Running Pride

Tags

life, memories

I didn’t realize that Mom still has the newspaper clipping, not until she pulled the yellowed print from her purse this past weekend.  For me, that article had been a small moment of recognition for me, my picture in the Springfield Journal Register sports section and my name mentioned.  A few days after the article appeared, our neighbor brought a copy of the picture to me, a broad smile on his face.  He worked at the newspaper and knew that I would want that picture.  It was 1979, my senior year, and our high school track team was one of the best in the state of Illinois.  Our success started our freshman year and had continued to our senior year.  We were expected to win the Illinois State track meet as a team.. and we did.  As the article reported, our team had one of the best sprinters in the state, but we also had some of the best middle distance runners in the state.  I was one of them, with the school record time of 1:56 in the 800 meters and 8:36 as anchor of the 3200 meter relay some of my accomplishments.  My senior year, I did not lose a single 800 meters race until the sectional track meet.

I think it’s OK that I am still proud of those accomplishments.  Running was a huge thing for me then and has carried over into my love for cycling now.  Mom beamed as she handed me the faded clipping, still as proud as I am.. maybe more.  “I thought you would be glad to have this” she said as I held the clipping out in front of me, the memory of the moment that picture was taken still fresh in my mind.  I smiled as I remembered.  I hugged my Mom, told her how happy I was that she had brought it to me.

My parents did not have much opportunity to see me compete.  They were too busy making sure that our family had food on the table and a roof over our heads.  Dad worked like a dog, Mom taught piano lessons and managed the household affairs.  I know how much they wanted to be there, especially since running was the sport where I excelled.  When I think about that, I realize how blessed I have been to be able to watch both of my children compete.  There is a special pride a parent takes from watching their child play a sport or perform.

One of the few times that Dad had opportunity to watch me run was the night that our team ran against a school that had a dirt track, meaning that the running shoes each runner wore were fitted with longer spikes that normal.  That meet, while running the 800 meters, a two lap race, a runner from the other team stomped on my left foot during the first lap.  I finished and won the race with a bloodied foot, a large gash on the top of my foot.

There were other times.  That year at the Pana Open, a large invitational track meet, was one of those times.  The day had been a good one, a day of laughter as well as tough competition.  Andy Lunt, a hurdler on our team, had given us all a laugh by accidentally sitting in a large pile of dog poop while doing the hurdler stretch.  He had to run his race in borrowed shorts, his shorts were crusted with a large smelly brown stain.  I had done well, winning the 800 meters and placing second in the 1500 meters that day.  By the end of the meet, our team was in second place by a fraction of points.  I had yet to finish my last two jumps of the triple jump, the only event left to be finished for the meet.  If I placed third or better, our team would win the meet.  I had to take those last two jumps with everyone watching and scratched on the first jump.  The final jump was a good one and an inch longer than the third place jump.  My last jump won the meet for our team.  Dad had arrived late.. and he got to see that happen.

High school track truly was a team sport, funny as that may sound.  I think I remember the comraderie as much or more than the actual individual competition.  Our team was good not only because we had individuals who were outstanding athletes, but we also had some of the best relay teams in the state.  Relays were always the highlight of each meet, the events that everyone watched and cheered for.  When I ran a relay, my team mates would position themselves at the last curve, yelling loudly for me as I kicked to the finish line.  I did the same as they ran, sharing the victory as my team mates ran.

I’m glad Mom brought that article for me to enjoy!

A Drop In The Bucket

Tags

bicycle, friends, mountain biking

Bucket list items do not need to be exotic, expensive, unattainable, unrepeatable, nor do you have to wait until you are dying to do it.  Many things that could be bucket list items are just something that you want to try, at least once.

Ray’s Indoor Mountain Bike Park is a place I wanted to visit at least once.  I did that today.  Most likely, I will go back again and make it a yearly trip.

Especially when I have gung ho let’s-do-it friends like my friend Jon.  If it’s bike related, he wants to do it.  Mention it and he’s on it.  Earlier this winter, I suggested to friends that we needed to make the short trek to Milwaukee to ride at Ray’s.  Jon said “name a day”.  So today was the day.  We played hooky from work, took advantage of visiting the place during a week day, which gave us the run of the place without a crowd.

