Skipping ahead ...

to day 25.

I haven't missed a day yet this month, though it's taken some extra effort to make it happen. For instance, last Thursday, we were away from home and there was no way I could take my bike. I made do with Thomas's too big shoes and extra socks stuffed in the back. I also rode his too big bike. Looked a bit like a cycling clown, but I got my ride in.

Yesterday, getting the ride in involved sticking the bike in the back of the car and squeezing a ride in before dinner at my parent's.

Today was easier. Back home. My own bike. 5 days to go. Then what???

Every day in June #s 13, 14, & 15

The streak is still going. 25 miles on Monday with Coty, and then two short days, squeezing rides in between thunderstorms or at the end of a long day. I am finding that the first few strokes on the pedals are like a deep breath. Riding a bike makes me feel like a kid sometimes. Pedal, breathe, coast, lean into a turn, stand up and pump going up a hill, lean way down gripping the lower bars, back parallel to the ground, fly downhill. I finish each ride coasting down the street and then a few pedal strokes to shift to a higher gear so the next day's start will be easier. I turn into the driveway, a slight uphill, and stand up on my bike over the bump and down the driveway, like a jockey at the end of a race. I am that ten year old girl who dreamed of race horses and pretended to win the Derby.

******

I was very sad today when one of my students, an Afghan woman who wears a hijab, explained to me that the reason she hadn't come Monday or Tuesday was that she was afraid to walk from her apartment the half mile to the center. Someone might be angry with her because of the gunman in Orlando, she said. I am afraid, she said. Drivers passing by would not know, of course, that her husband has a Purple Heart and that he fought shoulder to shoulder with American Marines in his home country, the country he had to flee because he fought with the US. I couldn't tell her not to feel afraid because she is right, her fear is not irrational. Someone might see her hijab and be angry. There could be some backlash. I could only say I'm sorry you feel afraid and tell her that I pray for her protection. She asked if I could give her some fabric so we pulled out bags of brown and purple, her choices. She will make beautiful headbands with embroidery and earn money for her handwork and be delighted that she is able to help her family with the skill of her hands. When I was leaving the building, she saw me and waved and smiled and blew me a kiss. I wanted to cry for all the crazy, terrible, unjust, beautiful, messed up, sweet, tender things in this world.

I came home with two teenagers - one from Congo, one from Burma. They are beautiful, bright, thoughtful girls. They swam for two and a half hours, laughing and lounging in the pool.

******

We are reading aloud again. Coty reads and I cut fabric or press quilt squares. Deep jewel colors - purple and teal - and goldenrod in simple squares are the start of a new quilt. I am working at it slowly, but reading together in the evenings will speed it along.

******

It's morning now, after a night of storms. The air is cooler and fresh. I hear a wren. The coffee is brewing. I will sit on the porch for a bit and read. It's a very good way to start a day.

Every day in June #10

We rode out past the roadblock again, over the newly constructed bridge and into the sort-of country. New mown hay in cylindrical bales, scattered across the field as though tossed at random by a giant throwing bread crumbs. The smell of fresh cut lawns and people cooking their burgers on the grills beside the baseball fields.The sign in front of the elementary school beyond the park said "Have a great summer!"  On the way back in, I heard the first cicada of the season.

Every day in June #6: Seeing red, in a good way

A visual vignette from yesterday's ride ...

I was heading in on Fowler Road. Just beyond the open fields was a house with three old, run-down cars parked in the driveway. They were all red. As I pedaled past the house, a balding, older man walked down the driveway. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt which were ... red. It just struck me as funny. Then, the next two cars that passed me were ... wait for it ... both red. There is no particular significance in this little vignette, except that the rest of the ride, I started seeing more red cars.

When you notice something and begin to look for it, quite often you see more of it than you realized was there. Like lovely virtues in people you encounter.

**********************
I am back home today. Coty and I did what has become a fairly regular 20 mile ride. Along Hickory Ridge, past the second bend in the road, the cows that are normally scattered out in the pasture were huddled together in the woods, mostly lying down. I've heard that when the cows are lying down, it's a sign that rain is coming. When they are lying down in the woods under the trees, is it a sign the rain will be heavy?

