Still snowing!

It seems the prospect of a white Christmas is no longer in doubt. It would take a lot of melting to change things at this point! Our neighborhood has been transformed into a ski-in-ski-out community. That should bring property values up a bit ;-).

Even the courts closed on Monday, so Scott stayed home and we skied to the Post Office to collect the mail. Yesterday I skied to the grocery store, but the snow was more packed and dirty from all the cars so the conditions were not as good. I awoke this morning to at least two inches of fresh powder and it's still snowing hard. We're supposed to get several inches this morning with a possibility of rain this afternoon (that seem unlikely, as it's only 26 degrees at 9 a.m.

With a little bit of packing, the neighborhood streets should be ideal for skating tomorrow! Skiing on Christmas and we don't even have to drive to the mountain--how cool is that??

Marshmallow World

Desperate for some exercise this afternoon, Scott and I suited up in snow pants, gaiters, and parkas for an expedition to the gym. The roads are too treacherous for running and the iced-over snow is too lumpy for a decent ski. No hope of getting the car out--the driveway is several inches under and the drifts against the garage door are plastered with a quarter-inch glaze of ice. Besides, most of the roads haven't seen a plow and the other people out there are too busy talking on their cell phones to figure out how to drive in the snow.

The first leg of the journey, a quarter-mile hike to the bus stop, went off without a hitch. Thanks to the online transit tracker, we even timed our arrival shortly ahead of the bus to avoid standing in the blowing sleet long enough to frost over. Leg two was a short bus ride to an intersection where we had to change buses. This is the tricky part. Trimet seems to get a kick out of scheduling buses so that you arrive to make a transfer just in time to watch a bus pull away from the stop. Three people were already waiting so we knew we hadn't just missed one. The new bus was on a snow route, though, skipping some of its stops, and we weren't quite sure from which direction it would come. We only waited about five minutes, all in all a successful journey.

The gym was pleasantly empty. After an abbreviated weight lifting session, I hopped on the stationary bike for some sweat-inducing cardio. Grinding "uphill" on the bike, I imagine a scorching day in June, subconsciously steering my mountain bike toward scattered patches of shade on a gruelling climb in the Cream Puff 100. Jolted from my visualization by a song change on my iPod, I glanced outside and my heart leaped at the sight of the blizzard that was going on. The sleet had been replaced with big, white flakes tumbling from the dark sky. I picked up the pace a bit on the bike, thrilled with the snowstorm that envelops us.

Winter Wonderland

Last week, my computer and I caught viruses. My nasty cold slowed me down for a few days, but one day my computer flat out refused to get up. Lucky for me, my friend Tim is a computer guy (that's generic for people who do stuff with computers but you don't know exactly what; it's like someone saying they're an engineer--what does that mean, exactly??) and since I give him guest passes every year, I don't feel too bad about consuming a few hours of his time.

So I took advantage of a small window of driving opportunity (the roads were pretty clear from the first snowstorm, but the next one hadn't started yet) to make the trip to Hood River. Tim and I have paddled together quite a bit and often work in a run or bike ride between paddling and beers. Amazingly enough, I haven't been out there in almost a year, though, so it was good to catch up.

While my computer processed it's rebirth, Tim and I suited up in our warmest winter running gear and headed out to Catherine Creek. Usually a dry desert landscape on the east end of the Columbia River Gorge, the Catherine Creek/Syncline area was blanketed in powdery, white snow. Tim led us along a trail that wound up the ridge. As the trail steepened, I slid back half a step for every step forward. My heart pounded against my chest and my lungs threatened to burst. I slowed to a walk. Alternating running and walking to keep my heart and lungs in check, I finally caught up to Tim where he waited near the summit. The higher we climbed, the deeper the powder. We followed a set of cat tracks with tail drag marks and saw black bear prints. We stopped to admire the view--a rare blue-sky day with the Gorge as backdrop--and the picture of frosted trees.

We finally crested the top of a bench overlooking the Gorge where we caught our breath, had a snowball fight and made snow angels. Tim wondered why my horns and pitchfork didn't show up in mine (his snow angel did sport horns!).

It was the kind of winter day that makes me long for winters in Wyoming. In Portland, winter is a dark, dreary season, soggy and full of moss. But in the Rocky Mountains, I used to look forward to winter, with it's crystal clear blue skies, contrasting white mountains, and lung-searing cold air.

An energizing winter run, pizza and a dark beer, a like-new computer and good friendship. I drove home with a satisfied smile on my face.

Aaaaarrrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!

Here's the deal: I'm kind of unemployed, but I have a job--but I'm not getting paid for it and I can't go get another job that does pay because I already have a job--but I'm not getting paid. Make sense?? Only if you're an airline pilot.

Since I was hit by a car in September, I've been medically unqualified to fly airplanes. Now my doctor has released me to "light duty" which has no application to my job. I'm released to do all the tasks related to my job on December 8. That means I miss my Q400 class that starts December 2. And thanks to a provision in our union contract, the company can delay my return to work by up to 30 days for their own convenience (in this case, not having a training schedule in place for me).

I've exhausted all of my paid leave--sick, short term disability and vacation--and am facing Christmas with no paycheck. "You'll have Christmas at home!" declared the assistant chief pilot enthusiastically. "Yeah, but I won't be able to eat between now and then," I replied.

Grrr.

Much to be thankful for

Thanksgiving Day dawned sunny and dry, a practically unheard-of occurrence here in the PNW. After several days of no rain, the yard and surroundings were lacking the usual sogginess. This allowed me to smoke the turkey outside on the deck instead of in the garage where Scott feared it would deposit greasy residue on everything. I spent a beautiful day on the river with my friend Rachael and her husband Gabe. As we loaded up the boats to return to my house for dinner, the rain began to fall, slowly at first, then more confidently. Now this was the Portland we all know and love! On the drive home, I got to thinking about all the things I had to be thankful for. Here is a short list:

• Good friends
• Beautiful rivers
• A warm, dry home
• Plentiful food
• Wonderful family
• A boyfriend who still things I'm the center of the universe after 11 years
• A very special yellow fellow (even though I caught him with his paws on the stove and face buried in the turkey)
• The ability to ride a bike, paddle a kayak, go for a run or hike

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! May you all have much to be thankful for.

Back in the saddle

Last week I rode my bike for the first time since "the accident." Just my single-speed cruiser that keeps me fairly upright with very little weight on my wrist. It was exciting and scary at the same time. But mostly exciting! For me, a bike spells freedom. It means I can get where I want to go--exactly where I want, not a parking space or lot four blocks from where I'm going. It also means I can go when I want. Not when Tri-Met sees fit to take me and not when traffic allows me to move at normal speeds. On the bike, there are no traffic jams, no holdups, no detours. Usually I can reach a destination faster on my bike than on the bus and often in about the same time as driving after you factor in parking and walking.

