Ramen!

Ah yes, ramen, meal of the college student right? Nope, not this ramen. See, here in the west, ramen has a bad rap. Because the ramen we all grew up on was instant. And just like how instant mashed potatoes are incredibly convenient and can taste good, they are not the real mashed potatoes that the family makes up at Thanksgiving that makes you come back for seconds.

I first got the notion of this magical ramen while watching the movie Ramen Girl with Britney Murphy. I'm pretty sure this movie went straight to DVD. Regardless, it was a cute movie, albeit mostly a chick flick. I do recommend it though, if not to gain insight into the extraordinary world of ramen, then to watch a movie much like "Como Agua Por Chocolate" (Like Water For Chocolate) in which we are treated to the magical realism of how the emotions we put in to our cooking is passed on to those who eat it. Good for a good laugh, good for a good cry.

Anyway, so I watched the movie and was inspired to "soup up" (haha) my ramen.

It was still instant ramen though. Just with vegetables and a boiled egg in it. It was good though. Not spectacular enough to carry it on.

I was on a group ride last year and the ride leader was talking about an amazing ramen place inside the Japanese market. I have been in an Asian foods market and it can be a bit intimidating. Foreign foods written in a foreign language. It's one thing to walk into a store and buy a loaf of bread with a Japanese label on it. It's entirely different to find a package of black squishy stuff with Japanese writing on it and decide whether or not to take it home.

Anyway, I checked this place out on Yelp and it seemed legit. One of the highest rated ramen places in San Jose. Santouka Ramen inside Mitsuwa Marketplace.

My god, I have never had ramen like this before.

I can't even begin to describe it. It is the most comforting of comfort foods, and such a unique taste that it can't be replaced with anything else when you get a craving. Santouka always has a huge line and they're cash only. They also might have a location near you (they're international too!). Check them out!

Anyway, I googled how to make it myself, since $10 a bowl can be a bit steep sometimes (but well worth it). I came across this great website called Serious Eats. Kenji decided to try his own hand at ramen and spent days laboring over the perfect tonkotsu (pork) ramen. See, it's the broth that is the important thing (and they address this in Ramen Girl-super cute). The broth makes the soup.

Tonkotsu ramen is thick, creamy (fattening) and opaque. It's incredibly flavorful. This is not your average chicken broth. Having seen Ramen Girl, I was not naive enough to think this would be an easy task, but I figured it couldn't be impossible.

There are a couple ways to "half-ass" ramen. I chose the three-quarter ass way to make ramen. I'm ok with boiling broth away on a stove for 12 hours (except that bedtime came before that so it ended up being 8) but not standing over a sink for half an hour picking tiny little blood vessels out of bones so that the broth doesn't turn brown. You may notice the broth above is basically white. That takes some added care that I decided to forgo on this round. It's supposed to still taste the same, just different presentation.

I made a list and was off to Mitsuwa.

I also managed to not bring home any more mochi, which I am both proud of and saddened by. I finished the last of the mochi I had last night and now am mochi-less. Which is probably for the best, but it's a bit heart breaking. I grabbed a nice bottle of sake instead.

So this is what we've got: mushrooms (some weird kind and "wood-ear"-another weird kind), seasoned bamboo shoots (next time I will go with unseasoned), onions, garlic, ginger, ramen noodles, pork belly, pork bones, and chicken carcasses. Yeah, you can buy pork bones and chicken carcasses. Thankfully they are not expensive or I would've had to first roast a chicken, then take all the meat off to get my carcass.

Mind you, the majority of this stuff is just for the broth (not all of it obviously). The broth is what we're working towards here. The end goal. I was going to need a big pot.

Fortunately I own one of those. I am so proud of that pot. Anyway.

I tossed all the bones and carcasses in to boil.

(A photo in case you weren't aware of what boiling carcasses looks like.)

In the meantime I put the garlic, onion, and ginger on the stove to bring to a "near char" as per Kenji's instructions.

Then I dumped it all in the pot and set it to boil for as long as possible. It would be my bedtime before time was up entirely, so it would have to suffice at 8hrs.

Ramen calls for seasoned soft boiled eggs. I had originally planned on just using a regular boiled egg, but decided at the last minute to marinade them with the instructions on Serious Eats.

A couple of problems. It called for a cup of sake. I had one small bottle of beautiful sake that I wanted to drink. This saddened me. I compromised and gave the recipe 3/4 cup sake, while I started drinking the remainder.

What saddened me even more was that the recipe yielded far too much for my 5 eggs anyway, so I ended up dumping the extra mixture down the drain, being as my lovely sake was now mixed with a ton of soy sauce and a little water.

Unfortunately I did not have the mirin, or sweet wine, that the recipe called for, and the only possible substitute I had was a port that is currently aging- waiting for that special day when I graduate, or get married, or have some other spectacular event worth opening up an aged bottle of port for.

So the eggs ended up a little too much on the soy side.

But check out this cool little contraption I discovered at Aunt Pat's house!

I recommend getting one of these. Especially if you either tend to forget about your eggs on the stove (last week I forgot about my eggs for over an hour....there is no alarm on this thing unfortunately) or you like something other than hard boiled eggs.

Ramen calls for soft boiled eggs and it's a relief not to have to guess. This thing turns purple from the outside in as it reaches each stage of done-ness.

See: here it is soft boiled.

Super cool right? I think I got mine at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Love that place.

So, Kenji warned that at this point the egg whites will be fragile. Fragile indeed. The poor things were completely slaughtered by me. The first two went horribly, the second two were great, and then the last just got thrown away, it was demolished so badly. You cannot slaughter a soft-boiled egg and expect to continue on with it. It doesn't work that way.

In went the marinade.

In order to marinade them evenly without having to keep going in and rotating the darned things, I put a couple paper towels down on the eggs which kept the marinade on top of them.

I put the lid on the tupperware and put it in the fridge to marinate overnight... but not before I discovered there was a hole in the bottom of the container. No big deal, threw a little plate underneath it and called it good.

