Wild Woody Fun

Earlier today, Daryl and his crew, or as my MIL says "Daryl's" and Austin went to visit the Cherokee Nation. I'm hoping Austin will blog about it since I wasn't there so I can't. When they returned back to our campground, they invited us to do some Go Kart racing.



Nathan was hesitant, and I suspect that is because I have won every race we've had in Go Karts since we got married. He says it is because I am lighter. I had no idea that being lighter makes you a better driver, but he is the engineer so there ya go! Daryl and Diana are hard to turn down though. And they know just what to say/do to make it work. So off we go! (thank guys!)



On the way into the racetrack, the crew stops for a moment of silence. Or awe. Or wonder. Or something.

Because there is some crazy person detecting device here. Nathan always says you can't fight with crazy, because crazy always wins. I see now why. I mean who could beat someone who is willing to do this. Willing and actually PAY to do it. I forfeit right now. You win!

Now we're off to the track. Let's get ready to rumble!

We do the first race. I ride with Josh to help offset that lightness factor that Nathan worries about. That and Josh asked me to ride with him, and I can't tell Josh no. Daryl and Lauren ride together. Everyone else rides alone. I don't know much about the singles, because they left way before us so it was just us doubles fighting for the lead. We won't discuss this race. Let's just say I came in dead last. Hmmm....maybe there is something to that lightness factor. We still had fun.



We take Josh over to the little guys track, so he can drive his own car. He loved how I drove, but he wanted to do his own thing!



Josh was made to race cars. He's a thinker. He's independent. He is a risk taker. And he knows the important rules like let the cute girl pass you because you can lap her later, but never ever let the other boy pass you. If he does, pass him right away.

If the other boy gets upset...well, that's just part of the game.

In this game, you just gotta do your own thing. Josh takes first place. Further supporting Nathan's theory. The other boy cried a bit. Which broke my heart. But not so much that I didn't high five Josh for beating him.



The kids all want to do one more race on the big track. The adults want to take pictures. It's a fair deal. Josh and Aric just do their thing. Austin beats up on girls. Lauren is all by herself. I understand that, because she drives like a mad woman. She tried to make me spin out in the race I drove/lost. Not once. But twice she did this. She's fierce!

At some point Aric tries to lap Austin. Austin doesn't let him. They are content to do this for a few laps. Aric bumping into Austin. Austin letting me know that they've got nothing on him. Then they catch up to Lauren. It's the end of the race. She's in front. She doesn't understand the concept of "they already lapped me a few times". She just knows..she is in front. She won!

My guys are so gracious, they let her believe she won. Now that's real love. Of course, once you are married...it's a whole different tune. You only win if you win. And it's still real love. Just a different kind.



Living the life in Tennessee!

EZ Tools? Finding What Works

I knew that I was pushing my luck, riding a bike that had just been assembled the previous day. And sure enough: 5 miles into the Vermont Fall Classic my dynamo headlight rattled loose. I was just about to rummage around for my folding multitool, when a riding companion, Vorpal Chortle, whipped out a little wrench-looking thingie with multiple heads that I'd never seen or used before. "Here, maybe one of these is the right size?" It was. Without getting off the bike, I tightened my headlight and amoment laterwe were on our way again.



No one thought that anything out of the ordinary had transpired, but I was stunned. This was not what tightening bolts on a bike was normally like for me. This was done without effort, and more importantly, without the usual flood of shame and anger at my helplessness.



I've explained before the situation with working (or rather not working) on my own bikes. It's not that I don't know how or don't want to learn. I can give others tutorials on bike repair. But I have problems with my hands that limit my hand strength, dexterity and fine motor skills. Even just holding some tools is difficult: They fall out out of my hands, because my fingers can't grip them tightly enough or wrap around them in the right way. In the very best case scenario, I might be able to do an easy repair (like tightening a headlight bracket) but it will take ages. I have tried individual wrenches, Y-wrenches and folding multi tools, and it's always the same story. How or why the flimsy looking Park Tool MT-1 was any different was beyond me.



