Laurey Bikes

Managing technology

2010-11-20T15:14:00.001-08:00

There are many parts to manage when considering a big adventure. One, which is my current challenge, is managing the mere technology of it all. If I want to keep in touch with you while I am ON my big adventure, I must learn HOW.

When I did my previous ride, I had a small "net book," a small computer which connected to the internet and enabled me to write my blog each day. I could upload photos, write, send. I could access my e-mail, and that was about all I needed to be able to do.

Since I did that ride, I have added a couple of new parts to my life, including being a person who travels and speaks about things, including honeybees. It is much easier to talk about something like honeybees if I can show photographs.

My little net book was not strong enough to handle a powerpoint presentation.
I decided I NEEDED to be able to do a power point presentation.
I decided I needed something more advanced.

Also, when traveling, the mere idea of lugging a 10 pound piece of machinery has become an absolute chore. Amazing to think that my first "portable" computer fit into a carrying case the size of a quarter of a Smart Car! But anyway, now I don't WANT to carry around anything big.

I now, as a result of all this, own an iPAD.

But then I needed to get a special connector to connect the iPAD to a projector. I needed a little connector to take my photographs off my camera and onto my iPAD. And, today, I decided that I needed a keyboard.

I am almost up to a new small suitcase for all the connectors and bits of paraphernalia that I am amassing.

BUT - it all seems to be working.

So, in short, it may seem that the most important thing about a big bike adventure is the bike and the body. But, as you see here, those are not the only concerns.

Glad to know it all works.
G'night.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:weaverville, nc

Getting ready for the next ride

2010-11-19T15:09:00.001-08:00

I have the reason: a ride for Henry, a fundraiser for Be The Match, the group which helps make bone marrow donation matches. This group helped Henry and so I am going to try to help them.

The ride happens in the summer of 2011.
For now, I am trying out sending a blog on my new iPad.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Biltmore Ave,Asheville,United States

My TED talk

2010-09-22T02:36:00.000-07:00

September 22, 2010

It has been a long time since I've written. A lot has transpired since the ride finished but not all has been worth recording here. And, truth be told, I got caught up in the day to dayness of it all and did not feel motivated to write. Did not, mostly, think about recording thoughts here.

But I seem to be coming out of that foggy place and have some new clearer thoughts and am, with this note, starting back up in this recording of thoughts in this place.

For starters, I thought I'd give a link to my newly posted TED talk. TED stands for Technology. Entertainment. Design. TED talks are short talks about "ideas worth spreading." I've been keeping bees, um, trying to keep bees, for the past three years. This year I have undertaken beekeeping with renewed intention, and this is the genesis of my TED talk. If you'd like to watch it, go to You Tube and type in Laurey Masterton and you'll get to it. Or, if you like, try pasting this into the place you paste things to get to see them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5wLUikpVo8

or this one might work:
http://bit.ly/cQjj4r

On another note, quite pertinent here, I have decided to do another bike ride. This one will be across half of the Northern part of the United States. It is a 6 week ride, from Fargo, North Dakota to Bar Harbor, Maine. It will happen next summer. At the moment, having no extra money, the challenge is how to come up with the 6,000.00 I need to register for the ride. But I'm sure I'll figure that out.

This ride's focus is the Bone Marrow Registry. While I was on the Southern Tier ride last year, I found out that Henry, the son of two of my key employees, had a serious immune deficiency disorder. When I came home, they told me that the only hope for him was to get him a bone marrow transplant. They were gone from work for the next ten months. Henry had a cord blood bone marrow transplant (from blood saved from the umbilical cord of some child) which did not work to fix his immune disorder. But then, in March of 2010, he got a second transplant from a live (anonymous) donor and it worked. Henry child is home, gaining strength and health. He's not well enough to be back in school yet, but he is much better than he was and is going to live.

So - my ride is for him and for others who need a bone marrow transplant.

Back in the saddle I go.
Hop on if you like.

New year. New thoughts.

2010-01-12T18:49:00.000-08:00

I'm just back from a week in Mexico. In the airport in Houston, retrieving the week's messages, I read that my home had been broken into. On the plane we were told not to use our cell phones in customs but everyone else was and the line was hugely long and I thought, well, what the hell, I'm just reading my e-mail so what's the big deal? But then, to be standing there surrounded by total strangers, and read that my home had been broken into but that everything was okay, that my pets were not harmed, that the repairs had been made, reports given to the police...it was a lot to read quietly, surrounded by strangers.

This is the hardest time of year for me. Even though this past year was slower than other years, it was still busy in December and the dramatic falloff into January was abrupt. I did have the ability to go to Mexico for a vacation and so there was that week to pour myself into. And while in Mexico I did take a surfing lesson and did, on the third day of trying, manage to stand up, unassisted, on a surf board on a real wave. Big accomplishment.

But lurking in the distance were those questions: "It's January. It's the slow time of year. Last year was tough. What are you going to do to make this one work out better than last?" I mean, this happens EVERY year, this racing and then standing still. Over and over again. And finally it gets to be April 15 and things pick up again and then it's okay until January the following year. Every year I get consumed with worry. How can I make this year different?

In the break in last week, my television was stolen. My ex-partner had bought it, a big television that was much more than I would have bought. Big. But I liked it. And a sting of pearls, the only really valuable jewelry I owned, was taken too. From my underwear drawer! Imagine. I only wore these pearls on special occasions, but I don't like that someone came into my house and went all the way into my closet, into my underwear drawer and took them. Today I decided to go buy another tv. I often come home and sit with my dog and cat, winding down with them tucked in next to me, allowing the day to dissolve, slough off. Lots of people say they hate tv but I like this ritual with my pets. And there is plenty of time spent reading and cooking and visiting with them in other ways too.

I don't have much of a ritual with the pearls, but I miss them anyway.

So I got the new tv today and brought it home and then could not figure out how to make it work. I fussed for a while and then called Monroe, my friend, and simply asked him to come and help me.

My sisters talk about asking for help. They practice doing that. Asking. We are not that great at it, my sisters and I. But they say that help is often right there if you just look - and then ask.

So I did.

Monroe came. Set it all up. Got me coached in how to use the various controllers. And then left.

Today I got an invitation to be filmed for a video about being an ovarian cancer survivor. And I got an invitation to make 15 glass vases for a big event in the spring. Cokie Roberts is going to be the keynote speaker at the event. I've given glass for the past two years and it's exciting to think that my hobby will get to make this sort of appearance at an event with her as the bigwig. My glass - in front of all those people! And I also found out that I might get to do some cooking for the Honey Board at a conference in Las Vegas where I'm speaking (about writing a blog and trying to help grow a business in offbeat ways - like riding a bicycle across the country...)

I wonder about how I will get through until April this year. Monroe and I talked about it a little bit. He had a profound little quip (that I can't exactly remember) but it was something like, "I don't know how I will get there, but I will. And if it doesn't work, I'll just do something else." That's nice to remind myself too. I often forget. Often.

"We will get there, heaven knows how we will get there, we know we will." Words from a song. Words to remember.

I've also decided to sign up for another ride. Sent my money in on December 31st, thereby qualifying for a $700.00 discount. It's not until 2011 and it's a ride from South Dakota to Maine. I have no idea how I will manage to do it, to find time to train, to get the money, the time off, to have the staff in place to work it out. And I don't know if I'll do it as a fundraiser or not. But today I told the ovarian cancer people that I would do their video and that I am doing another ride. And I do, of course, know that I can raise money and take time off and do what it takes to get ready for something like this. And I know how much it means to me (and, to others) and so I'm going to do another one. I find that putting something GOOD in front of me helps me be strong in the face of things that might be not so good.

Help is everywhere and if this, whatever THIS is in any given moment, doesn't work, it is not the end of my life. It is not the end of the world. Maybe this is what the lesson of the day is. Maybe.

Where does the time go?

2009-11-20T14:17:00.001-08:00

It is late November. Nearly December. SO far from the ride. SO far from anything resembling the training regimen I was undergoing at this time last year. Gosh, at this time last year I was writing donation inquiries, going to spin classes, wondering who was going to take care of my dog and my house, and worrying about the tanking economy.

Sigh.

Now I'm done with the ride. Things are going on at work which are making it essential that I be there quite a bit at the moment. I am not in biking shape right now. I would have a hard time doing that ride if I had to go today. But, on the other hand, I'm really in the thick of my work and that feels good, right, better than tolerable. And that, to be sure, is a fine place to be.

Today I spent time on the phone with someone I do not know, trying to help her find some support for her newly diagnosed cancer. Yesterday I was in the hospital, visiting my little four year old friend, who is dealing with cancer. Another friend has cancer. Another one too. And another.

I'm trying to stay above it, above the fear, above the feeling that it is closing in on me. I'm trying to believe that I can be a supporter and not have it land on me, infuse itself in me. I do believe it. Mostly.

I think about the meaning of the ride for me. I have met many people who have told me that my ride was meaningful for them. I follow a couple of folks whose epic journeys speak to me so I can understand that mine might too. And at the same time, I wonder if it's done. People ask me what is next. I keep saying that work is the important thing for me right now, but their questions make me wonder if I am going to do another big project like the bike ride and if so, what it will be. And when it will be. And if I SHOULD be driving myself toward something.

But right now does not seem like the time. I got a hint the other day that there might be more to this ride for me. I sense it. Feel it hovering even though I don't know what exact form it will take.

Anyway - this is all popping in and out of my waking and sleeping thoughts. And, as usual, I wonder if it matters that I tell you. But just in case it does - here you go.

Happy Thanksgiving.
I hope to say more soon.

With love and in deep appreciation.
Laurey

2009-10-11T05:19:00.000-07:00

Hi hi hi.

Long time with no posting. Sorry. I've been in my kitchen, at parties, at home 9a little bit) and not doing much that has anything to do with my bike except passing it as i stumble to the washing machine or dryer.

Actually, things have been fun, full and interesting. My life right now continues to be good. My sister talks about The Flywheel Effect which is all about things taking a long time to get started but then, once the momentum takes over, there is less effort and more movement, seemingly all on its own. Of course it is NO all one its own, it still takes effort, but it might appear that things are happening with less effort. Sort of like the "Overnight sensation" who has actually been studying and practicing and trying for a long time. We are not experiencing a "sensation" but I do feel a noticeable uptick in energy in my business and it does feel like less effort is required to keep it at this new, higher level.

I traveled to New York a couple of weeks ago and spoke at The Culinary institute of America. I did not attend culinary school so it felt particularly fun to be a guest speaker. An affirmation, of sorts, that the paths I took to get here are valid after all. (I know this, of course.) I shared the bill with three other women chefs who are successful restaurateurs. All of us spoke with deep conviction about our work and I felt especially good, hearing them, about this work that I get to do. Finally, after all these years, I feel proud and good. This is new, very new for me and I like it.

On my way back to North Carolina I had two short but lovely visits. First I was able to spend one hour with a close college friend who is now a successful orchestra conductor. Conductors travel all over the place, guest conducting here and there. he was at the Manhattan School of Music and I had a great time sitting and listening to a run through of that night's concert. We've known each other since college and there is nothing like deep, old friendships to fill me.

And then I had the great good fortune to have a brief rendezvous with Roz Savage, a British woman who just finished rowing from Hawaii to Tuvalu, a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I followed her blog, wrote to her often, and filled myself with HER story. Our paths connected on my way home and we had a terrific conversation, one hour long, about rowing and life and biking and work and trying to live a good life. She is certainly one of my inspirations and I left, filled with warmth at having had that time with her.

Now I'm back to cooking and imagining things. Right now seems to be the time to put things in order. I'm painting my shop, having trees trimmed at home, replacing broken equipment in my kitchen, making things nice. I'm not sure why but it seems to be the right thing to do.

Sorry for the long pauses in my notes. This, truthfully, is the first time I've had time to sit and reflect in quite some time.

I'll write again before long.

Cheers,
laurey

Where've I been?

2009-09-24T18:07:00.000-07:00

Oh me, oh my. Time seems to have flown, or crept along (depending on one's perspective) and I look and see that it has been a month since I last wrote. REALLY?
Why?

Let's see:
I fired my chef - caught him doing things that are against the rules of my business. The unfortunate thing is that I was not prepared for that to happen and had NO back up plan. I even thought, when I was firing him, "How do you think you're going to make it through THIS one?" But MY integrity was on the line and he was out, which left, um, ME to be "in." Yipes!

I have not cooked, really cooked, in a long time. Sure, I go to parties and arrange food, but starting from scratch, as it were, is not something that I'm in training for. Of course I have not forgotten what to do - just got way out of practice. But food needed to be made and everyone else's days off loomed and so, I dusted off my chef pants and got to it.

The reality of this new schedule was that I got up really early, cooked until the kitchen seemed under some sort of control, and then went into my office to start THAT work. Nothing really got dropped. A LOT got added.

A few days after the chef was booted, I found a new fellow who is terrific and who has joined us. I stayed in the kitchen, however, because he was so new to us that I don't think he'd even eaten our food before coming in. But he's catching on quickly. One of my other cooks went away for two weeks and I filled in for her.

And then two of my managers, who are married, have just left for about 4 months - off to take care of their little boy who has a serious medical condition. More juggling. Someone moved up to cover one of them, someone else moved up to cover for the other one. Others moved to take over for the people who moved to cover the missing managers. It has felt like one of those little puzzles where you shift one tile which makes a space for another to move, which makes a space for ANOTHER to move. Hopefully, at some point, you have a tidy, orderly picture.

We haven't felt very tidy or orderly - but we're getting there.

In the meantime, I've started a cooking class series, have continued to do one day of early cooking, have filled in for the delivery guy (who is leaving shortly - he has been replaced (yay!) and have covered for another delivery person who got hurt recently.

It's been kind of crazy.

Fun things have included getting ordained by the Universal Life Ministry and conducting my very first wedding (!) and also winning third place in the WORLD Gee-Haw-Whimmy-Diddle contest.

Oh - and we won Best Caterer in Asheville.
And last night there was a bear in my yard.
And a flock of chickens.
And, just down the road, a flock of huge wild Turkeys.

Now I can see why I have not written very regularly, can you?

I'll try to be better.
I have not been on my bike hardly at all, though I AM going to go to The Culinary Institute of America next week to talk about the ride. On we go.

Good night for now.
Laurey

Cards, sent. Letters, written.

2009-08-18T16:55:00.000-07:00

So my new favorite pastime is imagining I am on the Ellen show. I watch old shows of hers and get a quickened pulse as I imagine walking out onto the stage with some pounding bicycle song in the background. I laugh to myself as I imagine this, but isn't this what the Law of Attraction is all about?

Yesterday I found a list of a whole bunch of supervising producers and senior producers and executive producers and sent two postcards to each one of them. I also sent e-mails to the executive producers and have been asking everyone I know to write to Ellen if they think putting me on the show is a good idea.

From the moment I started this ride idea I felt that I would get on the Ellen show to tell her, and her viewers, all about my ride. For some crazy reason I still think it will happen. Everyone I know thinks its a great idea.

"She'd LOVE you!"

"You two would hit it off!"

"That's a PERFECT idea!"

And the more they say these sorts of things, the more I persist and allow myself to do things like writing and sending 30 postcards to people I don't even know, introducing myself and saying that I would like to be on her show.

WHY do I want to be on her show?

Well, the main reason is so that more people hear about those subtle early warning signs for ovarian cancer:
bloating
abdominal pain,
feeling full quickly
feeling the need to pee more than normal
AND - most of all
having something be wrong for more than a couple of weeks.

Early detection can be a life saver.

But also I want to be the very visible symbol of the story of survivorship. When I was sick it helped me a LOT to meet someone who was out there ahead of me, surviving longer than I had. 20+ years is a long time to be a survivor in this club and I want people to know that there is hope.

(Okay, and I want to meet her.)

So if you want, send something to her. Tell her how much she would like me! And then get ready! It WILL be fun to be on her show. Except today I started wondering if they would make me wear a lot of makeup.

xxo,
Laurey

Ellen?

2009-08-16T18:41:00.000-07:00

So, once again I find myself getting ramped up about the idea of appearing on Ellen, the Ellen DeGeneres show. I had this as a goal all during the ride, and before it too. The idea faded away as it became clear to me that I was not getting her attention. But now it comes up again because September is Ovarian Cancer awareness month and, well, this ride was largely about that and so, um, I'm going to give it another go.

Thinking about talking with her about my bike ride is, I admit, a diversion for me too. Work is hard. Things are hard. Thinking about talking with her is easy. In my imagination it is fun. And good. And I want to. I want things to be easy. I want to go tell her about my bike ride.

In the course of this week I am going to be putting together some packets of photographs and links to my video and some words and some ideas and I'm going to send them in. I'm also going to write to her and to everyone affiliated with her show. And if this sounds like a good idea to you too, well, I'd love it if you would go on her website and write to her telling why you think I would be a good guest. Her show starts up again pretty soon after her summer hiatus so the time is right.

My video is getting increasing attention. If you haven't seen it, please do take a minute to watch. Here's the link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtQ-CW3GrSs

One really nice omen is that I have seen the Great Blue Heron almost every day recently. I say THE rather than "A" because this one is at the lake where I walk Tye. Tye loves lunging toward the graceful bird, scaring it and making it take off. I never see it until Tye does her lunge. But then I see it for the entire duration of my walk. It guides me, soothes me, beckons. This bird has always been a sign holder for me, a "it's all going to be fine" messenger. I need that comfort and so it's nice to see it. Tye doesn't need any comforting but she really likes the acrobatics. Sigh.

Anyway - if you're so moved, thanks for jotting the Ellen show a note.

Calm now

2009-08-12T19:24:00.000-07:00

After the whirlwind of this past weekend things are feeling much more manageable. I've found a new fellow to work in the kitchen so my days of EARLY mornings are now numbered. I have liked being in the kitchen. I like kitchen clothing. I like playing kitchen dress up. I even bought new clogs since my old ones have a hole in them. And I like the early quiet. The turning on of the ovens. The glance at the day's list, the scan of what is left after yesterday's sales. I like going into the walk-in and seeing what's there. I like talking with the farmers and I like carrying in their boxes of picked-that-day produce. I like making food. I like this.

I have been almost keeping up with my own job too, curiously enough. It's not really sustainable for me in the long run, doing both jobs, but for now it's okay. Still fun. A spark of new in returning to the old place.

Tomorrow we have a dinner with some of our local farmers. I'm jazzed about it. I'm thrilled to introduce the guests to the farmers. The farmers to our guests. Both are my friends. It's like introducing one set of friends to another. And the farmers are excited, as are the guests. I want this to become a big thing. Sold out. Waiting lists. That's on my radar screen.

And I'm beginning to find the energy to imagine the "NOW what?" of this bike ride. I think it's a book. I want to put in parts of my trip log. I want to expand some of the days' entries to make them stand alone chapters. And I want to interview some people who inspire me. I'm compiling a list.

But right now I'm TIRED. So off to bed it is for me.

I'll say more soon.
For now -
Love,
Laurey

Oof

2009-08-08T19:42:00.000-07:00

Nighttime now. Cicadas are singing away. Pup is sleeping. Cat is carousing. All is right with the night's life.

Today I served food to 420 people. Yesterday, 375. Big numbers. Big work. Pretty big fun. I worked hard and then dragged myself home, changed chef's clothing for nap clothing and crashed out. It was one of those all out, complete loss of consciousness, naps. I woke up dazed after an hour, took the pup out for a walk, stumbled around with her as she sniffed and poked and explored.

Then we went to hear some music at our downtown Saturday night music scene. I bumped into a number of people who all said, "Where's your fiddle?" My fiddle, I told them, was at home. It IS out of its storage spot. I HAVE been playing it. True, I only recently started playing it again. But I AM playing.

Similarly, when I was at Penland today doing that big party, I saw some glassblower friends. "How's glass?" I heard. Glass, I answered, is off the list for the moment. It's too hot. No one's studio is open right now. And I'm fully engaged at work. I'll get back to glass. Just not right this second.

And so, when I think of riding, and I hear, "How's the bike? How's your weekly riding going? How many miles are you riding these days?" I try to say, well, I am not riding a lot right now. My body is still sore. I need a bit of a break. And I also am, as I said, fully engaged in my kitchen. I'll get back on the bike. Just not right now.

So it goes. Off and on with the fiddle. Off and on with the glass. Off and on with the bike.

There IS time for it all. Maybe just not all of it all the time.

Right now it is time for bed.

I'll be in touch.
Laurey

Video fever

2009-08-05T13:56:00.001-07:00

My friend John came in for lunch today. John has an iPhone. And he is the one who made the video of my ride. He is a photographer. And he is the proud designer of an iPhone "app" which will tell anyone what kind of light to expect. I think anywhere in the world. He might, say, be flying to San Diego to shoot a project for someone but he wants to know about the angle of the sun at a specific time of day on a specific date. Well, he created a program to figure that out. (I think I have this right.)

Well ANYWAY, today he came in and I saw him as he was standing in line and he showed me that he has my Live. Love. Bike. video on his iPhone. I immediately grabbed it out of his hands and went prancing through the kitchen, showing it off. (I'm very pleased with this video. It feels like I'm bragging about my kid who just hit a home run or something. I forget that it is ME. And it's not really bragging about myself. I just love the Jason Mraz song. I love looking at the shadow of the biker (me) riding across the United States. I just love the video.)

Later I was supposed to go across the street to our Wednesday afternoon market to do some cooking demonstrating. But just when I was supposed to go, the skies opened up and it POURED. The demo, I decided, needed to be postponed.

It has been an odd week for me. I fired my chef. Caught him doing things he should not have been doing. He was a friend and it hurt. The whole thing hurt. And the other part is that that meant that I had to step up and get my cooking clothes on again and had to pull out my knife and get busy. As it turns out, I'm having an okay time - after getting over the hurt. I do LIKE cooking, after all. And it has been some time since I've been back in my kitchen for more than a few minutes, or hours. I'm working on a couple of new ways of doing some recipes and in the middle of the afternoon Martha looked up from her work area and said, "Are you having fun in your little laboratory?"

And I realized I was.

Funny about all this.

I came home to rest a little bit and arrived to find a deep pool of water in front of my downstairs area. So now I'm soaked because I got my red boots on and bailed out all the water so it would not run into the basement. And it's been awhile since I've been soaked by the rain and right now I'm enjoying being wet.

And being the cook.

And having this life. Even if I get hurt here and there.

Tomorrow I am speaking to a group of retirees. I'm the featured speaker. "You ARE the entertainment!" the hostess told me when I inquired about the program. Eeps! More talking about this wonderful trip and another chance to show my video.

And a day of cooking will precede all that.

Off to it I go.

I'll be in touch soon.
Love,
Laurey

I'm on You Tube!

2009-08-01T19:18:00.000-07:00

I've written a LOT of letters to Jason Mraz and I finally got a response from someone in some PR firm that represents him. They said I could put my video up on You Tube and it's now up!

Go me!