The pot was just boiling away on the stove. At about 7:30 pm, as it apporached my bedtime, I remembered that I had to put the pork belly in if I expected it to get nice and tender. Bah. I only left it in about a half hour, because I had a mess to deal with before bedtime.

I put them into a container (no holes in this one) with some of the broth so they wouldn't dry out, and into the fridge they went.

Then there was the broth to contend with.

I dumped it into another pot through a fine mesh strainer to get out all the solids.

And since there was plenty of broth made, I separated it into freezable containers, and into one larger container for the fridge.

While the broth is not white, it is certainly opaque.

Can't see through that baby.

I cleaned up my mess and went to bed, leaving the remainder of the job for the next day.


The next morning I woke up and had my coffee as usual. I began to brainstorm about what I was going to have for breakfast since I didn't have any protein shakes made. I figured I might as well continue the ramen mission and have a bowl for breakfast.

I got the eggs out of their marinade.

Yeah, those things look pretty sad. But it's what's inside that counts:

Mmmmm. I like soft and medium boiled eggs. I feel like they have a more complex flavor.

So, there are a few options when it comes to seasoning the broth. I was a little baffled that the most popular flavor at Santouka Ramen was Shio, or salt flavor. What the heck is salt flavor? But I decided to trust the Yelp ratings and go with salt flavor. I was not disappointed.

Other flavors include Shoyu (soy sauce), and miso (soy bean paste), and a mixture of all of them. I decided to start with soy sauce and add salt as needed (like a pinch). It wasn't too bad except that I feel like soy sauce can have a slight bitter taste to it. Anyway, this was breafast:

Here you can see the beautiful egg, wood ear mushrooms, noodles, bamboo shoots, green onions, and somewhere in there are a few strips of pork belly. Honestly I'm not entirely sure what exactly pork belly is and I don't care to look it up since it's delicious and I wouldn't want to ruin it.

So the broth is a little brown, and again the soy sauce added a bit of bitterness to it.

I went to lunch with a friend from church (Hawaiian restaurant in Japantown where I had poke for the first time!) so I didn't try again until dinner time.

This time I just seasoned the broth with salt (Shio Ramen). Of course I added far too much, but fortunately I still had some unseasoned broth in the fridge, dumped that in, stirred it around to dilute it, then returned most of it back to the fridge. I liked this one far better than the soy sauce flavor.

While it is in no way equal to Santouka's ramen, it was pretty good. It's just too bad I didn't have any sake or mochi to top it all off.

I am fortunate not to live within walking distance of Mitsuwa. I would live off mochi, sake, and Santouka ramen, and be completely broke. And fat.

Out and about

Yesterday I took advantage of having another day off before summer school starts. After discovering how easy and quick it is to get up to San Francisco via the "baby bullet" train, I decided I'd spend the day up there, walking around and seeing the sights.

I planned on getting a one day muni pass, but the first place I went to wanted to sell me a clipper card to store my pass on (whatever happened to the little one day punch card) which I would most likely hardly use. I figured I'd come across another place that might sell the old day pass. I should've checked at the train station.....but anyway.

My first stop was Chinatown, where I roamed all the little shops that sell basically all the same stuff. I was contemplating getting a sake set, but I wasn't sure how one goes about heating sake, so I decided to hold off until I knew more. When I have sake at home, I just have it chilled. While browsing the sake sets, there was a mother and her daughter looking as well, discussing how they'd be really neat if you actually drank tea. I didn't have the heart to tell them they were sake sets.

After wandering for awhile and not buying anything (my first time in Chinatown without coming home with chopsticks or brocade shoes) I had lunch at the sushi place that started it all.

There it is! The first place I ever had sushi...besides California rolls, which doesn't really count. In there is an oval shaped bar with floating boats drifting around it. The sushi chef in the middle makes sushi and places them on the boats. The boats drift in front of the customers, and the customers grab what looks good. You're charged based on the color/design of the plate. For anyone new to sushi, I recommend this type of place. It gives you the opportunity to eyeball things and weigh the odds of you putting it in your mouth. From this, I discovered I absolutely loved sushi. This was about 9 years ago. I still love it today, which is why I went in.




With a full belly, I walked on over to Japantown.

I should mention here that Thursday was my first day back in the gym in awhile, and I am so sore that I cannot sit down on a toilet without putting my hand on the seat to lower myself down. Now this has absolutely nothing to do with Japantown, but everything to do with walking there from Chinatown.

I guess it isn't that far, but people were passing me left and right and I wondered if I was really going that slow.

I popped into Japan Center to do some shopping. Bought some incense and a burner, a book on ramen, and then found myself standing in front of Nippon-ya, a Japanese candy store.

I tried keeping myself out of there. I'm incapable of going into a store that sells mochi and coming out empty handed. I'm a little out of shape right now due to finals week and whatever illness was threatening to take over my body before and during finals week. I knew I should not be buying mochi.

Mochi is a candy made from rice flour, is a bit gummy, and comes in all sorts of flavors and styles. You may be more familiar with mochi ice cream that you get from a sushi restaurant or Trader Joe's. That's amazing too.

As I stared at the display in the window, my will power weakened, and I figured there was no harm in just going in to look, even though I knew I'd be buying something.

Oh boy did they have mochi. And how cleverly displayed! Above the stacks of boxes were display mochi showing one cut open with the filling oozing out. I should not have gone in. How hard to decide! There weren't any assorted boxes in the group I was looking at, and while they were very affordable, I could see me sitting down and eating a box at a time.

Also- these boxes of mochi do not have the calorie information on the box. So maybe there aren't any.

After staring at the boxes for what was probably about 10 minutes, I chose the original Harajuku Mochi Chocolat. It was painful to walk away from all the other flavors. I stared at a mocha one for awhile and was stopped in my tracks by a strawberry kind filled with chocolate. And a chocolate one with orange filling!!

