That Burning…. Question

I remember where I was that fateful day, that day when.  You know what I mean, at least I think you might, because there are a whole lot of people in the same boat as me.

That day when you discovered The Walking Dead.

My life has never been the same since.  I was stranded in my bed, helpless, just like Rick Grimes, unable to move, drugged and oblivious to the world around me.  Muscle relaxers had left me in a haze, my lower back a nightmare that sought relief.  That relief was found binge watching the entire first season on my iPod.

Ever since a question has haunted me.  Through six seasons watching I have seen Shane succumb to his crazy lust, Andrea’s inability to kill that which she knew would eventually kill her, the Governor massacred during his rage fueled by insane revenge, countless characters dead by weakness.  Most just did not have what it takes to survive a zombie apocalypse.  And I ask myself — do I, Steve, have what it takes to survive a zombie apocalypse?

There has to be a Facebook quiz that will answer that question for me.

Choosing my best weapon would not be all that difficult.  I can’t shoot a gun, don’t have a clue on how to use a gun.  A gun would be out for me.  Zombies would be slathering me in Heinz 57 before I figure a gun out.

I think one of those samurai swords that Michonne uses would be cool, but frankly I am pretty sure that sooner or later I would end up accidentally sitting on it.  Now and then, I get a case of the klutz.

A crossbow might be practical, just as cool as a sword.  But there is the annoyance of carrying around arrows and retrieving them bloody from a redeceased zombie.  Cleaning would be necessary.  I am a guy.  Enough said.

Guns and samarai swords would be in short supply during a zombie apocalypse, I imagine.  My weapon of choice would be much easier to find, something I am very familiar with.

A baseball bat.  Easy to use.  Simple to carry.  No need to load it with bullets.  Precision is not required.  Even Donald Trump could use a baseball bat.

And a nice, big, huge, humongous hunting knife to use as a backup… and to slice my salami.  In a zombie apocalypse, I would survive on salami and Twinkies, washed down with cherry Koolaid.

I would survive a zombie apocalypse.  No doubts here.  There’s no question that I could slay zombies.  I have the gumption.  To kill a zombie, I would just imagine that each one was my ex-boss.

Would you survive?

Guns

Pumped and posing

I have some big ones and I am proud of it.   Guns.  Cyclist guns.

When this picture was taken last Friday, I had just finished two days of riding, was just a few minutes off of my bicycle.  My quads were screaming at me, but they were pumped.

Contrary to what you might think, I do not spend hours in front of a mirror flexing my leg muscles.  I do admire them now and then.  Is it wrong?

And if you really want to look like a strong man, stand next to the guy with the skinniest legs.  My friend, Frank, is one of those guys.  He is strong, though.  No one can drop him when we ride the road.

Now to work on the rest of the old man….

Oops, I Did It Again

Yes, another bike trip.  Yes, another two days of picture perfect weather.  Yes, yes, and again I say yes.  Brown County State Park (Indiana) rocks.  The trails there are so much fun — fast and flowy in some places, rocky and challenging in others, with spectacular climbs and views.

Ah, yes (I said it again), the views.  Right now it is the beginning of the Fall foliage viewing season in southern Indiana.  Every hotel in the area was booked to capacity, the campground at the state park full.  The place is awesome.  This was my third year in a row for a mountain bike trip with my friends to Brown County.  The weather the last two days was the best we have had.

Hesitation Point is my favorite view and we parked there yesterday, started our ride from that point.  Thus, I was able to take my yearly picture from there.

My confidence is growing on the bike, evidenced by my performance.  I have learned to carve a trail and I left my friends behind on the fast downhills, forgetting that my bike has brakes.  Jon and I waited at the bottom of several trails for Mike and Frank to catch up, many times, something that makes me feel really good.  Mike and Frank have kicked my butt for years on the road.  Neither is a slouch on a mountain bike.  Not only did I kick butt on the fast downhills, but I was riding the rocky sections  today without fear, leaving the guys behind on a trail where I usually am left behind — Walnut.  My walnuts were big today.  That trail is a lot of up and down, rocky step ups and switch backs that in years past scared me into a dismount.  On the Hesitation Point trail, not only did I attempt a rock section that I wouldn’t try before, I completed it.

