the wound. Not to be taken lightly. I painted it on both blisters as my small squad gathered around to watch the tears flow from my eyes. I kept it together and they were disappointed. We continued on. An hour later the new skin started peeling off. I peeled it off the rest of the way and just dealt with it.

We cut our way through rocks and bear grass to a beautiful wilderness lake. It was dark blue and emerald green and very clear. I was saddened by how we were in such a beautiful place and yet I was so miserable. It just shouldn’t be this way. I imagined being there for fun, camped out by the lake- swimming and fishing in the heat of the day, drinking beer by the fire at night and coffee by the fire in the morning. What a waste.

We split into small groups again and we started at the lake to cut our way up the steep mountain side to the rest of the crew that was on the slope. As we headed into the open meadow, one of the helicopters that was filling buckets out of the lake came in real close and nearly landed on us. We moved out of the way while he measured to see if it would make a good landing spot. He told us over the radio that it would need a few trees cleared, so we spent the next hour clearing trees. When we were done, we called the helicopter back to check it out again. He declared the work good and named it H3 for helispot 3. We got back to work, climbing over rocks and cutting around hot areas of the fire. When we were done, we hiked straight up the hill to the rest of the crew. By the time we made it back to spike camp (a camp out in the woods away from the main fire camp) my feet hurt so bad I could hardly walk. I limped around camp to get food and then crawled into my sleeping bag. As I started to doze off, sharp stabbing pains shot into my feet and jolted me awake. It continued for about half an hour before I sat up and dug through my bag for the last of my Motrin.

The next day we became mules and carried and deployed a mile and a half of hose that was supplied water by a small pump put out at the lake. My feet were crushed. It was at that moment that the team in charge of the fire decided we were going to stay an extra week. I told my superintendent that I had college applications to do and had hardly gotten started. I also need to paint my house and hire a contractor to build a fence in my back yard. Oh yeah, and I gotta get the spa guy to come fix the heater on my Jacuzzi. And cut down the dead tree in my front yard. Yikes.

He decided to fly myself and another guy home while the rest of the crew stayed. I was grateful. I didn’t know how I was going to make it another day, let alone another week. I had to survive one more day.

The next day was much easier. We cooled down the fire’s edge that was mostly out then drove out to fire camp for the night. This morning was a ridiculous display of the chaos that comes out of a fire camp.

I went to briefing at 6am to get our times signed by the division supervisor. It was near freezing so I hovered over a small outdoor heater with my supervisors while holding a cup of coffee that was still too hot to drink. Over the loudspeaker they called the name of the other guy (we shall call him Jack) that was flying home. I went up to see what the deal was.

“Jack’s flight leaves out of Missoula at 8:30am. He was supposed to be here at 4:30am. He’s going to miss his flight”. Another guy walked up and said “No no, he already left. He left at 4:30 this morning.”

“No he didn’t” I said. “He’s waiting in the parking lot”.

“Well he’s not going to make it, but we can take him anyway”.

I told my boss. “Run and get him.” He said. “Run!”

I turned to take off running and realized there was no way I could run across a big field, cross the road and run across another field while carrying a hot cup of coffee. I handed it over to the supe (superintendent). “Here, hold this.”

“Thank you, I shall drink this”.

I took off running. I got Jack moving and he quickly shoved his gear and clothes into his bags. “Don’t forget to remove your fusees (flares) from your gear, take your knife off your belt, no siggs (fuel bottles for chainsaws).” Then I went to go meet his driver.

The driver pulled up and I asked if Jack was going to miss his flight.

“I don’t know, which airport is he going to? Here, read his itinerary, I don’t have my glasses on.”

I picked up the itinerary and had to laugh. “Wait a minute. This says 7:35 PM.” I read it again. I looked up at the driver. “PM” I repeated. I read it a third time. We laughed. It was now 6:15 am. Oh no, what if it was my flight that was that early?

I ran over to Jack and told him to take his time, then I ran back to briefing to seek out the ground support supervisor again. I explained he had made a mistake. We were all relieved. I asked when my flight was and they said 1pm, and I would leave camp at 10am. “Are you sure?” I asked. We went back to the support tent to get the itineraries. Sure enough, my flight was at 1pm. I went back and showed my supe who laughed. Mysteriously my coffee was gone and an empty cup sat at his feet. I went back to the trucks to pack my bags. Ground support decided they would take Jack and I to the airport at the same time to save a trip.