I had to get out of there.

At the check out, the cashier said "Just the one box?".

I wondered if maybe they had barely any calories and that maybe it was normal for people to eat the whole box in one sitting.

I doubt it.

I sat outside the store on a bench and opened the box. It had a little mini-fork to grab the little tasty morsels.

And underneath a little cellophane flap was the most beautiful mochi I had ever seen. This is them now. A day later, if you're wondering what's up with all the empty spots.

 And when you bite into them:

OMG! Just amazing!

In my defense, it has been over 24 hrs and there are still some left. Not many. Not as many as are in that picture. I don't really want to get into numbers, but it's more than one.

Anyway, I looked at my map and tried to decide whether I could make it to the California Academy of Sciences. Via my feet. Because in order to get on the muni subway (still had not purchased a transit card to get on the bus and had limited small bills) I would have to walk a ways. Might as well just walk the entire way.

That was a dumb idea. Have you ever walked across the entire peninsula that is San Francisco? Ridiculous idea. It looks great on a map, not so much in reality. I did see these cool houses along the way.

It was already almost 3pm and the Academy of Science closed at 5 or 6, and I still had a good deal of walking to go. With my sore, tired body. I decided living this close to SF, I could always just come back (and grab more mochi when I do). So I decided to walk down the street and find the subway (which at that point is actually above ground).

Since I didn't have the correct change, I ended up paying $5 for a $2.25 ride, but it was worth it. I was exhausted.

I rode the subway to the train station, hopped on the next train (local limited- unfortunately I was a little early for the baby bullet) and headed home. The local limited takes about an hour and a half to get me home, the baby bullet takes an hour.

From the train station, I hopped on the local light rail, and two stops later I disembarked and walked the 0.8 miles home.

And ate more mochi.

Today I am making ramen. The real kind. It's a fairly drawn out process which is still in the works, so that will not be posted today. Tomorrow most likely.

But I had to go to the Japanese market to get supplies for the ramen, as well as some stuff for miso soup and sushi. The only reason I made it out of there without more mochi was that I knew there was more at home. But that didn't stop me from drooling over what they had.

So while I started the ramen broth going, I made some miso soup with tofu and wakame seaweed.

I was going to roll some salmon up into a sushi roll but was already over the prep thing (from making the ramen) so I just ate it plain- sashimi style. With a little soy sauce and wasabi.

Easiest sushi I've ever made.

I was going to have a bottle of sake with it, but I was so tired that I knew sake would put me out for the day. I had coffee instead.

Now the ramen is on the stove, it's Saturday afternoon and I'm sitting around in my sweatpants. Life is good.

My First Century!

Being as I'm writing this, you can all now be assured that I survived the Art of Survival Century in Tulelake, CA. There were times of utter despair and hopelessness (like on mile 2, 74, 80-90, and 92 on), sunny, happy times, educational times, and meeting new people.

I stayed in Yreka the night before the ride at Jen's house. Two years in a row now we were supposed to do this ride together. Last year I busted my knee and she rode the 46 miler. This year I did the century (advertised at 108 miles) while she worked. As I left the house at 5:30 am, she gave me a hug and said next year we'd do it together.

There had been rain surrounding the day of the ride, but it was not supposed to rain the actual day of the ride, according to the National Weather Service. I also checked AccuWeather, and there was a chance of showers and thunderstorms in the area.

As I drove the hour and a half to the race start, the sky was clear and the sun began to shine on Mt. Shasta.

It was hard to take a photo while driving and I didn't want to be late.

I finally arrived in Tulelake, just as it was starting to sprinkle. Grrrr.

I'm a runner. I've never done any sort of cycling event. It's a little foreign to me. But I get the gist of needing to check in, find out about the course, and grab any food available. I had read that there was plenty of food, so I had only eaten a small amount of rice as I left Jen's, and grabbed a Cliff Bar to stuff into my jersey.

I checked in, they handed me my goodie bag, instructed me to grab a bag of potatoes and my t-shirt and jersey.

There was a bag of potatoes on the table. I was a little confused. I gave the potatoes a squeeze, wondering if they were cooked. A 5 pound bag of potatoes might be a lot to eat in one ride, but maybe I could bring a few.

They were raw. I grabbed the bag and went to collect my jersey and t-shirt, all the while trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing with a bag of potatoes. I thought they upset your stomach if you ate them raw?

I went to ready my bike for the ride. People were milling about, getting their bikes ready. I asked the guys next to me if they were bringing their potatoes on the ride, with a joking tone so I wouldn't look stupid. They laughed and said no. I put them in the jeep and continued to get ready.

When I was all set, I went over to what I thought was the start. There were pastries on a table and I hovered over them trying to decide. The lady behind the table set out the price sheet for them. Ah....I had no money. I was apparently not getting anything else for breakfast. Well....onward.

People were allowed to start the ride at anytime, and I heard a guy asking where the start was and if the course was marked. They pointed him in a direction and off he went. I had a map, and decided I'd head out with him since it was now drizzling a little harder and I was already cold. I had a yellow wrist band on, and the highlighted route on my map was yellow, so I figured I'd just follow the yellow arrows and be good.

I rode up beside the guy and asked if he was doing the 108 miler. He said he was. I rode with him a couple minutes but then got really cold, so I took off a little faster. I came to the first intersection that had a sign with a red arrow and a blue arrow. Hmm. I pulled over and took out my map. A group went past me going left. I hopped on and followed.

It was windy and still drizzling. This was going to be miserable. I saw a bike tire edge up out of the corner of my eye. A guy with aero bars and an aero helmet cruised past me. He looked like he was doing an ironman. I watched him disappear into the distance.

Another bike came up on me. The same guy I had started with.

"You wanna work together for awhile?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure!" I said back.

He pulled directly in front of me and I planted myself a few inches off his back tire. Immediately my effort level dropped and I could almost stop pedaling all together. Cyclists can take turns "pulling" each other this way, using the eddy of air behind the first cyclist to pull the other one along. The benefit is even more pronounced when you have a head wind.

