The Athletes Are In Town

Out running errands today and checking out my new basket.

I painted a milk crate black and bungeed it to my back rack. Probably not the best of attachment options, but it rides stable and I love the size and its ease of access. I just need to girl it up if I am to continue using it. Flat black is boring. On the other hand, it is as heavy empty as my pannier was full. I don’t know how much I care about that, but it is just a note.  A complaint I can refer to should I need to explain to myself my sluggishness at some future ride.  I have room for flares now.

Coeur d’Alene is sponsoring an Ironman triathlon this Sunday. The town is flooded with people as transition areas, vending booths and official tents are being erected everywhere. It is nice to see to see downtown active and filled with people. I am sure it is good for the local economy, but more importantly, it is fun to watch: all those nubile bodies at their peak of freshness. Yum!  (Yes, I could have volunteered, I will take that under advisement for next year. )

I have never done an Ironman length triathlon, only Olympic distance. It is a huge distinction. The Ironman, if you did not know, consists of 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike and 26.2 mile run. Olympic is 1mi/24 mi/6.2miles respectively.  The difference in training required is astounding.  If you commute to work by bike, you can fit Olympic training into a schedule fairly easily, a few more hours a week, a reasonable diet and you are good and finish easily. But a serious lifestyle changing and challenging commitment is required for an Ironman. The paper this morning had some stats about averaging 225 miles of biking a week, 7 miles of swimming, and 48 miles of running. Ouch is all I can say. I can imagine that in addition to the finely honed bodies: strained relationships, lonely spouses, exhausted muscles and stretched tendons are just part of the routine. It is a lot of time alone in your own head. But then we are all alone in there so you might as well face it 'head on'… but I digress.  In the past I thought that it would be awesome. I would finally prove to myself that I am an athlete and not fat.  I have only made it to Olympic distance not fatness. I still have issues.

And finally I just would not find the time as Art increasingly demands time in my day. Or so I have decided.

Hence:  for now I am only riding for enjoyment and utility.  I am of a different mind, for now, that does not find training fun. I am pretty sure I never did enjoy hearing that constant nagging voice always sounding off in my head: ride more miles faster, run more hills, eat better, lift more weights, no parties, no straying off task.  The challenge to overcome was the goal. That was the fun. And I rode with gritted teeth, ran with a perverse determination and swam endless miles imagining sharks at every shadow. Yes, fun.

But I was younger then. And a little bit angry and bitter. For no good reason really except the taste fueled me. But that is another tale. I know that training was a good vent for a lot of errant energy.

I like to think now that I am riding solely for the fun of the ride, an errand made adventure, a visit to see a friend turned physical, a meander churning up a creative mind. I think I am probably stronger on the bike than I have ever been. Well, maybe not like after the summer of riding coast to coast, but for normal  American life.

Of course I was long ago schooled in what a difference living a bike life is from a cyclist.

Throughout my biking life I liked to call myself a cyclist, including the upgrading of equipment and gear whenever possible. I dressed the part and even relished the distinctive tan that can only be gotten on the handlebars with mesh backed fingerless gloves. I felt fast.

Then I traveled to Amsterdam. 

I went see a city that lives a bike life surrounded by art and water. We rented decent bikes and began a tour of the city and surrounding area. One particularly lovely ride, I was passed, quickly. Not that that never happens, but this girl had on a skirt with stilettos and on the back of a three speed girls bike was a basket full of groceries and wine and baguettes; with a front basket full of tulips. Long and leggy and blonde; she gave me a healthy gorgeous smile. I would show you the photo but I lost her as quick as she came. I  also lost the notion that gear or even the bike makes the rider. It might change a ride, but real strength comes from living on the bike. You aren’t a cyclist, it’s just the fastest, quickest and cheapest way to get to where you want to go. And because you ride all the time, you naturally get faster, safer and more aware. You get to that Zen of biking-isness. Where the bike is gone as a separate tool and the freedom of movement is all that remains. Fun and effortless.  Or at least so I like to pretend, headwinds, hills and all.

I imagine were I to see that girl today, she would also be chatting on her cell phone as she blows by. But I am getting ready for her. My heavy basket makes me stronger. Time for a baguette run.

Ride Comments:

The bike path across Hanley from Ramsey to 4^th Street is awesome, except where it isn’t. I never missed the safety of a white line so much as between Mineral Drive and Government Way. There was a helpful informational sign that read “Bike path ends”. Sweet. Now I am on my own where a little help would really be nice. To the credit of the polite drivers in the area, they were respectful and the ballet went on undeterred. I complain as a seasoned rider. I worry for occasional riders.

Which brings up the piece of crap that is the Hwy 95 bike path. Please, there are miles and miles and miles of fresh asphalt put down around here yearly and that is allowed to such a state of disrepair. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Thanks to the guys at Home Depot that let me park inside by the register when I realized I had no key for my bike lock.

Quadriple thanks to the very gracious Dylan, working on the Marina at the CDA Resort.  I was looking down on the boardwalk and spied the most gorgeous sailboat. Long clean lines, navy blue, rather too large and too fast I supposed for this lake... I wanted to see more, nay, needed to get close! At the beginning of the ramp I read that bikes are not allowed on the boardwalk. "Phooey", I lamented aloud. off to my side I hear: “Can I help you?” There stood a beautiful young man pushing a cart stenciled with "Marina" on the side. I explained my lack of bike lock and my sense of urgency to see that boat. *My new love, my secret need for the snap of sails, the smell of water, sweet wind blowing through my dreams* He tells me he can lock my bike, he has a lock right here!  He locked my bike to the nearest rail.  Thank you Dylan.

About that boat… I can’t really explain. Perhaps this will help. My palms were sweaty. It was a rock star.

Once again, thank you Dylan. Apparently I could have pushed my bike down there, but I was so distracted by Big, Blue and Yummy that I might have dumped it in the lake. Sorry Honey, I did not mean that.

And lastly. On the way home, after such goodness, there was this:

Roadkill, I salute your life. And your balls.