We got hot showers, coffee and started the demobilization process. The crew had long since gone back up the hill an hour’s drive away. I called our home unit to make sure I had a ride back to our base. Our admin lady informed me that our chief was waiting for me at the airport and had been there since 6:30am (it was now nearly 8am California time). “We have an itinerary that says you land at 6:30am”.

“PM!” I said. “It’s 6:30 PM!” Wow, what a crazy morning.

We went over to ground support around 9:30am and started getting our gear loaded up. Then I remembered I had forgotten to tell Jack to make sure he had his wallet.

“Jack, you have your wallet right?” I asked as I rummaged through my bag.

“Oh my god!”

I looked up at him. “Are you f’ing kidding me (censored version)?”

He continued to look panicked.

“Shut up.” I said.

“Oh no.” Maybe he said more than that, I can’t remember now. I was busy racking my brain about how we were going to get his wallet that was now an hour away out on the fire line.

I radioed to our boss over the command frequency to try to figure out where they had parked. After studying the fire map and finding the right way, Jack took off for the fireline and I hopped into the truck enroute to Missoula.

At the Missoula airport, I thought about all the homesteads I had seen, surrounded by mountains and trees and rivers. I wondered if I could live in Montana. Then I thought about the winters. My driver said it was not uncommon for the mountains to get 15 to 20 ft of snow. There’s no way I could live there, but still it made me a little sad to leave. On the flight over to Portland I faded in and out of consciousness.

At the Portland airport I found some lunch and then went in search of coffee. I chose a sugary espresso drink and a magazine at a nearby store caught my eye. Triathlete magazine. In the right hand corner it said “You eat too much sugar”. Indeed I do I thought as the barista made my drink. I grabbed my cup and headed back towards my gate. I got stuck behind a slow lady and wondered what her problem was. Why are you so slow? As I went around her I looked at her feet and noticed she was wearing high heels. I vowed that I would not wear uncomfortable shoes in my next life. I took inventory of the pain in my feet that were laced loosely (breakfast laces) into my work boots, and passed her.

Why do people wear uncomfortable shoes? For some reason this bothered me more than it should. Maybe because my feet have been in unbearable pain for two weeks now. I need to spend the next few days off of them.

Hot Hot Hot!

Boy is it HOT outside! After awakening from my nap, I headed into town to get medication for the fungus between my toes (happens every summer with my feet confined to swampy boots and wool socks) and was shocked by how much the temperature changed from this morning. Apparently it is only 101 degrees out, but that's just plain ugly when there is no AC in your house or vehicle. This is not a time to be out of doors. In my house it is a nice, cool 80 degrees. Funny how that becomes such a relief after pulling myself out of the pool of sweat that had puddled in the driver's seat from my one errand into town.

This morning I went for a bike ride with my friend, Jen. It was nice and cool, not really any warmer than mid-80's by the time we returned.

 

The nice thing about being on a bike is that you get a bit of a wind chill. When we stopped for a small break in the neighboring town of Gazelle, the lack of wind reminded me of how hot it really was and how hot it was going to get.

 

 

We rode from my house in Montague to the town of Gazelle. I've got visions of living the sort of life where I bike large distances to have a cup of really great coffee at a small town café. Having never been to Gazelle, I had that sort of vision for today's trip. I should've just asked Jen who's been there a time or two. No coffee shop, no cute little pancake place. It had a post office, an auto repair shop and a very small elementary school. All of which were closed since today is Sunday. Anyway, Gazelle is 15 miles away and it was a beautiful ride.

 

 

About halfway between Montague and Gazelle is the small town of Grenada. It has a gas station, post office, general store, auto repair shop and an alpaca farm. There's actually quite the alpaca population up here. These guys must've just gotten shaved. Just in time for this awful heat wave we're having.

 

 

In case you've never seen an alpaca before, these guys are usually quite fluffy all over. They are now shaved with the exception of a bushy head and tail. As I was snapping away at these guys I was trying to figure out what they reminded me of. Some 60's or 70's disco star or something.

 

 

Thirty miles later we pulled up into my driveway and off-loaded our sore butts from our saddles. Jen is more sore than I am being as she has yet to purchase padded bike shorts. We went inside and broke open a small seedless watermelon that I had chilling in the fridge. I gave half to Jen and half to myself. We plopped down on the couch to recover.