I've had several short bike outings now and am feeling stronger every day. The first day, I had to walk up the hill from the post office because the single-speed makes it a standing hill and standing just put too much torque on my wrist. Two days later I made the climb. Now I'm looking forward to getting back on my 'cross bike and going for a real ride!

Squirrel stalking

This has been a week of perfect fall days for visits to the dog park. Tucker is a regular no matter what the weather, but when it's dry and relatively warm, we linger a bit longer than in the gray winter months of rain and slop. He has become a master of stalking squirrels. As we approach the park, he begins scanning the trees for signs of the taunting, twittering creatures. Ever since the day a squirrel fell from a tree and landed on his head, where he quickly and without hesitation dispatched it by vigorous shaking, he remains ever hopeful of being so lucky once again.

I release him from his harness and he lopes out into the trees and stops to scout. Spying a squirrel (or squirrels), he crouches. And waits. One front and one hind leg lift stealthily up and forward. He pauses with two paws in the air. Then steps forward again. And waits. Steps. Waits. Steps. Waits. He chooses just the right moment to surge forward in a full sprint, narrowing the gap between him and the targeted squirrel to mere feet. As he leaps forward, though, the squirrel also moves, quickly, toward the nearest tree, and scampers up it just high enough to be safe. Sometimes a brave squirrel ventures rather far from a tree, leaving herself vulnerable to being caught. So far, each squirrel has reached safety, but always there is a moment when I think Tucker might be successful in his quest. Once up the tree, the squirrel turns to face Tucker and chirps, teasing him. Tucker barks and jumps against the tree, frustrated at his inability to climb. Realizing the futility of the exercise, he abandons this hunt and gallops toward the next tree and begins the whole process over again.

Any Given Sunday

The rhythmic beating of drums pounded through my veins, gradually getting nearer and louder as I walked from the soggy grass field that passed itself off as a parking lot toward the race area at Portland International Raceway on Sunday afternoon. As I rounded a corner and threaded my way through the throngs of racers, family members and fans, I finally saw the source: the Last Regiment of Syncopated Drummers, a local band somehow finagled into drumming under a sky threatening rain for the last three races of the weekly insanity that is cyclocross.

On any given Sunday in Portland in the fall, over 1,200 people show up with their bikes to spend 45 minutes chasing each other around in approximately one-mile circles through mud and over barriers. This particular Sunday held the additional draw of hosting the SSCXWC (code for single-speed cyclocross world championships, but they can't actually call it that because there's lots of bureaucracy and hoo-ha attached to a title like that and this is really just a bunch of local crazies goofing off). Near the start/finish area, vendors sell french fries with garlic mayonnaise and maple bars topped with bacon(!!). Bob's Red Mill passes out free oatmeal and racers are treated to hot Belgian waffles after they finish. For the price of a $4 pint glass, the beer is free-flowing all day.

Even though I had to miss racing this entire season due to my broken wrist, I've discovered that I enjoy hanging out, watching my friends participate, drinking beer, and ringing my obnoxiously loud cowbell. Since this race was just minutes from home and, according to my friend Peter, "not to be missed," I figured I'd better show up, cowbell in hand. Since I actually do have a life of my own, I opted to not go early enough to watch many of my friends race at 9 and 10 a.m., but to go after lunch, in time to see the women's race, the Cat A (really fast) men, and, of course, the SSCXWC.

From the SSCXWC registration site: While negotiations are still on going as to whether Single Speed Cyclocross racing will replace figure skating in the 2010 Winter Olympics, the promoters are confident that this 2nd running of event will be the decisive nail in the coffin.

Finally, the race was on and Peter and I stationed ourselves at the top of a steep run-up that included two barriers followed by a spinning windmill blade that racers had to duck through each time around. Prior to reaching the run-up, they rode through a giant bubble machine that left them foaming in suds as they scrambled up the hill with bikes on shoulders.

As racers appeared through the windmill, we could make out costumes and bicycle anomalies. An entire team rode in shimmery gold hot-pant shorts and cut-off t-shirts. One guy rode a kids bike with a carousel pony on it. Superman powered through while my friend Caroline inspired racers by ringing her cowbell in a red and white polka dotted bikini. Several riders pounded PBR at the top of the hill, and some begged for beer handouts from the crowd. One guy even rode the last lap naked.

At the end of the day, it was the most fun I had had in a while and I didn't even have to go to Belgium! Check out the photos at http://bikeportland.org/2008/11/10/sscxwc-and-cross-crusade-photos-and-mini-report/.

Toweling season

Here in Oregon we have two seasons: summer and toweling. In the summer, it's usually warm and dry if not sunny, but during toweling season every outing with Tucker involves cleaning and drying him off with at least one towel before he comes inside. When it gets really nasty (which it's about to -- the forecast is for 2.5 inches of rain over the next two days) we have a two-towel system. We start with a bucket of warm water and a washcloth (our yellow "lab" doesn't like to be sprayed with water) to remove the mud, then use the first towel to soak up most of the sogginess before finishing up with the second towel. Of course, Tucker prefers it if the towels are still warm from the dryer.

Overheard

In the locker room at the gym a couple days ago I overheard two women talking about Halloween. One of the women said she was a retired librarian and she passes out books to trick-or-treaters--and this year she had 345 visitors to her door! She used to offer kids a choice between candy or a book, but so many chose the book she did away with the candy altogether. The other woman apparently has small children and commented that she wished her kids would choose books over candy. The librarian said many of her trick-or-treaters have never owned a book.

She orders all the books each year through a book store in her neighborhood (North Portland) where I hope she gets a great discount, photocopies the covers, and tapes them to her door so the kids can scan them and select a book. She gets books suitable for a wide range of ages so there is something for every child.

Cool, huh?

Today I was at physical therapy and couldn't help but hear a conversation between another patient and her therapist (we were sitting at the same table). The patient is 60 and a year ago she weighed 350 pounds. She had an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure among other health issues and had gastric bypass surgery. There was no discussion of her history, as in had she tried to lose the weight without surgery, but I can only assume a long-term struggle with weight.

She went from an extremely large size that I can't even remember to a size 4. She also got divorced and remarried (after she lost all the weight, her ex-husband wanted to get back together; the new guy knew her all through her heavy days and has always been supportive) and is a foster mom to a 5-month-old.

Wow! Inspirational.