(Actually, I'm not sure if you can see it or find it (go ahead and try - I'm curious.)

It's listed under Live. Love. Bike. Of course, I just put it up here on this blog so you can easily scroll down one post and can find it and can see it (I think) right here. But I feel very smart - getting the video done and now posted on You Tube. It's kind of a rush, to be honest.

Things have felt kind of rough lately. For one thing, my left hip has really been bothering me. I'm trying to make it stop hurting and have been to my chiropractor and to my Pilates teacher and to my rolfer. Right now it's REALLY sore but I had to work today in my kitchen which involves picking things up and twisting and turning and standing for a long time. I hope it will all calm down. Right now it feels fiery and not good.

For comfort and inspiration these days I've been reading the blog of a woman who is rowing across the Pacific Ocean. Right now. Today. She already rowed across the Atlantic and already rowed from San Francisco to Hawaii. Now she is trying to row halfway to Australia. She'll finish the trip later on. Her name is Roz Savage and you can find her by googling her name. I'm finding her posts compelling and uplifting.

Today she was writing about taking a long view of things. From a close view, things seem very hard to her, like she is going nowhere and is just going in circles - maybe. Really she has rowed over 2000 miles and has been rowing for 68 days. She's made a huge amount of progress.

I've had a couple of extremely difficult days at work. I just discovered that one of my employees did a very bad thing and so I am now back in the trenches, doing the job of someone I trusted. I feel terrible, betrayed, hurt, sad, angry. Pissed off that so little consideration of me and of everyone else who works at my place was taken. And I'm worried about how I'm going to get through this latest situation. It feels impossible.

And I need to remember that it is not impossible, that I have handled much worse, that I can figure this one out, that I HAVE made a huge amount of progress and that this is merely an example of a stupid thing done by a thoughtless person. I need to remember that I have gone many miles on my adventures and there have been many days of peace and calm and there will be many more.

Roz's words today helped me pull out of a very dark place. I hope to get her to come to Asheville sometime. She's now saying she will. (She called me the Eco Champ of the day the other day for saying that I am going to stop selling water in bad plastic bottles.) She's my hero.

Anyway, see if you can see that video and pass it on if you like. I'm happy its there. I'm happy to remind myself that I did this big bike ride. And I'm energized and renewed by reading and thinking about Roz and hers.

For now -
Love,
Laurey

My video

2009-07-28T15:44:00.000-07:00

Here it is! My video!!!
Enjoy.

Love,
Laurey

Night time again

2009-07-22T19:59:00.000-07:00

A whirlwind of a day - again. Whooshing around, getting ready for tomorrow's cooking class, going to the market, meeting with people to talk about a class I am teaching in two weeks, beginning to think about a speech I am giving in three weeks, and about another that will be in four weeks, and another that will be in two months. All are about the same thing. And all will be different.

I don't plan well in advance. I am really one who responds to the thing that pops up in front of me. I am really good at that. And I am trying to train myself to look ahead a bit more. Looking ahead pushes me and makes me uncomfortable. Things that pop up are more to my liking, even though they mess with my long range planning. Funny about that.

Today I had taken a look ahead at my day, had made a plan, had things in order in my mind. But the phone rings and I answer it and sometimes that means I have to do something with the caller, like plan a party or something. And that messes with the order of my list. Ha!

I had not really done a very good job at getting ready for the things I needed to get ready for when Annie showed up, ready to get me to take me to a show a friend of hers was doing - here in Asheville. I had, in actuality, just started really collecting the things, ingredients and pots and pans, that I will need tomorrow for my class. But then it was time to go. I went, but then realized that we were 1/2 hour EARLY - which gave me 1/2 hour to cram in some shopping - for tomorrow's class.

GREAT!!

The show was fun, worth seeing. Her friend is a goofball and has written a goofball book called Stuntology. Goofball stuff. My mind was on my class - sort of. Sam was funny and I did like his show. Goofballs unite! As soon as the show was over, my mind went back to the class-100%. Annie took me back to work where I planned to squeeze in one more hour of work before leaving to meet her for some music and then dinner and then a concert.

All was fitting in pretty well.

But then, back at work, a customer of mine came up to me and told me he'd just crashed into my car.

GREAT.

Whoosh. Look at the car. Figure out what to do. Do it. Feel perversely excited at the suddenness of it all, of the ability to feel comfort in this unexpected thing. And, yes, feeling ANNOYED at my car getting banged up. I don't have time to have give up my car to have it fixed. Not today anyway.

But then my sister came by and helped me slow down enough to REALLY get everything organized for the class - which I managed to do.

So I don't know what to say about this. Is it my nature to resist planning? Even my VERY best laid plans get tossed to the winds. Almost always. So do I just say, well, I am a spontaneous person and I work best at the last minute? But that does not take into consideration wanting to be more calm and to have things laid out.

A conundrum.

But now, finally, I am at home and part of teaching a good class is going to bed.
Which I will now do.

Sigh.
Laurey

Quiet afternoon

2009-07-21T14:02:00.000-07:00

I'm home. Today was a day of struggling with a bad mood. I kept telling myself to get over it. I kept not getting over it. I felt surly, moody, impatient. I caught myself on the verge of snapping on a number of occasions. I had to take myself out for a walk a couple of times and I had to take deep breaths a couple of times.

Nothing worked. Nothing made me snap out of it. And I did not have a good reason for being surly or impatient. Finally I said, "Okay, if this is the way you are going to be, so be it. I'll just sit here and watch."

And that seemed to work. I mean, there was no good reason to be impatient or surly or in a bad mood. So.

I listened to Elizabeth Gilbert's TED talk the other day. If you go to the TED website you can listen to it for yourself. TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design. I don't know a whole lot about it right now except that people, all sorts of people, give an 18 minute "speech of a lifetime." The speeches are meant to inform, inspire, surprise, and delight. I might give an 18 minutes speech at our TEDx conference later this summer. We'll see what they say about my proposal. Someone sent me a link to Gilbert's talk. And it resonated in an unexpected way.

She's the person who wrote Eat, Pray, Love. Truth here. I didn't really like that book. I did not relate to a beautiful woman's tale of a search for meaning. I didn't think I could use the kinds of strategies she used (primarily, it seemed to me as I read her book, by being so beautiful) to make my way through a time of upset. But her book spoke to many women (and men, presumably) and she was a raging success with it. Her TED talk is about the inevitable question of "now what?" She spoke about creativity and demons and such, and she also spoke about the kind of pressure she felt to write something as successful, as well-received, as, well, amazing, as that first book. And I found her talk to be surprisingly genuine and sincere and touching.

I'm still in the grasp of my own "now what" questions. My two month jaunt is quickly receding. Time speeds along and an experience like a two month long bike ride quickly becomes yesterday's story. People want to move to tomorrow's story. I, frankly, want to move on to tomorrow's story. But I also feel myself clinging to THAT story, the "old" story, the bike ride story. A big part of me does not want to let it go. I cling. I push away the "now what?" questions. A big part of me does want anything new. A big part wants to re-live, re-ride, re-dream, re-experience that OTHER story.

I'm in touch with a few people from my ride and a few people who have done the same ride I just did. When I meet one of those other riders we hug and look into each other's eyes and know that we have done something different, at least in our own minds, and we alone know how important it was. And we also probably know that it was really probably NOT as important as we think it was but we are reluctant to let go and allow our memory disintegrate.

Today I re-read a piece written by Christine Kane who is a singer here. She wrote about maintaining one's sense of confidence when one is surrounded by fear. The fear, as she referred to in this piece, of a recession, a collapse. The fear that drives us to shrink, hide, retreat. She suggested we take a different approach. That we don't pull back but that we push out more. She suggests we follow our own inner voices, the ones that can really provide a whole lot more reliable comfort than those scary voices in the news can destroy.

That seems like a good approach. Following the light. Following the light.

So I've decided not to let go of this bike ride that meant so much to me. I'm still not at all sure what to do with it. I'm doing a bit of speaking these days - I have four or five talks on my calendar at this point and that may be all there are. Or it may be that I'll trust my own ability to leap (like I did by even going on the bike ride to begin with) and will plunge in further, with even more energy and more confidence that the outcome will be more like my real truth than hiding out and succumbing to the fear would be.

And maybe by saying that holding on is just fine I'll let go some - and that will be all that I need to have it forever. It's hard to say.

We'll see.

For now I think I'll take my pup for a walk. She is one to make much simpler choices than me and so I think it is time to let her be the teacher. At least for this afternoon.

with love,
Laurey

The speech for OCNA

2009-07-14T15:39:00.001-07:00

I'm now back from Washington. Some of you have asked to see the text of my speech. Okey doke. Here it is:

Remarks for OCNA by Laurey Masterton
July 8, 2009

To start with, let me say that the last time I was here, speaking to a group of ovarian cancer survivors, I had two minutes on the program. I was preparing to embark on a big adventure. I did not know if I could accomplish what I had been dreaming about doing. I did not know.

I live in Asheville, North Carolina where I own Laurey’s. Laurey’s is a catering company and also a café (coming to Asheville? Come see me.)

I am a 20 year ovarian cancer survivor. Okay – truth. I’m now a 21 year survivor. I’m also now a 30 year uterine cancer survivor.

Last year I turned 54. I was born in 1954. That means that last year was my Golden Year. I’m big on symbols and I’m big on finding the meaning in things. I googled “Golden Year” and read that one might feel compelled to do something significant in one’s Golden Year. I like doing things that are significant.

For my birthday, when I turned 54, I gave myself a one week long bike ride on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. And on May 14th , on my actual birthday, I decided to take a bigger step. I decided to do a longer ride – I decided to ride my bike all the way across the United States. And, realizing right around then that that was my 20th anniversary of surviving ovarian cancer, I decided to try to make my ride a fund and awareness raiser – for ovarian cancer.

The hard part started pretty quickly. How would I get in shape for a huge event like that? How could I leave my business for over two months? How would I pay for the ride itself? Could I raise a significant amount of money to donate? Who would take care of my house? My dog? My cat? And what organization could I work with? Where might the money go?

I wandered around, trying to find the right group, and finally, in late August, I connected with OCNA, with the help of some of my chef colleagues at Women Chefs and Restaurateurs. We had a conference call which is when I met Karen Orloff Kaplan, Executive Director and Faryl Greller, Director of Public Relations for OCNA. I really was still stumbling along at that point. I mean, it all seemed like a good idea but that was as far as I had gotten.

But Karen, talking on the phone with me on that day in late August, asked if I knew the significance of being a long term ovarian cancer survivor. “Well, I guess I do,” I mumbled. “No,” she insisted, “Do you have any idea how remarkable that is? Twenty years is a long time. You are in a very small club.”

And she started naming the long term survivors she knew.

I was floored. She knew their names. Their individual names. In that instant I knew that this ride was more important than ever. I had somehow managed to live for this long. And now it was time to take it to the next level, to do something very significant, and to help spread the word that it is possible to survive. And more than just being a living example of survivorship, I wanted to help spread the word farther. The word about those early warning signs ( I had early warning signs.) The word about early detection (I was miraculously diagnosed in stage 1 – two times). Yes, I wanted to help OCNA spread these messages. It seemed like a perfect fit.

I started writing fundraising letters. I started training. I found a house sitter. My staff told me they’d step up and take care of my business while I was gone. My sisters and our local hospital offered to help fund my portion of the ride. It started to work.

So by now you know that I did the ride. Frankly, it wouldn’t be much of a story and I wouldn’t be much of a closing speaker if I had NOT done it, right? It was very hard. Very. The journey across the United States WAS significant. Very.

Just so you know, it was also a lot of fun. I met 21 other women who were riding for their own reasons. We ranged in age from 42 to 70. We had many levels of fitness. We rode for 48 out of 58 days. Over 3100 miles. We rode through California starting out in San Diego. We rode into and across Arizona, New Mexico, Texas (and Texas and Texas and more of Texas) and then through Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama and then across the panhandle of Florida all the way to St. Augustine. The Pacific to the Atlantic.

We got to eat like crazy. We got to spend our entire days doing nothing but getting ready to ride, riding, recovering from the day’s ride and getting ready for the next day’s ride. That is a heck of a way to spend time, my friends.

But it was much more than that, of course. I’d like to tell you about three especially memorable days on this long ride.

The first was the day we climbed to the highest point on our ride. We rode from Silver City, New Mexico up and over the Continental Divide, and up and over Emory Pass, over 8,200’. We climbed 5,000’ that day and finished in Kingston, New Mexico. The up was really long and really hard. At one point I think we rode for 12 miles. Up. I mostly rode with my new friend Connie who is an insulin dependent diabetic. She stopped every hour to check her insulin levels. I waited for her, which was not merely an altruistic move on my part. I was beat and stopping was mandatory for me too, not just for her.

At the top of Emory Pass, after congratulating ourselves and jumping around with glee at having crested the highest part of the ride (“It’s all downhill from here, right?”) we had a ten-mile screaming descent. What a blast! Ten miles of steep curves, through a magnificent forest and on to an old lodge where a real Thanksgiving dinner got cooked and spread out for us. Did you remember I told you about eating? That was a fine meal. Memorable. Yes, hard going up. But what a blast of a downhill romp.

The second memorable day was the day that I was careless and did a foolish thing by trying not to make my ride buddies stop and wait for me. I wrecked my bike when I dropped an arm warmer into my rear derailleur and very nearly wrecked myself. I lost 9 miles of riding that day, but found a deep pool of support among my riding friends, one of whom loaned me her bike. And Michael, the boyfriend of another rider happened to be visiting and he ended up spending his whole day taking my wrecked bike to be fixed. While I was switching bikes and patching my cuts, my friends rode on. But when Michael dropped me off a little bit later, my friends waited for me and administered soothing words and more ibuprofin and made sure I was okay before we all took off. I could say a lot about that day, but the third day matters more this afternoon.

That third day was the longest day for us. 111 miles. Sanderson to Del Rio, Texas. We knew it was going to be hard. It was hard. Very hard. And long. Very long. We started riding just before the sun came up. We begged our guides “PLEASE let us start!” and they, anxiously looking at the horizon, looking for a glimpse of light, finally let us go. We rode the first mile at the crack of dawn. (Um, we called it, irreverently, the butt crack of dawn…)

The first 30 miles were easy. We had a gentle downhill. We had smooth roads. We saw beautiful rocky buttes and gorgeous turquoise dawn skies. The sun came up as we were gliding down a perfect road. Connie stretched out her arms and seemed to soar. We did too. “Look Ma! No hands!!” (Not bad for me and my 60+ year old friends.) Nothing could stop us. This day was off to a fine start and I felt certain that I would ride every mile.

But at mile 31 the wind picked up. The calm morning turned breezy and that breeze came right into our faces. We entered a new county. Each county, we discovered, is responsible for its own road maintenance and the one we entered was wealthier than the one we left - which meant that the road surface became “chip seal.” We’d heard about Chip Seal. Chip seal describes a road surface wherein gravel is poured onto a smooth road and the smallest amount of sealer is sprayed on top to stick the gravel on. Chip seal lasts a long time. And chip seal is expensive. Poor counties have smooth roads. Richer ones have chip seal. Chip Seal is horrible as a biking surface. Imagine riding on an old-fashioned washboard. For a whole day.

The breeze became a wind. The chip seal got rougher. The map, which indicated a downhill trend, was deceptive. With the chip seal’s friction and the wind, by now a 20+ mile an hour headwind, moving forward meant that we had to work hard even on a steep downhill. And a downhill trend is NOT the same as a steep downhill. It was, to put it mildly, a slog.

At lunch a number of riders quit for the day, loading up their bikes and getting into the SAG (support and gear) vehicle. Connie and I and Jan and Sherry and Lois and Marci kept going. Everyone else got into the van.

I wanted to get into the van. My feet ached. My arms ached. My neck ached. My butt ached. The chip seal’s vibration meant that I was also numb in all those places. Not fun.

But I kept riding. After all, I pointed out to myself, I was not undergoing chemo therapy. And I was not hearing a diagnosis for the first time. And I was not, like a little 4 year old friend of mine in Asheville, undergoing a bone-marrow transplant. I kept riding.

The wind got stronger. SAG breaks got more frequent. Instead of stopping every 20 miles, we stopped every 10 miles. Sherry and Connie got a burst of speed and took off. Marci went with them. Lois slowed down and decided to stop at mile 100, making the day a personal best for her.

I wanted to stop at mile 100. But I kept riding.

Jan and I stuck with each other. She’s 65 and was doing the ride to prove to herself, simply, that she could. We stopped, at that point, every 5 miles, ate something, drank something, peed. Got back on and kept riding.

“Surely you know you can do this,” an inner voice began repeating. “Keep going. Keep riding. Do not quit. Keep going.”

Those last 11 miles were the hardest riding I have ever done. I wanted to stop at the end of every mile. I wanted to stop with every single pedal stroke. Ann, our SAG drive, took every extra thing we might have been carrying. I gave up my water bottle, my spare tire, my jacket. And I kept riding. The wind did not stop. The road did not get any smoother.

Jan and I were the last ones out on the route that day. Three miles before the finish I lost her in the dusk. But it didn’t seem right to finish without her so I waited. She finally caught up, having had trouble with her chain. We rode in together. It was so dark we could hardly see the motel sign. We had been riding for 12 ½ hours. We held hands and rode those last yards together. And we both completely lost it when we finished, collapsing into the arms of our friends who had ridden, one way or another, to the finish of the day.

Many of you know about days like this even if you do not ride a bicycle. Since I’ve been home I’ve had days like this. It has been really hard coming home. I loved being on that ride. And I have not had an easy re-entry.

But those difficult re-entry days, those days that YOU know about, of chemo or of sitting in a doctor’s office waiting to hear a diagnosis or of hearing a diagnosis and wondering how you are ever going to make it through - are real. It’s a matter of getting through them. A matter of seeing if you can find something positive in the midst of something so challenging, so unbearable. It’s a matter, most of all, of not giving up.

Doing that ride, for me and for you and for women and men out in the world, WAS a significant event for me. A lot of people kept up with me on my blog and told me how inspirational I was to them. And I kept a lot of you in my heart and want you to know how inspirational you were to me. And, by the way, how inspirational you are, still, to me, as I stand up here and chirp about riding across the United States.

Riding across the United States is nothing compared to the challenge we have here. The challenge to get through the next chemo or the next conversation with the doctor or the next conversation with our elected officials. Riding across the United States is nothing compared to trying to catch President Obama’s attention to ask him to move this cause up to the top of the list, or at least higher up on the list. Maybe it helps that his mother died of ovarian cancer. It’s an awful thing. But I hope it helps.

And yes, by the way I raised a bunch of money. I have a check for OCNA and in a minute I’d like Karen and Faryl to come up here so I can give it to them.

And then I’d like to show you a little video I made. The fellow who did all the work is a friend of mine and his mother died of ovarian cancer. The editing and production was a gift to me – and to you. My sweet girlfriend Annie made postcards for me to send to the folks who donated to my ride. I have sent out almost 300 of them to the folks who helped me raise the money I’m about to give OCNA. People pulled money out of their wallets to give to me. People gave me things all along the way. Just as you have by having me here today.

So thank you for having me come and speak. Thanks to the women I have met who are longer term survivors than me. You inspire me. I only hope that I can be that kind of an inspiration for some of you who are younger in your survivorship.

Keep it up. Life is a grand thing. It is filled with love and that makes it all worth living for, now doesn’t it?

Karen? Faryl?

And, cue video.

Two months

2009-07-02T20:26:00.001-07:00

It is now more than two months since the end of the ride. Closing in on July 4th. Closing in on July 8th, the date for my talk in Washington. I'll be the closing speaker at the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance's annual conference. I spoke in February, just before the ride and had two minutes on the program. This time I get twenty.

I feel that the time I've been given is precious. People's time is precious. I have a brief window in which to say something that might stick with these listeners.

While I did my ride, my jaunt across the United States, one friend got diagnosed with and had surgery for breast cancer. One friend underwent chemotherapy for lymphoma. One little new friend had a bone marrow transplant. And now, back from the ride, I have another new friend who is trying to figure out what she has. It's something big but they don't know quite yet what it will turn out to be.

I'm sick of hearing about cancer. I'm sick of this being the focus, of so many people having it, of it becoming almost normal to hear about the next one who got something that is, yes, cancer.

I think about how hard my ride felt while I was on it and it seems like nothing compared to these stories of sickness and struggle and who-knows-if-they-are-going-to-make-it tales. I drew on these folks when I was having a hard day. But at the end of a hard day, I took a shower, ate something, and went to bed. These friends don't have that luxury.

So on the fourth I'll get in my car and drive to Washington to get ready to talk to some people I met on the ride and some people who I've never met. I'll speak in front of people who followed this blog and to people who don't know how to use a computer. I'll see if my comments make sense to the folks who are listening. I hope they are not too tired. And I hope that I make sense. I hope what I say matters. I hope it does.

And then I'll drive home and keep going. Onward. The journey did not finish in St. Augustine. In many ways it has just started.

I'll let you know how it went when it is over.
Thanks for being with me on this whole trip. It has been quite a trip, all in all.

Nice

2009-06-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

I told my sister Heather today that I feel 100% back. Saying it out loud caught even me by surprise. SHE exclaimed. I exclaimed. But it felt true today. Back. 100%

It has been an incredibly rocky ride. I've shared some of that here. Some in my other bits and pieces of writing. I've felt weighed down by the re-entry and by how unsuccessful I have been in just simply coming home. It's not that I don't WANT to be here now or that I haven't wanted to be here. I HAVE. Just couldn't feel much joy or clarity or calm.

I've been trying a lot of things:
I started listening to Eckardt Tolle (but couldn't get through the introduction, just lost it listening to how badly he had felt before he found peace). Maybe if I'd have been able to keep listening I would have found peace.

I have tried to just breathe deeply whenever I felt overwhelmed. I almost passed out the other day with all the deep breaths...(not really.)

I've tried going out into my garden but it is so overgrown that it has been too daunting a task to even start until very recently. The other day I cajoled my sister to come help and that actually worked. I tricked myself in the process and started in on the weeds. It is beginning to look better.

I've tried to eat differently.

I've tried to read and be distracted.

I've tried...

The other day, however, I went to see Sally, my acupuncture friend, and she did a session which marked a turnaround for me. I'm not sure if it was the treatment she did or if it is the combination of different eating and more involved positive thinking or more planning for the future or filling my life once again with things that make me feel good. But I am feeling better. Almost, well, pretty close to my old familiar self.

My friend Ellie told me that re-entry frequently takes as long as the experience took. When she said that my heart really sank. I did NOT want to feel bad for two months. But it is now almost two months and I have to say, it has taken this long to come back to myself.

It is also helping to finally be getting a bit of perspective on the whole ride. I now have a video which I like a whole lot. (When I figure out how to do it, I'll link it here so you can see it too.) I now have a speech all ready to go for the ovarian conference that is coming up next week. The bike ride in DC IS going to happen.I have about four other invitations to speak and I feel like I have something to say.