It rained harder and the wind blew mercilessly. We switched off pulling every few minutes and tried to shout a discussion over the wind. Jim was a runner who injured his achilles tendon and found his way into cycling. He had done a number of centuries over the years. We were averaging 18-19 mph. I was a little worried, as this was well above my regular pace for a distance ride. But I didn't want to be left alone. This ride was in the middle of nowhere, longer than I'd ever gone, rainy, and windy.

We came to the first aid station at about 25 miles. We each got a granola bar and a small baggie of trail mix. Not the food I was expecting. Jim asked if this was all they had. Yep. Next aid- another 25 miles. Hmm.

We set out again. The rain let up, and the wind did too. We rode side by side and talked about everything under the sun....including where the hell we were going. We were still only seeing red and blue arrows.

At about mile 48, we hit the second aid station. Same granola bar and trail mix. I was disappointed and a little concerned. I eat more than this when I'm not exercising, let alone while riding over 100 miles on my bike. I was going to have to eat a lot of these granola bars in order to make it. I suggested maybe a Burger King in the next town.

"There's nothing in the next town" said one of the locals. Oh boy.

Off we went. I was starting to get tired. Jim was a much more experienced cyclist than me and we had been going hard all morning. We were about halfway and my energy was starting to wane. He'd pull ahead a little and look back to see if I was ok. I told him he didn't have to stay with me. He said we'd re-assess at the next aid station.

At about mile 62, we hit the next aid station. The sun was out, and they had muffins, protein bars, and apple juice!!! Muffins!!!! Giant ones!!! I ate a big poppyseed muffin and watched Jim down two giant muffins. I drank an amazing little can of apple juice while a park ranger pointed out that we were standing at the site of one of the Japanese Internment camps. He told us the story as we snacked, and then everyone dispersed again. Jim said he'd go ahead and go on without me. I said I'd see him at the finish.

I was finally free to take my time, enjoy the sunshine and take some pictures. I hadn't taken a single one on the ride. The ride straddles Oregon and California and goes past the wildlife refuge, Lava Beds National Park, and lots of historical markers. It was also out in the middle of nowhere. This is the only shot I got:

I don't know what that little piece of geology is, but it had a cross up at the top. Middle. Of. Nowhere.

It was getting warm, so I pulled off my fleece arm warmers from underneath my windbreaker. Not long after, I had to remove the sleeves from my convertible jacket. I meandered along at a much more practical 15 mph pace.

I do have to say though, that occasionally I hit patches of road that had these horrible little gaps in them every 20 feet or so. Twenty feet is too close on a bike to lift my butt off for each one, so my pelvis sustained some considerable impact from these things about every 20 feet or so. I was starting to get tired and irritable. A group I had been leap-frogging with pulled up behind me and one of the guys came up and talked to me as we rode.

The two guys behind him were ER doctors. I commented how great it was to be followed around on this thing by two ER doctors. We chatted until we came across the next aid station, just before 80 miles.

They had rice cakes. Not the kind you buy at the store. The kind that is actually just cooked sticky rice shaped in a bar. It was apple cinnamon. Awesome. Apparently we missed the pancakes, but that was fine. My body didn't want anymore sugar, so I took a handful of chex mix and a banana. I commented on how amazing the chex mix tasted and asked what sort of seasoning they had used with it. They laughed and showed me the bag of plain chex mix. Dude. It was delicious either way.

Off we went once again.

At the intersection was a sign with a red arrow, a blue arrow, a pink arrow, and a yellow arrow. Hmm. There was the yellow arrow. The guys riding with me had had enough and were going to head right, cutting off the Lava Beds portion of the ride and doing the 86 miler.

"Looks like you're the only one going left" said one guy.

"It's not too bad, looks like you've only got that one ridge to get up and over." said another.

I couldn't see what he was talking about, so I laughed as they rode right, and I rode left. I wasn't going to cut this thing short. I had already told everyone I was riding 108 miles, so I was doing this. I was feeling ok, albeit tired and totally over it, but I would make it, not a problem.

A tandem bicycle shot passed me as we entered the park, and the girl on the back had a vibrant smile on her face like maybe she hadn't just rode 80 miles into a fierce headwind.

Up ahead the rode started uphill. No way.

My legs had clearly lost the ability to climb. I downshifted and crawled up the hill. Then the next. Then the next. I was painfully aware of how far I was getting from the finish line. 83 miles. Ugh! So much further to go!

I came up on a turn-out labeled "Devil's Homestead". You could see an entire valley covered in old lava flow. I decided on the way back I'd have to pull over and take a photo. It was really neat to look at. Plus from there on back to Tulelake, there were no more up-hills, so it would be a celebratory photo, knowing that I had pretty much made it.

I kept on climbing. Jim passed by, easing down the hill. We waved to each other.

Things were starting to get a little bleak in my brain. I knew after I saw the tandem come back, I wouldn't have much longer before turning around. Plus there would be an aid station at the turn-around, where I could stuff my face a little more for that last push to the finish.

It seemed like forever before the speedy tandem came back the other way. I continued my slow climb.

I came up on the visitors center and wondered if I was supposed to turn around there. There were no signs and no chalk arrows in the road. I pulled into the visitors center and only saw mountain bikers. They had their own ride that day. No aid station and no signs for the road cyclists. The turn-around was probably just up the road then.

I continued on.

Down a long steep hill.

Into the middle of nowhere. I wish I had taken a picture. But the feeling I was starting to get had me fairly anxious and sucked the enjoyment right out of it all.

The valley stretched on for what looked like hundreds of miles. It was starting to get cloudy again. There were no cyclists in sight, no cars, no people, no animals. Nothing. Just a vast open valley and an empty road. I figured I would go for a couple miles, but I should turn around by mile 92. Otherwise I'd definitely be over 108 miles by the time I got back to Tulelake.