Your mind goes funny places on a bike ride - I should clarify - my mind goes funny places. When I saw those cows huddled together in the woods, I thought of the movie Gettysburg. That was a leap, I know. The cows reminded me of scenes where men are bivouacked in the woods, Chamberlain's men awaiting the Rebel troops at Little Round Top, Pickett's men preparing to head across the open ground in their ill-fated charge. I heard a war whoop (in my head) and imagined cows, leaping to their feet, crashing through the underbrush, and racing across the open pasture toward what enemy, I have no idea. These thoughts flitted through my brain in an instant. You are probably thinking I've lost it completely, but consider this ... it is way more entertaining and distracting to imagine charging cows than it is to think about how your legs feel and how hard you're still breathing after that long hill you just pedaled up. Permit me my distractions, please. And thank you.

And, in case you are wondering, it is indeed raining right now. It is coming down pretty hard. Those cows were meteorologically on the mark today.

Every day in June #5

Let's talk about something besides cycling, shall we?!

The end of May/beginning of June are full of family events. I'll start today and work my way back ...

Erin and Luke celebrated their 11th anniversary today!
Jonathan turned 30 last Friday. Yikes! I have two thirty-somethings now.
Matthew and Kailie celebrated their second wedding anniversary last Tuesday, May 31.
Jonathan and Kandyce celebrated their sixth anniversary last Monday, May 30.

We were (sadly) not present for any of those milestones because those children faraway live in New York state, Denver, and Minneapolis, respectively. 

BUT ...

We did get to greet baby Caroline Harper Pinckney shortly after she was born on May 20! Grandchild #4 for Coty and me. Very thankfully, this little one and her family live in North Carolina!!!

 Now a family of four! Thomas, Kay, David, and Caroline!

Now, back to cycling, etc. for just a moment. I rode today before the storm blew in. The clouds were low slung and dark, the air heavy with the scent of rain. Fragrance and stench hung in the humid air. Magnolia and skunk. I had a tailwind going out Lee Vaughn Road, a headwind on the way back. I turned around when I saw a dog down the road ahead of me. Not worth the risk. Dogs make me very nervous when I'm cycling alone. So, avoiding the dog was well worth the extra quarter mile.

When I got back, we ate Mama's good chicken salad, fruit, and pimiento cheese on celery.

Then I spend three hours sorting old photos ...

 

 Baby me, 1957

 

Baby Erin, 1983 

and Baby Caroline (not an old photo, 

just fun to look at 

Mother/Gramma, Daughter/Aunt, and Granddaughter/Niece)

Every Day in June #4

I rode this morning - country roads out from my parent's house, roads I drove routinely when I was in high school, going back and forth to my best friend Teresa's house. I cycled down her old road, past her old house, and up around the circle, and the memories flooded in. I looked at the window in what was her bedroom and thought of so many sleepovers. Early Saturday mornings while she still slept, I, the early bird, rose and sat at the kitchen table drinking tea with her mom and dad. Very sweet memories.

I notice road names when I ride and find them endlessly fascinating. Burdette, Fowler, and Howard Roads - family names, no doubt. People who lived in the area in the rather distant past. Scuffletown, Copper Lake, and Jones Mill Roads - all places with history behind them. There was a grist mill on Durbin Creek, built in 1813 and later Walter Jones ground corn and wheat, operated a cotton gin, and ran a country store in that place. The name marks the place and ties it to the past. I do not mean to imply that the past was idyllic. But it is a place with a past, good and bad, and the name means something.

Some of the new subdivisions that are sprouting up around here have names like Savannah. What??? We are far from the coast of the neighboring state of Georgia. Was the builder dreaming of Spanish moss and live oaks or perhaps African plains and the wildebeest migration? Who knows. The name seemingly has nothing to do with the geography or history. I find this kind of naming sort of silly and off-putting. It has no connection to anything. (Like my own neighborhood with the British civil parish name of Huntwick and street names like Piccadilly and Buckingham. I have yet to see the Queen strolling with her corgis).

Today, I rode on King Road. It is a narrow, winding farm road with uneven asphalt. I imagine the King family once lived and worked the land here. There is a lovely old farm house that sits back from the road along a bend and I like to think about who might have built that house. Where King Road comes to a T and meets another country road, there is, sadly, a new subdivision, with boxy houses sprouting up like mushrooms after a rain. One day they are not there and the next day, pop, there are houses - or at least the concrete pads and framing for houses and the sound of music blaring to the staccato of nail guns. Anyway, this particular new development is called by the rather regal, uppity name of Kings Crossing. I started to take umbrage with the name but I had to take myself and my irritation in hand and remind myself that at least this name made a nod to the place. King Road was there before. Kings Crossing sits at the intersection. It makes sense, at least. Not like Savannah.

