Helloween Shenanigans

At the risk of appearing like a total pansy, I'm going to admit I chose my Halloween costume this year based on staying warm. Last's years Bonnie and Clyde get-up was fun, but I froze my ass off.  Robin Hood seemed like a much warmer option. Of course, then it was so warm for the Halloween Hellside race that Big E got to really let it all hang out in his trucker costume.

Should I be worried at how well he embraced this costume?

 Oh well, at least I was warm for the race and shenanigans that followed. Pumpkin smashing, pie smashing, beer can smashing, a little forking around....

 

 

 Yes, that is the race director dressed as a flag. At some point he was also a donkey but I'll spare you the creepy pictures. All in all, a fun day filled with shenanigans, adult beverages masquerading as full meals

and lots of good friends.

Every one wants a little trucker tongue in his ear, right?

 Although I'm not sure if Jeffro really wants to be this close of friends with Big E.....

Just In Case

I'm not shy about my love of bad weather. The most frequent question people here ask me is, "Why in the world would you move here from San Diego?"

My answer never changes.

"Because I missed the seasons. San Diego is always the same."

Most people give me the "you're crazy" look but there always a few that get it. Those few who, like me, crave change, even if it means leaving something comfortable. They understand that although letting go of comfortable is scary, it can also lead to something extraordinary that you might not have otherwise experienced.

If I hadn't left the warmth of So Cal, I would never have learned to downhill ski, or discovered I loved biking in the snow or lived in a chalet in the woods on Lake Michigan. I wouldn't have rediscovered how much I love running in the mud and rain.

One thing I realize about my time in San Diego is how few pictures I have of the place. Sure, there are pictures of friends and races, but I was always so busy running fast or riding fast in the beautiful weather that I forgot to slow down and take it all in. I took every day for granted because I figured the next day would be exactly the same.

This changing of the seasons has reminded me to take advantage of every day. Just in case. Just in case tomorrow there's 20 feet of snow. Just in case tomorrow the snow all melts. Just in case...

Saturday I almost forgot this. It was cold and rainy. I finally talked myself into running in Afton, planning it between the forecasted rain showers. I'm sure you can only guess what happened. I took off in my usual "I'm pretending it's not that cold" outfit, which consists of a hat, gloves, a long sleeve shirt, knee socks and shorts. (Big E might go sleeveless as long as possible. I, however, prefer to go pantsless as long as possible.)  Five minutes down the trail, it started raining. It was tempting to turn around, but I convinced myself to make it into a game, to see how much of the park I could see in one run.

I cut through the weird swamp,

found little flowers growing on the beach,

cruised along the river

 and eventually found a trail I'd never run before.

By the end, I was so cold and wet I could barely open the car door, but you know what?

 It was worth it, just in case....

On the Beaten Path

This morning I lacked inspiration. I sat down to write, started my research, opened Word to start typing and said, "Screw it, I'm riding my bike instead."

When I don't have words, I don't have words. Usually the bike brings them. It's always worth a shot. The worst that could happen is I have a sweet bike ride, return home and still have no words. Not such a bad situation...

Riding from home is always an interesting experience. To sum it up quickly- every time I ride or run here, I'm even more convinced that the state of Minnesota has never denied anyone a driver's license. I'm quite certain it is also impossible to lose your driver's license in this state. Stop signs are apparently optional. They might as well take out the two by our house, because I have yet to witness anyone other than myself actually come to a complete stop at either of them. Blinkers? In MN they are used as an apology instead of a warning. "Oops, sorry I purposefully cut you off." "Oops, sorry, I turned left in front of you, but getting where I need to go quickly is more important than your life."

Now you know how I feel about MN drivers. (You've also probably figured out that the bike brought words.) Needless to say, I'm a fan of the bike path.

Of course,  I've been warned of the sketchiness of some of these urban bike trails, but I figure given the choice between drunken bums and traffic, I stand a better chance with the drunken bums. So, today's ride began with a little urban exploration.

As much as I complain about the traffic here, one of the things I love about St. Paul is how quickly the urbanness turns to this:

Of course, it was still pavement so in the end, I had to ignore a few "No Trespassing" signs in search of some dirt.  After an unsuccessful attempt to circumnavigate Sunfish Lake via dirt, I opted for some tried and true double track on the way home just to get a little dirt fix.

Eventually I had to hit the pavement again to get home, but at least I made it all the way to my street before someone nearly ran me over....

Shroomin'

The adventures on two wheels have begun again.  Saturday was going to be "ride around and take pictures of fall leaves day," but a few minutes into my ride I saw this

and I got a little distracted. Then I discovered his little friend

and decided it would be "ride around and take pictures of mushrooms day."

So, instead of leaves, I bring you fall 'shrooms.

Maybe next time I'll keep my mind out of the gutter and take some pictures of those leaves....