My buddies cheered me on, encouraged me as they watched from the side of the trail.  Jon commented on how I corrected my balance to find the line.  I felt like a different rider.  It has been years since I have had the confidence and fitness that I found today.

I went on this trip with my parents’ blessing.  Dad made it through Tuesday’s surgery, the doctors refusing to take the risk of open heart surgery, surprised that the angioplasty was as successful as it was.  Dad came home from the hospital on Thursday, is upbeat and ready for more living.  After his first heart attack, Dad came back very well, rode a bike event with me three months later.  He won’t be able to do that this time as he will have to slow down a bit, but I am sure he will be fine.

During that bike ride with my dad, a group zipped by us.  At that time, I was in very good riding shape.  Dad looked at my with a wry smile on his face.

“I bet you can’t catch them.  Go ahead and try.  I’ll buy you a Coke if you catch them and take the front.”

He bought me that Coke.  I caught them.. quickly.

Fear for my Father

He wrapped me in a tight hug, really not what I was used to from my usually stoic father, the tears welling up in his eyes before pulling me to him.  The air around us was cold, yet it felt warm in the afternoon sun, one of those nice February days that comes along some central Illinois Februaries.

“I’m sorry, son, and I love you.  I hope you know that.  I have needed to tell you that for years.”

It had been years, probably ten or more, yet the weight of the mistake stayed with my father.  Indeed it had been a mistake, one of those times when stress and fatigue caught up with us both.

I rubbed my chin as dad let go of me, fighting my own tears.  The words to say were not coming to me, an unusual occurrence.  There is a little scar on my chin, the smoothness reminded me it was there and I knew how it had gotten there.  Dad had swung at me that night ten years prior, missed with his fist, but the watch on his wrist had dug into my chin as it passed.

“I know, Dad.  I have known.  You didn’t really need to say that, but I am glad you did.  I love you too.”

Miriam and the kids hugged my parents, loaded themselves in our car, and we drove away as my parents waved at us from their front porch, the tears in their eyes clearly visible.

The thing is, Dad really didn’t need to say those words to me.  It wasn’t that the apology wasn’t appreciated, it just was that I was just as wrong as he was that night.  In reality, my father hasn’t made enough “mistakes” with me to warrant remembering any of them.  That he needed to say he was sorry like that says a lot about the man — because that incident was the closest he had ever come to what could be considered a mistake with me.  His apology was one of many examples of character my father has demonstrated to me over the years.

My dad is one of the best.  Through my dad’s example I have learned about the importance of loyalty, faith, love, and trust.  Dad loves God in a simple way, one that has showed me that believing is enough.  He loves my mom, needs her, depends on her and has stayed with her, their bond strong through years of perseverance.  I have watched my dad build houses, work long hours at his job yet have the energy to give to his family when he got home.  My dad values people, wants to know something about the people he meets, always finds something to admire in them.  I am my dad that way.. and I like that.  Dad coached my baseball teams, stuck up for me when I needed him to, punished me fairly and taught me what was right.  I always have known what he expects from me, yet he never has demanded anything from me.  To this day, my father is one of the strongest people that I know — physically, mentally, and morally.

Tonight, I am a bit scared.  Dad had a heart attack last Thursday, the second one he has had.  It seemed mild.  Mom talked him into going to the hospital after he started experiencing discomfort while climbing a ladder (his fifth trip of the day).  He was admitted for observation at the hospital while tests were performed.  Mom called Saturday.  Dad was going to need open heart surgery, a triple bypass. Three arteries were 60 to 85 percent clogged.

OK.  Open heart surgery is not as big of a deal as it once was.  While we weren’t quite expecting to hear the news, we knew that a successful surgery would be productive and chances of a good recovery were favorable.  The doctors were to meet with my parents today, tell them what to expect and then the surgery would be performed this week.