 

After she went home, I got on Facebook to post photos. Looking at the photos of Jen and I, I was irritated about how obvious the chin strap on my helmet was and how dorky I look in the helmet. While posting the picture of the alpacas, I realized what they reminded me of. Me in a helmet.

 

I've been wanting to do a triathlon for awhile now and there's one coming up here in September, not that I'll be able to go being as it's fire season. But in the off-chance that I am not on a fire and able to go, I'd like to be prepared for it. Jen wants to do it too. I've been reading up on this creature we call the Triathlon and have come up with all sorts of ideas and issues.

 

Clothing is one such issue. I just don't know about wearing those one piece things (you have to be able to run, swim and bike in whatever you choose to wear) but I also wasn't too sure about swimming in a "tankini" and shorts. The shorts should be a little padded for the bike stretch but not so padded that it's irritating in the run and the swim. The other option is a total 2-piece. Sports-bra type swim top and a pair of padded bottoms (specially made for triathlons). I would be comfortable swimming and running in that, but I don't know about being hunched over a bike with my belly showing. We all know what happens to our bellies when we hunch over. I know, I know. But don't tell me you all wouldn't be phased if it were you.

 

Hair style. That's another predicament. The low braid I wear for cycling is not at all what I'd appreciate on the run. This is irritating. I like my ponytail much higher up on the run but that won't work with a helmet.

 

Then there's food replenishment. I'm used to long bouts of exercise and have no issue with consuming packets of gelled sugar throughout a race. I was just reading one of the triathlon books my friend from the gym loaned me and I came across a sentence I had to read 4 times before I understood it. "You can also mold unwrapped energy bars to the top tube of your bike."

 

What? I had to break it down, like a foreign language. Unwrapped. Like no wrapper attached? Why on earth would you...hmmm. I got a vision in my head of my swimming days and the old style power bars. Banana or peanut butter specifically (why? couldn't tell ya). Back in the day, it was pretty much all I could eat at swim meets without upsetting my nervous stomach. They were those thin little things that don't look (or taste) much like food. When it was cold out, trying to eat those darn things hurt my jaw, they were far too chewy. But I could place them (still wrapped in their original packaging) in my armpit to soften them up.

 

Bingo. Warm floppy power bar draped over the top tube of my bike. Unwrapped. I wonder how warm it has to be to make that happen. I flinched at the thought. I don't know if a power bar is comparable to raw eggs when it comes to putting it on an expensive paint job. I wondered how that would affect my brand new gorgeous bike. Don't worry Ruby, I thought. I would never do that to you.

 

Then I thought about the utility of it. Think about it. You're tired from your swim, you're riding along on your bike thinking about how bad the run is going to feel. You're hungry. In front of you, draped over the top tube of your bike is a choice of chocolate or peanut butter power bars, unwrapped and molded to the tube. You just peel it off like a fruit roll up and start munching away. Genius! I like this idea.

 

Question: Being as the bike is second, and it sits at the transition spot while you swim, how do you keep critters away from your power bars while you're away? Ants, squirrels, deer, whatever. Flies. I don't know. Critters.

 

Hmm...food stuffs draped across the top tube. I don't know about that. It seems like a lot more fun than sticking packets of gel in my sports bra and pinning them to my shorts with a safety pin, but also not quite as clean. I definitely see the benefit of having solid food during the bike portion.

 

I will have to stew on this some more. I'll let you know what I come up with.





It Takes a Little Time

I was in the grocery store today perusing the coffee aisle and Amy Grant's "Takes a Little Time" came on.

It takes a little time sometimes
to get your feet back on the ground.
It takes a little time sometimes
to get the titanic turned back around.
It takes a little time sometimes
but baby you're not going down
it takes more than you've got right now.
Give it time.

The song was still in my head as I pushed my cart to my vehicle. How fitting, I thought. I should text that to Candace. "It takes a little time sometimes to get the titanic turned back around." Just a little note to let her know that I believe in me almost as much as she believes in me. Yeah, 'cause the Titanic is like a wreck, but time can turn even that around...no, wait, that's not right. The Titanic sunk. It didn't get turned around in time. It was one of the most famous disasters in history. Most of the people on that boat died.