A little after 92 miles I pulled over and looked at the map again. The visitor center was not on the map. Just an un-named road and the names of several "buttes". I looked around at the buttes. I wondered if the one in front of me looked like it would make sense for someone to call it "Whale Butte" or whatever the hell it was.

I decided to turn around. I didn't care anymore about finding that aid station. I just wanted to be back. I had water and one Cliff Bar. I was completely exhausted and still had a few hills to climb, including the large one leading back up to the visitors center. I just wanted to cry. I wondered if maybe a park ranger would drive by and bring me up to the visitors center.

No one drove by.

I put my head down and slowly chugged up the hill. I felt the most horrible despair. I wished I wasn't alone. I wish Jason was there to give me a hug. I wished I had a burrito. I wanted to get off the bike and take a nap. My shoulder was starting to pinch and I had already taken the only pain-killers I had brought with me.

I had no other option than to make it. I didn't check to see if I had cell reception but I'm guessing I didn't. I just had to make it the few miles back up the hill to the visitors center. They must have an aid station inside. 

Continuing my climb, I looked down at my Garmin. It had finally died. Just short of 93 miles and there would be no further record of my journey.

The map above shows me disappearing somewhere into the lava beds. But my voyage did not end there. I felt even more disheartened knowing the only proof of the remainder of the trek would be the trauma forever stamped on my psyche.

I finally pulled into the parking lot, and by now a small group of road cyclists had gathered and were filling water bottles and using the restroom.

"Is this the turn around for the 108 miler?" I asked the group.

"Yep."

"Oh...I didn't see a sign. I went down the hill a couple miles."

"Yeah, so did this guy."

I looked over at the other poor sap that added a few more miles onto his ride. He nodded. "All the way down to the bottom". He must've been right behind me and then turned around right before I did.

"Oh. Well is there an aid station in there?" I asked, motioning towards the visitors center.

"Nope."

"No? They don't have anything?"

"Nope. You can fill your water bottle right here though."

I felt absolutely defeated. I didn't need water. I had water. I was pretty much the only one that was maintaining two full bottles. I guess everyone else thought they'd be ok with one. I needed food. I guess I was finally eating my emergency cliff bar.

After my little snack, some water and a bathroom break, I headed out again. A few of the guys rode with me and we introduced ourselves. After going down a long hill, I got chilled and stopped to put the sleeves back on my jacket.

As I got back going again, I saw the guys from the visitors center had turned around to come back for me. It was the sweetest thing. One guy was one his 12th or so century. The other was on his second. They'd stay with me for the remainder of the ride.

We kept each other company and tried to remain positive. Roland started to cramp, and Pete instructed me to continue on while they got him hydrated. They would catch up in no time.

I rode by the Devil's Homestead and had a slight urge to take a photo, but I wanted nothing more than to be back in Tulelake, off this bike, and stuffing my face. If there was any food left.

When the guys caught up, they mentioned how they were impressed with how well I was doing being as it was my first century. They obviously had no idea how incredibly disheartened I was at the moment and just trying desperately to continue on.

I tried to shake out the pain in my shoulder and wondered if I was doing permanent damage. My sit bones no longer wanted to be on the bike. I would occasionally stand up on the pedals and ease back down.

"We're going to be well over 108 miles" said Roland from beside me.

My heart dropped. What does "well over" mean? 120 miles? Plus the extra 5 I did?

I wasn't going to make it.

His odometer already said 103. He pointed out the lake in the distance. We have to get on the other side of that.

I put my head down and watched the rode slide by under my tires. I would not cry in front of these guys and I was not going to say a word. I'm pretty sure no words would've sufficed at the time anyway. I wasn't the only miserable one. In fact, the only one who was not miserable was the century veteran who would surge ahead, then come back for us, giving us upbeat words of encouragement.

I thought about the other people that we had seen still making their way towards the visitors center. Had I still had the energy, I would've shouted to them to turn around at the visitors center. But I didn't have it in me, and hoped they didn't pass it.

"How much further do you think?" I asked Roland.

"8 more miles maybe".

Complete and utter despair.

"When we hit the turn off we've still got 4 more miles into Tulelake."

We rode in silence for awhile, then Roland thought he saw a road. Nope. Just a little farm crossing.

"There it is! See that car?!"

I looked up and saw a black SUV up in the distance, slowing to a stop.

"That's our road. Then we've got 4 more miles."

Four more miles??!! I can't do 4 more miles. I knew I had to though. No one was going to carry me.

Up ahead were two little girls in the road shouting something. Roland continued looking straight ahead, his eyes set on the intersection where the other two guys waited for us. I looked at the girls, and then behind them saw an aid station.

"Hey look! It's an aid station!"

"What?" said Roland, looking over at me.

"An aid station, look! Right there."

As we rode by, us staring at the little girls, and the girls staring back at us, I wondered. No one puts an aid station just 4 miles from the finish. What if we still had another 20 miles to go? We all had an unspoken agreement. None of us were going to stop until we hit that finish line.

We turned right. Straight ahead was a sign. 4 miles to Tulelake. I wondered about how far 4 miles would be. 4 miles could be mere minutes. 4 miles could be a lifetime. Pete and the other guy charged ahead. Roland and I hung back, silent in our misery.

"Didn't Pete say something about a water tower?" I asked Roland.

"Yeah, the water tower is right next to the fairgrounds."

"I see a water tower. Up there." I pointed.

"Oh yeah..."

"You know why they call this the Art of Survival Century?" I said to Roland. He looked over at me. "They just keep moving the finish line. You never finish."

"I think that water tower is bolted in. They can't move the water tower."

"It's a mirage."

Pete came back for us. "See that water tower? There it is!"

"How much further past the water tower?" I asked.

"Oh no, it's closer than the water tower. That's further. We don't have to go that far. And I know a short cut. Just around that bushy tree up there. It won't cut off much, but a little is something....ok, not that bushy tree."