The place is crazy — 120,000 square feet of pure fun and all indoors.  There are two tiers of riding “trails” in the park with banked wood curves, jump tracks for both beginners and expert level, pump tracks, skills areas with skinny obstacles and teeter totters, a skate park style area, and a cross country trail that traces that outside of the upper and lower levels of the park.  Ray’s day pass for first time visitors is relatively inexpensive, a pass that includes bike rental, with three choices of bike styles.  The most popular bike is a bike that looks like a mountain bike and BMX bike got together to have a child, with a lowered seat and smooth fat tires.  The bikes have platform pedals, better for the style of riding in the park, and the placement of the seat means that the bike is pedaled while standing up. The bike is single speed without gears and equipped with disc brakes. It takes some getting used to, but after a short time of riding Ray’s, it makes sense.

I had to learn to lean into the steep bank turns.  If you go into a banked turn with the bike straight up, bike and rider simply slide down to the bottom of the turn.  After learning to lean the bike, something that doesn’t feel natural at first, I could not get enough of the banked turns.

Also a tremendous amount of fun were the jumps.  They are numerous, found all over the park.  I usually catch air pretty easily when riding dirt trails outside on my dual suspension XC mountain bike, but I had to learn how to properly pop the front wheel and then the back wheel up in order to catch air on the strange bike that I rented.

Catching air got me in trouble.  John and I rode a little over four hours this afternoon and we were beat, especially since we had been riding standing up that whole four hours.  It takes a strong core, something I need to work on.  We decided to take one last trip around the park before heading back to Chicagoland.  That last trip around the park culminated at the last section of four jumps.  We flew around the park, exhausted but giving everything we had left for energy, and hit that last section of jumps absolutely flying — literally.  Unfortunately, I hit the second jump very fast and off balance, flying sideways in the air and too close to the next jump.  I landed with the front wheel sideways and was thrown over the handlebars, hit the ground hard with my chest taking the majority of the blow.

I picked myself off of the ground immediately, the breath knocked out of me.  I sat down to assess the damage and saw a knot the size of two golf balls forming high on the shin of my left leg.  My right elbow had a nasty looking scrape and my rib cage was already starting to ache.

Oops.

But I still had a smile on my face.  I had a blast.  I dusted myself off, turned the handlebar around since the impact had twisted it around and pedaled back to the rental counter.  John greeted me there, a huge satisfied grin on his face.

We have to do this again.

The drive back home took two and a half hours, traffic getting out of Milwaukee a bit troublesome, then slow once we hit the Chicago area.  Our wounds of the day caught up with us, both of us groaning like two old men as we each got out of John’s van to unload my stuff.  War wounds.  Badges of honor.  Reminders of perhaps my favorite day so far this year.  It can only get better.

A New Regimen For Recovery

Tags

life, mountain biking, orange cat

A mild March and the onset of Daylight Savings Time has provided an abundance of opportunity lately to do what I like best.  Yes.  You know it.

Ride my bikes.

Notice that was plural.  This time of year, if I am able to get out for a ride at all, it’s on the road.  With freeze/thaw and storms during March, usually the dirt is mud, not suitable for riding off road.  But last Saturday joyful posts of rides appeared on my Facebook, rides on dirt single track and on my local trail system.  The trails were drying out.  So this Thursday my boss encouraged me to cut out of work a little early, I begged off giving my son a ride home from tennis practice (he has friends whose parents owe us BIG time), and I loaded up my mountain bike.  I rushed off to Saw Wee Kee park, enjoyed 90 minutes of pure bliss on pristine trails.  I met two friends when I got there, ready to ride, and we shredded the trails together.

Yesterday morning was three more hours on the trails.  My friend, Jon, and I had a blast.  We were in mountain bike heaven, two men who transformed into Lost Boys for a few hours.  Jon had to leave, I went back in for another half hour.  Riding was that good.  I couldn’t stop no matter how tired I was.

And I was tired.  I got home with that pleasant burn in my muscles that comes from a good workout.  It was then that I discovered the best recovery regimen ever — Chester the cat.  I showered, went downstairs to plop on the couch, stopped to scratch Chester behind the ears along the way.  Chester decided just a scratch behind the ears was not enough, crawled into my lap with a loud purr.  It’s funny how the tired left me, lost in the affection of a warm cat.

 

Conflict

Tags

bicycling, conflict, life

Ride a bicycle on the road long enough, there is going to be some form of conflict with a motorist.  People have bad days, some people just plain don’t like cyclists riding the road, and sometimes a cyclist might actually do something rude or stupid while riding.  No matter how hard you try to be polite and to share the road, sooner or later someone is going to get upset with you.