Huh. So what you're saying is, it takes some time to get a ship of great mass to change course and avoid disaster...more time that you have, and the consequence of failure is tragedy. The Titanic didn't have time. Isn't that the point? Sometimes it takes time...even when you don't have it. Interesting.

That song is darkly ironic and hopefully not a fitting tribute to the change of course going on in my life. How dismal.

Mine and Ruby's First Adventure Together

Meet Ruby.

Ruby is a Specialized Ruby Elite Apex Women's bike. All carbon frame, internally routed cables, double tap shifters, sweet brakes, super light, super smooth, with Zertz vibration dampers embedded in the fork and frame. Ruby is a $2500 bike that I scored for $1500 because it had been test ridden and has a small scratch near the seat post (I've been unable to locate that scratch). Ruby is made to go the distance. Ruby is a champ.

Today was my first ride on her other than down the cul-de-sac at the bike shop to learn how to use the new shifters. We went 36 miles round trip, over several miles of gravel road and one long uphill dirt road in which I learned a thing or two about road bikes and off-road terrain. I also need to work on mounting accesories. Because Ruby is a distance mare, I need two water bottles and a tire pump. Well there's two mounts. So I settled on one water bottle and tire pump and figured I'd fill up at the Lavender Farm (my destination) before the return trip home.

The minute I took off down the road, I knew Ruby was special. The ride felt totally different than my old bike. Smoother, more solid maybe. I covered the miles out to Little Shasta in no time, stopping to take pictures along the way.

I sped by a cool looking tractor with Mt. Shasta in the background. It would make an awesome picture. Too late, I was beyond it and indecisive. I'll get a picture of it on the way back.

Next up was the Little Shasta church.

And then the Little Shasta Cemetery just up the road a ways.

I watched the gathering clouds with a bit of trepidation. The weather report said 0% chance of rain, even though we had a decent storm blow through yesterday. So far the clouds were staying in the mountains and out of the Shasta Valley where I rode. Mt. Shasta was visible the entire route to the Mt. Shasta Lavender Farm.

Not long after snapping a picture of this horse, the road turned to gravel. I happen to know that Harry Cash Rd is paved out by the highway, so the gravel can't continue very long. It's been a couple years since I've driven this road, and then it was all paved. Apparently they're re-doing it. Well, I've said it before, but if they can do it in the Tour De France, I can do it in Montague (or Little Shasta as it were). The gravel continued for a couple miles before dumping me out back paved road. Whew!

After several more miles I was getting a little ansy to find the lavender farm, and I had to pee. I must not have been paying attention, because I was shocked to suddenly realize that the fence alongside the road had boots and shoes on all the fence posts.

What on earth is that all about?

Finally I came to the Lavender Farm sign, and it turned onto a dirt road. That went uphill. A fairly steep uphill. Well, here goes.

I started up the hill and quickly ran out of low gears. I tried to stand up, but as it happens, taking a road bike on a dirt road calls for a little extra attention to detail. Lesson number one: you must keep your butt on the seat in order to put pressure on the rear tire. If you don't, the smooth tire will just slip right against the dirt road. And you will go nowhere. I looked down at my chain rings and realized the front gear was still fairly high. Huh. Who knew I was in the high gear up front? I down shifted and gained some speed up the hill. My lungs were starting to burn and I was moving fairly slowly. I decided to take a break.

I dismounted and stood on the side of the road and took a drink of water. I walked my bike a little ways, but walking a dirt road in bike cleats is not that easy. It doesn't help that it was uphill. I decided to get back on and toughen up. The parking lot couldn't be that far away.

Lesson number two: re-mounting a road bike while going uphill on a dirt road wearing a pair of road cleats is extremely difficult. Let me see if I can paint a picture. I have cleated shoes that clip in to my pedals (they're called clipless, I know, it's a little ridiculous). The thing is, my pedal is required to be in the exact right position and my cleat needs to find the right spot on the pedal to clip in. It is very difficult to pedal without getting clipped in, as the bottom of the shoes are slick and so are the pedals. So the idea is this: you get one foot clipped in completely and push off, pedaling with that one foot while you attempt to connect the other foot. This is where the uphill dirt road schooled me.