I put my head down again and followed behind Pete. We cut off about a block, going in behind the fairgrounds. When we got there, we all slid off our bikes and I asked Roland what his odometer read. 113 miles. Plus my extra 5.

The staff greeted us and reminded us to take a survey when we were done eating. Oh, we would all be filling out the survey. But first, food.

First there was a salad bar, which was not my first priority, but I knew I would appreciate it after I got something heavier in my stomach. I spotted a coffee percolator. I had been jonesing  for coffee for the last 60 miles. Usually on my long rides I stop for coffee.

One lady put a baked potato on my plate, I put a couple scoops of ground beef next to it, and then spotted melted nacho cheese. I scooped a couple spoonfuls onto my potato.

"Really?" asked Roland. "You're putting that on your potato?"

"Oh yeah" said the lady behind the table "I like to put some on my beef too."

"Huh," I said. "Don't mind if I do." I scooped a couple scoops onto the beef as well and topped it off with some green onions. I grabbed a roll and a cup of coffee. As we sat down to eat, a lady came by with homemade turtles. We were also rewarded with world famous Tulelake Horseradish and Tulelake Mustard.

We talked about the potatoes that we got, and I thought how it was strange. The guys mentioned that of course we got potatoes, this is Tulelake after all. I didn't realize that Tulelake was well known for their potatoes. I knew about the horseradish. I just figured it was a bag of Idaho potatoes.

We finished our meal, took the survey, and said our good-byes. Overall it was a really good experience with some incredibly nice people. It's only their second year doing this, so they're learning. I was out there for about 9.5 hours, possibly accumulating about an hour or so of non "moving time". So I was riding for somewhere in between 7.5 and 8 hours.

And I rode 118 miles. On my bike.

I grabbed a second cup of coffee for the 1.5 hour drive back to Jen's. As I considered the drive ahead of me, I thought about the amazing invention that is the automobile. With very little physical effort on your part, you can be transported a good deal of distance in fairly little time. All you have to do is sit there and give the pedal a little push with your foot. I vowed to always be grateful for automobiles. They are wonderful inventions.

UPDATE: After plugging the route into MapMyRide.com, it appears I rode 120 miles on Saturday.

The ritual that is Finals Week

I can't tell whether I'm tired because I've been mentally expending myself, or if it's because my workouts have been pretty much non-existent for a week now. I get tired when I don't work out. Try it. Go a few weeks of working out on a regular basis, then just stop. And sit on the couch in front of the computer all day.

Today I asked myself "What is it I'm supposed to be doing with myself right now?"

It's not like I don't know the answer to that question. It's that I don't like any of the answers to that question.

Finals is like a reset button almost. I've been studying hard all semester, so finals is not the time for me to relearn everything I should've during the semester. It's a time to review, a time to get good sleep, and a time to take a break from the constant influx of new information that I get throughout the school year.

I've now got all this quiet time I should be spending studying. It's time to shut myself in doors and ensure an A on all my finals (ok, except for Calculus III, and I'm ok with a B in that one). But I'm done studying, I don't want to do it anymore (not really done, as in complete- done as in over it).

Generally I like to clean my house when I'm trying to come up with an excuse not to study. It needs it. Somehow the dishes keep piling up and the floors look horrendous. I managed to dust my room and take out the trash. That's about it. I go into the kitchen and see the sink full of dishes and walk right back out.

I would normally be spending more time working out, but I've been fighting off something awful for over a week now. I may be approaching victory. I feel quite a bit better, although I'm still a little concerned about the mass amount of swollen lymph nodes that continue their march all along my body. One of the really frightening websites I consulted about this mentioned that the ones along the neck and under the jaw are usually due to benign causes such as a virus or infection. So I've got that going for me. Also I read I should see a doctor if they last for more than a few weeks. It's only been one. And if I recall, this is somewhat normal activity for my lymph nodes when fighting something off.

So I haven't been exercising much lately either. Yesterday I almost rode my bike up the dreaded Hick's Road. I craved a good workout. I was glad I didn't. Just an hour out on a flat, meandering bike path was enough to make my throat a little sore and for my slight body aches to return. I imagine I should still be taking it easy. It's so hard to tell.

So I sit inside and think about all the things I should be doing to prepare for my last final. And instead check out Facebook to see what everyone is up to. Some people have finished their finals already. Frowny face.

I bought a high quality pair of computer glasses. A few weeks ago I started to wonder about my health. I was scary tired, and had a weird pressure behind my eyes that made me feel constantly cross-eyed. I was beginning to worry about all sorts of things. As I stood behind my physics professor in lab one day, trying to focus on the multitude of cords he had going every which direction, and trying to make a mental note of each one, my eyes started closing and I wondered how I'd ever make it through the lab. Electrical circuits are not exactly my thing.

I went home and googled some stuff, trying to figure out what was going on with my eyes and/or brain.

Due to my mass increase in computer time, I wondered if it had anything to do with computer eye strain. It's some sort of syndrome now I guess.

I read some reviews on computer glasses and came across Gunnar Optiks. Computer and Gaming eye-wear. The pair I purchased looked so sexy on the model. I've always wanted to be one of those girls who puts on a pair of glasses and suddenly looks like some sexy model/secretary/astro-physicist.

Well that's never been me in a pair of glasses. And these do not help at all. Well with the looks anyway. I'm happy with their performance as long as I don't look in the mirror. I'd post a photo but it's finals week, and I can't have any permanent evidence of how I do or do not function during finals week.

Maybe later.

A not-so-quick update

You guys know I can be long-worded sometimes (actually got that comment on one of my physics lab write-ups recently), and since it's been a month, I should probably fill you in on what's been going on in my life.

Mostly school work and studying, really. We've now entered into a special domain of hell known as "Finals Week". What's great about that is that leading up to finals week, the instructors like to pile on a heavy dose of extra information, just to make sure we get everything in. This ensures that I will be exhausted and most likely sick before finals week arrives.