No Bon Bons

I am alive.  Just in case you were wondering. However, if you're also wondering if I have any new crazy bike adventures to report, the answer would be no. Aside from a short jaunt to the post office and a night race at Hillside, which I reluctantly participated in so I could drink at the time bonus station, I have spent zero time on my bike. 

Of course, that doesn't mean I've been sitting at home eating bon bons. (Sitting at home drinking whiskey - yes - eating bon bons- no.)  The adventures have continued, although instead of hauling a bike around in my car, I've been busy hauling this monstrosity.

Yes, the Girl Unsupervised tent ends up looking like a beach bar.

Actually, I haul two of them, a canopy, two tables and 200 signs.  So far, I've ventured to two wine festivals and one beer fest. While biking and running will always be my first loves, I've discovered the people watching is far better at these events.

It took awhile for Drunk 1 to arrive. She was supposedly, "taking a nap."

Thankfully, the event organizers always seem think I need a good spot. First I had a front row placement by the band.

It's all fun and games until the polka music starts.

Then I scored a sweet spot next to the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation folks.

Trust me, when a torrential downpour rolls in right about the time you want to pack up, it's best to be next to the outdoorsy men. Plus, they had candy and forced me to eat it.

I have no idea what the next adventure will be. For now, I'm working while there's work and hoping for some early snow!

O Canada

Last year's Gravel Conspiracy was a bit of an epic race, to say the least.  After last year's romp in the woods just before dark, I was a bit nervous to go this year without Big E, but he had to work so I was left to fend for myself. One of the awesome things about this event is that the Head GC changes the route each year (at least so far) so at least I knew I probably wouldn't be wandering about lost in that same stretch of woods. The course was also a bit (ok, about 100 miles) shorter so I figured at least if I was lost in the woods without Big E to rescue me, at least I'd have a chance to get out before dark.

Thankfully, this year I managed to stay out of the deep woods although I'll admit, I was tempted to explore north and try to sneak into Canada for most of day one and two. Not that I would've succeeded because the Pigeon River was in my way, but that didn't stop me from getting as close as I could to snap a few photos.

 

Day three took us away from the border so instead of spending my time resisting the urge to swim to Canada, I entertained myself tracking wild animals and imagining my death by moose stomping or bear clawing. This began after I saw moose tracks the size of my head (or perhaps Sasquatch tracks), which were followed a couple miles later by more moose tracks and a perfect bear track in the road. Thankfully, by the time I saw the wolf tracks, I was riding with Aaron, who assured me I would probably not die by wolf attack. At least not right then.  Of course, in hindsight, I wished I'd taken a picture of my head next to those moose tracks, but at the time it seemed like an invitation to the moose to stomp my face so you'll have to wait until next year.

Of course by then I'm sure we'll be even farther north so maybe I really will get a picture of some Sasquatch tracks.....

Shelled

Too tired to ride, too amped to sleep.

According to Big E's phone, this photo was taken at around 6:30am during last weekend's 24 hours of Hellside. I'd ridden 7 laps straight, from 5pm until about 2am, made an unsuccessful attempt to sleep for two hours and then gotten back on the bike in the dark to ride another lap as the sun rose. Moments before the photo, I lay on the ground laughing hysterically while Big E removed my socks because I couldn't do it myself. I was, as Big E calls it, "shelled". 

I hadn't thought much about this term when he first used it, but later I realized the appropriateness of it. It's that place you get to when you have pushed yourself so hard your shell comes off. That tough outer coating that masks your vulnerability is gone and all that's left is the raw inside, the stuff people don't usually get to see.  The good part.

When I think back on my life and the people who've seen me this way, I realize they are the people I've felt closest too. They're not necessarily the ones I've spent the most time with, but are instead the ones who've see the raw me. They know first hand my yolk's not rotten, so to speak. (Or at least I hope so.) They're the ones who've ridden bikes with me in the middle of the night. They're the ones who've pulled my ass out of the river when I've flipped my kayak. They're then ones who have, quite literally, had my life in their hands at the other end of a climbing rope a thousand feet off the ground. They're not even always people who've been there in the thick of things. Some have been there at a finish line when I couldn't lift my leg over my bike or when I realized I'd ridden for so long I didn't know to do next. Others were there when I found out my mom died and melted into a screaming, hysterical mess on the floor. You get the picture. They're the ones who've seen the real, completely shelled and unhinged me and hung around anyway. 

I've spent an unusual amount of time shelled in the last year. I'm not sure why I keep choosing to do this. Maybe partly it's because I like the connections I make with people in this state. Some people need to be drunk to connect with people. I, apparently, just need to be completely shelled. Maybe it's also partly because every time I take the shell off, I realize it's not nearly as scary as I thought it would be. I'm sure it's also partly that I've grown accustomed to leaving a bit of the shell off every time so that the day to day me gets to be a little be closer to the shelled me every time.  

This has always been one of my favorite quotes:

 

Not that I want to spend my life actually crying, but I strive to live, as often as possible, right on the edge of being overcome with emotion. That, to me, is the where the good stuff happens, and you never get there if you leave your shell on.