However, just like cresting Emory Pass, the high point of our ride, it is probably not simply a smooth coast downhill now. I'm sure there will be plenty of rough spots, headwinds, poor road surfaces, and sore body parts. There will be easy times too, probably. Boring times, probably. Good times, probably. Who knows, really.

I do know that it is a gigantic relief to be able to say, simply, "I feel better."

with love,
Laurey

P.S. This is Willow.

The bend in the river

2009-06-26T19:08:00.000-07:00

When I was an Outward Bound instructor I became aware of a characteristic of mine that I had not really thought about. My zone of comfort has always been "crisis control" that place of being very able to deal with the things that pop up with no warning. I have historically not been very good at crisis control's opposite: long-range planning.

On the river portion of our courses we often talked about the differences in these two ways of being. And the person sitting in the bow was generally referred to as the one who had to do crisis control. On a fast moving river, especially around here, rocks pop up with little warning. The bow paddler is the one who has to react, make sure the boat misses the obstacle.

But if the boat is to make it downriver, the person in the stern needs to keep an eye out for the distant course and has to steer and plan and decide what to do - way ahead of time.

I've always been much better at the crisis control. In a boat I LOVE being in front. I LOVE the feeling of keeping an eye out, watching for surprises, doing what it takes to make sure my boat gets safely past. I'm really good at it.

I am not nearly as comfortable being in the stern. I am so focused on the immediate situation that it has been an almost insurmountable challenge to look way downstream. Just as I start to, a rock pops up and my instant response reflex kicks in.

I'm trying to train myself to be more long-range and less crisis control. I'm trying to imagine a future picture, trying to pick my head up and look way downstream. It's harder than it seems. Rocks pop up. I respond. And lose my long picture.

But knowing I want to transform is a good start, I must remind myself. Because even in this picture, the bend is there, just below the sky and the water is moving and we are moving too and my head is up more and I am beginning to see that I can change and can create a different picture.

After all, a year ago the bike ride was a VERY faint, blurry image on a barely visible horizon. And NOW look! A lot can happen in a year. It'll be interesting to see how it all develops.

Things grow

2009-06-25T03:46:00.000-07:00

We planted these tomatoes just a few weeks ago. I went away. Just before I left, they seemed to be growing steadily, so I put cage supports around them. They were only about two feet tall at that point. But the other day, when I got home, I was amazed to see them towering over the tops of the cage supports (which you can't even see in this picture), loaded with blossoms, filled with promise of tomatoes to come.

Similarly, everything else here is loaded with promise or, shall I say more simply, everything is growing like crazy. We're having a very rich season, with plentiful rain, lots of sun, and plants that, after being overwhelmed by drought and, in my neighborhood, cicadas, are now going bonkers.

Last summer was awful here. It was horribly dry. And we were in the middle of one of those 17 year cicada cycles. I felt like I was going mad. Really. The drone in the air was so loud I really could not think. I felt like I had landed in a space ship movie and the doors were about to open and the aliens were about to descend and grab me and take me to their mother ship where they would perform evil experiments. Trust me. It was bad.

This summer feels different. No cicadas. They will come in August but only in the same way they do every year. Tolerable. But right now the fireflies are coming out at dusk and it is truly beautiful to see my lawn filled with little glows of light that lift up and then tuck into the trees. It is lush here in my yard and it feels good.

When I think about all that is growing here I think about all that I have planted, both in the ground and in my life and in the ether. It can be so easy to forget, to be in a drought and think that nothing will ever grow and nothing will ever be any different than the dark place that the present sometimes is. But this yard reminds me that that really is not always the way it will be. Seeds, planted, do grow. A drought ends. Life returns.

I'm feeling like life is returning to me after a long drought. It is creeping in, trickling in, sometimes even pouring in. And it feels good.

I'll tell more as I figure it out.

Love,
Laurey

Finding balance

2009-06-23T19:19:00.000-07:00

I just realized that it has been a while since I last wrote. I haven't felt much like writing. I have been mired in not knowing much of anything at all. I have felt very out of balance. I have not felt good. And I didn't really want to write about that.

I just came back from a week in Bend with my girlfriend. It was a lovely week. And more than IT being a lovely WEEK, SHE is a lovely person. So that made it just a fine time. She took me to many of her favorite places like the beautiful Metolius River, which magically bubbles right out of the ground. No mountain run off there - nope, just a bubbling beginning.

She took me for a paddle on the Deschutes River. We took her pup, who curled up in the bottom of the canoe and made all the other paddlers Ooh and AAh. Haven't you always wanted to go in a canoe with your dog? I have.

We hiked and explored and gardened and I met some of her friends. We went on a tour of appetizers in Bend's restaurants one night. We visited the farmer's market and made some great dinners for ourselves (she's a cook too.)

But for much of the time I thought about balance and about being back from my bike ride and about finding my footing again and about moving along and taking the lessons and spreading them out. I thought about inhaling the lessons, keeping them for myself. I thought about exhaling them, sharing them.

In a couple of weeks I am going to Washington, DC where I will be the closing speaker for the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance's annual conference. I have not been able to find any clarity about my ride. I have felt stuck in this swampy place of not knowing anything. Not knowing why I did the ride. Not knowing if it mattered that I did. Not knowing if I can take the lessons and make them meaningful for myself. Not knowing if I could find the clarity to make them meaningful for anyone else.

But I just now wrote a first draft of my speech and I think I might have found a bit of clarity. It's not ready to be shown yet. It's not ready to be shared yet. But it is a good start.

Today, after spending the night in a trashed out motel room near the Atlanta airport because I got stuck flying back here from Bend, I stumbled home but, instead of collapsing into darkness and sadness and more not knowing, I went out, checked my bees, weeded a bit, mowed the lawn, petted my dog, did some laundry, and then called my girlfriend.

I still feel there is a lot of not knowing in my life.

But it is good to begin to feel a glimmer of something else too. These rocks, for instance, almost stacked themselves. After sitting on the ground up on the slopes of Mt. Hood for who knows how long, they let me pick them up and showed me where they needed to go.

And maybe that's a little tiny bit of what is going on in me right now too.
I sure do hope so.

I'll write when I have something more to say. Thanks for keeping up with me. Thanks for being on my side. Thanks for understanding.

Hmmm...

2009-06-13T21:11:00.000-07:00

Night time. Again. It is now the 14th. 14 is my favorite number. So today must be my lucky day.

I was at the pharmacy today and was waiting in line. An older woman looked at me. She looked right at me, connecting. I did not know her.

"You're Laurey, right?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations on your bike ride," she said.

And then, "I'm a survivor myself."

"Oh?" I said. I was just in line, there to get my pills and hurry to meet my sister at the baseball game. I was late. But then I made myself slow down.

"What kind?"

"I had brain cancer," she said.

"When?"

"It has been 15 months" (I think she said).

By then I was completely with her. Stopped. Waiting. Standing still. Ready to listen. In line at the drug store.

She told me about her drugs and her appetite and about a few other things. I told her to come eat at my shop. To stay in touch. To keep it up.

We parted. I hurried out of the store, crying. Moved by her finding me, by her stepping out to talk to me about this time she had had. She did not know me but had seen my picture in the paper at the end of the ride.

I still haven't figured this whole thing out, but it seems to me that just being, just standing up, just listening is a good thing, a valid thing, maybe enough of a thing. I think it was for her, today. And for me, today, it was too.

I feel jumbled up still. Very. But these kinds of things crash into me and make me stop in my tracks and set all the worry about anything else in my mind aside. This, right now, is the most important part of my life. And yes, I get to do other things, and yes I have to do other things, but this, this right here, is the main thing right now.

Love,
Laurey

Poster Girl!!

2009-06-12T03:53:00.000-07:00

Whoo Hoo!

I'm on a poster! As my little friend David would say, "Su-WEET!"

I am the closing speaker at the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance's annual conference this summer. July 8th, to be precise. Live. Love. Bike. Talking about the bike ride and about living and about sticking with something that is unbearably hard. Of course sticking with a life-threatening illness is a heck of a lot harder than going on a little bike ride, or even on a big bike ride. But I think there are valid comparisons to be made, lessons to be shared, conclusions to be reached. That's my charge.

If anyone is going to be in the DC area, I'll be doing a fun bike ride on July 5th at 10 in the morning and you're invited to join in. The starting point is Temple
Ohr Kodesh at 8300 Meadowbrook Lane in Chevy Chase. We'll ride 14 miles to Needwood Lake, have a bite to eat and then ride back. A scant 30 miles. In my dreams I see this becoming something very big. A gent named Michael Montheit is the true brains behind this event. The First Annual Ride for Ovarian Cancer Awareness. Do come.

I've been working on a video to show at the end of my talk. The great part about it is that I thought about it for a LONG time, imagining it way before the ride even started. I shot little videos all along the route, imagining the final product. Then I met with John Warner, a photographer here. He's VERY smart, and put my ideas into a real video. I'd suggest cutting HERE to THIS shot and then dissolving HERE to THIS bit and he'd manipulate the mouse and there it'd be.

I've now watched this video a BUNCH of times and I like it very much. Which I consider to be a very good sign. I've shown it to a few people and THEY'VE liked it very much too. This afternoon I will work with John on tweaking a few things and then it'll be done. Which makes me very excited about getting to show it here and there.

So now it's time to get going on this day's fun.

Today the events seem like fun. It has been a rough bunch of days and weeks, trying like mad to figure out how to take this gigantic experience and carry it with me into and through my life. I feel like I am beginning to figure that out. And that really is helping smooth out the roughness. Things begin, slowly, but surely, to feel smooth.

I'll be in touch.
Love,
Laurey

Whee!

2009-06-09T20:32:00.000-07:00

I'm up too late. Messing around on my computer. Clearly I should be in bed. Tomorrow is a full day. Today was a full day. The rest of the week, too, is full. I should be in bed. Instead I am up, playing on my computer, playing with making pictures of myself look like the Obama poster. Oh my.

I'm enchanted with this picture. It has been more than a month and I need to keep looking at it to force myself to believe that I actually rode my bicycle across the country. There it is, on film, well, digitally captured, and so I, remembering this picture being taken, must believe that it did happen. This ride.

I've been thinking about this "living in the gap" idea. The place in between what one was and what one is becoming. I was talking with a friend today and she spoke of it by saying "it's the music in between the notes." Yes. What a description. The last note has played and the next note is being imagined. One has to retain the memory of the note that was just played so that the pitch and tone and volume of the next note will blend in well. But the new note cannot be played fully until the previous one is done. I guess they can overlap, but eventually one dissolves into the other and then, somehow, the new note is the dominant one.

Interesting.

I spoke on the radio tonight. For some reason I had thought we had an hour. The show, as it turned out, lasted only 1/2 hour. I had been pretty thorough in my answers and then, just like that, it was over. I felt odd about it, like I had said too much or that I had been too graphic or that, well, I should have just kept my mouth shut. But of course that is not what this whole thing is about, keeping my mouth shut and NOT saying anything. I have chosen to speak out. And as I do, it is sometimes very uncomfortable for me. But I hope it is the right thing to do. I can only trust that this IS what I am supposed to be doing.

I came home, petted my dog, sat still, watched the video that is now almost done, and then played with my bike picture. And now, tired, very tired by this day and these thoughts and this review and processing, I am going to go to sleep.

One thing that I know, sort of, is that when something has ever made me feel like I am pushing on the edge of my comfort, it is usually a time when that pushing has resulted in that thing having a bigger than normal affect on a reader or listener. So I hope that is the case with this radio show. It was hard to say all that I did. It is hard to stand up and talk about this cancer stuff. I don't want to talk about it. I jsut want it all to go away, to be gone. But it is still here and I keep thinking and feeling that this, this talking or writing or sharing is what I am supposed to do. So there you go.

News

2009-06-08T20:05:00.000-07:00

Hi.

I'm very excited tonight because I spent the morning working with John Warner who knows a LOT about making movies. He took my files of still shots and little videos and we put them together and now I have a video. It still needs some work to make it as perfect as he and I want, but I think it's going to be very good. Yay!

I'll be speaking in Washington soon and it will be the finale of my speech. I'm the closing speaker so that's pretty cool. This little video will mark the end of the conference. I spoke in February and had a fat two minute on the program. Now I get to be the closing speaker. Whee! (And it's especially nice to know that those little videos I took all during the ride will turn into a pretty good little movie. As I was writing the storyboard last night I was stumped for a time, faced with the blank page it seemed overwhelming. But I knew a few things and started there and then I added a few more things that I knew and pasted bits in here and there and filled in and now, today, I have an almost finished video.

Suh-WEET!

Got some other news for you too:

Tomorrow night on WCQS, 88.1 I will be David Hurand's guest on his radio program "Evening Rounds" talking about the ride and ovarian cancer and early detection. This was something that I imagined doing before the ride even happened, so it feels good to know it's actually going to come true. If you don't live here, I think you can do the streaming feed and listen to it. 6 pm Asheville time.

In a couple of weeks I will be the guest DJ on Laura Blackley's program "Local Color" which is broadcast on Friday nights from 8 - 10 pm. I'm not sure of the date on that one yet, but I'll keep you posted.

And I would love to have you join me in a fun fundraising bike ride in Washington, DC on the Sunday of the July 4th weekend. July 5th is the date, to be precise. We'll ride about 30 miles from Silver Spring. I'll get back to you with the details, but do come ride, say hello, and get a chance to ride off some of that post firecracker lethargy. I'll be in the area for the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance's national conference, speaking on Wednesday the 8th.

And, in other news, do stop in to my shop. Things are bustling with really delicious local food and fun things to eat and drink. We're serving breakfast 6 days a week, not to mention all kinds of other great foods for other times of the day. I'll be cooking at the tailgate market in July, the north Asheville one. I'll keep you posted.

Anyway - just wanted to let you know about a couple of things. Good stuff. Good stuff. Oh, and I have two meetings this week to talk about making all of this into some published project. I am wide open to their thoughts. For now, as I said, right here is just fine.

Back on the bike

2009-06-07T19:44:00.000-07:00

I rode again today. Funny, now just plain RIDING merits a note here.

I joined a sanctioned ride today and had a nice time, feeling pretty strong, almost back to my normal place. I forget that I have written so much here and, even if I don't forget, I forget that there are people reading my words. Today on the ride a number of people asked how my back was doing and how my re-entry was coming along. It comes as a surprise, always, to hear these questions.

"Fine," I say.

"Better, thanks."

And, perhaps because I've been pretty open about all of this, the conversations quickly go below the surface.

"I was a bit worried about how you would be when you came home," a friend said today. "I mean, what a huge transition. To go away. To be so different. To come home and have everything the same. Especially when you feel so different. Sometimes you just have to go away to another place and just start all over."

Hmmm. That one caught me off guard. Most of these comments do. I don't feel guarded right now. Frankly, it'd be better if I was ABLE to be more guarded, I think. I don't hold much under. It bubbles out and there I am, pouring out again. And again.

I've been thinking about many things. Meditation. Being present. Silencing the inner critic. Grasping at bits of help wherever I see or hear it. Things are sticking and today I am feeling like I've climbed up a half a flight of stairs out of the dark basement. It's good.

I came home and started coming up with a storyboard for the video I am putting together. But GOSH that's hard to do. I'm much better with a slate that is not completely blank. This slate was BLANK. But now, many hours after starting, I am ready to go meet my friend who is the editor. I am excited. I think I have a story, flow, emotion, things that will captivate a variety of audiences. I'm also exhausted by it all, but in a good way.

This is going to be a good series of days. Friends for dinner. A bike ride. Work things. Two meetings with people to talk about writing. A dinner at work with some of our farmers. And getting to hear Anna Quindlen speak. Wow! Good stuff. A full, good time.

For now -
g'night. I'll post the video when I finish it.

Love,
Laurey

Home and work

2009-06-05T18:17:00.000-07:00

I guess that it is only fair, if I am going to go on and on about not feeling centered and not feeling grounded and not feeling good, that when I DO feel movement toward the center and toward the ground and toward feeling good, I need to say so.

I'm saying so.

After crashing yesterday, letting fear take over, letting emotion run me, I felt in a better place today. There is no denying that things feel strained. Anyone with a radio or tv can hear the pounding bad news. It is really hard to stay up above all that. It is really hard to feel positive and optimistic when every single damn news story is heavy and dark and awful. I usually turn the thing off when it comes to all that. On the ride I was the one who came into the breakfast room and immediately turned the tv off. When I didn't everyone would come into the room and stop talking. Any hope of interaction was squelched by the gloom and doom.

Like the reference I made to being drawn to a car accident, I have been unable to resist glancing at the headlines or squeaking in a snip of the radio's disastrous news. It is insidious and takes a toll on me.

So today, after long conversations with friends, sisters, the people I most care for, I managed to grab hold and stop the slide. I hope. On the advice of Annie, sweet girl, sweet inspiration, I thought about good things, wrote them down, folded up the paper, and have carried it with me all day in my back pocket. She just sent me a box of postcards to send out and I wrote the reminders on one, the one of me holding my bike over my head at the Atlantic Ocean. Doing that made me feel better.

Tomorrow I cook dinner for a small group who are celebrating the 40th anniversary of two men's union. They never got married, wear no rings, never celebrated in front of other people. Tomorrow they will do that. The rings are ready. Simple words to each other have been written. A small group will gather to celebrate them and this life that has been shared for 40 years.

Many of their friends are no longer alive. Many of MY friends are no longer alive, victims of AIDS, unlucky enough to have gotten really sick just before the drug cocktails were developed. My best friend is no longer alive. He missed it all by a couple of years.

I look forward to being a part of their celebration tomorrow. I am the cook. And I'm excited.

Annie pointed out that I get to be a part of people's joy. She's right. We bring food to many occasions. Last week we were part of two funerals. This week, two more. For one we had a big banner made. And balloons will be delivered too. It'll be a party. And my dear friend Ken called to ask me to cook for his daughter's bat mitzvah in Ann Arbor in December. An occasion. A time of joy.

"Sure thing," I said.

I rode today. I have new tires and they worked just fine. Then I came home and took my pup for a walk. And then worked on my video for the ovarian cancer conference. More videos are in the works. A bike ride/fundraiser in Washington, a big day of the celebration of miracles at Jubilee, my spiritual community, will happen in August.

Yes, I'm almost home. The fog seems less oppressive today.

Thich Nhat Hahn said, "Breathing in I calm my body. Breathing out, I smile."

If you live in the Washington, DC area, do plan to come ride with me on July 5th. I'll let you know more about it as the time nears.

Thanks for joining me in this journey.

In the bees

2009-06-04T15:21:00.000-07:00

I smell like smoke right now. Smoke from my bee smoker. There will probably come a time when I don't use it, but right now it is a bit of a safety net for me. The ritual of lighting it, puffing the bellows, waiting for the paper to catch, waiting for the fuel to catch, and puffing the bellows again settles ME down before I head up the hill to the bees. They say that the smoke calms the bees down, or, shall I say, makes them run for cover. Thinking about them running for cover makes me know that there will come a time when I don't use the smoke. But right now I do.

Last year I was a nervous wreck about the bees. I was not sure if I was doing anything right. And I made the mistake of having three or four people I was asking advice from. The joke is that if you ask four beekeepers a question you'll get seven answers. It made me wild, balancing the discomfort and uncertainty.

I lost my bees this last year. Maybe it got too cold or maybe there was not enough food or maybe the colony was not big enough or maybe something else happened. I don't know. But while I was on the bike ride a local beekeeper brought new bees to my hives and they seem to be doing well.

At this time of year it is essential to make sure they have enough room to expand. If you don't give them enough room, they will swarm and leave and that's all well and good if your intention is to send bees out into the world. But if, like me, you want to have a strong hive right here, one that makes honey enough to keep the colony alive through the winter, well, you don't want them flying off in a not-enough-room swarm.

Today I looked to see how they were doing and to see if I needed to add another super to either hive. The hive on the left already has a shallow super stacked on top of the two hive bodies. The one on the right is not far enough along to need that super yet. And after looking I decided that they are okay for now. I'll check back in a week or so.

After I looked in the hives I sat in the rickety chair I keep up there and just watched. It's a magical, mysterious, miracle to get to sit that close to wild beings, watching them fly in and out, filled with pollen on their legs and with so much nectar that they sometimes miss the landing board and fall to the ground. We're in the middle of a good strong honey flow and the bees are very busy.

I am finding that belief comes slowly. Belief that this shall pass, that this path I am on is the path, not a detour or a dead end or anything other than exactly where I am supposed to be. That's a hard one to absorb, feeling so wobbly and foggy. But this IS the path. This, this right here IS the Golden Thread and that is the truth. The Golden Thread is not always light and breezy and fun and easy. But this, this harder time is what you need to be IN, fully IN, in order to get to that other stuff.

I think. I don't know.
I might be right. Or I might not.

I do know that bee smoke smells good and bees sound good and look good and calm me down. One bee walked around in my hair and when I noticed the tickle I brushed it off, thinking it was a stick. It was a bee and it flew off. No stinging necessary.

That much is what I do know. It's not a whole lot. But it is a start. If they make enough honey this year I'll ask them to share it with you. The Golden Thread. Beautiful.

Mornings

2009-06-04T03:56:00.000-07:00

It rained last night. As I drove home the sky split open with lightning, huge streaks of light that made the entire world pink. That was heat lightning, though, and nothing came of it, right then at least. Later, in the middle of the night, the rain arrived. Yesterday was hot and muggy and close and I feel relief from the rain.

These are more flowers. Lychnis, or Rose Campion. They are in full bloom right now, right outside my door. I took the screen off the other day. I never ever closed it, and it seemed like it was about time to just take it off. I feel a bit exposed now, which is funny, because really, truly, that screen was always open. But the other part about no screen is that I see a lot more out the kitchen door than I did before. I can sit in the kitchen and look out the door and see my whole yard, including this Lychnis.

I planted a small pot full a few years ago in the upper garden bed which is surrounded by a dry-stacked stone wall. Right now there are three distinct clumps of Lychnis, all full, all lush, all healthy. One, the most healthy, is growing heartily outside of the stone wall's limit. I did not plant anything on the outside of the stone wall but there it is. Growing strong.

Lately I have had to pay someone to mow my yard because if I don't, I get stung by yellowjackets and get a big reaction. I like mowing my lawn but have had to let it go. The Lychnis growing on the outside of the wall has not been mowed. I like thinking about the lawn mowing guy avoiding this patch of flowers that is clearly not where it belongs.

I feel like I am growing outside my own boundaries too. Some seeds fell on the other side of my wall and here I go. I'm not as big as the Lychnis yet but I am planted. The curious thing is not knowing where I'll grow. Or if I'll get trimmed or moved back or if a seed will get carried away by some bird or bee and I'll be in a completely different place. It's one more thing I don't know right now.