I think about road names, but I also notice flowers; the wild ones: bachelor buttons, Queen Anne's lace, and oxeye daisies and the cultivated ones, deep purple hydrangeas and gardenias. Ah, the gardenias! Together with magnolia and honeysuckle, they are the signature fragrance of early summer in the south. I just want to breathe and breathe and breathe them in. 

Every day in June: Day 3: Carolina Thread Trail

It was a hot one today. In the 90's. Sunny and humid ... Bring it on!

I love summer, love the heat, love sweat dripping down my face, hair and bandana soaked when I take off my bike helmet, and the long drink of cold water afterward. I know most of you don't share this sentiment, but there it is. I come from a long line of southerners, so I suppose it's in my genes.

Today I had to squeeze in a ride between a delivery to Daniel Stowe Botanical Garden and a drive to SC to visit Mama and Daddy. Cramerton was the perfect place to do it. Strava tells me I rode 9 miles. It was mostly a meander.

This little town along the South Fork of the Catawba River feels a little bit like a town that time forgot. It is bisected by the railroad. There are houses with deep front porches and back lawns that slope down to the river; small, former mill village houses along a grid of narrow sidewalk-lined streets in the upper part of the town; a gazebo with rocking chairs right in the center. This was a textile town in the glory days of textiles in the south and though the textile glory days are past (but coming back in some measure, I hope), the town retains the feel of care and community, of place. I told my dad this evening that along my ride I saw at least five people sitting on their porches. Not looking at phones. Not reading. Not talking to anyone. Just sitting. There were young boys riding bikes through the center of town and teenagers fishing off the dock. These are not things you see everyday.

Goat Island Park and the Carolina Thread Trail make Cramerton special. Not many towns have their very own pedestrian bridge across a river to their very own island with a great playground, disc golf course, kayak launch, and fishing dock. Pretty sweet. The Thread Trail weaves together history, geography, culture and the natural beauty of this Piedmont region of North Carolina. It is good to get to know it better by bicycle!

Day #2: Steamy roads

It looked like this streak was going to be no streak at all. I left home at 6:10 this morning and returned home in the late afternoon after a torrential downpour that left rivers in the street. It was a heavy but short storm and the hot streets dried quickly so by 7:00, I could ride.

My EEH suggested I set a minimum mileage goal for any ride to qualify for this streak. I decided that 5 miles was a decent distance. That's a little less than a half hour of easy cycling so I should be able to at least do that every day, right!

After a half mile or so this evening, the rain began to fall again, very intermittently. Just a drop here and there. I heard it on my helmet more than I felt it. Plink ... plink ... ... ... plink. Then it fell more steadily. As the pattering rain wet the roads, the steam began to rise from the still warm asphalt. Why does seeing this make me feel like a kid? Is it the bicycle and the way I can lean into a downhill curve and coast through the mist?

I'm home now, a little sweaty, a little wet from the rain. It is an early summer evening, the heat of the day subsided, the humidity heavy. Lightning bugs blink out by the trees, a mockingbird sings from the top of a roof. I will make a cup of tea and sit on the porch swing and breathe the damp, heavy, evening scent of the Confederate jasmine that covers the lattice below the screen porch. A cardinal will flit across the backyard, bright red. The darkness will come and maybe the barred owls will call.

The stats

This week a year ago, encouraged by my Ever Encouraging Husband, I joined Strava. I would not have noticed this fact had it not been pointed out to me by EEH, aka Coty. He loves Strava - all those stats, segments, elevation profiles, energy outpout numbers, effort comparisons and achievements. He uses the heatmaps to find good routes when we ride in new places. He knows how fast he needs to ride to get a PR on a segment and how fast the KOM (King of the Mountain) rode the segment. He is King of the Mountain on a number of segments.

For the record, we even share King and Queen of the Mountain on a segment that is called by the poetic name, "O Pioneers!" Sounds like we braved the elements, crossed the prairies in our covered wagon, ascended the distant, snow-covered peaks and conquered a kingdom. Really, all we did was ride a little bit faster on a not very hilly stretch of Pioneer Mill Road, than the seven other people who have ever ridden on that particular 2.6 mile stretch of road. No one was there to crown us when we reached the end of the segment, no fanfare, no cheering throng. Shoot, we didn't even know we'd become royalty til we got home and uploaded our rides and checked our stats. But king and queen we are, that is until someone else coming down Morrison from Flowe Store decides to turn left instead of right. One of these days, I expect someone who is hankering for ascendancy to the throne will make that turn and we'll be summarily dethroned.