Miss Gail's Southern Cooking

Watkinsville, Georgia sports a new restaurant, recently opened by none other than my sister. What started as a seemingly hare-brained idea hatched when she found herself unemployed last spring is now a wildly popular reality.

Both of us adopted our mother's kitchen skills, but my sister has always excelled at cooking the rich, traditional southern foods: sweet potato souffle, macaroni and cheese, fried chicken and the like. Now she can share her love of cooking and all the traditional southern classics with the world (or at least the fast-growing population of Oconee County).

Just three weeks after opening, the lunchtime crowd was lined up out the door on election day, also a holiday for the schools, whose many employees had yet to have the opportunity to sample the food at this weekday-only cafeteria. With a rotating menu, each day of the week offers something new to try, and the variety of daily side dishes could keep a diner occupied for weeks trying to sample them all. I can personally vouch for the meat loaf and the macaroni and cheese (it's to die for!). Despite being a born-and-bred southerner myself, I'm no fan of collard greens, but I found Gail's to be quite edible and not too soggy (my chief complaint about most greens cooked in the south).

Lunch was so good, I had to come back for breakfast before I left town. Gail has employed a top-notch biscuit maker in Pat, a wonderful woman who turns out tender yet not-too-crumbly mounds that delightfully sandwich a crisp pork tenderloin or soak up the perfectly seasoned sausage gravy. Accompanied with sides of grits and cheese-eggs, the breakfast plate is a delicious and artery-clogging experience. For the diet conscious, never fear—fruit, oatmeal and cooked-to-order eggs are available for the asking.

Gail remains committed to serving quality, fresh food (nothing from a can, she says, except the pinto beans) with a smile. I'll admit a touch of bias (Gail is my sister after all), but was not disappointed in the food or the service and hope her little cafeteria maintains its initial popularity for years to come.

Photo courtesy of my mom, Diane Boykin

Hiking with Hans

I was going to call this post Thursdays with Hans after the book "Tuesdays with Morrie" but then I remembered that one of our hikes was actually on a Friday.

One day I had a voice mail message from my friend and coworker Hans asking if I were interested in hiking the next day. My first lesson as a housebound invalid (okay, maybe a slight exaggeration since I can walk and ride the bus, but I haven't been able to drive or ride a bike, so it feels a little houseboundish) was "never turn down a social outing." So I eagerly called back and said that Tucker and I would love to go hiking.

Since it was a cool, rainy day, we opted for a Gorge hike. There's no point going to the mountains for the views if you can't see anything anyway and waterfalls only get better with rain. So we drove about 35 miles down the Columbia River Gorge to the Oneonta Trail where we hiked past Oneonta Falls and Triple Falls before continuing up along a stream toward the summit of Larch Mountain. This trail doesn't see a lot of use, but is well-maintained and signed nonetheless. We didn't have the time to hike the 20 or so miles round trip to the summit and would not have been rewarded with a view anyway, but we did go six or seven miles before we turned around. Despite the overcast weather, we didn't get rained on too much and Tucker had a blast running wildly after squirrels until he realized we still had to go all the way back to the car and tucked in behind Hans for the remainder of the hike.

A week later, Hans called again to see if we were interested in hiking. Rule #1: never turn down an outing. Of course I was interested! This time, it was a clear, warm October day and we headed toward Mt. Hood for one of very few trails within an hour of Portland that I haven't hiked before. There are two routes to a viewpoint on a ridge and we opted for the less traveled one--the Bonanza Trail that goes along a creek and past an old mine before climbing wickedly up. Again we went about 6.5 miles before turning around and most of the 3,100 feet of elevation gain occured during the last four miles. The creek was beautiful, the trail steep, the forest amazing. From a meadow atop the ridge, we had an awesome view of Mt. Hood and the warm sun made for a comfortable lunch stop. On the way back to the car, we spent an extra half hour picking chanteurelle mushrooms to saute up that evening.

Alas, this week Hans is visiting family in Wisconsin and next week he starts training to fly the Q400 at Horizon Air, so I have to find a new hiking partner for the remainder of my time off work.

Halloween

Although it rained most of the day, it's warm and dry outside and yet hardly a trick-or-treater around. Two years ago it had been raining for days and the yard was soggy and gross, but tons of trick-or-treaters. Last year it was dry and beautiful but cold and we had tons of trick-or-treaters.

Scott and I don't even like kids. We generally don't like other people's kids and we certainly don't want any of our own. Yet every year at Halloween, we carve pumpkins. We string up fake spiderweb. We hang a skeleton in the window. This year, I even put scary music on my iPod and set the player outside next to the styrofoam gravestones. But no trick-or-treaters.

Usually, the parents with small kids in tow start knocking a little after 5 p.m. Then the bigger kids with parents in tow arrive. Then a stream of kids that don't need parental chaperones. But this year the first trick-or-treater knocked at 6:45 (this does not include our next door neighbor Woody, who makes his obligatory costume display before he heads off to whatever party he's attending this year.

So here we sit, drinks in hand, scary music playing, too much candy in the cauldron, waiting for trick-or-treaters.

Exercising your rights

Since I haven't been able to work, or even to be particularly productive around the house, I decided to finally act on my long-time goal of volunteering for the O'Bama campaign (don't tell my parents). So I took the bus down to the local office and signed up. I'm rather introverted and both calling and canvassing go against my nature, but I sucked it up and went door-to-door for a few hours my first day out. And it was fun! Most people weren't home, but the few I talked to were very nice and we had some good conversations.

The next time I went out it was raining. Clad in yellow rain slicker and waterproof shoes, I set out on the rounds of my "turf." As I turned down my last street, with just a few houses to go, I paused to review my notes for the house in front of me. Presumably a husband and wife, 78 years old. My list is of known Democrats and/or O'Bama supporters, but newly registered to vote or with a sporadic voting record. I opened the gate of the chain link fence and knocked on the door of the small white bungalow. The elderly gentleman came out onto the tiny porch; when he found out why I was there, he asked if I could help him with some questions. I said sure--we're given some informative materials about most of the issues on the ballot so we can be of assistance if people have questions. So he went inside and returned with his unopened ballot.

He explained to me that he had only voted once before, fifty years ago. He wasn't really sure how to go about it, but he and his wife wanted to vote. She had never voted before. So he opened his ballot and I showed him the return envelope, which he had to sign, and how to fill in the ovals next to the selected candidates. I also had to explain that it was okay to not vote on a measure or a race if you aren't informed on it.

In the end, both he and his wife completed their ballots and gave them to me to take to the drop site (we're authorized to do that and even have receipts to give back). It was a moment of my day that felt very special--helping someone exercise their right to vote.

Pin-free at last!