I have been pretty fortunate since the early days, some 20 years ago when I started commuting the roads of west suburban Chicagoland.  The first year or two of commuting saw some conflict, some severe and some not so severe, in part due to the fact that I was still new to cycling and had a lot to learn.  I made mistakes, learned from them, and I honestly have to say that instances of conflict, even motorists flipping me off, dwindled to near zero after a few years of experience riding the roads.  I have even been thanked and complimented by motorists, one said that she saw me on the road almost every day and thanked me for not only the safe way that I rode but for being a good example.  It has been a long time since I have had any type of confrontation with a motorist.

I was due.  You know what’s coming.

Tonight was a perfect evening for a ride, a bit of a strong head wind from the east, but easy enough to handle after warm up.  The temperature was in the low sixties, perfect, with clouds.  I have been out for rides 4 out of the last 5 days, my legs starting to feel good.  After picking my son up from tennis practice, I arrived home at 5:15 and decided to get a ride in while there was still light.  I have a nice ten mile loop with just enough time to ride it, a scenic route on lightly travelled roads that takes me east out of town, south for a bit, then west back into town.  I felt great.

It was on the trek back west.  I travel west on a fairly busy road, then turn right onto a quiet road that follows a river.  Almost home, just a few miles to go.  I stuck my left arm up as I approached the right turn, leaned into the turn.  A couple in a Toyota RAV4 approached from the opposite direction, sped up as they turned left while I was turning right.  I knew that the driver saw me.  They nearly hit me from the left, swerved into the opposite lane to avoid hitting me as we arrived in the same spot at the same time.  Had I been a car, he would have hit the left side of my car.

I yelled a loud HEY as they turned, afraid they were going to hit me.  Apparently that offended the couple.  They slowed in front of me, then slammed on their brakes, then drove slowly ahead while the woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window, flipped me the bird, then leaned out the window to yell at me to share the road.  I yelled back, told her that they nearly hit me, that I had the right of way.  Had I not been turning right and instead had continued riding straight ahead, they would have hit me.  I just ducked my head down and looked straight ahead, not wanting conflict.  I wanted them to go away, just wanted to ride.  I could see the driver holding his finger up in a continuous salute as the passenger continued to scream at me, her finger held high as she returned to her seat.  This continued for a few hundred yards, then the driver slammed on his brakes a few times then drove off with squealing tires.

I was relieved that they were gone, not really upset, happy that I had been relatively civil (I did yell back, so I wasn’t perfect).  Then I saw the Toyota stop at a stop sign about a half mile ahead… and turn around.  The car roared back in my direction, swerved into my lane as it approached me, then back, the driver yelling at me to “stop and talk, a@@hole” as he pulled to side of the road opposite me.  I kept riding, ignored him, didn’t even slow down.  I wish I had looked over my shoulder to see what the Toyota was doing, because I was coming up to the stop sign and needed to turn left.  As I stopped at the sign to wait for cars from the right and left, the Toyota came to a skidding stop behind me.  He had turned around to chase me down.  I was trapped since there were cars coming from both directions and two waiting to turn left in front of me.  The driver in the Toyota yelled at me, saying something about talking and kicking my ass as he got out of his car.  I had simply looked straight ahead when he had pulled up behind me, shaking my head no.

I had no choice but to get off of my bicycle.  I didn’t know what he was going to do.  He stomped up to within a few feet of me, yelling the entire way.  I glared at him, told him to admit his mistake, I didn’t care what had happened, and asked him to get back in his car.  His response?  No, how about he kick my ass instead.

Here I am holding a bicycle in my left hand (no way was I laying it down), slick cleated shoes on, honestly trying to keep calm and keep my blood pressure down.  I didn’t want to fight.  But I also wanted the guy to go away, couldn’t push him away with one hand and slick shoes on, so when he took another step at me I slapped him in the face with my free hand.  It was a weak attempt, my heart not really in it.

That’s really what he wanted.  He backed off and started screaming that he was calling the cops.  I didn’t say anything except “go ahead, but I am leaving”.  I got back on my bike and took the left turn as the man continued to scream that he was calling the police.  He got back in his car and followed, he and his wife (I know that now) yelling at me out the window.  A police car approached from the opposite direction and he flagged them down.  About a mile down the road, the policeman came up beside me.

“Do you know what that guy is upset about?”, the policeman asked through his passenger window.