Anyway, what I also wanted to say about Strava is that it is one of the ways Coty continues his longstanding, unfailing encouragement of my exercise endeavors. Instead of "liking" a post as you do on facebook, Strava which is not just a workout log, but also social media for athletes, allows you to give "kudos." You click on the little thumbs up icon on your friend's entry and there it is, kudos! Yay for you! Way to go! No matter what I do, ride 30 miles or stroll 2, he gives me kudos on Strava. I once told him it wasn't necessary - seemed kind of silly if we had just finished a ride together and he could just tell me in person. Which he always does. But on every single Strava entry I've posted, he has, without fail, given me kudos. And I don't think it's silly anymore. It is sweet. And encouraging. And constant. Like he is.

So, here's what he showed me tonight - the Trophy Case page of my profile which I'd never noticed before that tallied what I've done in the last year ...

Bike rides - 1,207.9 miles
Runs and walks - 226.3 miles
Swims - 29.25 miles

It will be interesting, a year from now, to see what those numbers are. It is always my intention to do more, be more consistent, ride farther, run faster, swim longer. That'd be nice, but even if I don't, I know the kudos will keep coming from the man who has faithfully encouraged me as loooong as I've known him!

This old blog ...

... is kind of tired and in sore need of rejuvenation ... or retirement. Perhaps it's time to bid adieu to this whole blogging thing. It was fun while it lasted. I met some amazing people via the blog and established some sweet friendships, but they say nobody reads these things anymore. Is that true? I still read blogs.

There is so much going on around here these days but it's very different from the days when five, then four, then three, then two, then one boy(s) lived here. There was a lot to talk about back then. A lot to keep my family up on, and the bloggity blog was a good way to do it.  But my girl, who went off to college long before this blog got its start, and my five boys who were most often the subjects of this blog, have all flown the coop. They're adults now so talking about them is crossing a line I don't want to cross. Their stories are theirs to tell, except of course, when they come home. Even then, I am less inclined to write about our time together because well, I just want to live the moments with them and with my grandchildren. Those moments are fewer and farther between than I would like because we are so far flung, so the times when we are together are very sweet for me.

Still, it's hard to retire this space.

What about a post a week? A bit of catching up. Just about what's going on around here. Bike rides and refugee friends, and teaching and sewing and the (neglected) garden, and grandchildren.

I expect that only a very few people bother to read this blog any more so if you're one of the faithful few, thanks. I'll give it a go for a few weeks and see what happens. I know some of you were waiting for an April Fool's post and I left you in the lurch. Sorry for that. Those April Fools posts are inspirational lightning strikes. An idea pops into my head and the writing just flows. It didn't happen this year but hey, the month's not over yet. Be on your guard. I may yet fool you.

Anyway, if you are still hanging around and would do me the kindness of checking in with a comment, I'd appreciate it. I'm just curious to know who's still here.

**************************************

Since I last wrote ...

Coty turned 60. Yikes! Sounds so old and I don't think either of us feel that old. On his birthday, he rode 60 miles on his bike with Thomas and some cycling buddies. He's a strong, fit, 60 years young. Still finding it a little hard to believe that we have reached this age. Well, I haven't yet, but it won't be long ...

We took a little trip down east - Coty's birthday present from me. Three nights at a lovely little cottage in New Bern and four days of cycling. I chose a place that was flat, since I am not in nearly the cycling shape that Coty is. We rode 102 miles in four days and I loved it. Rural, flat, eastern North Carolina. Wisteria and Carolina Jessamine blooming along the roadsides, draping the trees. Pine forests. Tidal creeks. Acres and acres and acres of farmland. Very few cars. We rode through Oriental, the sailing capital of North Carolina. We rode across the Trent River and took a ferry across the Neuse River. When we weren't riding, we were reading, relaxing, walking around New Bern, eating good food, thoroughly enjoying being together ... and away.

I have this idea that we will cycle all around North Carolina in the next couple of years. The deck attendant on the ferry told us how we could take the ferry to Ocracoke for free if we just have bikes, and cycle the island. Sounds fun to me. It's on the list. Next cycling destination, though, will likely be a little closer - the area around Pinehurst/Southern Pines. We've heard there are pretty rides there. Not as flat as down east, but not as hilly as around here.