Faith

2009-06-03T14:16:00.000-07:00

I look at these buds and think about faith. I've actually been thinking about faith a lot these days as I work through this re-entry stuff, which slams into me sometimes, knocking me flat.

There are times when I wonder if I'll ever feel better, if I'll ever just feel ho-hum, la-di-dah, rosy and light. My friend Jennifer, as I said, counsels living in the gap as a place that can be amusing. And Annie calls it "interesting." Ha. Amusing it is not. Interesting, perhaps, in a glimpse of clarity, perhaps, in a glimpse of, "this will pass" "this will go away" "you WILL get through this time." Mostly I do not feel interesting or amusing or anything other than slammed.

My friend Connie sent me some words from an author who, after rowing across the ocean, went through a time of deep introspection, a difficult re-entry. Today, talking to my friend the baker at the tailgate market, I heard about a friend of his who had an enormously difficult time after finishing hiking the Appalachian Trail. I keep thinking I'll wake up perky and chipper and I AM feeling better and more like myself, but there are times when I really do not.

So today, just now, I came home. I have to go back to work in a little bit to run a meeting, but I am home for a spell, a short bit. And there in my garden are these daisies. They are huge. A big fat bunch. Three times bigger than they were last season, or the season before, which is when I planted them. Right now that whole garden bed is green. Lush and lovely, to be sure, but all green. By next week it will be filled with color. White, in the case of these daisies, and pink for the Echinaceas. The Daylilies will pop out in orange. Who knows what else is in there. I plant things and then forget about them.

So when I planted them I didn't know what would happen. And now, here they are. Now here I am too. Seeds, plants, have been tucked in or shoved in, or, without my knowing it, snuck in. I do not know, right now, much of anything. But these plants remind me that something is growing, whether I can name it or not. And faith is trusting that.

So I shall try.

Things ARE happening. Just now more slowly. Now is the time to stop and let the revelations wash in, let the buds open - when they will.

Big deep breath.

Love,
Laurey

Living in the Gap

2009-06-02T19:22:00.001-07:00

This bombed out house is in Tuscany. When I first saw it I fell head over heels nutso about it and felt like it was the answer to all my prayers. I wanted to buy it, fix it up, move into it. I tracked down the woman who owned it in Switzerland and went so far as to make plans to meet her. And then it all fell through, once I realized it was outrageously unrealistic. I keep the picture on my computer and look at it all the time. I still remember that first sighting. But I also know that when I went back and really looked, and saw that it was in the middle of a busy dirt road and that it had no privacy NOT TO MENTION the fact that it has no roof or walls or floor or, well, anything, it was not a smart thing to pursue.

Which has nothing to do with what I have been thinking lately, but I don't have many photographs on this computer at home so there you go, a cool picture and a little story, unrelated to the gist of my night's thinking.

Living in the Gap. This, as I understand it, is the place we find ourselves when our minds have moved on and our bodies are still in the place we were in before our minds moved. Clear?

I feel changed by this ride and by the experience of it. It was easy, it was enormously hard, it was fun, it was awful, I miss it dreadfully, I'm so glad it is done. All at once. Mostly, though, I feel that I am in a different place and I want to be doing different things AND YET I still am at work and I still have things to do, things I want to do and things I need to do. And, at the same time, I want to have moved ahead to be living this other, transformed life.

How to do both? Bridging this gap is not easy. I'm feel torn, crazy, frustrated, berserk sometimes, wanting to KNOW how it's all going to go. Wanting to BE different, to live differently, to have it all figured out. No such luck.

My friend Judy did this ride a few years ago and we talked yesterday about the challenge of coming home. She told me about her experience of homecoming and equated it with "pentimento" that painting technique whereby layers of old paint are removed, revealing a new painting underneath. Who KNEW it was there? And who knew, or knows, how to remove those layers?

I have been feeling tension in this gap place. It does not feel easy or even good. But my guide suggested I look at it with humor. And my girlfriend suggests I call it "interesting." Those are good suggestions.

For now, I carry on. Bridging the gap.
I'll say more when I can figure out more.

Good night.
Laurey

Riding and not competing

2009-05-31T14:07:00.000-07:00

I went for a ride today with some women from here. I rode with them before I left for my big ride and could not keep up with them AT ALL. That ride was no fun, embarrassing, verging on miserable. I wondered how it would be to ride with them again. I actually thought about them a few times while on some hard bit of the big ride.

Today I had my chance.

I did pretty well. I was not the very last one. I managed to keep up for most of the time. There were times when I had to really give myself a boost, a "come on come on come on" rally. At one point I was saying, "catch up, catch up, catch up" out loud to myself. I put out a bit more effort and caught up. It IS much easier to ride when you are right behind the rider in front because the drafting thing works and you get sucked along a bit.

On today's ride there was a wind and that got me at one point. And there was a time when I was feeling pretty weak and annoyed that there they all were, getting farther and farther ahead of me. There was no catching up. And even more frustrating was watching them and getting the impression that they were not expending any effort at all. That's probably not true, but it sure seemed it.

I am really not competitive when it comes to this riding thing. And I was riding with a bunch of women who actually ARE. They race. They win. Today was their "easy" ride but it was a big deal for me.

On the way back we started up a hill that has been a VERY hard one for me and I DID manage to go right up it so that was good. And we passed a single rider who caught up and rode very close to me, admitting that she was using me and us as motivation. That kind of made me ride a bit harder. It's funny. I do not want to race and I do not want to win or beat anyone and there is not a big, "I've got to be first!" bone in my body. But I also don't want to be last.

I guess I like being strong in myself, but it is only a comparison to myself, not to anyone else.

And now I am sore again and have spent the afternoon finishing putting bee hive pieces together. At some point my bees will be far enough along that I will need to bring these new pieces up to my apiary and will need to add them to what is there. The bees just work. I have two hives and one is quite a bit ahead of the other one but they do not pay any attention to that at all. Why do I?

This week I will work on putting together the video of my ride for the presentation I am doing in Washington in July at the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance conference. I'm the closing speaker. A big deal for me. Very. And it looks like there is going to be a bike ride just before the conference. Maybe we'll turn this into an annual ride. This will be the first. A ride for ovarian cancer awareness.

I have been aware all day long that this is my 21st anniversary of finding out I had ovarian cancer. A 45 mile ride and putting bee hive components together seems to be a good way to celebrate and to honor being alive. That and writing more. So here you go. I'll be in touch.

Home

2009-05-30T12:32:00.000-07:00

It is Saturday. May 30, 2009. I am at work waiting for catering staff to show up so they can collect the things they need for the party they are serving tonight. Normally I would have gone home by now but some communication lines got crossed and so here I am, waiting for the staff. Which, if you look at it differently,as a positive thing instead of an "ugh I want to LEAVE thing" gives me time to write a note about today.

Tomorrow is the 21st anniversary of me getting surgery for what turned out to be ovarian cancer. I remember going to deliver a breakfast-in-bed basket to a guy's wife and then driving myself home where I picked up my girlfriend and we went to the hospital so I could have my operation. When I went to the hospital I did not know how the surgery would turn out. When I woke up many hours later my girlfriend told me I had cancer. Again.

Ironically today I was delivery babe for a last minute drop off catering for a funeral. I am pretty sure that today's delivery was to the same house as that breakfast gift basket went to those 21 years ago. Funny.

Cancer hovers too near me these days. I have two friends who are in treatment right now. I have friends who are in the clear, but just barely. And I have friends who are waiting to hear the results of tests. This is too much. Too much for me sometimes.

One thing that happened as I started this ride project was that people starting coming to me and telling me their cancer stories. In the beginning I was filled with a certain fear whenever these conversations would start up. It's sort of like driving by an accident. I never want to look but I sometimes do anyway. In these conversations I never wanted to know but I found myself right in front of the horror and had to stand still and listen. I have learned to be supportive, to be a quiet listener, to hope that I can be some sort of example for someone just because I am alive. But what I had, I had. I'm different. We're ALL different and really how can MY story mean anything to anyone else?

And it got pretty scary and too close sometimes and I found myself closing off, shutting down, imagining clamping my hands over my ears and not letting anything in. I didn't want the warnings that people were sending me. I didn't want the fear. I didn't want the subject matter.

But at the same time, I'M the one who chose to add the layer of "cancer survivor" to this bike ride project and this is where it leads. Being the one who can, maybe, help. Being the one who is, maybe, the inspiration for someone not this far along in their recovery. Being the one who is learning how to be brave enough to talk about this, trusting that the talking is not going to get me sick again. But I feel my pulse race even as I write this.

The reality is that every time someone I know gets sick I get scared. And every time an anniversary comes up, a rush of gratitude - and fear - courses through me. Every doctor's appointment, every conversation with a cancer patient or survivor, every single one elicits a big, noticeable reaction in me.

So tomorrow is my 21st anniversary. The ride was all about my 20th anniversary, my 54th year, my Golden Year. I did it. I did the ride. I celebrated my Golden Year by doing a big thing. Now it is the beginning of another year. I am now 55. And I AM healthy. And I AM feeling braver and braver. It helps to have completed the ride. That was a pretty brave thing to do, mostly in ways I did not expect. Having done it makes me feel like, well, like I accomplished a big thing. And, more, that I have an obligation to do something more. Maybe this is it.

Maybe. I'll just write about that for a while.

I'm going to pick this up and write more again. I've missed it. Here's the first note. I'll be in touch now on a regular basis.

Love,
Laurey

2009-05-25T09:25:00.000-07:00

Today is a beautiful one. I'm back on my bike, slowly and surely riding. Slowly and surely finding the balance, the route, the direction. Slowly and surely.

I'm surprised to be so creaky. I'm surprised that it takes this long to settle back to my home and this life. Surprised. Impatient. I want to wake up and pop into things and say, "wow, what was all THAT about?"

Instead I open my eyes, take a pulse, look at the light, wonder some more. It is an interesting time.

I have a fountain in my garden that I made last year. It's a big, deep blue vase that I rigged. I got some thick rubber for a lining and then got some silicon caulk. I cut and patched and filled and rigged and turned it into a little bubbly thing. It was not easy. It was not hard either, but I now remember that every single step of the process involved asking a lot of questions, getting a lot of advice, going to a few different stores, coming home, trying it out, and, finally, having a water-filled pot, all ready for plants. I found a water hyacinth at the nursery and it seemed to have a nice summer, bubbling away, providing a place for the bees and adding a soft background song to my home.

This project started as a way to give my bees a place to drink. Last year my bees were new. Me too. New as a beekeeper, new as a fountain maker. New as a water plant gardener.

We had a drought last summer and it was cold in the winter and I did not feed my bees nor did I drain the pot of its water. The plant died. The bees did too which also happened to a lot of very experienced beekeepers who DID know what they were doing and who DID feed their bees. The silicon liner froze too, cracked, leaked out all the water. So it goes.

Earlier this week I got out the extra rubber liner from last year and cut a new circle for my fountain. I bought new caulk and pasted the new rubber liner in. I put a dish in the bottom of the new liner so that my brick plant supports would not cut into it. I filled the pot, hooked up the pump, and enjoyed one evening of burbling song.

The next day my fountain was completely empty.

Sigh.

I found the leak, re-caulked it, waited, refilled the fountain, waited and, seeing the water holding, just went and bought some new little plants. So far so good.

Today is a holiday and I am going to go down into my bee work area and I am going to assemble more bee hive parts. Last year during a time of disconnect, when I was feeling very unsettled, I did that too. When in doubt I put bee hive parts together. At the end of that project, after those many days of bee hive assmbling, I was ready for my bees and was feeling better.

Pretty soon it will be time to add more hive parts to my hives. They need to be put together now, while there is time so that they will be ready when I need them.

So today is a bee hive assembly day. Slowly and surely. Later I'll go for another bike ride. Then I'll take Tye the pup for a walk.

Slowly. Intentionally. Patiently.

One frame at a time.

I'll be in touch.

Planting things

2009-05-22T09:20:00.000-07:00

I wrote a very eloquent piece yesterday from home and, when I went to send it, found that my computer had disconnected itself from the internet. The eloquence dissolved. So it goes. So it went.

This is the planter in front of my shop. Put together by Annie, my sweetie, it is a fresh, bright greeting. A promise of things to come, things that are growing, things that are good.

This morning I had a visit from Susan Shillcock's kindergarten, first, and second grade class. They brought spinach and collards from their school garden. Together we washed and prepared the spinach. Our chef cooked it up and the children made spinach tarts, simple things with puffed pastry, grated cheese, and a little egg wash. While the tarts cooked I showed them some snaps from my ride and let them check out my helmet and my rearview mirror and my padded gloves.

Then the tarts were cooked. Just like that.

A buffet! Collards, spinach tarts, and little Elsie's Biscuits with some of Sweet Betty's Bees honey.

I'm coming back more and more. Today helped. Having a pot of spring lovelies in front of my shop helps. And last night I had dinner with the PR director for the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance and her family. Just 7 months ago I was having dinner with her, sharing my nervousness about my venture. Now I'm done, telling her about it.

The children gave me a jar filled with coins and dollars. They had collected it for me, for the bike ride. $37.00 more for the cause. This kind of thing fills me right up. I sat on the floor, surrounded by the children and surrounded by love and filled with trust and hope.

There have been times when I have looked for someone else to tell me that things will be alright. No one can ever do that for me. They've tried. I've looked, wished for it, tried to believe in their words. It has not worked.

But now, slowly, I feel, from deep inside me, that things ARE alright and WILL continue to be just fine. I have big dreams of things. Don't worry. The biggest dream at the moment is about turning this experience into a book. I dream about making a life that is filled with love and adventure and thought. And then I remember - I already have that. But sometimes I forget.

Flowers help me remember. And children. And bees. And work. And my bicycle.

Thanks for reading I'll be in touch.

Laurey

Leaping

2009-05-14T13:18:00.000-07:00

This is a photo from Wakulla Springs. You may remember (or scroll down to see) the picture of just my legs, jumping off the high platform into the springs. My friend Janet Bee took that picture and was VERY upset that she cut off my body. Actually, I LOVE that picture. If we'd tried a hundred times I doubt we could have come up with such a perfect picture.

This picture was taken by someone else on the ride. Elisabeth, fully dressed stood up on the high platform and took some pictures of the three of us who were brazen enough to jump. The funny thing is that I jumped because Mik, our guide from the first half of the ride, had told us to jump and think of her. I took that to mean, jump and think of HER jumping. Well, turns out she had NOT jumped, but had stayed up on that high platform for two hours, never managing to get the guts to jump. I wonder what I would have done if I'd known that she had not jumped.

Today is my 55th birthday. I have a sore back, still, from lifting up my suitcase AFTER the ride. I have not been on my bicycle since the ride except for a token 9 miles. I am sore and filled with curiosity about the ride and about what it meant and about what I want to and need to and should be doing now. 55 seems like a big deal. Not as big as 60. Bigger than 50.

My friend Olivia read my chart and said this will be a big year. Moving out of the place which says work is everything into a place that places greater importance on internal, spiritual matters. And, she said, moving from one to the other will take time and will involve a good dose of confusion.

She got that one right on the nose. I feel dizzy, unsure, wobbly, spinning. When I left, things seemed sure and certain and, though hard, familiar. The ride offered a great time of routine. I knew what I had to do each day. I knew there were things I did not have to think about, like where we were staying or what we were eating for dinner. I had little jobs, like stacking the chairs after dinner or handing out the cue sheets. Simple, simple things.

The contrast is pretty sharp. I crafted a vision that brought me to the place I am now. And it has suited me just fine for a long time. But 55 feels like a big marker and I feel an internal urge, just like the urge I get to clean my house in April, to craft the next one.

Which makes my head spin.

Annie, who is here for my birthday, and who was my biggest surprise of the bike ride, counsels patience, as does everyone else who has an opinion. I am, she reminds me, the main one who is impatient with myself. Everyone else, I remind myself, has their own issues, challenges, desires, visions.

And I am listening to the people who ask for a book from this time of mine. I am aware that this book will be about the ride itself, but also the part that is going on right this very second. This, I remind myself, is what everyone goes through. A neighborhood church near here has one of those signs with removable letters. Right now it says, "Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% what you do with that." Good counsel.

So I think I'll pick this thought collection back up on a more regular basis. Write me if you wish to, if you have a thought to send my way or some ideas for this book. Write either here or on my personal e-mail: laurey@charter.net

And thank you for sharing this journey and my birthday with me.

Here we go!
Laurey

Home now

2009-05-07T18:51:00.000-07:00

This journey into my home is a tricky one. I have thought about this and have spoken about it with some of you. I've started to write about it, about returning. This seems to be a universal challenge. Okay, maybe "universal" is a bit too lofty, but it certainly is becoming clear to me that I am NOT the only one who has struggled with coming home.

Just the fact that this has its own name, reentry, should make me know that something challenging is going to happen. I'm back. I don't want to be. Now what?

Today I felt a little bit better. I'm trying. I am also, I'm sure, trying the patience of some people.

"How are you?" they ask.

"Fine," I say, "well, sort of."

Or, if I'm telling the truth, "Awful. I miss the routine, the ease, the people, the structure."

Really, though, that is more than I usually let out. They've all been here. What right do I have to wish for more of what I no longer have?

So today I went home and took a look inside my beehives and did some equipment tweaking. The bees are set now, ready for the first "honey flow," the time when the flowers are in bloom and they are in full production for honey. It's about ready to happen and I am now ready.

Then I thought about my friend Annie, who suggests naming the five best things of the day. Here goes:

1. I'm alive and healthy.
2. It was a beautiful day here.
3. My sister is glad I'm here. So are some friends.
4. I have Annie in my life and that is a fine thing.
5. I took Tye for a walk and she was very happy to be out with me. She even got to lie down in the lake - her favorite thing.

5 things a day is a good thing to strive for.
And I'm grateful for this outlet too. Some of you say I'll figure it out better if I write about it. Okay - here it is.

Goodnight.
Laurey

Coming back

2009-05-06T04:05:00.001-07:00

May 6, 2009

Funny. Today I am stiff with a sore back, tweaked when I nudged my suitcase into my car on the way home from St. Augustine. I can't get up or sit down without noticing how sore I am. The idea of flowing from any activity to any other activity is like a wild fantasy. I hope it settles down pretty soon. It certainly doesn't help anything to feel this sore.

But, on the other hand, it is, like so many other things, a perfect metaphor for this time of reentry. I am horrible at reentry. I balk, scream, resist, squirm, fret, moan, and cry. I mourn the loss of the freedom that WAS. I chafe against the return to what was, knowing, KNOWING that I, at least am different. Well, maybe. Or maybe not.

I think it is easy to be different when everything is different. And it is incredibly difficult to try to retain that certainty when everything else is the way it was - before. Of course, not everything is as it was and so reentry involves patience with everyone, knowing that everyone has had two months of life too. In some cases those two months have been monumental. In some, not so much.

My challenge, right now, is to retain the best of the ride and to let the lessons soak in. I am home and wandered around yesterday in some sort of a daze. I went to some of my old familiar places (the grocery store, the gym, my car)and found myself just touching, barely touching the walls or the steering wheel or the something or other. The touch was, I noticed, about trying to reconnect. I do not feel like reconnecting. But I am done with the riding for now and it is time to be HERE now, not there or anywhere but here.

This picture is Pearl Fryer's garden in Bishopville, South Carolina. He started "cutting up bushes" about 20 years ago. This had been a cornfield. Pearl's vision brought him to this place where he is right now. Famous for his philosophizing. Desired for his perspective. People are pouring to see him. He pontificates and shares and his eyes sparkle when he sees a visitor really listening.

Maybe that's what's going on. I'm trying to put this experience into a place, sculpted, developing, inspirational, secure for myself. I don't know how to do that. Pearl didn't either, when he started this garden. It can take a long time.

I'll be in touch as I go.
Thank you for visiting the beginning of whatever it is that is going to grow from now on.

>Love,
Laurey

Home

2009-05-03T19:41:00.000-07:00

Day One.

I'm home.

And I'm sore.
I tweaked my back yesterday as I was sliding my suitcase into my car. This is one of those "I can't beLIEVE it!" things. I have been hauling that suitcase all over the country and I never tweaked my back with it. Ah well. Can't do a thing about it today. Tomorrow I'll go visit my chiropractor and he'll fix it.

I woke up so sore I wasn't sure I could accomplish my wish to ride into Jubilee. But I sucked it up and got on my bike, wearing rain gear for the first time in two months, and rode in. Cool!!!!

Jubilee welcomed me, hugging, smiling, cavorting with me.

All was fine at my shop too. French Toast!!!! And they had a Huevos Rancheros special that looked pretty darn good.

I am now finally tired and will now stop.

These posts will now come as I have something to say. Which will probably not be the case every day.

Until then,

Love,
Laurey

Live. Love. Bike.

2009-04-30T13:56:00.000-07:00

Three slick gals

2009-04-29T14:00:00.000-07:00

We were so hot today that we stopped, just twenty miles before Palatka. Sometimes it is just too hot. My rejuvenation drink of choice, when I am OUT, is a chocolate milk. This little store did not have chocolate milk, though there WERE cases and cases of beer. A case of beer is too hard to drink on a bike. ONE beer is not a good idea. And the only gatorade they had was purple. It tasted, well, purple. Not grape.

The best part about the stop was that the clerk was wowed by us.

"You're going WHERE?"
"You started in San DIEGO???!!!"

She was a relative youngster. Her stare went from one of us to another of us to another of us. We were mostly just thirsty and hot and we all had to pee but we answered her questions, in between taking turns to pee ("never pass up a flush toilet" is a truism of a ride with a bunch of women)and allowed her to take our picture.

It IS an amazing thing.

We have ridden our bicycles across the whole bloody, friggin' United States of America for cryin' out loud!

Um.

Today was our last long ride. It was not easy. We had a head wind. Connie ran out of energy. All of our crotches are sore. Jan's legs are tired. I am tired. We're TIRED.

But we're also thrilled. I am thrilled. This is a huge accomplishment. Even if I missed nine miles after I crashed my bike. And even if I missed 23 miles trying to avoid being flung into Oz like Dorothy on tornado day in Lafayette. Even so, this is a huge deal.

Whatever conclusions I ultimately draw over the course of the rest of my life, this has been a gigantic thing to do. Tomorrow we ride into St. Augustine. We have been invited to wear our group jerseys but I am going to wear the one that was made for me for this ride, the one with my shop's name across the front and the Ovarian Cancer National Alliance on one sleeve and the Mission Hospital logo on the other. It has the logo for Women Chefs and Restaurateurs and for Jubilee, my spiritual community. It has the name of the guy who made the jersey. And it also says "Don't Postpone Joy" and, for now, most importantly, "Live. Love. Bike."

Someone suggested I keep writing this even after I get home. Frankly, between you and me, I might not be able to stop just like that. Keeping this going feels comforting to me. Of course it is up to you to check in or not, as you wish.

