Raising a Ringer

Tags

lessons learned, life, middle age, sports

During the course of the last 15 years or so, I had the privilege of coaching my children as they played a number of sports.  My son was one of those boys who wanted to try every sport — constantly wanting me to play catch with him, kick a soccer ball around, shoot hoops in the driveway, compete at ping pong, and go to the tennis courts for a few rounds.  Never did he allow me to take it easy on him, especially when it was tennis.  Rarely did he care that I was tired or fried.  He wanted to play.  Not wanting to be the father from Harry Chapin’s Cat’s In The Cradle, I rarely turned him down.  He always had me to be his partner in whatever activity he wanted to practice.

Having a strong boy who wanted me to compete benefited us both.  He was better because he has a father who is a decent athlete, able to show him a few things and compete well enough to cause him to improve his skills.  Constant activity kept me sharp, strengthened my throwing arm (just ask any first baseman who has taken a throw from me at third base) and improved my athletic ability even in my late fifties.  That said, I am beginning to wear down a bit, especially as my midsection grows.  During the last 15 years, I spent a good portion of my time and money supporting my children in their endeavors.  If I wasn’t coaching them, I was taking them to an event or watching them.

I wouldn’t trade those days for anything in the world.

Despite some rocky times with my son as he grew up, especially during the years when my marriage to his mother began to fail, all the time we spent together developed a bond.  Do I wish it was a little stronger?  Yes.  To be honest, the rocky times stunted that bond a little.  But as time goes on, the investment is showing.  Respect is returning, honor beginning to become a part of our relationship.  He is giving back to me, slowly, but he is doing it.

A few weeks ago, my condo association announced that they would be hosting a doubles tennis tournament.  I mentioned it to my son, hoping that he would show some interest in playing as my partner.  Nate was a talented tennis player, a standout in singles on the high school JV tennis team and in doubles on the high school varsity tennis team.  If he played as my partner, he likely would be my ‘ringer’.  I am a decent tennis player, won an intramural singles tournament in college, but it has been a few years.  In reality, it didn’t matter if we won.  I just wanted to see how would play together, wanted to spend some time with him.  Reluctantly, he agreed to play.  He was pretty sure that the competition would be an older crowd, plus he felt a little rusty since it had been over a year since he has competed at any level.

He showed.  Our first two matches, he held back, didn’t hit many serves hard, just took it easy.  We won those matches easily.  It helps that Nate is 6’4″ tall and very strong.  With him at the net, we had a wall that made our opponents lob the ball, setting me up to place the ball down either line.  In the championship match, Nate crushed several serves, some real aces that evoked several WOWs from the people watching.  We won the tournament.

It was nice to have some time with my son, time I really haven’t had in the last year since the separation and divorce.  We had a great time.  Now we get to share our prize — a gift certificate to a local restaurant!  And yes, the kid is just a tad taller than I am now.  I swear he grew 2-3 inches in the last year.

I Am a MAMIL

Tags

biking, personal, relationships, sports

I am a MAMIL and proud of it.  I always have been, always will be.  My friend, John, and I went to see this little documentary last night and were delighted at how relevant it was to us.  John and I are each over 50, have been MAMIL for quite a while.  Frankly, it’s one of the reasons why we are friends, as well as why we have so many MAMIL friends.

If you ride a bike, are male, and are over 40 years old, go see MAMIL.  You will howl at much of what is in the movie.  Don’t take your wife, a family member, or significant other as the documentary covers such topics controversial to riding bikes, such as the Plus 1 rule, injuries, time constraints, obsessions with cycling gear and trinkets, racing.. and how riding can strain relationships closest to the rider.  It also talks about physical and mental health benefits to the over 40 male.  The movie starts out light hearted, poking fun at how lycra is not kind to anyone who wears it, especially middle aged men.

We don’t care, do we?

After all, we ride a MFing bike (the video is in MAMIL).