I had the pins taken out of my wrist today after 4.5 weeks. Scott drove me because he thought they would give me anesthesia and I would be woozy afterward, but no such luck. The doctor just unscrewed the bracket, grabbed the first pin with a huge pair of pliers, and started pulling. I winced with pain as it left the skin. He explained that bone doesn't hurt, but there is a thin membrane around the bone that has nerves, as well is beneath and in the skin. So it hurts during the last part of the exit.

Armed with knowledge of the pain, I was slightly more anxious as the pliers gripped the second pin. But it was the fourth one that really hurt. As soon as he latched onto it it started hurting and I really concentrated on my yogic breathing. It also helped not to watch. Apparently this was the longest pin and the skin around it was a bit irritated. But finally it was free with a burst of dark red blood.

Now I'm wearing a splint that velcros around my wrist. I can take it off only to shower (but not until the holes heal over so water won't flow into the bone) and do some range-of-motion exercises.

Vacation

Here are some pictures from our vacation. We started by flying into Billings, MT--late, with an injured wrist, and in the rain, so instead of embarking right away on our backpacking trip, we spent the night in Cody. We got invited to Laurence's friend's house for dinner with the friend's new mail-order Russian bride. He's a gourmet cook and the food was awesome.

The next day, we packed our backpacks and drove to the East Rosebud Trailhead near Red Lodge, MT for our hike in the Beartooths. The ultimate purpose was to leave Samuel's ashes (he was the greatest dog on earth). The weather was perfect and almost no people. Scott set up camp in the dark (I was no help with one arm) and we opted to skip dinner in favor of a second round of hot cocoa with Bulleit Burboun (by now, maybe it was bourbon with cocoa--at any rate, it helped the Vicodin take away the pain!). The night was cold, but not as cold as the one we spent in the Sister's Wilderness a couple weeks earlier. The next morning was sunny and warm on the small gravel beach of Rainbow Lake. The ideal conditions caused us to linger here until the afternoon, endangering our upcoming drive to the Badlands of South Dakota. The only other person we saw at the lake was from Bozeman and he knows my college roommate Cynthia who lives in Yellowstone Park. Bizarre!

We carried Samuel's ashes in two water bottles which got scrutinized at airport security. We set the bottles on the beach with us and one of them attracted a butterfly that stayed for over an hour. I called it Sam's gaurdian butterfly.

Hungry after our hike, we ate burgers and drank local beer in Billings, then bought groceries for our trip east. It was 9 p.m. by the time we started the 7-hour drive. At 2 a.m. we gave up and pitched the tent at a state park in eastern Montana. We finally made it to Badlands National Park the following afternoon. We did a couple easy hikes. The scenery was spectacular! But we once again (third night in a row) set up camp in the dark. On the drive to the primitive campground on the far side of the park, we saw the sun set and the full moon rise at the same time. Really cool. The next morning we drove into Wall, SD (home of Wall Drug in case you haven't seen one of the ten million billboards they have around the country) for much-needed showers and a hot breakfast of something besides instant oatmeal. We drove through the main part of the park in daylight this time, then explored the area near our campsite. Lots of bison and prairie dogs.

The drive back to Cody was pretty awesome, too. We went through Sheridan (where we stopped for Mr. Misty's at the DQ) and drove over the Big Horn Mountains, through Greybull, then into Cody.

Life with one arm

If you're thinking that missing an arm for six weeks is no big deal, try putting one hand in your pocket for a few hours and see how things go. Here are lists of things I can and cannot do; I'll update it over the next few weeks.

I can:
open a beer
pull on elastic-waist pants
walk the dog
type with one hand

I cannot:
button pants with more than one button
apply deodorant to my right armpit
tie my shoes
do my hair
zip a jacket

The Dangers of Cycling

Portland is often considered one of the most bicyle-friendly cities in the U.S. We have bike lanes, bike paths, maps of bike routes, and aware drivers (when they're not talking on cell phones and otherwise being oblivious to their surroundings). While ridership has escalated over the past five years, the number of bike/car accidents has remained the same. Still, when I ride in town, I exercise extreme caution. I never assume a car will stop at a stop sign or signal a turn. I make eye contact before crossing intersections or changing lanes. Despite my paranoia, I still managed to get nailed by the "right hook," a classic accident scenario that is set up by having bike lanes to the right of car lanes where cars need to make right turns at intersections. This scenario has been made safer by the new "bike box"--a painted box that allows bikes to move ahead of cars when stopped at traffic lights, thus allowing them to proceed across the intersection ahead of auto traffic when the light turns green.

The bike box does not provide a solution to traffic that is continuously moving through a green light, however. Despite driver and rider caution, this accident scenario is likely to happen repeatedly. Most of my friends think mountain biking is dangerous--but all of my notable cycling injuries have occured on the roads

From Cody, Wyoming--

My vacation to Montana/Wyoming/South Dakota has been extended with wrist surgery. The day before we left, I was on my bike downtown and was hit by a car making a right turn across the bike lane. My 9-day-old cyclocross bike suffered a bent brake/derailleur handle and I was left with knee abrasions, a nasty bruise on my left hip and a broken left wrist. X-rays did not show a fracture, so I wore a splint and wrap for a week in hopes of healing a sprain. A follow-up appointment I scheduled in Cody resulted in an MRI and the need for pins and a cast. Instead of going home today, I'll have the surgery tomorrow and hang out here for the rest of the week since I can't race the Adventure Xstream in Moab as originally planned.

Despite the complications and inconvenience, we've had a fun vacation. We spent two days hiking in the Beartooth Mountains of Montana where we left the ashes of our dog, Samuel J. This was his first hike and swim. After eating and purchasing supplies in Montana, we headed for Badlands National Park in South Dakota for two days of exploring. We met two interesting people at our campsite: Jim from Ohio is living a life dream to explore the country while receiving unemployment. He's traveling alone in his Ford wagon and seeing all the usual tourist sites of the west. Julie is a teacher from Pennsylvania on sabattical and touring the country for 6 months.

We drove over the Bighorn Mountains to Cody where we stayed with Scott's parents and visited friends and family. The weather has been spectacular and I'm looking forward to a few more peaceful days here.

Birthday backpacking trip

Scott and I took Tucker on three-day hiking adventure in the Three Sisters Wilderness for my annual birthday backpacking trip. For once, the hike in was fairly short and easy. We started at the Park Meadow trailhead just south of Sisters, Oregon, in the central Oregon Cascade mountains. Overuse by horses has chewed the trail into a six-foot-wide pile of powdery dust that traverses a ridge below Broken Top. The scenery improves as you enter Park Meadow, a too-popular camping destination that offers views of South Sister and Broken Top. From there we climbed for a mile before leaving the main trail and heading to Golden Lake, a clear, cold tarn in a beautiful meadow flanked by Broken Top. From the north side of the lake, North, Middle and South Sister are all visible.