Anyway - I am getting ahead of myself. First I have to eat and then go to sleep and then wake up and get dressed and ride my bicycle into St. Augustine. Some Chamber of Commerce people are coming. Maybe some chefs. Maybe some cancer survivors. My sisters are coming. And my girlfriend is already here. We're going to celebrate.

Big time.

Tomorrow I'll send you a picture of me and my bicycle and my teal toes and the Atlantic Ocean. Imagine that. Imagine that.

Love to you all,
Laurey

P.S. One of my favorite church signs said (forgive me if I already told you this one) "Never pass up an opportunity to say I love you."

Okay? Okay.

Springs, springs, and more springs

2009-04-28T12:59:00.000-07:00

We're in High Springs. Surrounded by a whole bunch of other Springs. All crystal clear. All blue. All world famous. Who knew? I'm in a cafe and the walls are covered with photographs of people diving in these beautiful waters.

We went to one, the one shown here, and yes, it was clear and lovely.

But we're now focused on the end. I'm thinking about home. I'm wondering about this ride. I'm wondering about the now what part. I'm wondering if anyone with ovarian cancer is helped by this thing. My sister wrote and said a friend of hers just died of ovarian cancer. This kind of thing rips me apart. I ride, wonder. Does it make any difference? Is it possible to do something like ride my bike and WISH that it matters? Does it? Sitting here in this bar in High Springs I wonder.

So I don't have a whole lot to say today.

I just wonder.

Two more days of riding. One short day. One long day. Then a day of walking around St. Augustine. Then a day of driving home.

I did not know today would have these springs. I do not know what is going to appear tomorrow. I do not know what will happen in St. Augustine. I do not know how the drive will be. I do not know what will happen when I get home. I do not know anything. Especially today.

And yes, I would like to tell this story to Ellen. My friend Dara, who helps with this blog sometimes, especially when it comes to adding videos and things like that, is the one who put up the Ellen video and the plea to you all to forward it to Ellen. It seems important to me. But I don't know if it is. Maybe it would help people stop dying. Maybe.

Okay - it is still a beautiful day here in High Springs. Come here if you want to see some beautiful water. And come to The Great Outdoors for lunch. The food is very good.

Tomorrow I ride some more.

Hot off the press

2009-04-27T12:59:00.000-07:00

Here is a story about Laurey's ride as well as a video. Help Laurey and tweet the link for this video to get Laurey on The Ellen Show. Come on, I know you have it in you...come on you techno whizzes - give us some help. Click HERE for the story.

Leap and the net will appear!

2009-04-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

My legs. Yes indeedy.

We spent our rest day at Wakulla Springs. Home to the largest spring in the United States and maybe the fourth largest in the world, the place has a flow of some 400,000 gallons PER MINUTE! Mik, the guide from the first half of our trip said to jump for her. Ah me. If we hadn't, she'd never have know. BUT I am not one to let an invitation like that go unmet so...

The funny thing about the place is that it hasn't changed much since it was built. Irregular cell phone service. No internet service. Funny old rooms, an old-fashioned menu, and boats that have been offering rides up and down the Wakulla River since Mr. Ball created the place. Thank you Mr. Ball! (Makes me especially grateful to anyone with money enough to buy up land and save it for future generations. This is a very good thing to do. We who follow behind thank you.)

The birds and animals are very accustomed to these tour boats and so do not fly away or retreat. This means you can get close enough to a pair of nesting Great White Egrets to see the fluff balls in the next - the babies. And the plentiful alligators blink and move just a little bit when the boat approaches. SO much better than any zoo. It is SO wonderful to see these beings in their home, their real home. And then, to ride outside the park where it immediately becomes filled with litter and roaring cars - well, it brings tears to my heart.

We continue to ride across Florida. Three more days. Three.

Today's ride was flat and straight. I don't think we turned except to get on the main road and, just now, to get off it. I'm talking STRAIGHT. The challenge becomes how to ride comfortably when there is no apparent reason to shift. Same gear. No turning. No hills. No variety.

But, as with all of these sorts of days, beauty resides just one tiny smidgen under the seemingly monotony. Iris live in the Cyprus Bogs. The foliage, if you look, is incredibly varied - palmetto, Cyprus, oaks, Spanish moss and many, many other things. Pines poke up, ferns fill in the scrub. Take a breath, look around - the world opens up.

So, being a short distance from Apalachicola, I'm eating oysters as much as possible. Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast - okay - not so much. I'm happy today, happy to get to see this land that is missed if you drive on the interstates. Missed, too, I'm sure, by drivers on these very roads. The honeysuckle is intoxicating. The musty earth is too.

I cannot believe this is almost done.
Last night, thinking about it, I got very sad. There are good parts to being done, but this has been life-altering. And how do you take this sort of experience, altered, and fold it into what already is? I am not sure. But tomorrow I'll ride some more and think about just that.

Ciao,
Laurey

Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning...

2009-04-24T13:05:00.000-07:00

This is my new favorite activity. I love tinkering, tweaking, adjusting. I have gone from knowing very little about this machine, to feeling quite competent. As I told you, the other day I had to get a major adjustment, a whole new derailleur cable. This was residue from my bike crash back in Navasota. Well, the bike mechanic told me that the cable would stretch in a few days and that I would need to get it fixed because it would cease to shift smoothly.

We're not near a bike shop in this run of the trip, so I, getting a hint of what to do from one of the guides, fixed it myself! Go me!

And then Jan, today, was having some trouble with HER derailleur and I fixed IT too! (She currently thinks I'm a mechanical wizard, which is a stretch, but it is true that she needed help, I gave it to her, and my help fixed her problem. Go me! (I wouldn't normally say this so much, but it is a real delight to have the confidence to plunge in and fix little problems.)

After Jan gushed to me, my whole day changed today. Before that I was just, well, riding, wondering what might pop up to catch my interest. I was enjoying the scenery, the Cypress Bogs (thanks for telling me about them) and humming songs (thanks for all the Florida song hints.) I was, as usual, musing about how and if my life has changed as a result of this ride.

And then Jan had that problem and I fixed it and she thanked me. It felt so good. So good. So simple and good.

Sometimes something doesn't have to be complicated to make a difference. A simple thank you made a huge difference to me today. A simple feeling of competence made a huge difference to me today. Simple stuff. Simple lessons.

Tomorrow we ride a short distance to a place that has clear waters in a natural spring. I have never been there before but the name, Wakulla Springs, is alluring. We ride in, spend a whole day there, and ride out. I'll tell you as much as I can. I am meeting some Chamber of Commerce people so I'll get the lowdown and, probably, will tell you to come visit too. Heck, I love water and I might not want to leave. Actually, no, I am ready to see my home and my town and my friends. But that's not to say I won't come back.

Pretty soon, y'all. Pretty soon.

For now - cheers,
Laurey

Riding through Florida

2009-04-23T18:04:00.001-07:00

What I see most

2009-04-23T12:49:00.000-07:00

Connie wears red. Jan wears tank tops these days. We switch off. Me first. Connie first. Jan first. Me first. Connie first. Jan first. 5 mile turns today. Less on a harder day. Today wasn't really hard so longer turns worked just fine.

Today we rode 93 miles. No wind. Smooth roads. A relative breeze. We were on Route 90 for most of the day and our cue sheet said, pretty much, "get on route 90. Ride 90 miles. Get off. Turn right . Go to the Hampton Inn." (not exactly but almost.)

Today we had slightly more than 6 hours of actual riding time. We were out for longer than that, but every time we stop, the little bike computer stops. We start. It starts. Pretty cool. At the end of the ride you push a button and it tells you how long you've been riding. Fancy computers also tell your average speed, fastest speed, elevation gain - fancy stuff. Mine is a simple one. How far did you go? How long did it take. You want the average? Do the math.

It did get hot after a bit, which sent us into convenience stores. We troop in, head for the ice machine, fill up, head for the ladies' room, go to the drink area, load up with drinks, and finish off at the ice cream freezer. We're all aware that we need to start tapering off pretty soon. We simply cannot go home and eat like this unless we're spending the entire day riding.

At our second convenience store stop of the day we created the usual scene. We don't really MEAN to, it just happens. I mean, most convenience store shoppers are not used to three middle aged women biking around. And we're not exactly shy and retiring. Um, no. It doesn't take much to set one of us off and then the three of us get going and that's about it. Another scene.

Today, after the scene at the cash register, we ended up sitting with a Deputy Sherriff who was trying to eat his lunch of chicken and macaroni and cheese. I'm not quite sure how it happened but somehow there we all were, sitting with him in his booth, poor fellow, all of us talking at the same time. The people at the booth behind him were shaking their heads in amusement. The clerks gaped. We poured out our stories, answered his questions. He blessed us. We thanked him, told him to get out on a bike, and left.

Well, before we left I said, "Nice talking to you," and Jan said, "well, AT you," which cracked us up. We find ourselves stupidly entertaining at times. Maybe it's all the ice cream. Maybe it's the miles. We're probably not as funny as we think we are, but it doesn't matter. We rode 93 miles and that feels good.

We're in Mariana tonight. The truth is, we're at a motel near the interstate and we could be anywhere. I'm glad to be off the bike. I'm glad to stop, hop in the pool, take a nap, jot you a note. Later we'll have dinner in our parking lot and then we'll go to sleep and then get up and have breakfast in our parking lot and then we'll get on our bikes and ride some more. I spend an inordinate amount of time in parking lots these days.

We're almost done. Not quite, but almost.

Until tomorrow,
Cheers,
Laurey

Sunshine State

2009-04-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

This is yesterday's picture, but you probably don't mind. Connie (near the road), me, Jan.

Jan and Connie and I were riding yesterday and when we came to this sign Jan started screaming and yelling and pounding her fists into the air. I, for one, have been excited every time we cross a state line, but this one really got her.

Connie and I were happy, don't get me wrong but Jan was dancing with glee.

There we were, the three of us, on a pretty busy highway. And by now we want pictures with all of us in them but there were no other riders around. Hmm... I moved into the spot under the sign, Jan followed and so did Connie (I don't know what we were all thinking) but just then Janet Bee, the day's SAG driver, pulled up.

Perfect! A photographer!

She snapped pictures for all of us. We snapped some of her. And then she went off to take care of her charges and we kept riding.

Today we left the coast and rode into the interior of the panhandle. A mere speck of a ride. 56 miles. Easy schmeezy.

We're in Crestview now. We stopped for lunch at a little independent restaurant here and asked the waitress what we should see that was cute. She said, "I don't know, let me ask in the kitchen." (She had just told us she's lived here for 15 years so I thought that was a curious answer.) But she came back saying, "If you're looking for cute, the chef says to come into the kitchen!"

So I did.

Turns out Michael (of Michael's) was a sweet fellow and that began a bantering, sharing, fun little conversation about who we were and why we are doing this funny thing. Most impressed were the youngsters waiting on tables. Our group IS impressive, even if we show up in small groups. 42 - 70 years old. All women. Riding across the United States. Sheesh. Who WOULDN'T be impressed?

Riding through back country, red clay, thick pines, lush ferns today gave me plenty of time to review. Time to think. My bike worked fine, odometer kept track. New derailleur cable held up. Wandering around in my thoughts. What will I do when I get back? How will I adjust to being off my bike? How will I take this experience with me? How will I give it away? I do not know the answers to any of these questions. Will I? When?

Our motel has a big pool. Want to go for a swim? I'm on the 3rd floor and my room has a blacony. The pool is right below. My roommate just came in and suggested we just jump in. I suggested a big two person cannonball. Okay - maybe not.

Tomorrow is a 90 miler. One of two more big rides.
Oh boy!

I'm in Florida!!!!!!!

2009-04-21T15:21:00.000-07:00

Made it. Rode my bicycle all the way to Florida. FLORIDA!

Chased by sharks and massacred by ferry-hovering mosquitoes, we managed to escape from the allure of Dauphin Island and the Alabama coast early this morning. It is REALLY beautiful here (there.)

We crossed into Florida at mile 27, I think. WHAT a change. Actually, I messed up my odometer yesterday by trying to reset it. BIG mistake. It was saying we were going 6 miles an hour and, when Connie's said we had ridden for 20 miles, mine was saying we'd gone 5. Ugh. I rely on the thing because our ride cue sheets are all based on mileage. And Connie relies on ME so much that she never even consults her cue sheet (which is fine with me, I like paying attention in this way.)

Also, I have been having some trouble with my derailler since my arm warmer crash. It has been getting worse and worse and today I could only ride in a few gears without having the unpleasant grinding noise of my chain rubbing against my front derailleur. I got myself into quite a snit about the two things. I KNEW we were getting to bike shop - at mile 55 - but could NOT let the stupid annoyance about the grinding and the odometer go.

I made my threesome stop twice and I tried to fix it but it just wasn't having any of it. We DID stop for a fine lunch of fried oysters and shrimp at mile 41 and I called home (go Liberty Bikes!) and Ben told me how to fix it. Whew! And then 14 miles later, we DID get to the bike shop and the mechanic removed my old, almost-completely-frayed cable, replaced it, and sent me on my way. 10 minutes - MAX. $18.00. Wow!

And then, I got to be a momentary celebrity. The Asheville paper is doing a story on me and the ride and the writer lives here. We met yesterday but the photographer caught up with us this afternoon as we rode into Pensacola. What a riot!!! He sat in the back of a truck while his driver navigated. He snapped a WHOLE lot of photographs. A LOT. And he had me ride way back and up close and next to the truck and he snapped and snapped and snapped and it was a total gas. Connie and Jan and I rode and laughed and he snapped away. It was really fun. Really. I think the article will be in the paper this week. If you live in Asheville, keep an eye out. And if you don't I'll let you know and maybe my friend Dara the computer genius will link it up here.

Anyway - it's truly amazing to be in Florida with my red Trek and my teal toes and my banged up body. We're almost done. 9 more days of riding. Flat days. Days of sun and wind and some more adventures, I'd guess.

I'll be in touch tomorrow from Crestview - hot spot of Florida.
Cheers,
Laurey

A Video from Laurey

2009-04-21T03:37:00.000-07:00

We were unable to find the embed code on the video so here a link to a video from Laurey to you. http://sharing.theflip.com/session/079ba3f5e076d3633117faf48887ca02/video/3852709

Teal Toes go to Florida

2009-04-21T03:30:00.000-07:00

,

I took advantage of our day off to redo my toes. They were looking a little shabby and, well, we're in the homestretch now and I'll need to be showing my toes off a bit more SO I got some toenail polish remover from Connie and reapplied the beauty.

I met six hilarious folks from Kentucky who are here on Dauphin Island for a vacation. We had a nice visit on the day we all got here and so, by yesterday, we were buddies. A reporter from Pensacola came to meet up with me and the six of them heckled in the distance, politely. No need to take any of this too seriously, right? After the reporter left the six brought me beer and wild drinks they had concocted in their condominium blender. And after that it seemed fine for me to reveal my toes and borrow Sharon's new, perfectly matched flip flops. I mean - PERFECT! Darvin and Freida and Helen and Mike and Bob. Very nice people. Very.

Teal, as you must know by now, it the ovarian cancer color. Don't you think this would be a fine poster? I do!

Today we're off, out of Alabama, over Mobile Bay on a ferry, and on to Florida. FLORIDA y'all!
Ten more days. TEN. Pensacola. Crestview. Quincy. Wakulla Springs. Perry. High Springs. Palatka. St. Augustine.

Asheville.

Some more biking. Some more thinking. And then home, where this journey started and, now, where it will really, truly - begin.

I'll tell you some more later on today.

Laurey

21 riders, 58 days from ocean to ocean

2009-04-19T18:16:00.001-07:00

I thought you might enjoy this write up on our bike ride.

http://www.hammondstar.com/articles/2009/04/19/top_stories/8989.txt

At the Gulf of Mexico

2009-04-19T11:42:00.000-07:00

We're on the Gulf!

Rode into Alabama earlier this morning and wasted no time getting right to the Shrimp! We're now on Dauphin Island, the first place that migrating birds reach when they fly north from South America. Bird watching is a big deal here. The gang is planning an early morning excursion tomorrow. I'll see. I might join in or I might sleep in.

Our accommodations are pretty swank. We're at The Dauphin Island Beach Club. I have been assigned a King Sized bed and it turns out to be the Master Suite. Gigantic bathroom, huge bed, private entrance to the pool and really easy access to the beach. I can look out the window (the huge window) in my room and see dunes and then, just beyond, the Gulf. Right now the waves are big, pounding and roaring. There are storms around and, though we missed riding in the rain (I TOLD them so), the recent atmospheric upset has caused the waters to be pretty active. I might try body surfing. Or beach walking. Or both.

Riding today was a breeze. 42 miles miles is really nothing. Just enough to get the muscles moving and the blood flowing. Just enough to get a little further East on this trip, this constant movement East. East. East. Here we go. Still.

An interesting thing about endurance is that it takes a lot to keep it up. Today everyone seemed really cranky. We've now been together enough that the politeness has left. People spout out whatever they think. The filters are gone. And the sore parts that some people have are flaring up to be worse than annoyances. Some people are limping. Ice packs are used in abundance. When we crested the last peak it seemed like the hardest part was done. I remember going over Emory Pass and thinking, "well it's all downhill now."

Not so.

Endurance means sticking with it. Even now. Even now when the mileage is not daunting and and the terrain is, actually, to some, monotonous. This, really, is the hard part. This sticking to the plan is tricky. CAN I find beauty in this landscape? CAN I be nice when I feel annoyed? CAN I rise above the discomfort? Can I continue to find the lessons, the inspiration, the reason when I am surrounded by grumpiness? So far I can. I'm finding solace inside, inside myself, where the message of what I am doing and why I am doing it resides.

And I'm happy to have a day of quiet on a beach on the Gulf of Mexico. I cannot believe I got here on my bicycle. From San Diego. And that when I leave I will go to Florida for the final stretch. I met a woman today at the store (buying postcards) and she was amazed and stunned. I forget that this IS amazing and stunning. It's good to run into amazed people. It reminds me.

Say - if you don't mind, I have a request:
I really want to go on the Ellen (deGeneres) show so that I can talk about this bike ride and what it has meant to me to be a 20 year ovarian cancer survivor doing this project. So, if it's not too much to ask, and you are so inclined, maybe you could write her a note and tell you think it'd be a good idea for her to have me on as a guest. (Go to Ellen.com). And if you know anyone who knows anyone who has any pull with NBC or Ellen - and you don't mind - maybe you could mention this to them. The ride ends on April 30 and so time is of the essence. Though, come to think of it, September is ovarian cancer awareness month so that'd be a good time too.

Thanks. Thank you for everything.
I'll send you a picture of the beach tomorrow.

Until then,
Cheers,
Laurey

When in doubt

2009-04-18T12:10:00.000-07:00

Today was another easy one. And maybe I am getting used to this, or maybe it's the short distance (68 miles) and the flatness (very flat) and today's relatively smooth roads (mostly "BUTTER!!!"), but I'm just not ravenously hungry like I was at the beginning. Still, the sight of the SAG vehicle makes all of us cavort and chortle and exclaim.

"SAG!"

We are still able to eat anything we want: doritos, orange wedges, fig newtons, apple slices, chocolate milk, and potato chips - not to mention the last bite of yesterday's biker bar and the remains of yesterday's peanut butter and raisin sandwich. I actually ate that exact snack today. When energy sags, put more stuff in.

It works. Today's ride was into the wind but it seemed just fine. I discovered that if you take it easy, the wind is less oppressive. I've been trying to figure this out. One might think that riding harder would mean that you get done earlier, hence the day is over faster, hence that's a good thing. Turns out not to be so - at least for me.

Today my foursome turned into a threesome. Jan, Connie and I rode together, agreeing to take it a bit easier. Jan was feeling sluggish today. Connie was chipper, happy to have had her massage yesterday (given BY Jan, not TO Jan - sorry about the lack of good editing in yesterday's note). I was, well, feeling just fine.

Threats of rain (in the various internet forecasts) turned out to be just threats, which I had decided not to pay attention to anyway. I sniffed the air this morning and decided to leave my rain jacket in the SAG vehicle - just in case. (Remember, I go with the 80% chance of NO rain). And, indeed, there was no rain. No worries. It did get windy toward the end of the ride but we slowed down and I tried to just let go and not fight it. It worked! Less effort, less stress, much more comfort, much less exhaustion. We rolled in about 1/2 hour behind the front runners who we found in the lobby, waiting to check in. Hmmm....glad we didn't rush.

We are much closer to the Gulf now. As usual we are in a motel near a highway so we can't really see much of anything. But I just checked the map and yes, we are near water. We crossed over a big bridge to get here and saw boats and boating things and the air is salty and moist. Tomorrow we continue, hugging the coast and moving into Alabama. We'll spend the next couple of days at Dauphin Island. A day on the beach. A day to review some more.

I'll let you know how that turns out when the times comes.
Thanks for being a part of this journey with me.
Laurey

Riding into Mississippi

2009-04-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

Nothing snazzy about today.

60 miles.
Green, green, green. More green.
Water, water, water. More water.

Rough roads.
Rough roads.
More rough roads.

And then - BUTTER! (smooth roads).

We were teased. Rough roads were punctuated by smooth so we came up with a new road nomenclature.

"Pat of butter" (a tiny section of smoothness)
"Stick of butter" (1/4 mile or so of smoothness)
"Pound of butter" (a longer stretch)
"Case of butter!!!" (can't see the end of the smooth section)

This is what we do on a day of medium length and marginal difficulty.

60 miles is now nothing. Hardly worth a note. Today's forecast suggested wind and rain, but not until later in the afternoon. 20% chance of rain, the report warned. To me, that meant 80% chance of no rain. Winds might get to 20 mph. Or they might not. It didn't rain. The wind was never a problem. Lessons learned for later. Why worry? It might NOT do the thing that scares you.

Four of us started out together. Jan was worried about dogs. Sherry was worried about the rain. Connie was tired. I, well, I wasn't worried or tired. When we encountered dogs Jan learned how to use her whistle - very effectively, it turns out - and she is not worried about dogs anymore. Sherry took off, hoping to beat the rain. Connie poked along with me and Jan is going to have a massage later and that will make her feel better. At lunch after today's ride Sherry was talking about tomorrow's forecast already and is going to try to get going early and to ride really fast to try to beat the rain - again.

Not me. I'll take what comes. Makes it that much more interesting. I mean, if it was all a breeze, well, where's the texture in that? I'll take the bumps and the rain and, yes, even the wind. If it rains I'll get wet. Or I'll have another story to tell. Or it will be a chance to think about how I'm on my bike and not in a hospital. It'll all be fine. It is right now, after all.

Okey doke. I'll jot a note tomorrow from Pascagoula, Mississippi. (Aren't these names fun?)

Riding to Bogalusa, Louisiana

2009-04-16T12:34:00.000-07:00

I rode by myself today. A first. A good thing to do. I like riding with the other three. But today we passed a Wildlife Park and I wanted to go in. The others didn't. So we parted.