MAMIL is for a very specific viewing audience.  I doubt that it will be all that popular, but it is indeed relevant.  While most of the guys interviewed in the movie were a bit extreme, I know a lot of guys who make them look mild in their obsession.  One thing in the movie that I found sad was the seemingly intentional segue from a segment on gay cyclists in NYC to Christian cyclists in Minneapolis.  Thankfully, the Christian cyclists were not portrayed in a negative way.

I found myself thinking back to when I started cycling as an adult.  I was 30, newlywed, recovering from a second surgery on my right knee.  Stationary bike riding was part of the prescribed therapy, something that I really enjoyed.  Because of marital bliss weight gain as well as a lack of cardio exercise due to a knee that swelled every time I ran, I leapt at the chance to train for a century ride with several people at work.  A friend loaned me his extra hybrid bike to train for the ride.  Quickly, I was putting in 400 miles or more a week on the bike, the fat literally melting off of my body.  In a very short period of time (July through November), I went from nearly 240 pounds to under 200 pounds.  My knee quit swelling when I ran, my performance in other sports soared, and I felt incredible.  A year later, I had my first road bike and was riding events several times a month, including my first of seven RAGBRAI tours.

Also within a year of that first bike ride, I began riding my bicycle to work.  When my daughter was born, her mother decided that she needed to be a stay at home mom.  Our funds were limited to the meager salary that I made, which had to pay a mortgage and family expenses.  Bike commuting became a way to not only get extra time on the bike each day, but it also became a way to save on transportation costs.  My coworkers began to identify me by my biking obsession, laughed as the sight of me in lycra became a daily thing.  People started coming to me with biking questions, suggestions on what bike to buy, requests to help them fix bikes, etc…. I can remember being proud of stretching $10 worth of gasoline over a 4 week period of time.  That was in my old Ford Aerostar van, not exactly a gas stingy machine!

Juggling riding time with family time was a bit of a challenge, but even my ex wife would admit that I did a pretty good job of it.  Every weekend involved a BCD (Butt Crack of Dawn) group ride on Saturday, with a warm down early on Sunday.  I tried not to let my bike habit become a drag on my family time and mostly succeeded.  Only the occasional tour would take me away from my family.  Not once did I miss a birthday or holiday celebration or family event.  Nor did I let the cost of cycling dip into family funds.  I rode used bikes, throwaways from more financially fortunate friends, fixed my bikes and upgraded only when I had planned and saved.  I know that some guys can’t say any of that, as well as their wives not being able to say their husband’s cycling habit was the best for their relationship, but I know that cycling was not one of my ex’s complaints.  She was proud that her husband biked.

Today, cycling is still the activity that I know will carry me past middle age.  Mountain biking is a fairly new thing for me, but something that refreshed my joy of turning the pedals when the road started getting to be less enjoyable.  I will always cycle as long as I am able.

I will always be a proud MAMIL.

 

 

Destination Duluth

Tags

life, mountain biking, personal, relationships, sports

It’s been a while since I have been here, not by choice, but simply because I had one of those nasty respiratory infections that went to my eyes.  The infection turned to pink eye and I felt like I was running on depleted cheap batteries for about two weeks.  That kind of sucks, but it also forced me to slow down and learn to become one with my couch again, something that I haven’t done for a while.  Since it’s summer, I don’t like to skimp on my riding.

Of course, the respiratory infection started to kick in right before I left for a planned mountain bike vacation to Duluth.  Woe is me, I guess.  My first planned ride-cation was foiled by one of the wettest weeks of the summer in the Midwest.  This one was screwed up by being sick.  The infection came on strong the day before I was supposed to leave for Duluth, my destination, but I went any way.  This was my time to ride on endless new trails for four days.