We were in time to set up camp and cook dinner before dark and we enjoyed hot cocoa with Bullet Bourbon in just enough of a breeze to keep the mosquitos at bay. The next morning was chilly with an icy breeze blowing through camp. Thinking the day would warm up, we set off for a day hike to Green Lakes with lunch and plans to relax in the sun with our magazines. The fall-like crisp air and cold wind continued all day, even though it was still August. We were able to find shelter from the wind by hunkering down on a gravelly slope above the largest of the Green Lakes.



In the evening, we went to filter water by the waterfall that pours into Golden Lake. A trail follows the creek uphill to two smaller ponds even closer to the cliffs of Broken Top's summit. Since it's only a mile, we decided (actually I decided and Scott grudgingly went along) to explore. The upper tarns were even more spectacular than Golden Lake and offered shelter from the south wind. We regretted not discovering this earlier! But dark was not far off, so back to camp we went where I finally found comfort by dragging my sleeping bag out of the tent and snuggling in it while enjoying my post-dinner toddy. That night, Tucker's water bowl froze over and we had ice crystals inside the tent instead of the usual condensation.



On the drive home in the pouring rain, we listened to the weather forecast on the radio. Snow was expected above 5,000 feet; our camp was around 6,500. Had we not had to work Monday and camped another night, we might have experienced the season's first snowfall!

Mountain Bike Oregon

Mountain Bike Oregon is a sort of all-inclusive vacation for those of us with a warped sense of luxury and a thirst for epic singletrack. The brainchild of Randy Dreilling, lifelong resident of Oakridge, city councilman and mountain bike guide, MBO is wildly popular, now filling two summer weekends with over 250 riders at each session in only its fourth year. Basically, you show up with your tent and your bike and everything else is taken care of: three meals a day, free beer in the evenings, ride shuttles and guides, bike demos, clinics and even bike related giveaways.

Shane and Russ picked me up Thursday afternoon and we made the three-hour drive in record heat. Russ attended MBO last year and had nothing but great things to say about it, so I was looking forward to checking it out for myself. I had been to Oakridge a few times for mountain bike and adventure races, but was excited to visit just for fun with no race pressure. We wanted to arrive early so we could make camp, sign up for our weekend rides, enjoy a meal and a margarita in town and get a good night's sleep before the action began Friday morning. While Russ and Shane parked their pop-up trailer, I found a site in the tent city that was springing up along the bank of the Middle Fork Willamette River. Walking through camp on the way to register, I already had a bad case of bike envy—Tituses, Yetis, Ibises, Salsas, factory and custom, geared and single-speed—it was hard not to lust after something. After checking in and signing up for ride shuttles, we enjoyed the aforementioned Mexican meal and margarita, had a glass of wine or three in camp and hit the hay early.

I was up at 6:45 to establish my morning routine for the weekend: fill mug with coffee, make my lunch, wait in line for breakfast, fill Cambelback and water bottles, prepare bike. Members of the Oakridge Moose Lodge dished up eggs, sausage, biscuits, yogurt and granola for breakfast every morning. The make-your own lunch table was piled with loaves of Dave's Killer Bread, cold cuts, peanut butter and jelly, string cheese, fruit bars, chips and assorted snacks for long days in the saddle.

There are at least half a dozen ride options every day of various lengths and difficulty.. Shuttles typically depart at 9 a.m. and 12:15 p.m., but rides from camp are available as well. We chose a short, easy ride in the morning so we could be back in time for the afternoon shuttle to the Alpine Trail, the supposed “crown jewel” of Oakridge riding.

Flat Creek was a fun downhill, followed by five miles on the Salmon Creek trail, zipping through the trees along the creek, over roots and around rocks. We had a few minutes for lunch before the Alpine shuttle. Once on the trail, 42 riders quickly split into three smaller groups according to ability. Each group had two guides, one to lead and one to sweep. There was even a water drop haflway through so we could refill empty bottles. The trail dumped us out at the covered bridge in Westfir and we pedaled paved roads the five miles back to camp and the New Belgium Brewing beer garden for a well-deserved cold one. The challenge for the weekend: to polish off the 15 kegs provided for the event. But first, yoga class to stretch those tight hips and backs.
There was a shuttle to take us the half-mile to the high school gym for frigid showers. A sign admonished “No bikes in locker room.” Dinner consisted of disappointingly cold pizza and a nice fresh salad bar.

I usually shy away from large groups, but the MBO participants were friendly and relaxed. There was no ego on the trail and riders of all abilities were able to bike together without incident. Everyone seemed to sort themselves according to skill level and avoid pile-ups on the downhills. In camp, people introduced themselves and chatted about the days rides and where they were from. I ran into people I knew from other events and met plenty of new people as well. There was a core group that ended up on the same rides all three days and we got to know each other pretty well. One of those was Tom Morgan of Ibis Cycles and his wife and sister-in-law. They were also camped next to me. Of course they all three ride Ibises. Alexis is about my size and she let me ride her bike around camp to try it out. I think I found my next mountain bike!

Saturday was another hot one, so we drank plenty of water in the morning before boarding the Lawler-Hardesty double shuttle. Lawler started with a gentle climb up a gravel road and singletrack to an overlook for spectacular views of the three Sisters and the upper Willamette valley. Then fun traversing on pine-needle covered trails to the rocky top of Lawler where several tight, rocky switchbacks awaited. The trail continued down, steep at times, occasionally exposed, and often fast and twisting through the trees. After crossing a gravel road, the trail pitched up steeply for a few switchbacks before traversing a ridge and beginning a wild and hairy descent through lots of switchbacks and narrow exposures to trail's end. Then we rode downhill some more on a gravel road to the bus where we ate lunch in the shade before shuttling back up to Hardesty Mountain, which also began with a climb.

This was my favorite trail of the week with the perfect combination of tight twisting turns through the trees, steep pitches, switchbacks and root drops. Better yet, the lagoon at the lower trailhead made for a refreshing swim before the hot bus ride back to the now eagerly anticipated beer garden. As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, one of the guides saw another rider dropping out of the trail. He leaned out the window and yelled “Hey! Are you with MBO?” “No,” the rider replied. “Too bad!” said the guide and we all laughed as we pulled away.