Last week I started to feel run down. Too many days in a row of staying up late to finish projects, papers, homework, studying, etc. Knowing finals week was approaching, I desperately sought out extra sleep, healthy food, and exercise.

I knew it was of no use though. I currently have a string of swollen lymph nodes marching up the side of my neck like a strand of jumbo pearls. There's a few on the other side too, and behind my ear, and up under my jaw, but there are 5-8 of them up the right side of my neck. It's scary what pops up when you google "multiple swollen lymph nodes". I don't suggest it.

So my immune system is having a bit of a tough time with finals week, as usual. This is a normal thing for me. I was miserably sick last semester for finals, bringing in an entire roll of toilet paper in with me to my classes, along with a plastic bag to throw the used tissue in. It's not that bad yet this time. Yet. But those huge lymph nodes keep breeding. I'm waiting for the explosion.


Meanwhile, I have just finished my third of 5 final exams. I think I'm going to make it.

At the end of the week, on May 23rd, I will be riding my very first Century. 108 miles of fairly flat terrain. Hopefully the weather will be nice and I will not be deathly ill. It's the Art of Survival Century in Tule Lake.


I have been attending a Buddhist church for a little over a month now. I myself was a little surprised by the mix of words there: Buddhist and church. But there you have it. The church belongs to the Buddhist Churches of America and this church/temple is San Jose Betsuin.  This sect of Buddhism is called Shin Buddhism, or Jodo Shinshu.

I was first introduced to Buddhism as an undergrad in college, given the assignment to investigate some other culture, religion, etc, and give a speech on it. I chose Buddhism because it seemed interesting and I found the statues of Buddha peaceful.

I did indeed find Buddhism a peaceful and comforting religion/philosophy. Over the years I've acquired a few books on the topic and read them occasionally when I need to be straightened out.

I was raised in a Christian home, the violent kind that taught beating children and wives into submission, fear of hell and eternal damnation. I was also fortunate enough to have a family that had split when I was young. I had a safe place to go on weekends, and sometimes Tuesday nights, when it was my dad's turn at custody.

As I got older, I came to realize that not all Christians believed the same thing. There were similarities, yes, but also many differences. In high school I joined a Baptist church. Until they gave a special two-weekend seminar to the youth group outlining why all the other religions in the world were wrong. Buddhism was wrong because they worshiped statues. Having just done my report on Buddhism for my first semester of college, I knew this was incorrect. It bothered me that a church that "welcomes everyone", and preaches love and understanding, could either be completely ignorant on what they were teaching, or spreading false statements. I stopped going.

Occasionally I attended an Episcopal church in San Diego's notoriously gay community that not only boasted the occasional female minister, but also openly accepted the gay/transgender community. That was a little more like it, as the bible specifically states, "Judge not- lest ye yourself be judged". It is not for us to decide how another should live. We've got our hands full with ourselves as it is.

I eventually fell away from that, just not feeling completely in harmony with the Christian religion.

Fast forward 15 or so years.

Spring break happened. I spent (wasted) nearly the entire week stressing over things that I didn't need to stress over. I was a mess. I was so highly anxious that I felt ill. For an entire week. Morning, noon and night. I couldn't sleep. My life was completely out of my control and it was freaking me out. I was inconsolable. I complained to anyone who would listen. I pondered changing universities, switching majors, quitting my (kinda) job. I was beyond a wreck.

I picked up my books on Buddhism and began re-reading them. 

One night I tried explaining to Jason why I felt the need to control everything. There was so much of my life that was out of control (including losing so many people that I loved), that I had to hang tight to whatever control I could muster over my life. He had a sort of "aha" click suddenly, his facial expression briefly changed. He said nothing. He just listened. But I had noticed.

I lay awake that night thinking of how truly blessed I was to have him. How truly blessed I am to have all the amazing people in my life that I have.

The next morning I sat with my coffee and googled something to the effect of trying to control your life. I came across the website TinyBuddha.com and this wonderful article: Let Go of Control. It was amazing. I read several more articles and immediately felt at peace. Jason and I had an amazing day, and my "freak-out session" was over. I felt foolish for wasting an entire week stressing about things that 1) hadn't even happened yet and were not guaranteed to happen, and 2) were outside of my control anyway and therefore not worth the anxiety.

Out of curiosity, I googled Buddhist temples in the area. There were a few. I actually read the Yelp reviews (I mean, what's a girl to do?). Being experienced in diving into new and unfamiliar situations, I realized that it would most likely not harm me to attend a Buddhist church or temple. I mean really.

I was tentative for sure. But the worst that could happen was that I wouldn't like it and didn't have to go again. I was an adult after all (so I'm told) and get to decide these things.

It also happened to be Easter, which I figured would be no big deal, since Easter doesn't really come into play for Buddhists (unless they are also Christian- Shin Buddhists do not mind if you simultaneously follow another religion).

Turns out though, that Easter coincided with Hanamatsuri, the celebration of the birth of the founding Buddha (Shakyamuni Buddha). Even better. There would be a combined service for English and Japanese speakers, as well as for all the youth programs. There would be a ton of people, so I could probably slip in unnoticed.

I wasn't completely unnoticed, but people were very kind and welcoming, offered to teach me how to roll sushi, and invited me back.

I wanted to see what a normal service was like, so I went the next week. Instead of being in the large gym that was needed to accommodate all the people the prior week, this service was in the hondo (temple). I felt such peace for the remainder of the week, and looked forward to the next service. I've been going ever since.

A couple of things I think are worth mentioning.

Like many other religions, not all Buddhists believe exactly the same thing. There are different sects within Buddhism. This is Shin, or Pure Land Buddhism. The ministers can marry, they don't have monks or nuns. They drink coffee, alcohol apparently (of course in moderation), and even eat meat.