“I know he’s upset.  We had a confrontation back on River Road.”

“Pull over in that parking lot and let’s talk about it.”

I complied.  The policeman was calm and I could tell he was not aggravated with me.  I waited for the policeman as the Toyota pulled up behind him.   The policeman asked me to come talk to him out of earshot of the angry Toyota driver.  When we walked around a corner, the policeman told me he also is a cyclist, that he deals with situations like this all of the time.  He said that most of the time the motorist is the one who is angry and the cyclist is usually cool — and he told me that he could tell that I was.  I was.  It wasn’t just psychology that the policeman was employing, he was telling the truth.  I kept the story short, told him what had happened, including that the driver had turned around twice to chase me down.  I admitted that I had slapped the guy.

“Did you feel threatened?”

“Very much so.  I only wanted the guy to back off and go away.”

“That’s all I need to hear.  I need to go talk to them, but it’s only going to be a minute and you can go.  Are you OK?  Do you want to pursue any action against this guy?”

“I just want to finish my ride.”

“Good.  I will be right back.”

The policeman was true to his word.  He talked to them for a minute, then I saw him put his hand up and kept it up as he walked away.  He held one finger up as he looked at me (his index finger), an honest resigned look on his face.  Then he approached me, told me that I could go, that he needed to talk to them some more.

“I will make sure I hold them for a few minutes. You sure you don’t want to pursue any action against the driver?”

“No.  Thanks.  Much appreciated, officer.”

There were no shaky nerves from me.  I didn’t feel agitated.  I rode the few miles to home easily, but trying to keep an eye over my shoulder!  I have had a driver get out of a car to threaten me before, but this is the first time that one actually did more than get out of his car.  The time before, the adrenaline had me shaking for quite a while after the incident.

This comes closest to being the most insane confrontation that I have had in all of my years riding a bicycle.  It could have been much worse, however.

I wonder if the guy would have acted so tough if I were riding with a group or with another friend?  Probably not.

I Spoil Myself

Tags

bicycle, bicycle rack, bicycle ride, life, poo, stuff

It’s Saturday.

It’s Saturday with temperatures in the 60s.

It’s Saturday with a nice hefty gift from Mom Henry and the state tax refund in my bank account (the refund is 666… should I be worried?).

Six hours of riding in the last two days have I.  My road bike thinks that I am back in love with it.  I hate to break it to my white titanium beauty, but it’s going to be pretty lonely once the trails are dry enough to ride.  Today I rode a little over four hours, after riding nearly two hours yesterday.  Perhaps getting the blood pressure under control helps, because I am feeling very good on the bike.

My plan today was to ride a route that takes me a little further out west of Chicagoland, one with a few more hills and one big climb in the middle.  Usually that route takes me around two hours.  However, ten miles into my ride I met two guys who seemed to match the pace I am comfortable with right now, maybe just a little faster but enough to motivate me.  They used my big draft for a while, then invited me to ride along with them, a route that would take me farther north and west than I was planning to ride.  And I knew it would add a few more hours to my ride.  So I joined in.

Their route threw a few more extended climbs into my ride, too.  I felt myself turning to toast after about two hours into the ride, especially after a very long climb.  However, I was enjoying myself, happy that in the middle of March I am able to ride for an extended period of time, especially after the health scare I had two weekends ago.

I bid adieu to my new riding friends about ten miles from home.  It was a bit of a relief to be back to riding by my lonesome.  I backed my pace down to around 18 mph for a spin home.

Then the gut gremlin hit me.  A few guys I ride with carry a baggie stocked with TP when they ride.  I wished I was riding with them.  Unfortunately, I was in the middle of a large open area close to my house called Fermilab.  There are no restroom facilities.  There are dense groves of pine trees situated next to a corn field, though….

There are times when I am really happy to roll into my driveway at the end of a ride.  Today was one of those days.

I was happy.  It was such a good ride, even considering the gremlin attack.  My body had a pleasant burn, not an exhausted burn, so I knew that I had not pushed too hard (we’ll see what tomorrow brings).  I grabbed a quick shower, then turned on my laptop PC to do some quick research — for bike rack dealers.

Why not reward myself for some hard work?  My parents have been asking me to reward myself with a new bike rack for the new VW.  Mom sent me a check that made it realistic for me to buy a good rack.