I clipped my right leg in, pushed off and attempted to get my left foot in (going uphill) while trying to pedal with only my right foot. I had to create so much force on the upswing that my right calf cramped severely. I stopped and hopped off, stretching my calf. I tried a few more times, almost got it and helplessly careened off the road. I walked a ways until the ground looked flatter. Nope. I walked some more. Finally I came to a flat spot, managed to mount back up and pedaled around the corner until I coasted into the parking lot.

I think my left cleat is wearing out because it didn't want to come out of the pedal. I'll replace them and see if it helps.

Exhausted, I walked my bike to a solid wall to lean it against and went in to use the restroom. I grabbed a lavender lemonade and set out into the lavender fields to snap some photos.

The Mt. Shasta Lavender Farm is only open about one month out of the year. You can have special events there. It's free to show up and you can cut your own lavender bunches for about $5 per bunch. You're greeted in a Tuscan style building where there's a gift shop and they give you a free glass of lavender lemonade. It's absolutely stunning.

After getting a bunch of pictures, I decided to head to the bathroom to fill up my water bottle and take one last bathroom break before hitting the road. I really should've asked if the water in the bathroom sink was potable. Usually though, if it isn't, there's a sign that says not to drink it. I remembered from their website that they're on a well. Well water is usually fairly safe, just not always tasty. I was kind of embarrassed to ask, thinking if I asked if their water was safe to drink, they might take offense to it. It is a fairly fancy place. Anyway, if it wasn't potable, it would be labeled right?

I took off on my way back home (by the way, it's 18 miles each way) and got lesson number three. It's just as difficult down a dirt road on a road bike as it is uphill. Why? Because of the lack of traction and control, you have to take it easy. And it was steep. I marveled at how fast I made it up the hill being as it was going to take me twice as long to get down. My forearms and shoulders ached from clutching the brakes. Brand new bike and I was gonna need a new set of brake pads.

I finally made it back on pavement and turned towards home. After a little ways, my right calf squeezed a bit, trying to cramp. Better drink some water. I pulled my water bottle off the frame and took a swig. Whoa! It had quite a bit of zing to it...followed by a bitter aftertaste. What on earth? Then I remembered the website saying something about their well water being naturally carbonated. I wondered if it was safe to drink. Damnit. There was no way I was going back and I was out in the middle of nowhere. Better not drink it....unless you really have to.

The clouds started to gather and the wind picked up. 0% chance of rain, you'll be ok. My calf squeezed again and I pressed my heel down to keep it stretched. My shoulders, back and butt started to ache. I still had a couple miles of gravel road to contend with. I could've gone another way but then I wouldn't be able to take a picture of the cool tractor.

I hit the gravel road and focused ahead. Pick your line and stick with it. When the gravel got deep, I sat back and tightened my abs. At one point the gravel was so bad that I almost lost control of the bike. I moved over into the oncoming lane to find a firmer path. Up ahead the gravel road ended and hit pavement but it was right around a curve. I hoped I wouldn't meet a car coming the other way. The gravel on the right side of the road was awful. I popped up on to the pavement and moved over quickly. Just after I got in my lane, an SUV came around the corner. Yeesh.

I relaxed a little and tried to shake out my shoulders. My calf squeezed again and I gave in and drank more water, gulping quickly so I wouldn't have to taste it. I passed the cemetery and the church and almost missed my tractor. I pulled over and was disappointed. It looked a lot cooler as I flew by it earlier. It's still kinda cool.

I hit the road that signaled that I had 5 miles left until home. The clouds were taking over the sky and I could see rain in the mountains to the northwest of me. 0% chance of rain, huh? I pedaled faster. 3 miles to go. I stood up to rest my butt a little and tried to stretch my back. It was no good. This was by far the longest bike ride I've ever done and it was starting to wear on me.

I hit the Wildlife Reserve. 1.5 miles left to go. I took another swig of my carbonated well water and stood up again. I speed down the hill into town, convering my brakes with my fingers. The rain clouds tracked north of me. I would make it.

I pulled up in front of my house and struggled to get my foot out of the pedal. I'd have to do something about that. I dismounted and clacked up the driveway in my cleats. Whew! Home! Food! Water! And of course a Mt. Shasta dark chocolate bar. I jumped in the jacuzzi to ease my stiffening muscles and then hopped in the shower.

The 0% chance of rain? It's now sprinkling on and off. But I'm safe inside.