Shortly after the Vermont Classic I bought an MT-1 of my own (available locally at Harris Cyclery), and can now easily handle anything on a bike that requires a 3/4/5/6/8mm allen wrench, an 8/9/10mm socket wrench, or a straight blade screwdriver. That does not cover everything, but it's a start. There is something about the size and shape of this thing that both stays put in my fingers and provides enough leverage to compensate for my lack of hand strength. The joy this has brought me is almost embarrassing (thanks Vorpal Chortle!).



Granted, this particular tool may not work for everyone. But my point is,if you are finding bike repairs physically difficultthere might be something out there that does work. I am going to experiment more aggressively from now on, and maybe I will find tools for all the other tasks I still have trouble with. For instance, I might be imagining this, but I recall watching a woman use a collapsible type of lever that connects to the hub axle(?) to remove a tire in one fell swoop. Maybe I ought to look into that and try to get my flat fixing time to under 30 minutes. In the end, I would love to put together a list of "EZ Tools" suggestions, but I'm not sure how universally applicable these things are. Ultimately, we must keep experimenting to find what works for us, and for some this will be tougher than for others.

Buster, Rover, and Bootsie

Late summer 1949 - Becky, Dad, Shep, and Doug.
1988 - Buster and one of my nieces.
1988 - Rover and Bootsie
1988 - Bootsie on top of her doghouse.
August 1992 - Bootsie

Growing up, the only pets we ever had were dogs. For whatever reason, Mom didn't like cats, so dogs it was! We went through quite a few of them. They tended to disappear though. Some got run over by cars, others were shot by irate neighbors or hunters. So we learned to enjoy them while they were around but almost never got "attached" to them. Of course, we were saddened when they were gone but another dog was there to replace them almost immediately. The two that I remember most during my high school days are Lady and Missy. Lady was a dachshund and Missy was a mixed breed. After I left home and while in the Navy I didn't have any pets. It wasn't until much later in my life that dogs became family members.

About 1981, my sister got Buster. I think he was a mix of poodle and some kind of terrier. Not tiny, but he was a small dog. He was also a fierce protector of my nieces. When my sister moved to Florida in the fall of 1988 she left Buster with one of her neighbors. Due to unforeseen circumstances my nieces came to live with my mother and me. They immediately asked if they could get Buster back. We checked with the neighbor and she agreed to let us have Buster and that is how he came to live with us. By the time he passed away five years later, he was blind and could hardly walk. We came home one day and found him dead.

In the previous year, 1987, my mother and I had purchased a vacant, old, run-down farmhouse. It was a fixer-upper but the price was right and it came with two acres of land. Almost immediately, we got dogs. They were drifters, just passing through, or dropped off by motorists. They didn't stay long though. We decided to get our own dog hoping it would stay around for a while and keep the strays away. Thus, Rover, a German Shepherd was given to us by a co-worker. He was only a couple of months old and kind of a klutz. He never did grow out of the awkwardness. About this time we also took in my brother's dog, Bootsie. She was about two years old and was a mix of Springer Spaniel and black Labrador. Though older than Rover, Bootsie was still kind of a klutz too. She had spent much of her day-time life in a cage. So she really didn't like to be confined.

So now we had three dogs! And wonder of wonders, they all got along pretty well together. Buster stayed inside most of the time while Bootsie and Rover were outside dogs. We kept Bootsie and Rover on chains most of the time. We'd let one of them loose at a time so they could run but if they were both loose at the same time, they'd sometimes be gone for days. They loved to run. Rover was the plodder and Bootsie was the graceful dame. She loved to sit on top of her doghouse. She could jump on top of it with the greatest of ease. All Rover could do was get his front paws on top.