That meeting did not go well.  Dad has a large calcified clot in his heart.  There is too much risk to perform heart surgery.

Thus my fear.  The doctors are not painting a rosy picture.  They are preparing us for the worst.  Suddenly, I go from having a strong and healthy father to one who may not be around much longer.  While I am not afraid for him to go, I am not ready for him to leave yet either.  Believing in God the way my family does, we look forward to what is on the other side.  But I am not ready to be without an earthly father yet.  I still need him, need the wisdom and friendship he gives me.

And so I wait.  I’m not sure what to do.  Mom says to wait, don’t come down to visit yet, take that mountain bike trip I planned with the guys this week.  That’s hard to do when I don’t know if something is going to happen.

Pa Hits The Kettle

This is an awful picture of me, but the only one I have from yesterday’s outing.  As you can see, I made it up but not over the big rock.  Dang.  My friends, Mike and Jon, rolled over it like it was a little bump in the road.

Took me three tries, but I made it over.  I was having such a good ride, no way was I going to let that big rock throw off the ride.

I have vacation days to burn, just in case you might be wondering why I was off traipsing through the woods on my mountain bike with friends instead of working.  My boss approached me a few weeks ago and encouraged me to take some days off.

“You don’t get paid for them if you don’t take them.”

So my friends and I took advantage of a perfect, sunny, 68 degree day to take a short jaunt to the Kettle Moraine forest region of southern Wisconsin.  The Kettle is about a 90 minute drive, if it is that far, from the western suburbs of Chicago.  There are some wonderful mountain bike trails there — the John Muir and Emma Carlin trails.

It is real obvious that all of the riding that I have been doing is paying off.  Almost all day, I was either leading in or was right on my friend Jon’s back wheel.  Mike was along for the ride, a good road rider but still learning how to handle a mountain bike.  Jon and I can carve a trail while barely touching our brakes, but Mike ends up in the woods if he tries to do that.  He does, however, go up and over most obstacles real well for a noob.  That rock in the picture was nothing for Mike to negotiate.

My phone app showed five hours, sixteen minutes of ride time with over 32 miles of singletrack covered, roughly a 6 mph average, close to 2500 calories burned.  It doesn’t sound like much, but you would think differently if you tried to keep up with us.  The Emma Carlin portion of the trail is a huge amount of climbing over very rocky terrain.  Most of the trails had a lot of rocks and roots to negotiate.

We were treated to pine, cedar, oak forests along with green meadow to cross in between.  At one point, we disturbed a flock of what must have been at least twenty wild turkey.  Twice we stopped at scenic overlooks that gave us an awesome view of the Wisconsin hill country.  We didn’t stop much or for very long when we did.  The day was for riding, the sights right there as we pedaled along.

Our longest stop was for lunch at a pleasant deli and bike shop close to the John Muir trailhead.  Fueled up, we hit the trails for another two hours before loading up Jon’s van and heading home.

Saturday will bring another morning of riding, our usual Palos forest preserve ride.  In a few weeks, October 22-23, it’s our annual guys mountain bike trip to Brown County State Park, Indiana.

I am feeling so good on the bike right now.  Jon and Mike both commented yesterday about how it is real obvious having a new bike has raised the bar for me.  My weight is down quite a bit (I don’t know how much, but it has to be more than ten pounds).  That also makes a big difference in performance as well as endurance.  Had I tried a five plus hour day like yesterday a few months ago, I would have been dead tired and sore when I got home.  Last night and this morning, I felt like I could have climbed on the bike again for another few hours!

More bike stories to come….

Radioactive

Tonight I have a glow and maybe, just maybe, it’s from something other than all the time in on the bicycle this weekend.  Maybe.  If this marker still provided accurate information, then I would have been standing right on top of buried nuclear waste, in my bicycle shorts.

This marker lies out in the middle of a clearing in the middle of the woods, smack dab (I love saying ‘smack dab’) in the way of a singletrack trail at the Palos forest preserve, a Chicagoland treasure.  Now and then I take that trail and I always have to stop to read the marker’s warning.