The tri-tip sandwiches with asparagus served up by Chris King (high-end bike component manufacturer) looked delicious, but they ran out of both by the time I made it through the line. Portabello was a good substitute, though, along with potato salad and berry shortcake for desert. In the beer garden, things got rowdy with events like the Huffy toss and the kiddy bike criterium. After all the raffle goodies were given away, we got to watch video footage from the weekend. Russ, Shane and I even rallied for a night ride out the Salmon Creek trail.

The night was hot and thunderstorms threatened, so I put my rain fly on when I heard the first raindrops. Rain never materialized, though, and the fly only served to restrict airflow, turning my tent into my own personal sauna. Sunday dawned hot and humid. Russ and I opted for the Larison Creek ride from camp while Shane took the Hardesty shuttle for more downhill fun. I demoed a carbon Epic from the Specialized trailer and was eager to see if a $6,000 bike actually does the pedaling for you. It does not. It was light and efficient, though, so the 10-mile climb to the trailhead was noticeably easier than on my Stumpjumper Pro. The first mile of trail consisted of hairpin switchbacks, babypowder hillsides and wild rocky drops. I walked much of this, but then the trail became much more rideable with roots, rocks, creek crossings, twisting turns and short but steep climbs which the Epic scooted up seemingly unaided by me.

Back at camp, the tent city had disappeared and people were loading cars for drives home to California, Washington and Oregon or flights to Maine and North Carolina. We took one last cold shower before making the three-hour drive home, now looking forward to a day off the bike!

Nice day at the coast?

In true Oregon style, it was cold and rainy for our motorcycle ride to the (coast. We planned to leave early Saturday morning, ride a scenic loop, then spend the day at the beach before heading home to have dinner with our neighbors down the street. In reality, it was almost noon by the time we fired up the Harley and roared out of the neighborhood.

I had mapped out a route that would take us out Hwy. 26 toward Seaside with a detour loop through Vernonia, Mist and Jewell in the Coast Range. Sporting my new Switchback jacket with the leather zipped ON (I had envisioned wearing the mesh option on a midsummer's ride), we left town and eventually turned off the highway toward Vernonia.

Vernonia became famous last November when heavy rains flooded the entire town and put it on the national news. Luckily, we were there for it's annual summer festival (all small towns in Oregon have a summer festival) and it took us 20 minutes to get through the 5-minute town.

From here, the scenery alternated between clearcuts and farmland, with some nice sections of forest remaining. A few houses and some trailers make up what remains of the nearly-defunct timber camps of Mist and Jewell. I traveled a portion of this route when I ran the Hood to Coast Relay a few years back. In the wee hours of the morning, Mist earns its name.

Half-frozen by the time we arrived in Cannon Beach, I cheered at the warm sun breaking through the clouds. But by the time we finished our mediocre chowder and crab melts at Mo's (an Oregon tradition but I'm not sure why) the clouds were back and the beach was no longer inviting. We continued our journey south on Highway 101 (the coast highway) to Tillamook where it finally was warm and sunny. But alas, we had no more time to spend if we were to make it to dinner on time.

All in all we had a good day, but wished a few things had been different.

Culture Shock

On the way home from kayaking the Clackamas River this morning we stopped off at the local Harley-Davidson dealership where Scott had to return a part he bought but didn't need. As we pulled into the parking lot in the 20-year-old Nissan loaded with kayaks and dog I already felt out of place. A band was playing bad music really loud, a cook was serving up grilled burgers to leather-clad, tattooed, beer-bellied biker types and the parking lot was full of shiny chromed Harleys. We casually made our way into the store dressed from head to toe in Patagonia outdoor clothes and Chaco sandals, dog in tow. When we started looking around for a summer riding jacket for me (I already own winter gear, but don't have any warm weather protective clothing), Lacey, the "motorclothes specialist" jumped on the opportunity to outfit me in something more appropriate. This Harley thing is still pretty new for me and I struggle with the vast abyss between my usual friends and the people we ride Harleys with. Culture shock, for sure!

Gorge Games Adventure Race

Last month when I was home on reserve and got to do things I don't get to do when I'm out of town, I went to the Wednesday night mountain bike ride/trail run with the local adventure racing club. It was fun to see some old friends whom I really miss and meet a few new people.

One night, Renee and Russ were pondering who to get for a fourth person for their team in the 24-hour adventure race at the revived Gorge Games. This is the same Renee who always swears not to do any more 24 hour races after she does one. Even though I had decided not to do any adventure races this year (except the one in Utah in September that Zach and I paid for last year), I said I would race with them if they would let me on the team.

So last Friday after I got home from four days of work at 9:30 a.m., I packed everything on my list and headed to Hood River with Isaiah. We were supposed to meet Russ and Renee at the race check-in area at 2 p.m. After we stopped for food, I noted that we would have to call and tell them we were running late. About two minutes later, we saw Russ's car pull alongside us on the freeway. We were all laughing.

Shane, the race organizer and a friend of ours as well as our sponsor, had promised in an email that it would take at least an hour to complete the check-in process. It only took five minutes, so we had some much needed time to organize our gear and set up our team bin that would get dropped off at a remote transition area (TA). At the pre-race meeting, we learned that the race would be "rogaine" style rather than the traditional "fastest-one-there" format. In a rogaine, there are multiple checkpoints (CPs) in a random placement (not necessarily along a single route) and each CP is worth a different number of points. Unless you're really fast and can collect all the CPs, the strategy is in getting the maximum number of points while still being back to the start by a deadline; points are taken away for every minute past the deadline.

The race started at 5:30 p.m. with a kayak section. We felt pretty smug when we saw an inflatable kayak, a whitewater boat and some other not-so-efficient craft while we unloaded our fancy rented double sea kayaks. Ours were nice, but unfortunately the boats don't paddle themselves. Shane had set a stunning course on the Columbia River but had to abandon it for safety reasons in the blustery wind (meanwhile, it was a perfect day for the windsurfing and kite boarding competitions also going on during the Gorge Games). Instead, we had 3.5 hours to paddle out to an island and back as many times as we could. Every lap earned points. We made nine laps and only got lapped by Team DART twice. We were happy to get out of the boats and start riding our bikes.

We had to be off the water by 9 p.m. and could not start the bike section until 9:30. So we had 30 minutes to outfit ourselves in biking gear, pick up the map for the bike section and plot a course. Shane only allowed two hours to get from the waterfront up to Kingsley Reservoir so I wondered how we would get any CPs at all. In fact, we only got one--twice!