One summer Bootsie was diagnosed with heartworm and we had to keep her and Rover separated while she underwent the treatment. Bootsie was moved down to the barn and Rover was kept up by the house. It was just awful, like a couple of kids crying constantly. Night time was the worst though, they sounded like wolves howling. It was funny and sad all at once.

We decided to put in a fenced area so the dogs wouldn't have to be chained. Great idea, right? A five-foot high fence was installed around a large area, 30x60 feet and their dog houses moved inside. We should have known it wouldn't work. We kept seeing Bootsie outside the fence when no one had let her out. One day I happened to see how she did it. Amazing really. She'd get a running start and jump, getting her front paws just over the top of the fence, then using her back paws and the wire fence push and claw her way over the top to freedom. So we sometimes just let her go but when we needed to keep her in the dog run with Rover we'd chain her up inside. If she wanted to get away from him all she had to do was jump on top of the dog house!

Rover made it through about three years. He liked to chase vehicles and one day got too close to a tractor pulling a plow. He made his way back to the house where we found him, still breathing but not long for this world. I stayed by his side until he passed away. Bootsie came up a couple times, sniffed and walked away. It was like she knew. We buried him out back behind the barn, where a few years later Buster joined him.

After Rover died, Bootsie pretty much stayed around the property so we took down the fence and just let her run loose. She also started spending the nights in the house. Bootsie had done a great job of killing the ground hogs and other vermin and liked to bring "trophies" home to us. One time I saw her across the field dragging something along. It was almost as big as she was and she was having one heck of a time pulling it across the field. She finally gets it up to the back steps and just plops down, exhausted. Really gross. The head and part of the carcass of a calf. We contacted our farmer-neighbor not quite knowing what to think. He laughed when we told him what Bootsie had done and then told us not to worry. For whatever reason the calf had been killed and the carcass had been dumped on the field along with manure for fertilizer. The remains of the calf were buried after Bootsie finished wallowing in it. The smell was horrific. And Bootsie got a bath.

For a while we thought we were going to have to have Bootsie put to sleep. She was having trouble walking and climbing the stairs. She slept upstairs in my room at night. In a visit to the vet we found out she had hip problems. He thought he could fix her up without surgery, which was a relief. I don't remember how many shots she had but he gave her something that was normally only used on horses, but it fixed her up and she was better than ever after the treatments.

When we sold the farmhouse in the fall of 1997 and moved to a subdivision near Columbia City we took Bootsie with us. She was fine with the move but because we were living in a more settled area, dogs were not supposed to run loose. She had to be kept on a leash or chained up while outside. And, of course, she didn't like that. She also didn't like loud noises, like thunderstorms and fireworks. The week of the Fourth of July the following year about did her in. She'd climb up on my lap, mind you she was a fairly large dog, and just lay there and shake. There really wasn't anything I could do to help her. Mom suggested giving her a sleeping pill thinking it might relax her. I called the vet and he said half a pill wouldn't hurt her, so with half a sleeping pill every night that week she endured that Fourth of July.

Another year went by and it was getting harder and harder to get Bootsie to go outside. She'd go on the leash if we told her we were going for a walk but she barked constantly when chained up. During the day, while I was at work, she spent most of her time in the garage. She wasn't eating much either and she started snapping at passersby. So it was in June of 1999 that I took Bootsie to the vet one last time. I couldn't bear to see her put under so just left her with the vet. As she was walking away she stopped and turned and looked at me with those soulful eyes. She knew. I was fine until then. And then the tears came, as they are now, while writing this, nine years later. I was supposed to go in to work that day, but didn't. I just drove around, crying. All day long.

Every once in a while Mom and I would talk about getting another dog, but we never did. The house has been sold, and now, living in an apartment just isn't conducive to pet ownership. I was never into birds or cats or fish. Someday, maybe I'll have another dog...

This post was written for the 50th Carnival of Genealogy whose topic is "Family Pets!"

Teeth

The leaves of honey bush look dangerous to touch, but aren't.