Caution – Do Not Dig.  Buried in this area is radioactive material from nuclear research conducted here 1943-1949.  Burial area is marked by six corner markers 100 ft. from this center point.  There is XX danger to visitors — U.S. Department of Energy 1978

The buried waste isn’t there any more, but it’s kind of fun to think about.  As well, the marker is a good place to rest.  To get to the meadow it rests in, a long twisting, steep trail has to be traversed, the last 50 yards or so the steepest with a lot of loose sand that complicates the climb.

My friend Jon took the picture of the marker early yesterday morning, sent it to me by text as we rested with our bikes next to the marker.  Riding the trails had been a little bit more complicated due to the moisture falling from the sky at the time, making the trails a bit slick in places.  It didn’t rain enough to stop us from riding three hours.  Jon and I are the dedicated ones, our buddies chose to sleep in since the forecast was very cool temperatures with rain.  Our luck was good.  The rain was light when it did rain.  The low to mid 50’s temperature helped keep us fresh.  I had to cut our ride short, we had planned to ride four hours, a broken left pedal the bad guy that stole that fourth hour from us.  I had plenty left in my tank.

That’s why I was fresh enough to ride another three hours this afternoon.  Since I was riding by myself (I couldn’t coax my sixteen year old off of the couch), I elected to try out a place that was on my list of must see rides — Raceway Woods forest preserve in Carpentersville, Illinois.  Rather than couch potato for the Bears game, I replaced the broken pedal with a spare pedal (I will not lament my hatred of removing pedals from a bicycle — although this removal went fairly smooth), then loaded up the bike on the VW for the 20 mile trip to Raceway Woods.

What a cool place!  Greeting me as I pulled into the parking lot is the original silo from the old Meadowdale International Raceway that occupied the site from 1938 to 1969.  Once abandoned, the raceway was forgotten and taken over by the woods in and around it.  The silo that had marked the raceway was about to be demolished, but was rescued by locals who wanted to restore the landmark.  After that, the forest preserve was established.

An asphalt path follows the original raceway pavement, still intact in many places, including the pit areas.  The guardrails can still be seen even though the forest claimed them long ago.  Nature trails and singletrack bike trails have been carved into the woods inside and surrounding the original race track.

I went there for a casual ride on the singletrack, but found myself drawn in by imagination, my bike tires riding the same race track that cars had raced on decades ago.  Little side paths called to me to explore, most leading no where except a dead end.  One even ended with a barrier of piled limbs and debris, a no trespassing sign accompanied by the threat of a vicious dog that most certainly lurked beyond the barrier.  I didn’t dare ignore the warning.

Some of the singletrack trails had obviously been established by local mountain bikers, the terrain and remote woods a great place for trails.  Those were the trails I enjoyed exploring the most, one trail leading to a suicidal drop off, avoided by taking another small path to the right, leading to a murderously steep drop into a opening below.  There was a bail out to the right, a narrow path along the top of a berm, a treacherous drop off on the left as it took me to the opening.  From there, it lead to the ominous warning signs at the dead end.

The front of the Raceway Woods was a nice set of singletrack trails, most likely established when the Chicago Area Mountain Bike Riders (CAMBR) trail advocacy group took over maintenance of the Raceway Woods system.  They have established some nice smooth and flowing singletrack trails, especially fun when ridden from the top down, fast with lots of sweeping banked turns and little jumps thrown in for good measure.

The last two months have provided some of the best riding that I have had in years.  My endurance is at a peak, my muscles solid from the exercise, my weight dropping off so much that I…ummmm… well… am not ashamed to look in the mirror so much any more.  Riding will do that to a person.

I am enjoying this while I can.  October is going to zoom by, November will bring colder temperatures and shorter days.  Come December, I will be smiling at the memories of the rides I have had this year.  Good rides.  On a bike I thought I would never have, part of the reason these rides have been so good.  God has been good to me, is reminding me that I am blessed.  God.. and bikes… will do that to a person….