Mr. Helpful says I need to blog, so here goes.  Only problem is, I don’t have much to say.  I did something dreadful to my back yesterday, causing it to go into a spasm, so I’ve spent the last 36 hours hobbling around the house being grumpy.  I think I’ll go take some more Tylenol PM . . .

I missed a couple of weeks of blogging there–just a quick backtrack–I had several days of single parenting, a mild stomach bug (probably not even a bug; probably just something I ate) that caused me to miss a 200k that I had planned to do, and then about 10 days of NO INTERNET.  It was hideous.  Catastrophic.  I can’t even remember how to mail-order properly without the internet . . .  I have some distant shadow of a memory that might have involved buying things on the telephone?  Sounds prehistoric.

Anyway, by the time we got the computer thing straightened out, I was feeling a need to put in big miles on the bike, so I rode a century, then a few days later a 200k (to make up for the one that I missed)–both solo!  More than the miles, the solo-ness is a point of pride for me.  Long distances ridden alone intimidate me–but not anymore!  Anyway, suffice it to say I’ve been riding.  Brevet week starts in less than three weeks, so this week is the end of my volume; I’m going to do two more long rides, this Friday and Saturday, then taper.

But here’s the weird phenomenon–I’ve taken up sewing.  And knitting.  To an extreme.  Today I sewed myself an adorable spring bag; last weekend I knitted dishcloths for the kitchen. 

I remember, when I was training for PBP in 2003, that I played with beads all the time; I made TONS of earrings, along with some bracelets and necklaces.  I was totally obsessed, constantly plotting jewelry ensembles that I could make to accessorize various outfits.  When I wasn’t on the bike, I was hanging out in bead shops.  Now it’s fabric shops and yarn stores.

I think it’s a coping mechanism, some sort of anti-testosterone uber-housewife thing that wakes up when I spend lots of time away from home training really hard.  Today I got out a bunch of jam jars, in preparation for picking strawberries tomorrow.  I’ve concluded that the best strawberry jam is the one from Nigella Lawson’s How to Be a Domestic Goddess.  I’ve had fabulous personalized pink and purple labels printed up for the jars.  Now all I need is the berries . . .

AACK!  I’m turning into Martha!

When I’m out for a long ride, I stop to go to the bathroom and refill my bottles every couple of hours or so, usually at gas stations.  People often ask what I’m up to during these stops, and often seem genuinely interested (perhaps just appalled?!) when I rattle off some insanely large number of miles.  But occasionally I get a strange response that makes it clear that the person has no grasp of what I just said–no inkling that it’s a bit unusual to ride a bicycle, oh, say, 90 miles.  I had two of these conversations day before yesterday, and I just wanted to document them before I forget–both kept me chuckling as I headed on down the road.

(More life updates–and excuses for lack of blogging–later.)

First conversation (at my first gas station stop, about 30 miles into the ride):

Man:  So how far you ridin’ today?

Me:  125 miles.

Man:  You don’t say.  You do that every day?

Me:  Ummm, no.  Just sometimes.

Man:  Ah.  You in the service?

Me:  (wearing a purple and white jersey; definitely the military desert camo look)  Nope.

Man:  So what’d you do this for?  Just your own exercise?

Me:  Yep.  (Big grin–trying to look non-threatening at this point)  It’s lots of fun.

Man:  Hunh. 

Pause.

Man:  Hey–I know who you are.  You’re on TV.

Me:  Umm, no, not me.

Man:  Yeah, you are!  I knowed it when I saw you; I thought, that’s my favorite bicycle woman I like to watch on TV.

At this point I give up on responding, and just go with smiling and nodding.  Then I get on the bike and beat a hasty retreat.

Later in the same ride (much, much later), I’m in a different gas station.

Woman at the cash register:  How far did you ride today?

Me:  Well, I’ve been 110 miles so far.  I’m getting kind of tired, but I’m almost home.

Woman:  Yeah?  Where d’you live?

Me:  Cary.  (for the record, my house is exactly 15 miles away, nearly a straight shot.)

Woman:  Cary?  You rode from Cary to here on a bicycle?!  No way!

Me:  Umm, I’ve been 110 miles today.  I started in Cary, but I’ve also been to Morrisville, Apex, Holly Springs, Angier, and this is my second pass through Fuquay.

Woman:  I can’t believe you rode all the way from Cary.  Hey, isn’t Morrisville like, near Durham or something?

Me:  Well, yeah, sort of.

Woman:  I can’t hardly drive to Durham but it makes me tired.  And you rode a bicycle?

Me:  You could drive from here to Durham and back again–twice–in 110 miles.

Woman:  Naw!  Get out!

So I did.

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Okay, I’m a total slacker.  I’m starting to get complaints from friends and family who keep up with me through the blog, so I guess it’s time to come back to real life.  We got back yesterday (Thursday) afternoon from a week in Miami, during which I didn’t even look at my email.  Mr. Helpful very helpfully reported to me that my loyal readers are starting to grumble, so here’s my apology for my two week hiatus–sorry about that.  I was . . . busy.  Then distinctly not-busy.

I did the Sauratown 200k on 3/24 (that’s two weeks ago tomorrow; today is Good Friday), and had a GREAT day.  The weather was spectacular, even slightly warm in the afternoon; the scenery was beautiful, the roads were quiet, the dogs were mostly sleeping . . .  it was just a really, really fabulous ride.  I drove up by myself on Friday evening and spent the night in a hotel, and by the time my alarm went off at 5:30, I had worked myself into quite a state of anxiety.  I had to keep reminding myself to stay in the present and not worry about longer rides further from home.  (You’d think I don’t like to travel; I do–I just like having my people with me!).

I didn’t have any plans to ride with anyone in particular,so I was nervous about how much of the day I’d spend by myself having been passed by every other rider out there.  It wound up not being a problem.  I was by myself for about 25 miles, but that’s it (and those 25 miles were really, really pretty climbing and descending at the edge of the mountains).  Most of the day I rode with a guy from Charlotte, Paul Smith, who is a pretty hard-core randonneur, but whom I’d never met before.  Turns out he knows all about lots of really interesting things, like bald eagles and GPS systems and BMB–thanks, Paul–you really made the miles fly by!

We finished up at 4:15, and after some lounging and chatting and eating, I headed home, euphoric after such a good day.  It was a welcome confidence boost.  After I got home, I calculated that I rode 378 miles for the week.  Still not in the ballpark of brevet week, which looms ominously, but definitely getting better . . .

Mr. Helpful and the older child were in Washington for a class trip that next week, and after a quick turn-around when they got home, we all flew down Friday evening to spend spring break in Miami with Grandma.  I only had one chance to ride (unless you count the hour on the 4-person limo bike) while we were there–I rented a bike at Shark Valley, in the Everglades, and spent a couple of hours roaming around on the tram trail.  It was flat as a pancake, and hot, and just went around in a circle, but I must say–the wildlife was unbelievable.  Alligators EVERYWHERE.  I suppose the cyclists down there (and I saw a LOT on this little road) are used to them, but I tell you what.  When I’m pedaling along the side of a canal, and I come up on a 6 or 8 foot gator lying on the bank just right there, next to my right ankle–it keeps me moving.  They don’t seem to bark and chase like dogs (!!), but still . . .

Anyway, we’re home now, and it’s COLD!  I’m so done with cold.  I feel like once I’ve ridden in 80-some degrees and had to stop and buy ice for my bottles and gotten sunburned enough for my arms to peel, I don’t think I can go back to tights and booties and base layers.

So I guess I’ll do some Spinervals, and hope it warms up soon . . .