Duluth is touted as a cool place to ride, an IMBA gold destination.  The day I arrived, a Thursday, was rainy.  Drat.  Instead of staying off of the trails, I decided to ride in the rain, on one of the easy trail systems in the area.  It was fun, even with the rain, and I was treated to a spectacular view of Lake Superior from the top of one of the trails.  It was cold and I knew that I likely was not helping the respiratory infection, but it felt wonderful.  The woods were beautiful and it was a unique place to ride, with lots of built in obstacles and smooth rock, something I don’t get a lot of in Chicagoland.

I chose to camp on this trip, mainly because I had limited funds (divorce ain’t cheap).  A friend and one of the salesman that I work with lives in Duluth, recommended the camp sites at the Nordic ski club that he belongs to.  It was cheap.  Mosquito infested, but the pests were manageable with repellent.  I chose a site close to the lodge, mainly because I didn’t want to tote my stuff back to the camp site that I had reserved (the camping was walk in).  There was another camp site in close proximity, with a tent already set up.  I was going to have a neighbor.

The nights were freaking cold.  And I didn’t have a sleeping bag since my ex has all of the family bags in her storage unit.  I spent all the evenings I was there wrapped in several blankets, trying to keep warm.  It probably didn’t help me resist that infection.

The camp site next to me was occupied by Carl, a guy who had recently become homeless.  He was a nice guy and we became friends, spent a lot of time together around the camp fire.  I got to find out if I have the capacity to have a positive influence on someone any more.  As he told a friend before I left, I had more of an impact on him than I could possibly imagine.  We shared a lot, I witnessed him lure two women to his tent via a dating website (scary, if you think about it at all — these women came to him and in the dark).  My last night there, I bought T-bone steaks and cooked them for Carl and I over the fire.

My second day in Duluth, I felt nasty.  Riding in the rain the day before, with a respiratory infection, then sleeping in the cold, probably didn’t help.  I got a bagel and coffee, then headed for what looked like the best trail system in the Duluth area — Piedmont.

I wasn’t disappointed.  The infection made me sweat like a pig, but I enjoyed every inch of the trails there.  There was something for everyone, with double black diamond loops over some of the nastiest rock gardens that I have every seen.  One trail loop, Admiral Rockbar, was so treacherous that I walked the majority of the trail, but I loved it.  At one point, I descended a downhill trail with high berm switchbacks, something new for me.  It was awesome, indescribably awesome.

That afternoon, I met my friend who lives in the Duluth area.  He took me to Spirit Mountain, a downhill ski area where you can pay for a lift ticket that takes you to the top with your bike.  There were four downhill trails.  I have never ridden true downhill, except for the trail at Piedmont that I rode the day before.

When I get the chance, I am riding downhill again.. and again.. and again.  I have never had so much fun.  I was tired, but I didn’t care.  I just kept riding.  My friend took me out to eat and for beer at a local Duluth craft brewery.  Things couldn’t get any better.

That night, I had the chills.  I woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and zero energy.  Instead of riding again (it was Saturday) with my friend, I slept all morning and into the afternoon.  I was sick.

Then my friend, Sandy, an old blogging friend who has become a dear friend over the years, came to visit me.  She lives an hour or two south of Duluth.  We spent the evening around the fire, along with my camp neighbor Carl.  I won’t say much, but it was great to see Sandy again.  She has had a rough go the last year or two, but when I saw her it was obvious that she is doing quite well, has come out of the funk she was in.

I left Sunday afternoon, drove 11 hours to Chicagoland.  Got out of my car and couldn’t stand up straight.  Yep.  I was sick and my back was spasming!  The next morning I woke up to swelled eyes and pink eye.

But it was good.  I rode, not as much as what I would have liked, but I rode.

 

 

Ready

Tags

personal, sports

Spring is here.  The days are getting longer, trees are showing their buds, crocuses are popping up.

Most important, preseason baseball is in full swing.  Literally.

This is my favorite time of the year and I can’t wait for the season to start.  Adding to the anticipation is the excellent showing of the USA in the World Baseball Classic, one of the best tournaments I have witnessed to date.  So excited am I about the new season that the Cardinal wear is already out of the closet.

