Deirdre on reading, writing and living

I look a little like linebacker with shading under my eye to prevent glare.



It's five days after my tumble off the bike. I'm still sore. My knee, elbow, and right arm still give me sharp reminders of my folly.

But, high on my thigh, hugging my short's seam, I've developed one of the more beautiful marks I've ever had:



Don't ask me what I hit, but whatever it was, it loved me.

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Current Location: Catskills
Current Mood: calm
Current Music: silence

Okay today was not such a great bike experience as Monday. I didn't even make it to the main road. I had just stopped to let the neighbor's dog sniff me so that he knew I was me and not some deer he had to chase. I began to glide down the damp road that our house sits on. I wanted to go slowly, but I simultaneously squeezed the brakes and stood up to ease my way over a bump. I pressed on the front brake harder than I should have and went right over the top of the bike.

Because my feet were still strapped to the pedals The back of the bike came off the ground and the whole thing flipped over on top of me.

I have a case of bike face:



Not too severe, but I bet that scrape on my cheekbone's gonna get colorful.

Small patches of skin on my elbows, knees, thighs, and one shoulder got scraped off as well.

So Monday I was grateful to be able to ride after 686 days off the bike, today I'm... thankful I didn't get really hurt? Resentful? Feeling a little unbalanced?

I don't know, but I'll get back on in a few days and hope that I have nothing this exciting to write about.

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Current Location: Catskills
Current Mood: sore
Current Music: silence

Forgive me oh bicycle god, most merciful, for I have sinned. It's been 686 days since my last communion with you.

On June 18, 2007, before the fog burned off hills, I was up and riding down one of the main roads that leads out of town, legs pumping, looking forward to the hill that pops out of the landscape five miles from my summer house. The ride was a sweet one, I made it to the 3.8 mile marker in the next county. The total mileage that day was 13.6. Very good for my morning ride.

The road crosses a small stream that never looked particularly impressive. But two days later a flash flood overflowed the stream bed, carrying with it mud and rocks, trees and garbage. The wall of debris-filled water ripped apart houses, rolled a trailer, tore up large sections of asphalt and flipped them like pancakes. It grabbed cars and trucks sweeping everything down the incline and into the Beaverkill. Four people died.

My house was unharmed, but the hamlet was devastated by grief at losing members of the community and shock at a fourth flood in three years.

I said to Charles, "You never know when it's the last time you get to do something." A few days later, as I was trying to figure out where to ride in the mornings, I hit upon riding to the next town over to pick up the newspaper at their grocery store. It was a ride that provided rolling hills and two challenging inclines. Not only that, if I veered off and took a slight detour, I got to roll over a wooden covered bridge. The solution couldn't have been more delightful. That morning, as I swept by the Willowemoc Creek, where it passes under a towering overpass that holds up the four-lane divided highway, I remembered to be grateful for the privilege of being able to ride.

The summer continued and I continued to ride. My last day on the bike was July 26, 2007.

In late 2008 I was diagnosed with Lichen sclerosus. Okay, it's embarrassing, it's gross, it's painful, and it's inconvenient to say the least. Bike riding was out or so I believed. My OBGYN and I worked on finding a solution. Well, he did most of the work. I just got profoundly depressed. Forget about the bike, we're talking about problems with sex and how to match my desires with my newly-discovered inabilities.

The summer passed with me barely even walking for the paper in the mornings. Those who follow this blog will know that my mother fell in July of 2008 and died in January of 2009. It's enough to say that it was a difficult summer for me and bike riding wasn't even on the agenda.

During the winter, as I contemplated this summer and wondered how I could get moving again, I hit upon the idea that I could buy a hornless bike seat and maybe, just maybe get back in the saddle and start pumping my legs again. I bought the "Spongy Wonder" and had it installed on the bike. And the beautiful son-of-a-gun worked.

My legs aren't as strong as they were 686 days ago, but I felt the old joy of moving on my own power and pumping my legs in rhythm with my beating heart. Will my knees hold out? Can I get used to the difference between a traditional seat the the Spongy Wonder? Will I be able to stay on the bike when giant trucks rush up behind me and try to suck me into their vortex? I don't know. All I know is that today I got to ride the bike again and it made me happy.

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Current Location: Catskills
Current Mood: cheerful
Current Music: silence

In the 1990's, when I was in my thirties, I began riding a bicycle long distances. It gave me something to feel good about. I might have deep, seemingly intractable problems, but, I thought, at least I'm riding a bike. My legs took me to places that I couldn't appreciate at 55 miles per hour.

The bike and I traveled from New York City to Ocean Grove, down the Jersey shore. I did a solo ride from my apartment to my parents house in upstate New York over the course of four days. (No, I did not camp out. My other companion was my credit card, so I slept on real beds, showered in real bathrooms, and ate at real restaurants.)

In the mid 90's, I learned how to design web pages and subsequently developed a repetitive stress injury in my right arm. I'm nothing if not obsessive and compulsive. Stop work because my arm is about to fall off? Don't be ridiculous! Each week my chiropractor put my arm back together and each week I'd work with the mouse and get on the bike, never allowing any healing time.

I had to give it up in 1997. With much regret, I admitted that I had to chose my arm and my job over my bicycle. It took nine years for me to get back onto the saddle. Last summer I bought a new bike at a bike shop near my house. I'm in love again.

I'm hoping that it's a more mature love. One that doesn't hurt me.

Yesterday, I spent the day building a new website. I worked too long, made too many gif files, didn't stop when my arm began to get sore, and caused a flareup of the repetitive stress injury. Today, when I hopped on the bike to pick up the newspaper, my wrist and hand hurt.

At first I was confused. I hadn't ridden that much last week, but the poor bike had nothing to do with it. When I realized that I was behaving in the same old way, I decided to lay off the website for a day and try to absorb my lesson. That is, before I have to give up my renewed relationship with the old riding habit.

xposted: Blog, aim_highly, cycling

Current Mood: amused