We rode 30 miles on Saturday with the Ride for Refugees, a fundraiser for Project 658, where we are now holding our Make Welcome sewing classes. We hemmed and hawed a bit on Thursday and Friday when we saw the weather forecast - cold and windy - but I kept thinking that I wanted to it anyway. It would be good to do a hard thing. Turned out warmer than anticipated on Saturday morning, but 2/3rds of the way into the ride, the wind was gusting up to 35 miles an hour. A couple of times, riding uphill, into the wind, I felt like I was standing still. Put your head down and pedal on. It is good to do something like that. To challenge yourself, to feel taxed and tired. It is minuscule ... nothing, in comparison to the hard things that our refugee friends have endured. I kept thinking about that as we pedaled. How relatively easy my life is, how incredibly blessed and rich and full ... I am humbled ... and grateful.



It is late now. Time to go to bed. Thanks for reading. More soon. I promise.

And he's off ... again

It's been a fall of travel for Coty. Three weeks in India back in October, and today he heads to China! We got in a last ride before his trip yesterday afternoon. It's been so rainy this week, it was nice to see a bit of blue sky and feel the sun on our backs before it clouded up again.

We ride out on the country roads and pass corn, soybean, canola, and cotton fields. This time of year the cotton is in full fruit. Think of it this way: earlier in the summer the cotton flowered and over the last couple of months that flower has developed into the "fruit", just the way an apple flower that blooms in the spring develops into and apple in the fall. Now, I don't know if it is botanically correct to call the white, fluffly bolls a fruit, but I'm going to go with it this morning!

Here my non-southern friends who may have never seen this, is a field of cotton ...

and here are some cotton bolls ...

and here are two sweaty riders wearing no cotton because it isn't good cycling fabric, one with a squinty left eye and the other with misty glasses standing in front of a cotton field along a country road with, of course, a pick-up truck about to drive by ...

 

We had a good and happy ride. I had a personal best time on one of the hills I really dislike, so I like it a tiny bit better now. Coty won't be doing any cycling for a couple of weeks so when I pack up to go to Virginia, where we will reunite just before Thanksgiving, guess what I'll be taking with me. Yep ... bikes.

On a bike

Riding a bike through the countryside is quite different from riding through it in a car. On a bike, you are part of the scene.  You take in the sites at a slower pace. You look longer and think about what you are seeing instead of whizzing by. There is no radio, no music, no podcast in the background. Just the sites and your thoughts. You also feel the air and smell the smells. Sun and shade along your way make a difference. You climb a long hill in the sun and then fly down the other side toward a bridge over the creek at the bottom of the hill. If the road along the creek valley is bathed in shade, you immediately feel the contrast of the cooler air against your skin and catch a whiff of the scent of water and damp earth. In a car, there is a screen and walls between you and the outside world. My dad mentioned this yesterday, referring to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which I've never read, but in which the author, as my Daddy related, speaks of the difference between riding in a car and riding on a motorcycle. A bike puts you even more in the picture because, well, you can't pedal as fast as a motorcycle takes you.

I look at people outside their houses when I bike. People on their porches. People working in their gardens, mowing their lawns, walking out to their mailboxes. On Monday, we rode a long loop around a Jordon Lake up near Chapel Hill. Along a quiet country road near the lake, we saw a big boat sitting parallel to the road in the yard beside a house. There was a man, shaggy hair under his baseball cap, sitting on a chair in the boat looking out at the road. He was just sitting there. Perhaps he was resting after working on the boat. Perhaps he was dreaming of taking that boat out in the lake early in the morning and catching a big bass and bringing it home to clean and cook on the grill. Who knows?

I like long rides because they give me a chance to step completely away from the to-do list. My brain gets a rest from thinking about what needs to get done and just roams over the countryside. I write little poems in my head, make up stories, take it all in.

Hello August, four days in

Enough catching up, don't you think? Oh, there's more, always more, but it's a new month so time to move on.

Here are a few things I am loving these days ...