If my Cub fan friends see that last sentence, there will be sarcasm in the air.

I Have A Crush On A 29+

Tags

mountain biking, sports, stuff

That’s right.  You read it correctly.  I have a serious crush on a 29+.

Don’t be hating me.  After all, a crush is harmless, hurts no one unless it turns into obsession.  It could.

Her boyfriend let me ride her yesterday, a cushy, plush, effortless jaunt that gave me just enough taste to makes me want her more.  She belongs to him, though.  I will have to get my own.

If his name was Jessie, she would be Jessie’s girl.  Can we pretend his name IS Jessie?  I want to sing the song.

I’m already dreaming about her.  In my dreams we are gliding across sun filled fields of daisies, forever joined together, birds singing around us, guiding us into the rocks, escorting us into the woods.  Heaven on earth, the sweat glistening in all the right places.

I woke up in a pool of drool, my pillow soaked.

She has big ones.  I like big ones.  She is a 29+, gorgeous 29″ x 3″ balloons with perfect knobs.  I am in lust.

Her name is Salsa.  Salsa Deadwood SUS.  I want her.  I want her badly.

Chicken Butt

Tags

lessons learned, life, mountain biking, personal, sports

You know what?

No, not chicken butt.

No matter what happens, Saturdays are very difficult to ruin.  Saturdays most often are my days, days to get all that important stuff done, to ride ride ride ride, to kick back.  I protect my Saturdays, rarely give them away if at all possible.  When my kids were younger it was a different story, what with all kinds of kid stuff and their sports and little trips.  Even then, I always made it a priority to ride my bike, even if it meant BCDing it (Butt Crack of Dawning it).

Today was supposed to be very, very cold, as in the 20 degree range.  Instead, it was 36 degrees when I set out at 8 AM, clothed in fleece lined tights and three layers up top.  I was hopeful to find rideable dirt trails at Saw Wee Kee park, even though there were periodic downpours early in the day yesterday.  My VW carted my bike and I to the woods, found absolutely pristine conditions, almost as if it hadn’t rained for days.  Hallelujah!

My friend, Jon, was already out on the trails, his van the only vehicle in the parking lot as I arrived.  I knew I would find my energetic friend somewhere out in the woods.  Jon had probably been there for several hours.  There is no one who likes to ride more than Jon.

There was one problem.  As I landed my first jump, I heard the clunk of the rear shock bottoming out.  The bike felt like it was riding low, confirmed by a sharp pedal strike a few more feet after that landing.  I pulled to a stop, dismounted, inspected the shock and found exactly what I suspected — the seal was shot.  My ride was likely over unless it was simply a case of the shock being low on air, an easy fix since I had a shock pump in my car.  I turned back to the parking lot as Jon rolled up, followed me back to my car.

Things looked better after I pumped the shock up.  It held full pressure, sat real nice as I hit the auto sag.  Jon and I rolled back onto the trail.  I flew over the first few jumps, felt the rear end of my bike drop.  Sure enough, the shock did not hold pressure.  Ride over.

Jon and I took some time to catch up on things before heading back to our cars.  I had news for him, news that shocked the snot out of him.  We talked about it for a while and I assured him that I am OK.

Good thing my bike shop is on the way home.  Looks like they have the seals in stock.  I should get the bike back and get some rides in before the snow and ice takes back the trails for the winter.

So I decided this was going to be a day to get things done.  I did.  Cleaned up the back yard, repaired a window and screen, finally moved that useless treadmill out of the upstairs master bedroom and sold it on Craigslist, put together a list of supplies needed for repairs around the house, straightened up the back yard shed.  The treadmill ended up sticking in the maximum incline position when I tested it in the garage, so I gave it away instead of selling it — but it’s gone.

I built a nice little fire in the fire ring, enjoyed a conversation next to the fire with my friend Gina when she brought my spare mountain bike over for me.  Perfect timing for her to bring it back.  Gina teaches mountain bike skills classes for the local mountain bike riding association, had borrowed my spare to use with her students.  Great timing.  Now I can ride tomorrow.