So I visited my bike shop, purchased a new Yakima Holdup tray style bike rack.  It’s the nicest bike rack that I have ever had — it folds up or folds away for trunk access, has a hitch pin lock and cable locks for each bike, and it can be expanded to a four bike rack.  To top it off, it really looks good on the VW.

Life is good when bikes are involved.

Almost Time To Choose

Tags

life, politics

One more post tonight, after watching tonight’s sorry excuse for a Republican debate.  Why not just give them paintball guns and let the candidates shoot them at each other?  No longer are these debates, they are fights led by a egotistical bully.  Thankfully, one participant has had the maturity and confidence to stay away from the name calling, the childishness.

As the final question was asked — would you support the Republican nominee? — I realized what should have been obvious to me for a long time.  I had to ask myself my own question….

Which Republican candidate would I be comfortable with and confident in as president?  There is only one.  He has not been my choice up to now, but this candidate is the only one who has specific ideas and experience, has been able to express those ideas clearly.

Trump is running on ego.  Trump has no clue beyond what makes him a ‘winner’.  He’s a bully.  He is an embarrassment.

Rubio needs to mature.

Cruz is an ego without the bluster.  Besides, he looks like Grandpa Munster.  Our president needs to be able to cross boundaries, not create them.

Kasich.  He’s the go to guy.  If I was working with him in an office, he would be the guy I would look to for answers because he knows what to do.  He has done it before.  He isn’t guessing.  He’s not afraid to speak his mind, but he knows where the line is.

Seven months ago, I never thought that I would be saying that.

Trump gets the nomination, I will vote for him.  I am Republican.  I will wear a diaper to the voting booth because he scares the crap out of me.

Crossed Blue

Long/Short story:

1.  I learned this week that Blue Cross Blue Choice Preferred PPO is the only PPO offered in Illinois now.  Guess what PPO health insurance my family switched to December 2015?  BCBS had ‘discontinued’ our PPO policies, automatically enrolled us in their suggested insurance product replacements — inferior products.
2. Before I enrolled myself, my wife, and my two children in BCBS Blue Choice Preferred PPO this past December, I checked the BCBS web site to make sure that our doctors were a part of the plan network.  Those doctors discontinued their acceptance of BCBS Blue Choice PPO at the end of 2015.  We now have to find new doctors.
3. I have spent several hours on the phone and online chat with BCBS trying to get the PPO policies cancelled that BCBS automatically enrolled them in at the end of December.  My children were double covered and were being billed for policies that I had tried to cancel.  Finally, they agreed to cancel my son’s second policy.  They would not cancel my daughter’s second policy, said she would have to cancel it herself.  She is over 18 years old.  Even after my daughter contacted BCBS to cancel, the greedy chumps would not cancel her second policy.
4. Had I not been almost ready to pass out when I walked into the convenient care center this past Sunday, they would have turned me away.  I am not making that up.  I was actually told that at the registration desk.  Their reason?  BCBS Blue Choice Preferred is not accepted at that convenient care.  It should be interesting seeing their bill.  I will likely feel like passing out again.
5. Finding a primary care physician that accepts BCBS Blue Choice Preferred PPO has proven to be quite a chore.  I found a cardiologist for my follow up visit, but have yet to find a primary care doctor.  The cardiologist recommended a primary care doctor to me today.  I’m crossing my fingers, toes, and a few other bits.

What a headache our health insurance system has become.  Truly.  It’s awful.  I stuck with Blue Cross Blue Shield because that was the carrier I had for my family at my prior job.  It was very good then, before the Healthcare Marketplace came into being.  There were zero issues.

Since the government stuck its finger into the health insurance dike, it has done nothing but leak.  I can honestly say that my recent experiences and experiences with health insurance in the last two years has found me wanting.

——

Oh, and if I hear “these kinds of things happen to us as we get older” one more time, I am going to hit the person who says it with my cane.

The cardiologist appointment this morning went well.  Good thing I didn’t have my cane with me.

“You are very healthy,” he commented as he went over the test results, “You’re just getting older.  These things happen.”

Kidneys, lungs, liver, heart, and even my brain are great.   No one is allowed to debate the last one or else they get caned.  So what is it?  Possibly it’s because I snore.

“I could have told you that years ago.”  My wife quipped that with a poop eating smirk.

So.

I get sleep studied in two weeks, along with a pulmonary evaluation.  Cholesterol is going to be checked (might as well buy the fish oil now).

Doc says ride that bike as much as you want, old man.