Pedal and Coast

A friend of a friend flies gliders at the Ulster Gliding Centre down the road. I was encouraged to visit. "He used to race bikes. He restores old planes. The place is amazing, you'll love it."



Terrified of flying and armed with only the vaguest notion of what gliders actually are, I nonetheless head over there one evening. The phrase "restores old [fill in the blank]" proves to be excellent bait.In honor of the occasion, I ride a 1938 Tyrone Flyer, handmade in Northern Ireland.





Astride the 75-year old machine, I race down the winding coastal road, at length turning onto a narrow lane toward the Lough Foyle. I ride past pastures, chicken coups, a thatched cottage, and a field of parked caravans, until finally a meadow comes into view - spread out along the water's edge and littered with small aircraft. From a distance the scene resembles a vegetable patch.





By the hangar, Owen waves me through, bike and all. We exchange greetings and straight away his eyes are on the bike.





Owen used to race 100 mile time trials. He was good, right up there at the top. Then he stopped. But I can see the cycling has not left him. If he sees a bike, he can't not look at the bike. Then it's my turn to look at the planes.





A hangar is basically a garage for aircraft. This one is dome-shaped. The interior is well illuminated. There are little planes everywhere and I wander through them as if through a forest, stepping over tails and wings as if they were felled tree branches. Some planes are colourful and others are white, some fairly new and others quite old. Owen restores the old ones.






I ask about the materials, the paint, the provenance. Most of the machines are British or German, WWII era. We talk about plastics, and how they've changed over the years (a topic I'm familiar with from my fountain pen collecting days). Then he shows me the cloth used for wings - stretched so tautly and painted over so smoothly, I would never have guessed it was cloth.






The planes are so light and small, they seem toy-like. "I could take you up in one of these if you like?" I shake my head in horror, which I quickly try to disguise as a polite "I wouldn't want to impose."






So what exactly is a glider? Put simply, it is a small airplane without an engine. A non-motorised plane. Visually, gliders can be distinguished by their lack of propellers(although there are alsomotorised gliders, which do have propellers)and their unusually long wings.






Because a glider does not have an engine, it cannot take off under its own power and relies on a tow-plane to bring it up to the desired height, then release it.






Once airborne, the glider uses streams of rising air (thermals) to prolong the flight, as the pilot steers it. In this manner, the glider can stay up in the air for hours and even travel cross-country. "Cross country without an engine?" I said, growing interested in the mechanics of the thing.






Long story short, I ended up in the glider. Owen - as most of the pilots there - has such a steady, reassuring manner about him, that the more we chatted the more it began to seem like a good idea - just a normal way to spend an afternoon. "There's no engine, so nothing can go wrong, you see. It's a bit like cycling really. Take your camera!" Yes, it would be like cycling.




I was feeling pretty good as I approached the glider, until another pilot - Gary - handed me a parachute. "Here, put this on." I must have turned white and begun to inch my way backward (OMG why do I need a parachute??), because Gary sort of held me in place and swiftly began to put the parachute on for me, cheerfully instructing me on its usage while gently nudging me into the glider. "There. It's like getting into the bathtub."




In fact, the thing is sort of canoe-shaped. The pilot/instructor sits behind the student/ passenger. There are duplicate controls. There is very little room, and once the top is down, you feel sealed off from the rest of the world. Once I was in it, my attitude was - If you're gonna do it, do it. Otherwise don't do it. No point being scared now.






As Owen began to rattle off a series of mysterious control-check messages into the radio, Gary grabbed the rope attached to the glider's nose and connected it to the tow-plane.






This is what it looks like to be towed along the grass runway. We are taking off toward Lough Foyle.





Here is the rope.






The take-off is quick and painless. Before I know it, we are being towed through the air.






View from the ground.





Finally, the rope is released. The tow-plane returns to the ground and the glider - well, it glides. I am in a small plane. Everything is completely silent. We are floating, coasting really. I am feeling fine. Calm, downright serene.