It’s a quiet evening, solitary and good, my music keeping me company as I write, my orange and white feline friend warming in my lap.  Saturday is always good, almost impossible to ruin.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Woods With Friends

Tags

fun, life, middle age, mountain biking, relationships, sports

There is nothing better than enjoying God’s magnificent creation with friends.  Even better is rolling through God’s green (and a bit yellow with mixed reds/oranges) wonder.. fast.  This past weekend I joined my friends Mike, Mike, and Jon for a jaunt through the twisting, undulating (cool word, eh?) dirt mountain bike trails of Brown County State Park, Nashville, Indiana.  Brown County boasts some of the best singletrack dirt trails in the Midwest, a designation that my friends and I heartily endorse.

Mike L, Steve the Big Orange Blob, and Mike B

This was my fifth trip to Brown County with Jon — the first trip there was one of my first real mountain bike excursions.  That first year was eye opening, my awe evident to Jon and our friend, Jim, who both love introducing the sport to friends.  Brown County had been an annual trip each Fall for my two friends, a tradition that Jon and I have continued.  Jon and I coaxed my friend Mike into going with us two years ago, easily hooking him to the rush of the trails.  Last year we introduced Frank to Brown County.. he was almost in tears as he had to announce earlier this week that his boss had asked him to forego the trip in lieu of a work trip.

Jon brought along his friend, Mike B, for this trip, an enthusiastic intermediate level rider who immediately expressed his joy as we entered the woods to begin our two days of riding on Thursday morning, starting at the “bottom” of the park from the north entrance parking lot of Brown County State Park.  That portion of the trail, the Pine Loop, begins by winding up a beautifully wooded ravine then through a sweet smelling pine forest, emerging to cross a small wood bridge into a fast flow trail.  Pine Loop is a smooth beginner trail with enough twists, turns, climbs, roots, and rocks to give a preview of what is to come.  We had already taken a 7 mile warm up loop while Mike B was on a work conference call from his car in the parking lot, so the three of us were able to give him a nice fast intro to the trail.  Of course, Mike B had a very interesting crash later on while riding the Walnut trail, something he recorded from his GoPro camera mounted below his handlebar.  The link is below.  Somehow, he came out of that scary crash as enthusiastically as he had approached our ride all day, with a laugh and a smile.  We all were really glad that Mike B joined us this year!  His crash became the talk of the rest of our trip.

Our first day found us grinding the climbs before flying (literally.. both tires were off the ground a ton during the descents on that trail) the Green Valley trail, grunting the climbs over the roots and rocks of the Hesitation Point trail.. to be treated to a spectacular view at the top, then the rush of the advanced skill level Walnut trail.  We reached the top of the park after another screaming rush riding the flowy Limekiln trail to the campgrounds.  At the campground, we met up with three other friends who rode back down through Limekiln and Walnut with us to Hesitation Point.  Those three rode back up to the campground to get cleaned up for dinner while we rode back down the Hesitation Point trail to Aynes and back to the north gate parking lot.

Mike L and I decided to ride our bikes from the trail head to the hotel where Mike B and Jon met us.  All said, our first day was nearly 40 miles of dirt trail riding.

Lovely.

All retreated to our rooms, exhausted but extremely satisfied, the showers bringing us back to life.  We met the three from the campground at the Big Woods brewery in Nashville, closed out the restaurant, sharing stories from our trail rides that day as well as ride stories of the past.

