Away Too Long

And by away too long, I mean sex.  Everything eventually comes back to that.

I miss it, at least the idea of it. I ride and I ride and I ride and it abates.  Climbing hills is the best for that. I like to pedal until I am just too tired to summon desire between my legs, my crevice blissfully numb. 

I must be hormonal. How predictable.

Maybe it’s truly been too long but I am just bored thinking about it. I need substance to keep the dream alive. Vibrators and the internet aside, there is really nothing like the quiver of foreign skin intersecting familiar territory.

The other day I rode to a wine tasting. It was a great evening, a brisk ride to some viciously arresting red from a vineyard in Walla Walla named Forgeron. Taste buds at attention, warm with the glow of splendor. That night I had strangely erotic dreams. I have had sex dreams before with its fuzzy, hazy, faceless, body response writhing. You know - you wake up all sweaty and frustrated. This was different, verbal, challenging, flirtatious. By that I mean: me getting hit on, flirted with, verbal parries; several different ones as a matter of fact. Tall, handsome men with thick, thick bicycle thighs. I awoke slightly confused and rather aroused. I headed out for a hilly ride, into a headwind.

I definitely need to get out more. Socialize with people.  My bike, my art, and I are in this intense three-way right now.  Without some input soon, it might just become an insipid vortex.  

And off I ride. 

too long

I have been away too long.

Riding my bike, licking my wounds, learning the intricacies of the Labor Department and its unemployment benefits.

Mostly I want to have more spring days when I speed over a rise and around the corner to emerge along side a field of Lupins scenting the air the most tantalizing way. I wanted to stop and pick flowers, revel in aromatic intoxication. But instead on I went, fearing the cloying feeling of too much bouquet; savoring it until my nose was searching for something besides the freeway exhaust and rotting plant matter.

It was raining by then, not that I mind if I am moving fast, faster.

Twenty miles under clouds, a fording the path under river water, wet feet and smile - having no job isn't so bad. No, actually, I love my time. It is only the temporary lack of capital that I abhor. And that too shall pass.

Until then, I pray for pithy lines, for the rain to pass and  for inspiration to make itself known.

In the meantime, thank you Captain Crank for the innovative use of a back pack. A friend in need... indeed:

So many reasons to ride

You can find inspiring reasons to ride everywhere you look.
I love this blog and the riders inspiring riders: Chicks and Bikes

I need pink rims.

Pedal Pusher

Yesterday I managed to strip the other pedal clean off the crank arm.

It started a while ago when I incorrectly installed pedals on the wrong side one day. It took that ride to discover my mistake and move them across but the damage was started. It took a week or so before the first pedal loosened and fell off as I was giving Jesus a high five on the Gonzaga campus.

Off to the bike shop with one foot I went.

My favorite guy cleaned up the threads and gave it back. It worked for another couple weeks. I ride too hard for that to go down any other way. So, last week he replaced one of the crank arms. Sensitive to my unemployed status, he found a replacement part that isn't as pretty as the original,  but fully as functional and that is all I care about. If I want pretty, I will comb my hair.

Well, yesterday I was coming out of a river bottom and stripped the other side. I was four miles out. At least the other foot got the workout this time. And I was riding with friends. One footed is fine.

I called Larry at Steve's ( Bikes ) on Cannon and he sighed. He knows my problem. Now I wait until the proper part can be secured. Is there a bike wrecking yard someplace where spare parts are mouldering while awaiting just this time?

I still have my  mountain bike so I can roll and I love that bike. But me and the road bike have matching color schemes. And we are both sleek and fast and sporting pink accessories. Hurry Larry.

I have apologized to the bike a number of times for my gaff. She doesn't care about the crank arms, she is just missing the sun today. Spring has finally shown the sun and flowers bloom.

I see dirt in my future.

Until then, I am still looking for the perfect bike job. I like this option, I want to be the driver/bartender of this Beer Bike Bar

It's fun.

I like to ride and thats a fact. 

Not specifically for speed though I have gotten faster because I ride often. 

Not specifically for fitness, though it is a great side effect, and I feel energetic.

Not for the cool gear, though I appreciate my bikes more than my car.

No, I ride because it is fun. I love to roll, I love the wind in my hair, I love the sun on my face, I love flexing my muscles and breathing deep and pushing hills. I love my mind wandering and quieting and becoming clear. I love the creative ideas that come to me when I am enjoying the tweet of birds, swirling of clouds and flow of miles.

So I will ride with you, fast or slow, road or mountain bike. I will dash along if you are a fixie fiend. If you want to cruise, I can slack. I enjoy your company. I love to see people ride.

 But I will ride alone at any time. I need no one to feel complete or to appear in public and that includes riding. I can ride for miles or days alone if you can't come. And happily so. 

So, how can a life long rider find a way to ride more. How can my bike pay?

Moveable feast?: Picnic Table Bike