The landscape spreads out beneath. Familiar places from an unfamiliar vantage point. In that sense, it really is a bit like cycling. In an abstract sort of way.





We fly along the coast, then turn inland and head to Binevenagh Mountain. Owen explains how to work the controls to make the plane bank, turning it around. It makes sense and I give it a try. The plane turns. And there is Binevenagh, half submerged in shadow from a low cloud, half illuminated by intense sunshine. It looks quite tame from here, flattened out against the landscape. My heroic climbs and descents hardly seem like an accomplishment now.



On the very top of Binevenagh is a mysterious lake. It is up a rough gravel road and I've only made it up there once so far. The lake is eerie, prone to mists and unusual growths around its edges. When you're standing next to it, it looks as if it is about to pour off of the edge of the mountain.





But what you don't see from the ground, is that the lake is distinctly heart-shaped. It is also nowhere near the edge of the mountain when viewed from an aerial perspective.





My camera is with me in the glider. There is a small window that slides open to stick the lens through. I've no experience composing aerial photos, and my 50mm lens is all wrong for the task. Even as I take them, I know that my pictures will look generic, uninteresting. But they are mine and I take them with the same genuine enthusiasm as anyone would.





The sun fades gently in the silence.Over Magilligan Point, we see another glider in the distance and wave to them.Everything is beautiful. "You all right?" Owen asks. Yes! This is wonderful. "Want to try a Chandelle?" he says. "Oh. What's that?" It's a maneuver. A bit of fun. Not quite aerobatics, but almost. "All right!"



The glider does something that is part spin, part freefall and part loop. I see clouds. I am not sure which way is up. I feel pressure in my temples and my vision starts to go dark. A split second later, I am drenched in a cold sweat and hit with a wave of nausea. I sit very still and take deep breaths. "How was that?" Owen asks from the back seat."Mmm hhmm hhmm!" I reply, mouth closed, worried I will puke all over the nice glider if I try to form sentences. Point taken. No more aerobatics. As the sun sets, we descend.






On the ground, I am soaking wet - hair, clothes, everything. Weird, the physical reactions we have. I don't remember feeling scared, but my body must have decided otherwise. We have a laugh about it. Then we steer the plane down the grass runway toward its next tow.






Is gliding anything like cycling? Hmm, I don't know. Maybe the feeling of landing is similar to that of a long descent. The view can be similar too. But on a bicycle everything feels open, whereas in a glider you are closed in, closed off - a bit claustrophobic for me. Not that I don't want to do it again. But perhaps no Chandelles just yet. It could be a useful skill, knowing how to fly light aircraft.






Some day. But for now I get back on the Tyrone Flyer. I pedal uphill, coast downhill. That is more my style of gliding.

More About our Bok Tower Gardens Trip

As I said, this was Nathan's first trip to see Bok Tower. It was really overcast and looking like rain, so there wasn't a big crowd there. Which made it a nice day to visit.



As soon as you enter the front of the visitor center, you can see that this is going to be a pretty place.







Clearly this was a personal goal of Mr. Bok, as is shown in the quote over the entrance.



I think he definitely achieved it with this place.



The main attraction is still the tower, with the beautiful carillon music coming from it each day.

Adventures with Padded Cycling Shorts

"Should I wear padded bicycle shorts?" is one question I get asked a lot by women, especially since photos occasionally reveal my wearing them. As with most comfort issues, there is no straight answer here. Everybody is different, and the best I can do is provide feedback about my own experience.

When I cycle casually or for transportation I do not wear cycling shorts. It is crucial to me that my transportation bikes be comfortable and upright enough to ride in regular clothing, and I do not ride them strenuously. I also do not find that padded shorts are a solution for saddle discomfort. If a saddle causes me pain, the shorts can at best mask it for a brief time, but the saddle itself will still need to be addressed.