As it turned out, the Wildlife Park's tours were completely booked. Masses of school children filled every possible seat in the cars and so the three of us who had wanted to try to get a better look at the animals were foiled. From a distance it was possible to see Llamas and Emus and Camels and odd deer of the African Veldt variety. (Elands, Dik Diks, exotic things, all.) And it was also possible to see the tractor-pulled cars loaded with screaming kids all tossing pellets of exotic animal feed at the Reindeer and the Antelopes and the Bison.

I'm glad the tour was full.

By the time the three of us who were trying to get on a tour were escorted out of the park (the animals all run free and the people are all confined to cars - and bicycles are not allowed unless tucked into a car or truck) the other three I usually ride with had moved on. Which left me riding with Nancy and Carol for a short time, but I ride faster than they do so I ended up passing them and riding on alone.

The countryside is beautiful here today. It's very green. They had rain recently, probably on that tornado day. All the rivers are above their banks, the water, swirls of mud and sticks. Leaves are fully out now and the roads, country lanes for the most part, were lined with buttercups and clover and verbena and some odd little white thing that I've never seen before.

And riding alone was a new experience. No one to rely on for the turns. No one to share the lead. No one to rest behind. No one, for that matter, to inconvenience. No one cared if I stopped to put on my sweater or stopped to take it off. I did both a few times just for the novelty of it. And, no surprise, there was no one to exclaim to, to sing to, to chortle with, to become annoyed by. No one to get to share the day with. No one to have to share it with either.

This, as I said, is our last day in Louisiana. I'm starting to think about going home, about returning to my life. I'm starting to wonder about it all, about the important things, the simple things, the conclusions, the things I want to have forever and the things I want to forget (there's not much in that category.)

This trip has been and continues to be a life-changer. But to what? For what? I guess that is something I can't know yet. As I figure it out, well, you know what will happen by now, don't you?

In the meantime, I'll be in touch tomorrow. From Mississippi.

YUM!!

2009-04-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

Oh yesterday was a fine one. A fine one indeed.

I had company and St. Francisville was the perfect host spot. We stayed in an old b+b (the norm in this lovely little town), walked around v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y, drank a cup of coffee that lasted for an hour or so, walked a little bit more, visited with biker gals we saw, all of whom were walking at our pace or riding around, slowly.

Of of the many highlights of the day was lunch. Lunch at an Exxon station. My first experience of this sort. But we wanted to eat some crawfish and this, we were told, was the place to do so. We ordered a pound and the fellow tossed them into a paper bag which he nested in a plastic bag.

"These take sauce?" I asked.

"'s on it already," he said.

Annie went and got us a couple of Coronas and we sat at the only table on that side of the Exxon Station and opened up our bag. Annie had a swiss army knife so that took care of the beers.

"Know how to eat those?" a cowboy-looking guy drawled.

I knew but it seemed like a good conversation so I suggested he show us, and anyway, Annie had never had them and there's nothing like advice from someone who is offering it.

"Break off the tail," he demonstrated, "take off this top shell, grab the meat and eat it. And then you suck the head."

Okay.

That, in a few words, was lunch. Extraordinarily delicious. Very fun. And highly entertaining too. The heads are particularly flavorful. By the way.

Turns out the cowboy IS a cowboy, a performer from Oklahoma who was in town to perform at the Angola Prison Rodeo. He has trained longhorns that jump up on a flatbed truck. Sort of like the Royal Lippizaner Stallions. But a little bit different.

More walking. Visit to the place where Audobon painted some pictures. He was only there for 3 months but did 80 paintings. Whewf! We sat in the barnyard and watched ducks run around. Never went into the mansion. It was pretty nice outside and neither of us was interested in furniture.

Dinner, out, was good too. Gumbo, Grilled Peaches, Crawfish Etouffee.

Yum.

Today, just now, I rode 88 miles. Seemed like nothing.
A day off is good.
A visit from a gal who loves food and wandering and going very slowly as much as I do is a fine thing too.

And lunch at an Exxon station and advice from a cowboy, well, sometimes that can be the culinary highlight of a day off. This was.

I'll tell you some more things tomorrow.
For now - ciao,
Laurey

A day off

2009-04-14T07:59:00.000-07:00

I'm in St. Francisville, Louisiana.

Sorry about not writing last night. Long day. Lots of miles, beautiful, but plentiful.

Now I'm on vacation for a day.
This will be short because there are things to do , boudin and crawfish to sample, antebellum mansions to visit, including the one where Audobon painted many of his Birds of America series.

Here I am crossing the Mississippi.

Life is good.
I'll be in touch tomorrow.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Stopped by a tornado

2009-04-12T15:40:00.000-07:00

Nope. I did not ride all the miles today. Connie and I started out at 7:30. Skies were grey. Ominous looking. Winds were strong. And they got stronger. We rode. We rode a lot. And the winds got stronger and stronger. The ride, 83 miles, at one point seemed impossible to me. The wind was so strong that we were pedaling in place. It was not fun. It seemed grueling. And we kept it up.

Connie boosted me. I, her. Sherry had left much earlier, wanting to skip ahead of the storms. Connie and I ate breakfast and then left.

And the winds got stronger as we went.

We made it to mile 43 and I thought we had it. We had managed to figure it out, to find ways to pedal hard during the blasts, to work with the wind when we could.

We made it to mile 56 and I thought we had it. Less than 30 to go. Completely doable. But we stopped for a break and I noticed the tv with a weather warning. A Tornado warning. And that was it.

I do not want to be picked up by a tornado. I don't know how these things work, but I do know that I did not want to experience my first one on my bicycle. So we decided to stop. And then we helped collect all the other folks who were still out on the road. By that time the skies were filled with lightening and thunder and the winds were roaring and I was glad to be in the van even though it meant we did not ride all the miles today.

20 miles missed.
But, on the other hand, we're alive. Not flying somewhere out of control.

Sherry made it and so did two others.
Connie and I missed the 20 miles.
But not really.

I'll be in touch tomorrow.

(Oh, this picture is of me and Ann, one of the riders/SAG drivers. She gave me some road-find beads. And they match my teal toenails. NICE!)

Bye bye Texas

2009-04-11T14:52:00.000-07:00

Well, Louisiana did not have a "Welcome to Louisiana" sign and, when we first rode into Texas THEY didn't have a sign either. So, um, this is today's Goodbye to Texas snap. And the photo of the road sign of Louisiana with a number of it (the route) didn't seem very dramatic, so here you go.

We are not in Texas any more. And the introduction to LA hasn't exactly been stellar, but a day is a day and that's what happens. Texas, lord love it, finished itself out with some smooth roads, not the dreaded Chip Seal. We all scream "BUTTER!!!" when we leave chip seal and start riding on smooth concrete. And of course, today's Texas finale was almost ALL smooth as butter concrete. AND someone had cleaned all the roadsides in Texas and there was no litter and all the drivers were nice and, well, I almost hated to leave.

And then, immediately, Louisiana's roads were awful. Chunky, sloppy, littered. Yuck. But, what can you do. A day is a day and a road is a road and, as we see, that's what happens. So it goes. So it goes.

We ARE in Bayou country now. We've seen our first mangrove swamp. Our first airboat. Our first pile of mud that looks like someone has been making little sand castles - and they, as it turns out, are breathing holes for crawfish. Who knew?

We have now ridden over the first round of bridges. We've smelled the first salty air, felt the first humidity. More firsts await.

I've stopped trying to predict any of this. No worrying about rain or lightening or things that are, truly, out of my hands. My job, my choice right now, is to get up, get on my bike, and ride. Every day. As many miles as I can. I think about those who can't and that makes me forget about the multiple bruises I now sport. I think, today, about Shayla, a little brave girl at Jubilee. She's battling neuroblastoma, whatever the heck that is. She's four. How can that be possible? In a few days she will go to have a bone marrow transplant. Her mother tells me I am an inspiration. And I say that Shayla is. The pictures of her are heartbreaking. The sweetest smile, the purest rays of love pour out of her.

So I ride. Today, for Shayla.

Today for love.
Today for hope.
Today.

Tomorrow is Easter. And though that whole story was not part of what I grew up with, I believe that there is reason, always, to be moved by mystery and so, in that spirit, I share this ride with you too. Think of Shayla on the 20th.

Hot times in Texas

2009-04-10T13:09:00.000-07:00

I figured out how to use the ethernet connection!! This was lunchtime at Mama Jack's restaurant today. 9 miles from the day's destination in Silsbee. Yee Ha! It's hot. Deep Soputh here we come.

Silsbee, Texas

2009-04-10T12:13:00.000-07:00

Well, there is no wireless internet connection here that I can find and the ethernet cable does not connect to my computer, at least in any way I can figure out. So my roommate has loaned me her Apple and I'm going to write a note to you on it - but that means no pictures. It was a kind of a slow photo day anyway. I'd taken a picture of some Texas things but nothing dramatic or so compelling that I feel horrible about not being able to show them to you.

And, considering the drama of yesterday, it was kind of an uneventful day today all around, which, frankly, was just fine with me, thank you very much. I woke up stiff and aching and bruised and if I'd been home I might have just said, "how 'bout we take it EASY today" but I'm not home and taking it easy, by laying around, is not an option. We have a mobile life here and if I didn't ride I'd still have to pack, ride - in a van - unpack. Riding seemed the better option.

And riding was fine. 63 miles. Easy. Flat or really easy rises and falls. 1 degree climbs. Compared the the 18 degree combs of our recent days, today might as well have been flat.

Fine by me. Just fine.

So it's not really a "rest day" but I'm resting, doing my laundry, mailing things back home, things like my heavy fleece and my down jacket. It's in the 80s here and I think I'm done with those extra warm layers.

And it is early enough that a nap is an option and that sounds pretty good to me.

Cheers to you all. And thank you for your notes. I really am fine.

Oh - we rode by a small church today with one of those changeable signs out front. It said, "Never pass up an opportunity to say I love you." Nice, yes? Keep that in mind. Life is a fragile and important thing. Don't forget.

Oh it was a big day

2009-04-09T14:05:00.001-07:00

Okay. The END of the story is, I'm fine.

Now - the story.

I fell today. And I wrecked my bike. And, remember the beginning, I am fine.

See, it was hot this morning but sort of cloudy and looking like it might rain and looking like it might get cold EVEN THOUGH the weather report said it was going to just get warmer than the 61 degrees it started out at. And the rule of thumb in this regard is you are supposed to start out a little chilly because you warm up when you ride.

But I listened to my internal worrier and put on my arm warmers (these are like long gloves without the fingers), disregarding all signs that were telling me I would not need them. And sure enough, almost as soon as we started riding, I got hot. At only 4 miles into the ride. And even though our foursome has said, again and again, DON'T APOLOGIZE for asking for something, like wanting to stop, I didn't want to make everyone stop when we had just gotten started so, instead of stopping or asking for everyone else to stop so I could take off a layer of clothing, I decided to take off my arm warmers while I was riding.

Big mistake.

I slipped them down to my wrists and, still not cool enough and still not wanting to make everyone stop for me, I took them off, one at a time and, one at a time, tucked them into my jersey pockets, the ones at my lower back. So far so good. Except not really, because one of them was not really in the pocket and when I straightened out my jacket, one of the arm warmers slipped and went onto my back wheel and fell down right into my derailleur. And that, my friends, meant that I came to a stop. Instantly.

And that, as you might imagine, is a bad thing, instantly stopping while riding. I went down, landing on my left knee, my left elbow, all the things on the left side of me. And the arm warmer, tangled in the rear derailleur, broke the thing, bending it up and out and, well, in completely the wrong place for it to be. I bent my handlebars, bent my left brake lever, my left everything. And that was it for riding my bike.

The way this got to be a good story with a good ending is that Marci, a rider from New York City who is riding for the Davis Phinney Fund for Parkinson's Disease, has a boyfriend named Michael who is here visiting for a couple of days and right after I fell she showed up and so did everyone else and we created quite a spectacle there on the side of the road. Enough so that even the Sherriff stopped and THEN we were a BIG scene. Jan got out her first aid kit and gave me some antiseptic cleaning pads and some ointment and we cleaned my skinned knee and shin. And Marci called Michael and Michael came (we had only gone 4 miles) and just then so did Nancy, the SAG driver for the day. In a very short time a decision was made, not completely by me (I was not exactly thinking very clearly right then), that Michael would take me back to the motel, where I would get Nancy's (the SAG driver) bike and Michael would take my bike to the bike store to get it fixed. Michael is a rider too and knows what he's doing and, well, that seemed okay, sort of, I mean, aside from letting a stranger spend his whole day fixing my bike and me getting on someone else's bike and continuing to ride. So that's what happened. Michael and Carol and Linda (the staff gals) helped me fit onto Nancy's bike and Michael took me and Nancy's bike to where my three friends had gotten to - about 9 miles beyond where I left them. I got on Nancy's bike and Michael left with my banged up Trek. Total elapsed time: 30 minutes. Maybe.

So I got to ride Nancy's bike today, all but 9 miles of the day's 72. Michael ended up taking my Trek to three different stores to get it fixed and now it is back and I am clean, though kind of bruised and more than a little bit sore.

But nothing on me really broke. And the broken things on the bike are fixed. And Michael is an angel, a Guardian Angel. And so is Nancy. And so are my three buddies who took care of me when I rejoined them. Not to mention Linda and Carol, the staffers, and Marci and all of the other riders who have all hugged me and have expressed wonder and commiseration as the day has gone on.

And now I'm sitting on my bed writing to you. I think it is going to have to be okay that I am not going to be able to ride those 9 miles right now. I think I'll be okay with that. Maybe I'll ride some other 9 mile stretch sometime. Maybe. Maybe not. Frankly, I grateful to be here, safe, clean, and just a little bit scratched.

Oh, today I saw two Great Blue Herons and, when I arrived, Marci gave me a penny. Gifts of my spirit guides.

Masterton. Over and out.
I'll be in touch tomorrow.

A clean bike is a happy bike

2009-04-08T12:52:00.000-07:00

I never knew how to clean a bike before. Actually, I used to take my bike to the bike shop to have THEM clean it. Imagine! Now I find it ever so satisfying to take a long time to go over every inch of my little red TREK, scouring it, loving it. There is a great product called Simple Green that we have. It takes away grease and is non toxic. My kind of cleaner.

There is a certain order I follow when cleaning my bike, a certain method I now have that puts me in a quiet place. Today's session was particularly satisfying because for a long time I was all by myself in the parking lot. Now there are a number of riders, all cleaning bikes, sharing tips. giving help, having fun, but not being completely quiet. Not being meditative.

I opened the trailer, set up up bike stand, put my bike up on it, and began the cleaning. The chain, the rear cassette, the chain ring, the toe cleats, the frame, the brakes. I strip the bike first, taking off all the bags and bottles and it looks so fresh and new and unencumbered. I don't carry a lot of gear, but still, when I get it ready for cleaning, it seems so innocent. I have spent a lot of time with this machine in these past weeks and I feel very attached to it.

My bike is now pristine once again. The chain ring is clean, the cassette, glistening. All the cogs of the chain are clean and have new lubrication. All the metal-touching-metal junctions are siliconed. I've gone over the tires, the brakes, the spokes, the frame.

A rest day is a good thing. I had a massage. I ate lunch. I cleaned my bike. I will have dinner later. I might have a nap now. Tomorrow we're back to it. I'm ready, with not-so-tired legs and a very clean bike.

Cheers for now.
Laurey

Those Texas Bluebonnets

2009-04-07T15:44:00.000-07:00

Here we are in Bluebonnet country. Oh it is a glorious time to be here. Lady Bird Johnson left quite a legacy - flowers, flowers everywhere. And NOW is the time to be here. Right now. And here we are. In Bluebonnet Land.

Tra la.

The fields are full of these blue babies. From a distance there is a blue haze. On close inspection one finds scads, loads, heaps, piles. of them. And there are Indian Paintbrush which are orange and evening Primrose which are a lovely light pink. And Coreopsis are yellow and it goes on and one. The red dots the middle of a blue sweep. The yellow masses behind. Red. Blue. Yellow. My favorites. Laid out and huge bunches. Oh beauty. Oh beauty.

Before I left I heard a prayer:
Beauty in front of me.
Beauty behind me.
Beauty above me.
Beauty below me.
Beauty to my left and beauty on my right.

Today was that. Surrounded, surrounded by this color. And then all of it dotted on a huge background of rich green. Don't forget the green. The palette. Bliss. Bliss.

Sherry and Connie and Jan and I rode all together today. 70 miles or so. Rolling out of the hill country, no major climbs, no major descents. Just rolling and rolling and the green, ever green rich and thick and dotted with cows and bulls and calfs jumping around and sleeping horses and belted Galloway cows (the ones with the thick white band surrounded by black) and Brahmas and other odd types.

This is a beautiful place.

We stopped in Independence for lunch at the Independence Grocery Store. Sassy times reading the hot sauces and spice mixes with nasty little names. And, just off the bikes and full of ourselves we, as usual, created a scene. We were so happy to be out and warm and strong and headed to a rest day. And though I, for one, have enjoyed this Texas experience, it is also true that in two or three days we will leave and that, my friends, is a major accomplishment. A full third of this trip is Texas. Stunning.

Now the gang waits for dinner, happily chirping away down below my second story room. We tuck into our plastic chairs and drink a beer and visit and it is a fine day and most everyone rode and my laundry is done and what they all DON'T know is that my crew from "Laurey's" sent brownies and congo bars and that is tonight's dessert. Ha!! Fun surprise.

So tomorrow we loll around and then hop back on for more.

Right now it's time for dinner.
Tell someone you love them. It's that kind of a day.

Cheers,
Laurey

2009-04-06T12:44:00.000-07:00

Thank heavens for an easy day. I was wondering why I felt so "sloggy" this morning and then realized I had ridden 90 some odd miles yesterday. That'll take it out of a girl, I'll tell you. This trip was supposed to be "an average of 60 miles per day." Well, what that REALLY means is that there are 90 mile days and 40 mile days and other mile days too. All AVERAGE 60, but on a day to day basis, "average" loses its meaning.

90 is a lot. 40, not so much. Thankfully!!

Today started in the Bastrop State Park, a glorious creation of the glaciers, which deposited some special soils in the area, making it a perfect spot for some odd pine trees. Those pine trees are not found in other areas, just right there. Indeed, as we rode out, 16 miles after entering the park, we came into rolling meadows, horse farms, pastures, and open land. And we'd just been tucked into the woods, rolling and climbing up steep pitches and down precipitous drops. FUN! (It might have been a little early - first thing on a Monday morning to go rolling up and down like that, but by and large it was a romp.)

We're now in La Grange. This is where the real Chicken Ranch once was, THAT chicken ranch, the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. There are plenty of like-named businesses in the area, a salon called the Best Little Hairhouse in Texas...as so on. Did you know I did a short stint as a dresser on Broadway? My job was helping those sweaty football player/dancer/whorehouse visiting chorus boys out of and into their costumes. Can you say sweaty dance belt?

I digress.

Tomorrow is another rest day. Seems awfully soon, since we just rested in Kerrville, but frankly, I am tired today and will not mind a day to get a little more recovery into my legs. I've tried massaging them myself but I'm not very good at it. Hopefully I can find someone ELSE who will not fall asleep while she/he works on my legs. I hope.

Anyway - short note today. We were tired. We rode. We're here. Short story.

Tomorrow might provide more.
Cheers,
Laurey

90 miles to Bastrop

2009-04-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

Oh me oh my.

Another near epic day. Okay, not really epic, but certainly one that shall be remembered years from now when I think back on this journey.

To start with, the day's ride was listed as 92 miles. And, as usual, we scoured the weather stations and weather underground and the NOAA site and any other weather source we could get our hands on to see what we had in store. The first part, the temperature, is now the least of our concerns. I mean, we look, see, and store away the 54 at 7am, 64 at 10am, 74 at 1pm and 84 at 4pm information. File it. And then we turn to the wind direction. That, along with the direction the wind is coming from are two key pieces of information. And then I hop on google maps and compare the cue sheet (which tells the exact roads and all the turns) with the map, noting which roads are headed north, east, north by northeast and so on.

Today's ride headed south at first, then east, then north, then east and then, finally south. The wind, listed as 15 - 20 was to come from the north. Gulp. 90 miles, much of it coming from the side or, for a good chunk of time and miles, right at us.

Nothing to be done about it. We got on the bikes at first light after, for me, an extra large serving of steel cut oatmeal with brown sugar, raisins, butter (a big chunk of it) and milk. This breakfast keeps me going for quite a while, both quickly and then, slowly, releasing the more complex sugars and carbs, throughout the morning.

Part 1 was lovely. We're still in Hill Country and today took us past all the postcard pictures we had seen at all the shops. Beautiful rivers, dams, limestone-lined creeks. We had a slight cross wind, but nothing terrible. Just before lunch, 30 miles from lunch actually, we turned and had a major boost of a blast of a ride, whooshing along with that 20 mile an hour tail wind. JOY!!!

Lunch. "Whataburger." Not bad. Not great. Nice to have a stop.

And then, the work started. We rode north briefly, right into the wind, and then turned east and had a wind for then next 25 miles that hit on the left temple. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. This is called slogging, not riding. It is meditation, it calls on everything I can find inside myself to keep pedaling, keep going, keep remembering that this is an important ride, and important project and to stop would be a decision I would always regret.

I kept going. Kept going. Kept going.

Sherry had taken off and then Jan did too so it was just Connie and me, trading the lead, telling a few stories, looking for signs that we were doing this hard, hard thing. And we kept it up and the miles passed and we kept pedaling and the wind did not stop and we did not either and then we came over a rise and saw seven more rises laid out for the next couple of miles and we kept pedaling and made it to the top of the last rise and saw five more laid out for the next mile and we kept going and kept our feet moving and saw more rises and rode more miles and stopped for a bite of sandwich or, for Connie, a blood check and then we rode more and some more and just a little bit more.

The two of us stuck it out. We're now here. I'm going to take a shower. Dinner will be soon.
We rode 90 miles today.

I decided that today's ride is for the main organization I am raising money for. The Ovarian Cancer National Alliance (OCNA) is behind me all the way. With the money I raise they will keep doing what they do - advocating for more funds to be spent on ovarian cancer research; helping spread the word about the importance of understanding the early warning signs for ovarian cancer; working with medical schools to help new doctors understand these things.

If you have not joined me and would like to, I would be honored to accept your donation. My goal is $50,000.00. Before the ride started I had gathered some $33,000.00. If you'd like to join me, send a check written to Jubilee (my church, which is holding the funds for me) and write Laurey Bikes in the memo line. Then send the check to Jubilee, 46 Wall Street, Asheville, NC 28801.

And thank you for reading these words of mine and for writing notes to me. They do get to me and I hold them close.

I'll tell you some more tomorrow.

Cheers,
Laurey

Still in Hill Country

2009-04-04T15:42:00.000-07:00

I'm in Blanco, Texas tonight. Hill Country. Lavender country, though we're a bit early for that. And, due to a drought, though we are also in Bluebonnet Country, we might not get to see any.