The next morning I woke amazingly refreshed, a bit sore from the previous day’s ride, but ready for another few hours of riding.  After all, riding was our reason for our trip.  None of us are partiers.  We wanted to ride as much as possible.  After a breakfast of sausage and fake scrambled eggs in the hotel lobby, we left Jon’s van at the hotel, rode into the park for more riding.  Our ride started from the Pine Loop trail again, maybe even more sweet smelling in the morning dew.  From there the boys coaxed me to ride the North Tower Loop trail, a ride that starts with two miles of grinding, albeit low grade, twisty climbing.  My legs were sore.  I didn’t want to start with climbing.  But I was glad to be talked into riding and leading out on that trail.  I was the fastest descender in the group, the climbs warming me up nicely so that when we reached the down and tight turning section of the North Tower Loop trail, I left my friends in the dust, waiting for them with a huge grin at the end of that trail.  We ventured back to the Green Valley trail for more roller coaster riding, then climbed to Hesitation Point.

From there, we decided to take the park road to the Bobcat Bowl trailhead, a double black diamond expert trail, half of the trail newly finished a week before our visit.  Bobcat Bowl is very narrow, following ridges over a whole lot of rocks and roots, with challenging switchbacks that threaten to throw your bike off the trail into the ravine.  It’s also one of the most scenic trails in the park.. so wonderful.  At one point, I had to walk a small section of trail that was probably three feet wide with a sheer drop off on my left.  I am afraid of heights!  The trail starts with a challenging, rocky switchback that leads to off camber, narrow dirt trails.  It is a fun trail, but I found myself wishing I lived close enough to learn to ride Bobcat Bowl properly.  I rode the first half very well, fast enough to take a break in the middle to wait for my friends to catch up.  Once we got to the newly finished portion of Bobcat, where it begins to wind up the side of very tall ravines, I fell behind and had to walk some sections.  We were a few hours into our ride and I was beginning to show some wear.  Plus, I am heavier right now than I have ever been and it began to show in the climbs.

Here I am getting ready to negotiate a tight turn on Bobcat.

We finished the day by riding back down through the Aynes Loop.  At the end, I found my second wind, leading us back to the park, forcing a large group of slower riders to give up the trail to us, allowing us to pass.  We sprinted for the old covered bridge at the entrance to the park, then rolled back up the highway to our vehicles at the hotel.

I want to go again next week.  It was that good!

If you have some time and want to get an idea of what the Walnut trail riding was like our first day, here is Mike B’s video.  I am the orange guy at the beginning and the end.  At 4:39, you will be treated to Mike’s end over into the ravine!

Beginnings

Tags

life, sports

Before I begin… well, potty break.

OK, I feel better.

Baseball season officially began this past Sunday.  That only means one thing – insufferable Cubs fans have crawled out of the wood work.

I am a St. Louis Cardinals fan.  I always will be.  There is no other choice, I think.  Once I have believed, I always will believe.  Baseball and God go hand in hand.  That and I can’t imagine pulling for a team that doesn’t win.. every year.. annually.  Baseball is God’s game and the Cardinals prove that.

I have to pee again.  Already.  It sucks imagining that I am old.

I hope you don’t whatever it is I am trying to say a rambler.  I feel one coming on.  My  brain ain’t working any more than it normally does tonight.

The picture for this blog was taken about an hour ago.  My neighbors are pitiful Cubs fans, complete with license plates on their cars that encourage people to pray for the Cubs (not a bad idea… they have existed in hell for 108 years).  Last year they placed a Cubs garb clad goose on the fence facing my yard, then projected a big blue W on my garage when the Cubs finally bested the Cardinals (after many hapless years) in the playoffs.  This year a freshly clad goose has appeared, as well as a Cubs wreath and a W flag facing my house.  Last night, as my magnificently spandex clad self mounted my mountain bike on the back of my car in my driveway, Kilroy and Kilroy’s mother appeared from their second story windows to trash talk me.  Apparently they are taking advantage of that first game Cardinal loss to gloat that the Cardinals are in last place.

I am so going to enjoy pissing in their front yard this September.

It pains me to admit that I hope the Cubs go all the way this year.  My Cardinals are perennial winners.  The Cubs are 100 year losers.  Let their long suffering fans have their time to celebrate, then let’s get back to the business of mocking them.

Rambler is avoided, although I think I am going to write another blog just so I can continue rambling.