A note on the meat thing. I was relieved about this. There are several different views you can take on this. Buddhism is based on the belief that all sentient beings are equal. To take life from another is one of the highest violations you can do to someone. It has been said, that Buddha (and another lesser known thing- there are thousands of Buddhas- they are just normal people who have come to Enlightenment or are Awakened) ate meat. Monks used to live off alms from the village people. They ate what people gave them, and sometimes this involved meat. To turn it away would be showing ungratefulness. If the villagers could eat it, so would the monks. They could eat meat as long it is was not horse or elephant, as they are considered sacred, and as long as it wasn't dog (possibly because it was unclean?), and also as long as there was no reason to believe that it was killed specifically for them.

But now we have the ability to choose not to eat meat. We can supplement our diets to be perfectly healthy without any animal products.

But where do we draw the line with what is allowed to live, and what we must kill for food? As ridiculous as it might sound, broccoli was once alive, and by eating it, you are ending that life. I know, I know, you might say. But obviously broccoli is a plant and therefore much less worthy of life, and so we can kill it and eat it and it's ok. I don't know, it's debatable.

Regardless of your beliefs on the subject, one should always be grateful for whatever we're able to eat, as not only was it once a living creature (tree or animal) that possessed a beauty of life, but we are fortunate to have full bellies when we lay down to sleep at night, as not everyone is so lucky.

I told you this was going to get long. If you're still reading this, congratulations. You're either bored or procrastinating something else.

Another thing that comforted me to hear: both ministers, on several occasions, have said something like "some say it happened this way, others say it happened another way, whether it even happened at all is not the point. The point is that the story gave people hope." or "whether or not these stories really happened is not the point. We are told these stories because there is a lesson in there that we are supposed to take from it and incorporate it into our everyday lives."

I don't know if it is out of line for me to say so and I certainly do not mean any offense, but I think the world would be a much more peaceful place if all religions felt this way. We have stories, beliefs, and traditions for a reason. And those reasons are to make us better people. But often we use them as a reason to try to change or influence another. They are there to work on us. On our greed, judgment, selfishness, etc. 

I like that no one here is trying to make me believe in something that does not make logical sense to me (not that I'm able to make logical sense of much- there is plenty out there beyond my understanding). The Buddha is said to have said "Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense."

So I could eat meat, drink alcohol, coffee, eat sugar (in moderation)...but I still had one more major thing I wasn't buying into.

I believe that our "selves" are generated by electrical impulses in the brain. I believe that when we die, those impulses turn off, and we simply cease to exist. I believe, as science tells us (although science is not always correct, and we just keep learning) that energy (and matter) is neither created nor destroyed. When we die, our bodies give off energy in the form of heat, which is why our bodies slowly cool after death. We eventually (or quickly in the case of cremation) make our way back to being carbon atoms, the very basis of life on this earth.

Interesting side note on this. So, matter is neither created nor destroyed. You don't get all these new crazy atoms when you're conceived. You get old ones. Hand-me-downs from Einstein or Edgar Allen Poe, or Elvis. Or dinosaurs. Perhaps the carbon that makes up your left pinky finger was once the skin of a stegosaurus. It's just all recycled! Your atoms are millions of years old! But I digress...

So I don't believe that our energy can stay together and travel as a magical ball and end up somewhere else, completely in tact. I don't know how it all would work. How would our future world continue to regenerate and create future beings, plants, animals, rocks, water, etc, without that energy that you just took with you somewhere? I think it just gets dissipated and transferred to something else. And life goes on.

So I have a problem with reincarnation. Again, I don't know any facts and I do not know of anyone who truly does. So I can only tell you what makes sense to me and what I can truly believe in my heart.

The Sunday before last, the minister mentioned how we "come back". He said "Now I'm not talking reincarnation here", and went on to describe how when we lose those we love, suddenly we remember all the things they told us, that we never really listened to when they were here. They are with us more after they have died, because we are constantly thinking of them. And as he has said before, our interactions with people make them a permanent part of our lives. They become so much a part of us that we can never truly be separated from them.

I found it curious that the minister made it a point to clarify that he was not talking about reincarnation. I went home and googled it. Guess what? Not all Buddhists believe in reincarnation. For some, it goes against the very foundation of what Buddhism teaches, and that is impermanence. Nothing is forever. Why then would we think our souls or spirits could go on forever, just in another body?

Another lesson: we are all interconnected. We cannot be completely independent of the rest of this world. The idea that you might be reborn as a dog should teach you several things. 1) Be nice to dogs. They may have been your mother in a past life. 2) Be nice to all creatures. 3) Do not behave as animals, lest you be reborn as one.

Scriptures were written at certain times in history to benefit the society of that time. Now I am certainly not a master of any scripture, and very new to Buddhism, so I'm not educated as to where this all came from. But what I can say, is that across all religions, there is a difference in how people within that religion believe and practice. And I think we should all be okay with that.

I feel like that sealed it. I can eat meat, drink wine (does all that sound shallow?) and don't have to believe in reincarnation....or really anything else that doesn't quite make sense to me.

What is does mean, is that I have a responsibility to be compassionate to all beings, to live a life of gratitude, because this life is not here forever. I should live my life knowing that nothing is permanent. No hardship, and no happiness, will last forever. I should be concerned not only with ending my own suffering, but that of others as well, though practicing compassion and gratitude.

I was reading a book last night written by a lay-minister in Texas. "Dandelions", by Michael G Lawrence. It's short, a fast,easy read. He works at a maximum security prison, and was raised Christian, with several ministers in his family. His book is sort of a journal, written very casually. His second entry in the book is titled "Am I a convert?".

I laughed when I read the title. I don't know how to answer that either. For some reason I feel like that's a touchy subject. Apparently I'm not the only one. He says:

"I started out a Christian, but had many unanswered questions. I then studied other religions with the same results. I had my own beliefs and ideas but just needed a religion that made sense to me. I finally found Buddhism and am fully satisfied. Am I a convert? Or have I been Buddhist all along?"