Today's ride, a gorgeous and perfectly manageable 64 mile jaunt, took us through limestone, more limestone. It's drier here than it was when we were lower down. We've climbed back up a bit now and it's arid and, today, hot.

Comfort, Texas is a cutie pie stop where we ate German pastries and bantered with the saleswoman/owner. She was sarcastic and funny and we tossed it right back to her, which made her laugh out loud and shake her head at our audacity. We're always ready with a smart retort, at least I find myself in that spot a lot these days. And, well, we're not FROM here so that's a license for a smarty-pants and, though I don't often let these smarty-pants thoughts OUT in the rest of my life, they seem to be escaping with reckless abandon. It's fun for a change.

And Blanco is a one street town of cute stores and lavender this and lavender that. We had some superlative barbecued beef brisket here along with beans and coleslaw and, for me, an icy cream soda. Hit the spot. And we ran into Brian, a fellow who is riding alone across the country. He knew we were out here and had been hoping to find us. We know of two men from Alaska and one guy from Ohio who are riding now too. And the other day we ran across 4 men who are doing this route from east to west. It's interesting. We compare stories, backgrounds, whys.

Tomorrow we go along some more in Texas. Have I mentioned recently how big Texas is? When we get to Alabama or Mississippi, two days each, we'll not know what to do. I have to say that any preconceived notions I had have all been smashed to bits. This is a beautiful part of the world and I am, still, delighted to be riding my bike on top of these old rocks and through these old hills.

Tomorrow is also a long ride. 94 miles. I'll tell you all about it when I get finished with the ride.
Cheers, until then.

Oh, this picture is for my two sisters, Heather and Lucinda. They've been following these reports and I screeched to a stop to pose in front of this sign. Hello sisters dear!!!
(Love to you both!)
Laurey

2009-04-02T15:35:00.000-07:00

Oh oh oh What a day THIS was! Here we thought we had it all under control. Connie and Sherry and Jan and I had gotten ourselves all geared up, as usual, for what we thought was going to be a fairly easy last day of this stretch. I mean, the four of us made it all 111 miles the other day. The four of us had ridden all the miles the next day and the next day. And today was supposed to be just another little 50 miler. No sweat.

Except that in the middle of the night last night we heard a roar that turned out to be the wind coming in from the northeast. Well, our direction today was northeast. NOT a good combination. Yesterday we had a 40 mile day and much of IT was into the wind and up three very steep hills. But the four of us had done well on that section so, though we were AWARE of the weather, we all hopped on our bikes and headed off, bright and early.

The hills were completely doable. We've been riding on top of the Edwards Limestone plateau. Occasionally we drop down to the layer that is the Buda Limestone (I hope I'm reporting this correctly). And then we go back up. It's about a mile up or down. Fun down. Hard up. 8-12% grade. But we had a tail wind for that section and actually got a boost UP the steeps today. And at one point, on one of the lower flats, there was a herd of antelope and deer and KANGAROOS and Bison. Oh, and Longhorns too. And it was breezy but not overwhelming.

At mile 24 we stopped in Medina for Apple Pie. YUM!!!! With apple pie flavored soft ice cream and, for those who wished (I didn't) apple pie flavored coffee. As I'm sure I've said, we can and do eat anything we want, and as much of it as we want. Big breakfast at 7:30. Pie at 10? No worries.

But right after the pie stop the wind picked up and for about 5 miles we were all riding as hard as we could, going pretty much nowhere. The gusts were coming in really hard. REALLY hard. And a person of my size is, well, not so big, especially now, and the winds really took charge. We plugged on and made it to the bottom of the last climb. The SAG driver came by and said that four people had fallen, one was being checked out by a doctor (she's fine and is my roommate tonight and is fully herself) and for us to please be very careful. They have not told us to be very careful before.

Anyway, the four of us did all the miles today. Up the steeps. Down. Riding through the crosswinds. Riding into strong headwinds. Ocassionaly being shoved along by a tailwind. Rough riding for much of the day. There are some scary times here. Today, with those crosswinds, was one.

Tomorrow we have the day off. Fine by me. I could use a little bit of nothing for a day.

Oh, sorry about no post yesterday. Vanderpool, Texas has 22 people and no internet. Ah well. We all came out of our rooms and played stupid card games and laughed uncontrollably about absolutely nothing. Grand times. Grand.

That's it for now. Gotta go have dinner. It has been 3 hours since my last meal. Yipes!

Oh blessed rest!

2009-03-31T13:26:00.000-07:00

We had no internet last night so we all had to TALK to each other! Imagine that! Actually, it's nice to have that every once in awhile, though I am as hooked as you. But it was also nice, yesterday, to have a low mileage day, a day of less wind, not-too-bad road surface, all of that. 111miles wipes a person out!

I did ride yesterday. And I rode today too. Thankfully, these two days' mileages have been low, 50 miles or less. Funny, that amount of mileage used to make me take a deep breath, plan, get psyched. No more. 50 miles is a "rest day." Ha!

We are in Campwood, Texas now. Seems that we have left West Texas and are now in Hill Country. Our elevation is considerably lower and we are now seeing lots of green. I'm not sure, but I might have seen a hint of blue, as in Bluebonnets. I don't know when they bloom, so I don't know if I am making that up. Today's ride was easy. 50 easy miles. Oof.

Tomorrow we head into the hills in a big way, but today, right now, we are stopped in Campwood and that, my friends, is just fine with me.

I guess the biggest thing I can say about the BIG day was that I was SO sore and SO tired and SO spent when it was over. I sank into a chair, allowed someone to bring me a drink, a piece of pizza, a hug. I let someone take my bike. Someone else gave me my key. Someone had taken my bags to my room. Along with Jan I was the last one to finish - well, of the 6 of us who rode the whole way that day I we were the last to come in. And I was DONE. But remarkably, the next morning I got up, got dressed, ate breakfast, got on my bike, and rode on. This is a testament to something beyond me. Good trainers. good food, good advice, good luck charms, the knowledge that many people are keeping their fingers crossed for me, sending me love, believing that I can do this. And now, tra la, I am believing it too.

It is not over. We are only half way through that number of days on this ride. But I keep riding and my body keeps working and my bike keeps working and there we go.

What a time. What a thing to do. What a life.
Thanks for caring about this with me.

Laurey

2009-03-29T19:02:00.000-07:00

Oh my friends. Not too much energy to write a long note tonight. Today was an exceptionally challenging day. Many times I wanted to stop. Many other people stopped and that seemed like a very sensible thing to do. I mean, what's with all this making things that are one thing stand for something else anyway? Couldn't this just be a bike ride?

Today's distance was listed as 111 miles. I have ridden over 100 miles a couple of times. But that was a long time ago. And at the end of each of those rides I was quite spent. And then I rested for a long time. And there was no wind, at least none that I recall.

Today, Weather Underground (sometimes my friend and sometimes, like today, NOT my friend, predicted 15 - 20 mph winds coming from the South by South East. We were riding south by south east which meant that that wind was going to be smack in the face. And it was going to continue all day long. So not only was today's ride exceptionally long, it was exceptionally difficult. Rough road. Strong wind. Very long distance.

Some riders stopped at the first SAG stop - 20 miles out. Some more stopped at 40. Many stopped at 60. I thought about it, was tempted, and kept riding. I thought about it again at 80. And I thought about it again at 100. I mean, 100 is a respectable distance. But Jan looked and me and told me I could do it and, well, at that point, it seemed she was right. Connie and Sherry had gone on ahead. So all four of us were still on the road.

I drank, ate, took electrolyte tablets, ate more, drank more, and, most importantly, thought about Andrew and Lynn and Lucas. Andrew does not have a choice. He has to keep going. Lynn, too, is keeping going. Lucas tried as hard as he could and he lost the fight. So it seemed like I should, wanted to keep going.

I made it. I rode all 111 miles. Jan and I came in together. Sherry and Connie arrived a few minutes before us. Marci and Lois also made it. And everyone, all of them, stood out on the road and cheered as we rode in, almost as the sun set. We'd started before sunrise. 12 hours, more or less.

This was the hardest bike ride I ever did. And I am going to go to bed.
Thank you for sticking with me on this.
I do read your notes and they mean a lot to me.

Goodnight.

Good night Andrew and Lynn and Lucas.
God Bless you all.

Oh glorious riding

2009-03-28T13:15:00.000-07:00

Oh I love this. I love this riding. I love this open land. I love the quiet and the noise and the conversation with my little team of four. I love the routine of arranging my two bags of my belongings and organizing my clothes for the next day and going to sleep listening to music and waking up, putting on the clothes that I laid out. I like having breakfast and getting the notes for the day's ride and planning where to stop and what to do and it is all just so simple and easy that it is just the most perfect thing.

We're in Western Texas, a land unto itself. Our geologist tells us all that we're looking at, tales of ancient oceans coming in and going out. Lava flows and plate movements. Erosion and sedimentation. We ride, watch, ask, learn.

This is a simple and good thing to get to do. I check in a little bit, trust that the gang at Laurey's means it when they tell me they are good too. We miss each other but I'll be back after awhile and we'll all see how it will go at that point.

In the meantime, my life is about this life. This very present time. Susan, a new friend on the ride, talks about that with me. No worry. No planning. Nothing but right now. And who's to say that is something that can only be done here? Not me.

When the riding gets really hard we remind ourselves of how lucky we are to be healthy enough to be here. We are. Healthy and lucky. And I am happy. Thrilled. Full. Amazed.

Tomorrow will be a big day. Everyone is nervous. Me too, sort of. But, well, it will be what it will be. Then. Not now. Now is now. And tomorrow will be fine too. 111 miles. One pedal stroke at a time. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Laurey

BRRRR!!!!

2009-03-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

Holey mazoley. It is COLD here. We started riding this morning before the sun was up over the Davis mountains. The thermometer read 36, I think. COLD! Here's what I wore:

Feet:
Heavy wool socks
bike shoes
Neoprene overbooties.

Legs:
Bike shorts
full length tights

Top:
Bra
Warm undershirt
long sleeved wool shirt
extra thick jersey long sleeved bike jersey
down jacket
windbreaker

Head:
fleece balaclava
helmet
glasses

and
bike gloves and fleece overgloves

And I was just about right.
Okay, once we got off the mountain I shed the down jacket but kept all the other things on almost the whole day. We stopped for hot chocolate and I took off the balaclava and the gloves and the booties, but I was so cold when we started back up that I had to stop the SAG (Support And Gear) vehicle and get all those things and put them back on.

The road surface was pretty good. Not too much chip seal (this, for you who wondered, is a VERY rough surface of chunks of asphalt and a tiny bit of something to hold it all together. It's like riding on a washboard.) And the wind, at the start, was not much of a consideration. We breezed along. The wind picked up but came from the north west. We were headed southeast so that was okay. But then we turned a bit to the north and that wind about blasted us off the road and into the fields. Huge gusts pummeled us, made us swerve, lean into the wind, hoping to remain upright. Fortunately, it only lasted for about 5 miles and we knew we could ride that much.

We're staying at a fancy place here, the Gage Hotel. Ooh baby. Swank. They have thick robes in our rooms and old saddles and lots of faded leather and stuffed things that people shot once upon a time. It's quite a place. And it is especially inviting because outside the wind is still whipping along. I'm happy to be here. Happy to be on this ride. Happy, yes, to be alive on this glorious day in this gloriously different part of the world.

Oh - I almost forgot. I got a flat tire today. This is now just about a non-issue. The only notable thing about it is that we had just stopped at a Radio Shack for me to buy a mini Leatherman (a cute, blue multi tool thingamabob.) Connie has one and it comes in handy when pulling out thorns from flat tires. Well, I bought one. I got a flat. I used my mini Leatherman. That'll teach me.

2009-03-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

Oh tra la. A day off from riding is a fine thing indeed. I mean, if you really think about it, 18 days is a lot of days to be riding a bike, many hours in each day. Our conversations have gone from somewhat modest to sort of modest to devoid of any hint of modesty whatsoever. We've now been together enough that not much of anything is hidden. We talk about sore butts. We compare ointments and bathing strategies and seat adjustment alterations. It's quite something. The day off is a good thing, if for no other reason than to put us in the midst of people around whom we ARE more, shall I say, discreet. (Not much, but somewhat.)

I spent this morning at the Marfa Public Radio station giving an interview on their Talk at Ten morning program. Marfa has 2000 residents but seems much larger. There is fine, fine art here. Site specific installations, courtesy of Donald Judd. Very good dining. A laundromat/coffee shop. Incredible scenery. Clean air. Dark night skies. I like it very much. Very.

Many on my ride can't wait to leave Texas. I don't feel that way. Rather, I could come back. Probably will.

Most of my ride friends are up at the McDonald Observatory right now. I'm sticking close to home, enjoying this magnificent afternoon with clean air, occasional bird calls, brisk wind (but who cares - I'm not riding today) and not much else. We're staying at a lovely Lodge built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. What a good thing that was. How fortunate we are to have these sturdy, artful places in this country.

And today, talking with Rachel, the interviewer, about ovarian cancer, I am reminded of the gift I get to have, simply that I am alive, that I am healthy, that I am physically able to do this ride, that I am able to leave work and trust that things there will be just fine. That I have someone to care for my home, my pets. I am reminded of how fortunate I was, 20 years ago, to have had symptoms, to have paid attention to them, to have had access to care, and to have been diagnosed in Stage 1. What a remarkable thing. After that, a 90 mile ride is a cakewalk. Almost.

I'll be in touch tomorrow.

The windiest day so far

2009-03-25T20:24:00.000-07:00

Oh what a DAY this was. 90 miles. Yesterday, the 74 mile day, seemed like NOTHING in comparison. The first 40 miles were fine. Just to give you a sense of what is good and what is bad riding, we were thrilled today to GET to ride on the highway. The frontage road was surfaced in Chip Seal which is very rough and not fun at all. The interstate was smooth and the shoulder, wide. Bliss! AND we had a westerly tailwind. Tra la. Off we went.

Well, at mile 40 we left the interstate and headed south. The tailwind became a cross wind and, as happens, picked up speed. NOT so much fun. At all. AND the surface was chip seal. ARGH. We poked along and poked along and sank into the lunch stop at mile 40. At that point it still didn't seem bad. But after lunch the wind picked up even more and then it got really hard. We had 45 miles of riding still to go and a big wind, strong enough to almost blow us over at times.

The paceline blew apart and we separated. Sherry went on ahead. Jan followed. I hung back with Connie. The miles crept by. We all know what the slowest speed possible is for each of us. For me it is about 2 miles per hour. At times that was my speed. Horrible. I really did not think it possible that any of those miles would pass. But they did. Somehow. I sang MORE motivational songs, over and over and over and over. I thought of everyone I know who is having a hard time and said, "Well at least I'm HERE instead of in the hospital." But even that didn't' do much except help another few tenths of a mile elapse.

We did finally make it to the top of the pass. A 14 mile climb. In the wind. On Chip Seal.

And then we rode down. And now we are at a very nice Lodge that is a part of the Texas Park system. Very nice place.

Tex and Tom Harrison, who lived in Asheville and ran Complements to the Chef, now live here and I've just returned from dinner with them. Tomorrow I will be on their public radio station so I need to go to sleep.

Tomorrow is a day off. YAY!!!! I'm very sore.

Good night!
Laurey

Flying into Van Horn, Texas

2009-03-24T15:17:00.000-07:00

We rode through more of Texas today. There is a lot of griping about Texas. It's BIG, for one thing. It's windy, for another. And it's, well, BIG. But today was a stellar day. Just as perfect as a day could be if you were to plunk yourself down in the middle of the Western part of this huge state and decide to get on a bicycle for a spin.

We were graced with a light and then a moderate and then a whipping good tail wind all day today. This means that we flew along with no effort. And the day was and still is a bit chilly and that was also a relief. We are pretty well exposed out here. Today's route was the frontage road next to Interstate 10. Not exactly what you might select as the most scenic choice. But I guess there are not a whole lot of choices and really, if you look at the landscape and not the road, the view can be pretty nice.

And then, riding with that tail wind is a spectacular experience. To give you a little bit of perspective, I usually ride at 15 miles per hour when I am home. Around here, with the help of the team, I've been riding a bit faster. On a steep downhill I have gotten up to 39 miles per hour. And on the sloggiest of days with the steepest uphill, I can go as slow as 7. Well, today we were floating along at 18 - 20. No effort. No troubles. Oh joy.

Also, the tv clip that appears just before this entry is the bit that appeared on the NBC station in San Diego just before I left. Dara, the wizard from Women Chefs and Restaurateurs, posted it for me. Thanks Dara!

And the interview from Silver Springs is now viewable too but I haven't yet seen it. I'll look and figure it out and will tell you how to do it as soon as possible.

Anyway - I'm VERY happy to be here. Tomorrow we ride for 90 miles and it is supposed to be beautiful. We'll end in Fort Davis and I am going to spend the evening with Tex Harrison who used to own Complements to the Chef in Asheville. Fun!!!

San Diego Interview

2009-03-24T04:38:00.000-07:00

Nice legs!

2009-03-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

This morning Lois, who used to be a ballet dancer, walked by and told me that I was really get nice muscle definition in my legs. WOW! She is a powerhouse of a rider, always way out ahead of all of us. She is the strongest one here and so that was quite a statement. Connie used to be a model for stockings so SHE has great legs. And I DO know that my quads are tightening up and, after all these miles it is inevitable that our legs are getting more, well, shapely. So of course Connie and I had to document the moment.

Today was SHORT! Just 47 miles. We're right on the edge of Mexico. I can see Mexico right out the window - just past the STUPID fence! ARGH. The Border Patrol cars are the most prevalent vehicle on the road. Oh sigh. I guess my disgust is not going to do anything to improve that situation.

We stopped for some terrific food. REALLY fine red chile sauce on chicken enchiladas. The waitress was 10 - just when I started to work in this business. She just stared at me when I told her that I did that when I was her age and now own my own place. She was pretty great. She's on her spring break and is visiting her grandmother - who is a fine cook.

We rode on the Mission Trail today and stopped in at two of the missions along the way. The groundsman was fascinated by our bicycles. We were fascinated by his church. Ah - a mutual admiration society. Pristine whitewashed buildings. Graceful, simple lines. Clean pews. Carefully restored statues. All nice. All very nice.

And then, after lunch, the wind came up. BIG time! Fortunately, it came from our right side which is not nearly as hard as it would be if it came right at us. There is a formation called an echelon. In stead of riding in a straight line, you stagger so that each rider is just to the left of the rider in front of her, and also is slightly behind too - an angled line that provides a windbreak. The four of us took over the entire lane on this not-very-well-traveled road and rode easily - except for the front rider. Sweet, sweet times.

Okey doke.
Hope all is well with all of you. Thanks for checking up on me. It's nice to be in touch with you.

Laurey

Due to a glitch...

2009-03-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

Well, today seems to be my day of things falling apart. All started out well but sheesh - it got hot and, um, I REALLY need to figure out what to do when that happens because it is going to be hot a lot from now on and fading in the heat is not a very productive solution.

And, starting with what JUST happened, I somehow erased the day's pictures. ARGH!!! And I had a REALLY nice video of my shadow, riding past the pecan trees. You'll just have to imagine how great it was. Nice and steady. Great light. Morning, you know, strong and east and... Oh well.

We started early this morning, all nervous about the heat and the wind and convincing the guides to let us get going at the start of light. (okay - to tell you the truth, this early time is now affectionately referred to as "the butt crack of dawn." We may LOOK like mature women but we do NOT act like them.)

The morning riding was just fine. Pecan groves and more pecan groves. Flooded pecan groves and pruned pecan groves. Oh, and new pecan groves and old pecan groves. And then, all of a sudden, it seemed, we reached the outskirts of El Paso and just like that we were hugging the Rio Grande and that STUPID fence appeared again and the Border Patrol appeared again too, cruising back and forth on the levees of what IS a lovely river but NOT when it is lined by 15' high fencing. What a colossal waste of our money. I swear.

We pedaled into Texas with no fanfare. No signs. No trumpets. Not much of anything to distinguish it from New Mexico except for one flag. Ah well. We were lucky to miss the wind and the strongest heat of the day. 66 miles is really not very long, especially after those 80+ mile days which also had significant elevation gains. Today's ride was mostly flat.

The end of the ride, though, got quite hot and there is something that happens when the cue sheet says "1 mile" and that is, that one mile stretches out interminably and the numbers on the houses seem to increase by fractions, not by whole numbers. But just when it seems like we will NEVER, EVER arrive, there is the awesome sight of the Comfort Inn, totally generic, and yet completely inviting. Home!!!

Today's glitch collection included, however, one final insult. As I was coming out of the lobby, after trying to be patient while the clerk searched for my missing reservation, I noticed something on my tire. A tiny burr? NO! A GOATHEAD Sticker. The bane of a bike rider's existence. I pulled the little pesky thing out and heard that stomach turning sound, "psssssssssssssssss...." FLAT! Right outside the lobby.
I HAD been one of only four or five riders who had not had a flat. I now have had one. And one will be enough. (OKAY??)

I'll see if we can improve on this day's tales when we leave El Paso tomorrow and head for the Texas countryside.

Cheers,
Laurey

Leaving the high desert

2009-03-21T15:50:00.000-07:00

This morning ranks as perhaps the most stunningly fun bike rides I have ever done. And this afternoon might qualify as one of the hardest.

We left Kingston after a spectacular breakfast of homemade waffles and bread and phenomenal eggs with chiles and cheddar cheese and fruit and yogurt and many other things. (I did not eat all of that, though I was tempted.) The first 9 miles of the day, smack out of the lodge door, practically, was downhill. After yesterday's climb (someone figured out we'd climbed about 5,000' during the day) this was an enormous gift. Just plain down, down, down. Chilly, yes, but who cared. We certainly didn't.

Down and down and down in the clearest mountain air. No cars on the road. Ribbons of pavement contouring around big hills and losing elevation steadily. Oh friends, what an extraordinary ride. 9 miles of no pedaling. 9 miles of perfection.

And then the four of us caught up with each other and organized ourselves into a paceline and rode FAST until we reached the first SAG stop at mile 26. The front rider pedaled, though not too hard, and the following three simply coasted. Sherry calls it "the sweet spot" to be pulled along in that draft. The road dropped continually, steps of flat and then a drop, step of flat and then another drop. Bliss. Bliss.

We got all the way to Hatch, mile 50, with very little effort. And, though the place we were looking for was closed, we slipped into The Pepper Pot and had THE best chile rellenos I have ever had in my entire life. They are my favorite and I now that eaten the one that all others will heretofore be compared to. We told our waitress about our adventure, "HI! We're riding across the entire United States" and she, without missing a beat, countered, "I'm sorry..." Cute. Very cute.