We rode out of the TA later than most of the other teams since we were still looking at our map, but we did pass a few on the road toward Post Canyon. We missed on CP that was right on the road because I was navigating toward one that was on a trail I was familiar with. We did find the trail and the CP that was a mile up it easily. Then we followed the course we had highlighted that would take us back to the road and a quick ride to the reservoir. After 30 or 45 minutes and a series of left turns, we saw a CP right along the trail! It had the same number on it as the first one! It was at a Y in the trail and this time we approached from a different way than the first time so it looked different. We couldn't help but laugh at ourselves. Then we followed our steps back out to the road to figure out what we needed to do differently. We arrived at the reservoir TA around 1:30 a.m., two hours late, only to find out that nobody made the time cutoff and nobody lost points for being late.

We spent almost an hour eating, drinking, refilling water reservoirs, ditching bike gear and putting on warm clothes (it was cold at 4,000 feet!). Then we got the map for the trekking section and set out in search of CPs. With Russ and Isaiah navigating, we nailed two right away and had to hike a short ways down a paved road to a dirt road to hit the third one. This turned into a long ways as we dropped down a steep hill, but finally found the dirt road which also continued downhill. The boys finally decided we were on the wrong road--we were way too low according to the topo lines on the map. So we hiked back up the dirt road to the paved road where we saw another team heading down the same way we had just been. We chuckled quietly to ourselves as we hiked up the steep hill of the paved road. We really had gone a long way, but finally found the right dirt road. The whole while we were hiking, I felt that if I just took the opportunity to lay down in the middle of the road I could sleep quite comfortably.

The next CP was worth 200 points--a high number, so we didn't expect it to be easy. We thought we were close, but instead of the road shown on the map, we found a lot of extremely dense brush. We bushwhacked for a while and Russ even thought he was following an old road bed, but it seemed futile so we abandoned the search to move on to other points. It can be a huge mistake in a race to spend so much time looking for a CP at the risk of missing all the others.

I navigated to the area where the next CP should be--down another old road bed overgrown with brush. This one was fairly obvious, however, until it entered a clearing and we split up to find the CP. Isaiah found it. Based on this CP being where we thought it would be, we now had more confidence that we were in the right place for the previous one. With the sun coming up over the Hood River valley, we decided to go back and get it. This time I knew it was there and was determined to find it! The clue was that it was on a rocky hilltop, so I knew we had to find the top of the hill we were on. The daylight made bushwhacking much easier and before too long I topped out near a small rocky cliff and saw the orange orienteering flag. This was a very exciting moment for me because I am usually not the team navigator and am almost never the one to actually spot the flag. I felt quite triumphant.

The next series of checkpoints went very smoothly. We ran into Team DART who had gotten the 1,000 points for summiting Mt. Defiance (the highest point in the Gorge at 5,000 feet) and were collecting checkpoints at a mad pace before the trekking deadline. Russ check back in after apparently being rather out of it for a couple hours. No one had noticed. We actually got a couple CPs we hadn't originally thought we would have time for, but despite Russ's encouragement, opted out of the 50-pointer in favor of getting back to the TA a few minutes early in order to be ready to leave on bikes at the official start time and be able to maximize our biking points.

After the usual TA tasks--eating, drinking, dressing, gearing up--we joined most of the other teams for the 10:00 a.m. start for the final bike section. This time we did opt for the Mt. Defiance summit's 1,000 points. We were only the second team there on our bikes and were greeted by a film crew. The journey there was largely a hike-a-bike as the steep, rocky road was too technical to ride. A really nice hiker gave us all water. We encountered several other teams on the way up as we rocketed down the hill. That was fun!

We collected several more CPs as we made our way toward town and rode some awesome singletrack on the way. Also some loose, powdery sections that weren't so fun and caused Renee to have a nasty crash that resulted in bruises. But mostly really fun riding! Before we knew it we were in Hood River and had several CPs to hit before the finish line. Isaiah laid out a plan and we checked them all off. The most fun one was along a gravel path above the Hood River. On our way to the last one, we took a street that didn't go through but found a blackberry-bramble-lined path that cut up to the street above. At the top of the path was a railing that separated a parking lot from the blackberry field. In the parking lot was a dumpster. As I pushed my bike past, the wind blew the dumpster lid open and it smacked me hard on the top of the head! Luckily I had my helmet on, but the impact still rocked my head and left me reeling. While I was trying not to cry, the rest of my teammates were laughing. It actually was pretty funny getting mauled by a dumpster after spending 24 hours in the woods.

Then a fast, easy ride to the marina and the finish line where the Next Adventure crew waited with burgers and locally brewed Full Sail beer!

My friend Teresa and I went kayaking on Monday. It was a fabulous, warm, sunny day--the kind you long for in the middle of winter when you're layered in fleece under your drysuit.

Cascade Cream Puff 100 Mile Mountain Bike Race

http://www.cascadecreampuff.com/
As we pulled into the Westfir School to check in for the race, one of my first thoughts was that everyone else seemed to know what this was all about while I didn't really have a clue what I was in for. Camps looked professionally set up; toned,fit mountain bikers rested on cots in the shade. It was the hottest day of the year so far at 100 degrees with near record heat predicted for the race. Luckily, we were staying with Scott's friend Eugene and got to avoid camping in the thunderstorm and taking cold showers in the gym. We did have to sit through an hour and a half long pre-race meeting in the sweltering gym, though. We learned about the course and received the standard “you could die” warnings. We met the hundreds of volunteers who do everything from cook our meals and manage aid stations to clear trees and debris from the trails and rebuild sections that were washed out from the record winter. The final course was in doubt until two days before the race since snow still remains at higher elevations. I won a nice sweatshirt in the drawing before we lined up for the pasta feed. One of the volunteers keeping track of people going through the food line didn't show up, so Eugene took over the task. After Scott and I finished eating, I took over for Eugene so he could eat as well—a little impromptu volunteer work to keep things rolling.

Lots of work to be done before the race still! We stopped at the grocery store for ice to put in my coolers to be dropped at the aid stations and some last-minute snacks. Back at Eugene's house, Scott took care of my bike (securing my number onto the handlebars, checking air pressure in tires and shocks, etc.) while I got my riding clothes ready, prepared food, and sorted the things I wanted into the cooler for the appropriate aid station. This would be Eugene's fourth Cream Puff; one of his roommates was camping on the course and the other would be heading out to Aid Station #4 early in the morning. It seemed like all of Oakridge was involved in this little mountain bike century ride! Finally in bed at 10:30, listening to the thunder crack as I imagined flash flooding on the trails and the hot sun steaming up the forest.

With a 3:45 alarm, we were at the start line at the covered bridge in Westfir at 5 a.m. for the mandatory check-in. At 5:30, the start horn sounded and the lead vehicle rolled out. We were off! I started near the rear of the 200-rider field with most of the 21 other women. It would be a long day—no reason to be in a hurry so soon!