I began wearing bicycle shorts when I got into roadcycling. In that context, I find them beneficial, in that they provide just the right amount of compression and cushioning. It is difficult to explain why this is necessary, until you yourself get to the point where it makes sense. For a while I rode wearing non-cycling-specific leggings, but ultimately did not find them sufficient. The tight, stretchy fabric of bicycle shorts - unflattering as it may be - makes the muscles in my legs feel better when I pedal vigorously. The slight padding (and minimalism is key here) creates just enough of a buffer zone between me and the saddle during active rides.



I have owned several pairs of cycling shorts so far. The first one I bought was by Pearl Izumi. Everyone kept saying to me "But how do you know that you can't wear synthetics? These high-tech fabrics have come so far!" And so I tried. You won't see a picture of the Pearl Izumi shorts here, because they made my legs look like overstuffed sausages and it's just too traumatic for me to share that. But the bigger problem is that I really do have a sensitivity to polyester and wearing these things gave me a disgusting rash along the back of my legs. Also, despite Pearl Izumi's promises of being wicking and temperature regulating, they were nothing of the sort. Sweat pooled in every skin fold, and words can't describe what an unpleasant experience it was to wear this garment. I got rid of them a month later, struggled with my cotton leggings again for a bit, and then finally bit the bullet and bought a pair of wool Ibex cycling knickers.



I have been happily wearing the IbexEl Fito wool cycling knickers since last August, and have since also bought a pair of their Seree shorts.I think the version of the knickers I have is last year's model or older (I bought it from a discount retailer), because the currently produced version features a new pad design that is less noticeable from the back. In both the new and the older design, the padding is minimalistic and feels comfortable. Overall, I am happy with theIbexshorts and knickers, and I alternate between them depending on the weather and on which pair is clean.



Now let's be honest: no cycling shorts are flattering unless you are super-slender with sinewy thigh muscles. But all in all, these are not nearly as horrific as other cycling shorts I've tried and the "sausaging" effect is very slight. At least I am willing to post pictures. A wider and softer waistband would make them more comfortable around the middle, but that is my only real complaint. The wool does not feel especially thin to the touch, but I can wear these things in 95F heat and they feel wonderful. No skin sensitivity, no pooled sweat.



More recently, I got a pair of Harlot Scarlet X Tech knickers via a trade with the manufacturer. These knickers are stretchy nylon and spandex (to which I am not sensitive), and are meant mostly for mountain biking. I thought they could work nicely for touring because of all the pockets and the relaxed tailoring.



The elasticised waistband is soft and comfortable and the styling is that of casual capri pants. They are formfitting throughout the hips and upper thighs and loose around the knees.



The padding is not visible. There is a meshy panel that runs along the inseam, providing ventilation. Decorative white piping runs along the outside seam (more pictures here).



While the Harlot knickers are well-made, flattering, and do a good job disguising the padding, I have not been wearing them much after the initial "Oh, neat" reaction. I think the reason is that I have no need for this particular style of cycling shorts. If I am going to wear something padded, then I am going to be roadcycling and I want the shorts to be tighter, more stretchy, less constricting, and without any extras such as pockets. Likewise, if I am commuting or just cycling with a friend in the park, then I don't need cycling-specific attire at all. But if you can use cycling shorts that are made like regular capri pants, only with padding, knickers such as these andthe ones by Chrome I wrote about earlier, could work nicely.



As I see it, padded cycling shorts and knickers are one of those "If you need them, you'll know it" things. If you are comfortable without them, I think that's just fine and there is no need to question yourself just because other cyclists are wearing them. And while cycling shorts can look silly, they are designed that way (tight, padded) for a reason, and changing that design in order to make them look like regular pants can also reduce their functionality. That's my take on it at least, for the time being.



Do you wear padded cycling shorts? What kind and for what type of cycling? I am especially curious about any experiences with Smartwool, Icebreaker, and other wool cycling shorts - particularly for women.