After lunch the wind picked up and the day's bliss turned to some very arduous pedaling. Sherry is from Hawaii and she actually had to take the lead, all on her own, for quite a stretch. The rest of us were falling way behind and, as I've told you, it's so much easier to ride immediately behind someone. But when you're THAT tired, it is VERY hard to stick to the one in front. I kept falling back and so did Connie and, finally, Jan. But Sherry slowed down, which was very nice as she was certainly energetic enough to take off on her own.

And now we're here. I've showered and have had my chocolate milk and all, once again, is just fine.

Tomorrow is much less mileage. And we go into Texas. Can you believe it? Texas.

A familiar scene

2009-03-20T14:33:00.000-07:00

Flat tires are a part of the adventure. There is a running total for the entire group which is well over 20 by now. Our foursome has had its share. The other day I was sharing a room with Jan and she woke UP to a flat tire. In our room! Overnight!! Argh. We changed it in our room but I pinched the tube when I was putting it back together (pinching a hole in a brand new tube) and so we had to do the whole thing all over again - this time with help from Mik, our guide. Jan has had a few flats. Sherry has had one. Connie has had a few. I, so far, have not had any. To make up for that, I have become the one who actually changes all the other tires. Truthfully, we are now a team. Each of us has a role. Connie drags out her gear. Jan gets ready to inflate the new tube slightly before it is installed in the tire. Sherry is the pumper. And I take out the old tube, check the tire for Goat Head stickers or glass and, after finding the culprit and extracting it (with Sherry's reading glasses and Connie's mini Leatherman) I put the thing back together again and we're off. We're getting very fast at this and are now calling ourselves the Parnelli Jones pit crew. At your service!

Silver City provided us with a very nice day off yesterday. I was VERY slow and VERY lazy. Had a terrific massage with Fred at Cienega Spa (I recommend him and his gallons of Arnica gel.) And ate some very very good pizza at Diane's Bakery and then a fine Chili Relleno at Jalisco's. Oh and in between all the eating I was interviewed by Kathy Zink for her cable tv show "Spirit Matters." Michael, her husband, will edit the footage and will have it available next week for all of us to see. I'll let you know when.

Today's ride was 48 miles. The first 10 were a gradual uphill. The last 10 were a dramatic downhill. DRAMATIC!!! Hairpin turns swooping through the Gila National Forest. And the miles in between were epic, long pulls up long steep hills. Long. Long. Long. Hard and, oh, long. We climbed from slightly below 6,000' in Silver City to 8,825' at the top of Emory Pass. The last tenths of miles were near agony. Pedal. Calculate how much further. Pedal a little bit more. Calculate again. Repeat. Sing motivational songs to myself. Wait for Connie. Pretend I am waiting for Connie, knowing I am stopping to try to catch my breath. Pedal a few more bits of a mile. Calculate that at this rate I'll be at the top sometime next week. Keep pedaling.

Round and round. Round and round. Slowly but surely. And then, like heaven, we make it to the top. First Sherry, then me, then Jan - who turns 65 today - and then Connie. We scream in delight. Whoop around, hugging each other, taking pictures. And then we add layers of clothing for the 8 miles descent.

Screaming, flying, soaring, roaring down down down.

And now, home for the night at Black Range Lodge. The folks who own this place build and teach straw bale housing construction. I ask if they know my friend Janelle who lives in Asheville and they do and the day and the world become very small again and I say I'll say hello to her and off I go to my third floor "garret" with the red door.

I'm very happy to be here. I can see spring and the mountains and blossoms and feel proud of this day's ride and all that this ride stands for.

Tomorrow we go down further. 80 miles, I think, into Las Cruces. And in a few days we'll be out of New Mexico. Is this possible?

I'll write tomorrow.
Cheers,
Laurey

The Continental Divide!!

2009-03-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

We climbed out of Lordsburg this morning. Flat for the first 10 miles, well, sort of flat. That is, if you call a gradual uphill climb flat - which I don't! BUT it was easy enough and clear and crisp and sharp and dry and, again, lovely. At mile 16 we fueled up (peanut butter and raisin sandwich bites, m+ms, V8 juice, Gatorade, and other Lucullan treats.) The next 15 were steady and uphill. Sherry has a GPS on her bike and can report the altitude, which can be good, but can be NOT good either. Still, climb, climb, climb. The air thins noticeably. The scrub gets replaced by pine. No more cactus. Blue skies. Fresh, fresh air. Green rolling mountains. And then, looking back, it is easy to see why we feel so tired, for the valley floor is laid out for miles and miles and miles and miles behind us all the way back down to Lordsbug which then is just a tiny snip of a town.

Then up more. No paceline today. We all huffed and puffed and struggled with our own climbing systems. Sherry "spins," rotating steadily in her smaller gears. Jan plugs along. Connie has a different gear set so we drop her on the uphills but she catches up on the downhills. I alternate. Spinning in my smallest gear and then shifting down to a harder one, standing up in the pedals, using my skeletal system instead of the muscles. The muscles, by then, ache. My left buttock aches. My right knee hurts where I banged it the other day on the not-so-funny bone. And then I sit back down, shift to the easier gears, alternate. Down in the saddle. Up. Pedal. Climb. Up. Up. Up.

And then we're at the top. Everyone off the bikes. Take pictures. We're at the top!!! Four riders. Four cameras. Four poses. Two snaps on each camera. Goofier and goofier.

And then, yes, DOWN! Ten miles of down. TEN miles. I lose fear and get up to 37 miles an hour which is the nearest thing to flying I can describe. Connie, speed maven, hits 41, gives me a thumbs up for my daring. We fly. FLY!

Mik has said that the ride is a series of ups. Do NOT look up to the top, she counsels, just pedal and pedal. Then you'll be at the top. She did not spill the beans on this glorious romp down and we are thrilled. The down is the longest I have ever ridden. Easily 8 minutes. Many miles. It doesn't end.

But then, yes, it's over. More spoiler hills come up and by then our muscles are screaming to stop. STOP. Please stop. Just STOP. But we still have 5 more miles which we somehow manage to do.

We spill into Silver City, pour into Twin Sisters Bike shop, stock up with butt creams and energy gels and extra tubes and CO2 cartridges for tire inflation. And then go to Diane's for lunch of a spicy chicken and green chili sandwich. I meet Diane and she looks at me with tired eyes when my gang tells her I do in Asheville what she does here. We shake in understanding.

And we leave. Visit another bike store. Buy more things. And limp to the hotel.

Tomorrow is our day off. I have a massage at noon. An interview at 2. Two restaurants to try. And I'm very, very happy about it all.

The start of the day

2009-03-17T16:05:00.001-07:00

Oh we were tired out today. Yesterday's heat wiped us all out. I woke up feeling like I could NOT ride a bit. Aching head and aching legs and aching back and aching BUTTS and aching crotches screamed "PLEASE! Don't you think it'd be nice to just STAY IN BED today??" But no, that was not what I decided to do and my gang, my three buddies, waited and they were aching too but we all sucked it up and posed for this spectacular snap in front of our motel (not a bad backdrop, eh?) and hopped on and actually had a pretty fine day all in all.

The highlight, once again, was the brilliant feeling of being in a line, the paceline, and doing the hard pulling work for a mile or so and then peeling off to the left and letting the other three move forward to take their turns. And then, four miles later, it is my turn again but by then I am rested and do my turn for my mile and then peel off to the left and mile after mile passed with near ease.

Yesterday I experienced "bonking" which is when you run OUT of energy. All stores depleted, you just sink. A boost comes from candy or a cookie or some energy gel or something. Connie reported that she asked how I was when she saw me dropping behind and that when I BARKED back, "I'M FINE (dammit)" she knew I was bonked. So today I tried hard to remember to eat at every possible opportunity. I had finished my peanut butter and raisin sandwich before lunch - which was at 11 - and went through many bottles of gatorade laden water. And I now have a supply of chocolate milk that I slug back as soon as I hit the motel. I'm getting the system. And, though I am sore, I am in pretty good shape, all things considered and am happy and filled with the thrill of the wind in my face on that lovely ten mile downhill jaunt. NO buildings, NO cars, NO roads (other than the one we were on) and NO noise. Just us and those magnificent mountains and old volcanoes and volcanic ash and a living geology textbook. Bliss again.

It was a lovely, lovely, lovely day.
And we're now in New Mexico and life is a fine thing.
Tomorrow we go to Silver City and then we have a DAY OFF. Spa here I come!

The morning snack table

2009-03-16T16:24:00.000-07:00

We gather around a table and fill zip-lock bags with m+ms,nuts, peanut butter sandwiches, cookies, candy, granola bars, and other fine energy boosters. Today we really needed every single thing we could stuff into our pockets because the day was long and hot and sustained. We stop every 20 miles or so, and fill up water bottles and stuff more candy into our many pockets.

I'm now trying to cool off, feeling very happy to be settled in this fine lodging for the night - a Days Inn on the eastern side of Safford, Arizona. I'm not quite sure the reason for this town, but there is a very nice church near here and on the other side of the traffic noise, we can hear nice bells on the hour. at 3 they played Edelweis.

Tomorrow we leave Arizona and head for the hills of New Mexico.

The only other thing I want to report is that my right calf is very tan. Much more so than any other body part. I do have a bike short tan and bike glasses tan and bike gloves tan. I am tan, except underneath the clothes. There I am very NOT tan.

Okay - this sun has addled my brain.

I'm trying to post a video too. If it works, it should appear just after this post.
If not. Well, trust me, it was a good one.

Cheers,
Laurey

Top of the World

2009-03-15T16:09:00.000-07:00

At the very top of today's 4,000' climb we found The Top of the World cafe. A portly guy sat in a chair. An almost-as-round woman chattered with us as we guzzled icy gatorade for me and diet coke for Connie. They had a huge racing motorcycle (I got a picture of it too...maybe I'll post it on facebook) and an old dining car from a railroad. Hmm. Oh and some cafe benches and some other stuff, mostly junk. Oh and a fat old car with this license plate. He hardly moved except to say that he'd crashed the motorcycle when he'd lived in Chicago.

Having climbed to the top, we then enjoyed a spectacular downhill ten mile romp. Joy of all joys!!!! Connie is very fast on the downhills and so she waits at the bottoms. I can plug along on the uphills and wait at the top for her. We're well matched.

Today's ride was a tad dicey. Narrow uphills, a tunnel, sustained climbing, roaring downhills. But we're all here safely. Some hitched a ride with the sag van, but I felt strong and enjoyed almost every bit of the day.

When I was little we had a Viewmaster. One of the discs we had was of the Grand Canyon, I think, or at least it was some place that had towering rock formations and pine trees, all very three-dimensional. Today's views were like that, piles of red rock punctuated by dots of dark green. Blips and long views all the way down to the bottom of the valleys that we'd just climbed out of. Glorious. Glorious.

So all is good. We're high up now, way off the floor of the desert. We're in copper mining country. Huge gashes, sadly, have been carved out of the mountainsides. The copper economy, no surprise, has fallen off, so now the gashes are here with a ghost town. Not like it once was.

We pedal on, raising eyebrows as we go.

Today Connie got a flat tire. I've changed flats before but not on-the-fly, as it were. We changed her tube, she inflated it, it did not hold the pressure, so we changed it again. Tra la. Then we got to the end of the day and she found a significant slit in her tire so we changed into her new tire. I now feel much more confident about all of that. And more confident about using my own legs and body to propel me across this county. What a magnificent thing this is. How lucky, how enormously fortunate I am.

A morning chat

2009-03-14T15:00:00.000-07:00

These sweet lovelies came to see me off this morning. FIRST thing! Ovarian cancer survivors (the woman on my left is a 38 year survivor!) and supporters, they arrived, armed with teal feather boas and a video camera and good questions. The sun rose over those fragrant eucalyptus trees and we talked about riding and surviving and persisting in the face of chemotherapy or miles and miles of uphill, bumpy roads.

Before I left Asheville I had a Reiki session with a friend and told her that I was not sure I was doing the right thing by leaving my business and my home and my friends and my life to go gallivanting around on my red Trek. She said I would find signs to tell me I WAS doing the right thing. She said, "Your spirit guides will tell you. They especially like to show themselves in the form of pennies and feathers."

Ha!

Here they are.

Today was hot and our group split for the first time. Some went to the Desert botanical Gardens to see a Chihuly glass exhibit. Some came right to the hotel. I rode to the gardens and breezed through. It was crowded and I was hot and just not in the mood so I left and was completely alone for the ride back here. Well, I did pass one other rider at one point and ran across, and rode with another for a little while. But it felt good to be alone for a change. Sort of scary but not really. Phoenix is laid out on a grid system and so its just a matter of pedaling south for a while and then east for a while and then south for a while and then east for a while.

And now I'm here. Tired and hot still, but stopped.

And yes, still thinking about the women who got up so early to meet me today. One of them is a bigwig in the Phoenix ovarian survivors group. She's a 22 year survivor and so I now have TWO women ahead of me in this odd game. I'll see Annette again in Washington this summer. By then I will have ridden to Florida. Still amazes me.

Cheers to you all.

Tomorrow we head into the mountains. Last year the riders were not allowed to ride this part, because there was too much snow. Right now it is snowing in Albuquerque. Not sure what that means for us, but I'll probably dig out the warmer duds for the mountain days.

Onward we go.

On to Phoenix

2009-03-13T16:52:00.000-07:00

Can you believe it? I have now ridden my bicycle into Phoenix, Arizona. A mazillion years ago a girlfriend and I drove here from Maine and we stayed here for three months. At that time it seemed unimaginably far away. And now I've come back, on my bike.

Today was a blast. Again. An easy (imagine that) 63 miles from Wickenburg to Phoenix. Connie and I took off at first light or so. Jan and Sherry were not far behind and when they caught up with us we hopped to it and the four of us drafted for miles and miles. This feeling is so amazing. When you lead, of course, it is hard because you are essentially breaking the trail. But then you get to slip back into the draft of the others and THAT, my friends, is a stunner. Pulled along, floating, pedaling lightly, resting, yes. Bliss. Bliss. Yes, bliss.

And then, quicker than believed, we came to the lunch spot, and headed for Subway because Connie had some free lunch vouchers but then, almost as we got there she spotted In-N-Out Burgers and friends, if you have never had an In-N-Out burger, well, you just have to find one sometime. We were there at 10. They opened at 10:30. Officially. But they let us in and we plowed through burgers and fries and cokes and laughed and were all very very happy.

And then we followed Mik, our guide, into town, roaring down here on bike paths that were clean and smooth and it was just utterly fabulous. 20-25 miles an hour, no effort, warm sun, fragrant cactus blooms coming to our noses.

And then a bike shop and admiration. "You're going WHERE? And you've come from WHERE???" The boys in the bike shop impressed with us women. We too, impressed with ourselves.

We arrived here, 63 miles after starting, after many pee and photo and food stops, at 1:00. Pool. Laundry. Notes to you. Tra la.

I LOVE this.

Cheers,
I'll write tomorrow.

Laurey

My riding pal

2009-03-12T16:12:00.000-07:00

This morning we stopped at "Ingredients," a cutie pie little cafe with all sorts of gee gaws and signs and goofy things all over the place. Almost all of us showed up at 7:30 in the morning. We'd already eaten a fine batch of oatmeal and lord knows we were NOT hungry. Ingredients is in Wenden, a full 4 miles from our overnight stop in Salome (pronounced Sa-LOME.) But we had a blast and took lots of pictures of each other posing and prancing around.

We're now in Wickenburg, Arizona. This, they say, is the Dude Ranch Capitol (of what?) There are two early Dude Ranches here so maybe they were the FIRST ones. There are also a bunch of J. Seward Johnson bronzes around town. Um, nothing to get too excited about, know what I mean? Um, not so good bronzes. Painted. Not very well. Um...skip 'em, know what I mean?

Tomorrow we roll up and then down into Phoenix. It continues to slay me that we can really do this. We've already ridden all the way across California and are now going to ride our bicycles into Phoenix. I'm told that a big group of ovarian cancer survivors is going to get up early on Saturday to wish me off. They may bring some tv news folks too. Tra la. All is fun.

Oh - sorry for not writing from Salome. We barely had electricity. But it was a cute place. Old style. Our guide warned us about it by saying, "This place is NOT rated by AAA." Forwarned, but no worries. With state crossings we get Margarita parties. That makes a sticky floor easily overlooked.

Cheers y'all.

Laurey

In Hope, AZ

2009-03-12T16:04:00.000-07:00

One of the main reasons for a gal to ride her bicycle all day long is to eat as often as possible. Fortunately for me, my riding partner is a good eater too AND she likes sharing. Tra la! Here I am enjoying - REALLY enjoying - my half of a cheeseburger. And yes, if you look closely, you will see a streak of dirt on my forehead. The ride up into Hope was long and hot and dirty. I had washed my face but it didn't really matter. (I AM getting a good tan (and yes, I am lathering on the sunscreen) but this was plain old grit.)

Day off in Blythe, California

2009-03-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

So, on a day off we clean our bikes. My riding colleagues' bikes all seemed much cleaner than mine. I had actually thought that MY chain ring (pictured here) was black, that it was MEANT to be black, that the newer ones were chrome but not mine.

HA!

I learned, today, about "Simple green" which might be my new favorite cleaning product. It is incredible. Takes off bicycle grease as if it was, well, nothing. Spray it on/rinse it off VOILA! Clean bike!!!

I had thought that a day off was a wimpy, unnecessary thing. But it feels REALLY good to sit around doing nothing physical. I'm about to take a nap, in fact.

Oh frabjous day, calooh, callay!

Tomorrow it's back in the saddle. But tomorrow is tomorrow and right now is nap time.

Riding on Day 4 - The Imperial Valley

2009-03-09T16:44:00.000-07:00

After the mountains - into the Imperial Valley

2009-03-08T15:55:00.000-07:00

Day 3

2009-03-08T15:49:00.000-07:00

What a gorgeous day! 67 miles, only 5 of which were uphill. Then a TEN mile downhill romp through these gigantic piles of rocks and oddity, followed by glorious rolling spinning into the Imperial Valley.

Today, though long, was a grand day.

This land is rich and lush and full and it is a fine thing, on a day like this, to have a red bike and be able to get on it and ride.

One moment of perfection:
one of my day's riding partners had a flat tire right after lunch. We helped her change it and got completely greasy in the process. BUT, providence prevailed and I was able to stroll over to a car wash place where the fellow directed me to a spigot which released degreaser. AND there was an endless supply of towels. NICE!!!!

Today was a fine and fun adn great day.

The end of the second day

2009-03-07T19:15:00.000-08:00

So, halfway through today we stopped at a diner for pie. Much anticipated, it was, though the reality left a little bit to be desired. Didn't matter. We were just happy to stop and eat something. Well, really I was happy to just plain stop.

The day was gorgeous. Sweeping views of rocks and crags and mountains and high peaks. We're at about 4,000' here. Up from 0' yesterday. Much of this elevation gain came today. And tomorrow, after a 5 miles climb, we plunge DOWN for 10 miles. Ten miles! Yeeps!

The worst thing about today is that we are now right on the border of California and Mexico and there, right next to us at the end of the day, was this huge, nasty-looking fence. What a stupid, stupid thing this is. A fence to keep out people. So stupid. And as we rode we saw truck after SUV after jeep with Border Patrol written on their sides. What a colossal waste of money. Hilariously (or not) one of our guides ran into two men who spoke NO English and actually conveyed to her that they wanted to know how many hours it was to Los Angeles. Meanwhile the Border Patrol was scouting up and down, up and down the road. Somehow these two got over that fence and had managed to avoid the big boys. Kind of made me smile. I hope they make it. (I said this to a friend and she said that there is a lot of drug traffic involved and I don't agree with that BUT otherwise I think it idiotic to have spent the enormous amount of money on such a thing.

OKAY enough about that.

Tomorrow we go for 60 miles.

Time for me to go to bed.

Don't forget to set your clocks ahead.

Pie in Pine Valley

2009-03-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

It has begun

2009-03-06T15:23:00.000-08:00

I've been waiting for it to be March 6th for a long time. Today it finally got here. We got up early (I got up WAY before dawn - too excited to sleep) and ate some of the very best oatmeal I've ever eaten (might have had something to do with the excitement of the day, but I'm not sure). We then rode to the ocean, a short 3 mile stint.

What a thrill to be starting in on this thing. But what a brisk start! Before I left NC people would say, "well you're not riding on the HIGHWAYS, are you?" Well, much to my astonishment, we DID. Granted, there are bike lanes, but still...that's some FAST traffic. But after a bit we made it off the freeways and into the foothills. Lovely space, beautiful day, and it is as intimidating as I could believe anything could be. I mean, we've STARTED!

Tomorrow we ride more than today and the profile of the ride is much more intense than today's. But as many have said, it is one pedal at a time, one breath at a time, one bit,one little bit at a time.

The tire dip

2009-03-06T15:20:00.000-08:00

The chocolate Bikes

2009-03-05T17:49:00.000-08:00

I forgot to mention it but Dawn MADE these chocolate bikes. She's amazing. A powerhouse of San Diego.

Today she took us to eat fish tacos at South Beach in Ocean Beach. That's near Dog Beach where we will start tomorrow. I guess when there are this many beaches you have to name them all. Really it's just one huge beach separated by stone jettys.

Anyway - thank you Dawn. You are amazing.

I'm now waiting for dinner to start. Funny, starting to shift to this schedule of someone else being in charge of the what, where, and when of my meals. Funny stuff. The fish tacos, at the South Beach Bar and Grill were great, as was the fried calamari and the french fries with grilled beef on them (picture to follow...)

Dinnertime.
Then bed time.
Then time to get up.
Then time for breakfast.
Then time to ride to the ocean to dip the tires.
Then time to ride to Florida.

Can I really be doing this?

The San Diego reception

2009-03-04T20:52:00.000-08:00

oh boy. I'm whipped. Dawn Edwards, my Women Chefs and Restaurateurs colleague (and fellow board member) organized a mixer/reception tonight for me and the bike ride. The Mayor of San Diego sent his chief of protocol to read a Proclamation declaring today Ovarian Cancer National Alliance and Women Chefs and Restaurateurs day in San Diego. (My name made it to the proclamation too.)

Wild times. I met more ovarian cancer survivors, friends of women who did NOT survive, adn other inspiring women. I'll be on San Diego television tonight, talking about the ride. (I asked the camera man to pass the word that I want to tell Ellen DeGeneres about this ride...One of these days my pesterings will turn into me actually getting on her show.

I got my bike, rode it, and had a fine time today. Still can't believe that I'll be getting on it for real day after tomorrow. Unbelievable.

In other news - I ate one fish taco today and tomorrow will go to the place that has, I'm told, the BEST. It's a tough job, but someone has to be the taster. I'm stuffed on cutie pie pastries from St. Tropez bakery and bistro. De-LISH! You should come here if you come to San Diego.

This is an amazing thing, this ride. I continue to feel humbled and stunned. Big stuff.

And now I'm going to bed.

Laurey