The first three miles were flat pavement, a welcome warm-up before the 8-mile gravel road climb to Aid Station #2. The course was a figure 8 with Aid 2 in the middle; we would pass it four times. After the first climb, we would make two trips around the upper loop of the 8, then one and a half times around the lower loop to finish back at the covered bridge. I rode most of the first road climb,with two guys named Neil and Scott that I recognized from the Test of Endurance 50 two weeks ago. We chatted easily, staying in small gears to keep our legs fresh as long as possible. They stopped at the aid station, however, and I kept rolling. We had only been riding for 1.5 hours and I had plenty .of water and food to make it to the next stop.
Right after Aid 2, the fun really began! The road flattened and we turned left onto singletrack where we would climb, traverse and descend for over two hours . This was really fun riding except for some really tight switchbacks that I had to walk and the trip up Winberry Divide that seemed steep and relentless. I rode bits of it, but everyone else seemed to be walking and I followed suit. It wasn't much faster to ride the steep grade and it seemed prudent to save the legs. Then a fun descent to Aid Station #3 at mile 25. This was a mandatory stop to obtain a sticker proving you got here. Someone offered to take my bike while another volunteer grabbed my camelback to refill the water reservoir. What service! I expected to have to do all the work myself! The volunteers encouraged everyone to hydrate up for the grueling climb ahead. A couple miles up the road I realized this was the part I brought my iPod for and made a brief stop to put my headphones on. As Cake's tempo pepped me up, I cruised past rider after rider on the moderately steep winding grade. I was prepared for a couple hours of climbing and was pleasantly surprised to come around a turn and see Aid Station #4 after only an hour and a half! I had a cooler here with an extra water reservoir, some leftover pizza and a carton of chocolate milk. I switched out the bladder, drank the milk and ate some oranges and bananas from the aid station. A water hose siphened water out of an icy creek for a makeshift shower, so I cooled off before I rode out to the BeeGees' “Stayin' Alive.” It was encouraging to hear that it was only seven miles to Aid 2—the end of the first loop and almost halfway through the race. The grade was also less steep so I was able to keep a good pace and arrived at Aid 2 in only 45 minutes.
Since Aid 2 was by far the biggest in terms of supplies and support (including Scott and the cooler I dropped here), I planned a bit of a break at this point. Someone took my bike to lube the chain, I used a portapotty and applied more chamois cream (if you don't know about chamois cream, suffice it to say that it's the only thing that makes it possible to sit on a bike saddle for 15 hours!) and Scott brought me various food and drinks which I either consumed ravenously or rejected by making a face.

Rested and resupplied (more water, more Heed and Perpetuem), I set out for lap two. It was nice to know what was coming for the next 30 miles (as long as I didn't think too hard about the Winberry Divide hike) and the trail seemed easier the second time around. Another mandatory stop at Aid 3 for a second sticker. I tried to get moving quickly, however, shoveling in some fruit and downing my Red Bull while my camelback was topped off. More Heed and Perpetuem. With the iPod back on, I was feeling surprisingly strong for the second 18-mile uphill grind, again passing quite a few riders. I got a thumbs up from another guy wearing an iPod—we later chatted about how much it helped. Still, my body was starting to feel the effort. One moment, my hand was numb, my back ached and my butt was on fire; a moment later I felt invincible; then back to hurting again. This time I only stopped at Aid 4 long enough to trade my empty Perpetuem bottle for a full one of Cytomax. Since eating is hard for me when I'm hot and tired, the liquid calories and electrolytes were critical; it's important to take things in continuously and not wait until you feel like you need it.

I finished the loop in 4.5 hours, the same amount of time it took me the first time around. I felt good about this, was still feeling strong and decided not to rest at Aid 2 this time. With only 28 more miles to ride, it seeemed certain that I would finish! A quick lube and resupply (more Heed and Perpetuem for Energizer-Bunny-like endurance) and I set out for eight miles of trail I hadn't seen yet, but almost all of it downhill to the covered bridge. The hard part would be leaving the finish line to do another loop! Three women passed me on the downhill—bummer, but I can probably catch them on the climb. My hands were aching from so much time on the handlebars and working the brakes.

When I finally arrived at Aid Station #1 by the finish line, a race official was telling the other women that we should consider our chances of making it to the top of the climb by the 7:30 p.m. cutoff time. We were told that if we were a few minutes past the cutoff time but looked strong we would be allowed to continue. I thought my chances were good and so did they. We weren't quitting now! After a quick bathroom break and with a full camelback, I rode out in pursuit of the other women who had already taken off. A mile later I wondered why my bike felt funny and realized I had a flat. My first thought was that I was done and should just hike the mile back to the finish. But I had come this far and wasn't giving up easily! My left hand could barely function after 13 hours of holding vibrating handlebars and operating brakes for long periods of time and it took me nearly 20 minutes to change my tube. I also drank another Red Bull and got out the iPod.

I rolled through the remaining two miles of singletrack and turned up the road for the final climb. This was the steepest climb of the day, but while the bulk of the field did it in the blazing hot sun, I had cool evening shade. A course marshall on a motorcycle came looking for me, wondering if I was in fact persevering. I was the last to leave Aid Station #1 since the cutoff time was nearing. He hinted that perhaps I should turn back then said that my boyfriend had told him I was pretty stubborn. My position was that if I didn't finish this race it would be because they wouldn't let me continue and not because I voluntarily quit. I finally made it to the top at 7:55—25 minutes past the cutoff.

Uncertain of my fate, I traded my sunglasses for regular glasses and Scott ziptied my headlamp to my helmet. McKenzie, the course sweeper (the guy who rides down last to make sure no dead bodies remain on the trail), had agreed to wait for me despite encroaching darkness. Scott joined us also. I still wasn't sure I would be an official finisher, but felt jubilant that I would complete the course! I did make one brief stop to take in the vista from an open ridge, but we made it down just before dark. Just over 15.5 hours after we started, I was awarded my finisher hat—the one that said “DLBF” on the back (dead last but finished). The results aren't up yet, so I don't know how many finishers there were, but I know there were quite a few behind me who did not have the opportunity to complete course.

Two days later, I'm still a bit in awe that I actually finished. I'm slowly regaining full use of my left hand and the rest of me doesn't feel too bad!

Scott reluctantly went with me to fulfill his yearly race obligations. He did get to visit his friend Eugene and go for a mountain bike ride on the legendary trails of Oakridge, so there were some bonuses in it for him. He joined the volunteer crew at Aid Station #2 for most of the day and actually had a great time. He even said he would do it again. Maybe next year?