Monday long rides with Coty
We've been taking longer bike rides, usually on Monday mornings, though we had two nice long rides on a little getaway a couple of weeks back - Tuesday and Wednesday rides, 42 and 22 miles. I am loving these long rides. In the countryside we ride through, the ripening corn is tall now. As we pass, the honey fragrance of the cornfield envelops us. Roosters crow and cows stand in a line under the cedar trees along a pasture fence line or wade up to their bellies in a muddy pond. We see red-tailed hawks on power-lines or atop tall snags. We catch the whiff of a skunk that has crossed the road in the early morning or see the remains of an unfortunate black snack, hit by a car as it warmed itself on hot pavement. The cotton plants are flowering now. Yesterday, we rode 33.4 miles. I was dragging at the end. The last few hills felt higher and longer than the last time I'd ridden them, my quads and knees weary, the bandana I tie around my head totally soaked. I checked the temperature on my bike computer as we pulled into the country church parking lot where we'd left the car and it said 95 degrees. No wonder I felt wrung out. Next week, we'll start earlier!

Garden tomatoes
It's that time of year. The German Johnsons I planted in the top terrace are ripening. There are not nearly enough of them, however, to satisfy the desire for vine ripened tomatoes, so I go to our little local farmer's market on Monday afternoons to replenish our supply. My sister, who has a larger tomato patch than me, has also shared some of her bounty. Really, there is nothing quite like a garden tomato, just picked and warm from the sun, sliced up and eaten with just a twist of freshly ground salt and pepper.


Recorded books by Ivan Doig
I listened This House of Sky, back in May. Masterfully narrated by Tom Stechschulte, Doig's memoir recounts his growing up years among sheepherders and ranchers in Montana. His widowed father grudgingly resorts to asking his mother-in-law to live with him and help raise his son. The lives of father, son, and grandmother become interwoven in unforeseen intimacy as they share the hardships of ranch life, growing up, and growing old. I've also listened to three of Doig's novels: Whistling Season, Work Song, and Sweet Thunder. Of his writing "creed", Doig wrote:

“If I have any creed that I wish you as readers, necessary accomplices in this flirtatious ceremony of writing and reading, will take with you from my pages, it’d be this belief of mine that writers of caliber can ground their work in specific land and lingo and yet be writing of that larger country: life."

Doig died in April of this year. Here is the NY Times tribute to him.

Designing a quilt around some of my wax fabrics from Chad
Back in February, Coty went to Chad. He came home with three gorgeous pieces of wax fabric for me. I've been looking and looking at them and been loath to cut into them, but I finally took rotary cutter to two of them and began designing a sort of medallion quilt. I started with one of my favorite quilt patterns, Flying Geese. Then I drew from the free form cutting ideas in quilts of Nancy Crow and patterns in Cultural Fusion Quilts and starting cutting and sewing curved sections of fabric together. Finally, I did something inspired by a pile of quilt blocks I picked up at an estate sale a few months ago and did some improvisational cutting and piecing. I don't know how this quilt is going to end up, what it's going to look like, whether or not I'm going to like the finished product, but it's a learning process that I'm enjoying.

 Please excuse the fuzzy quality of this picture. It was taken in less than optimal light!

Almost daily Snapchats from New York City
Back in early July, Andrew moved to New York. I am missing him so much, but he's great to send me snapchats several times a week. Street scenes, skyline vistas, Central Park-scapes, office views. I love seeing what he's seeing and I can't wait to visit and see the sites with him.

What are you loving these days?

Riding, riding

We have had two absolutely gorgeous January days with afternoon temps in the 60's. Oh, I do love North Carolina. Snow is wonderful, for sure, and I hope we get a big snowstorm that sends everyone scurrying to the grocery store for milk and bread and closes everything down for a couple of days. I'd be just fine with that. But, goodness, what is not to love about these sunny, blue sky, warm-ish days right at the beginning of the year. Especially this year, when I am trying hard to bike through the winter. Sure has been easy this week.

I did a hill workout yesterday. We found brand new road only a mile away. It supposedly goes through a business park, but there are only a couple of businesses there yet, so very little traffic. Mostly, it is bordered by woods and a cow pasture. Along a one mile stretch of the road, there are a couple of substantial hills so it is the perfect place for a shorter, intense hill workout. That's what I did yesterday.

Today, Coty and I went on a longer ride. Well, longer for me. It was an easy ride for him. 19 miles on the country roads near us. We wore shorts. Horses in their pastures along the way seemed happy to be out in the sun. The chorus frogs were singing. Very little traffic. Coty wears a cycling shirt that says "enjoy the ride" on the back. It's nice to pedal hard behind him and see that shirt. I certainly did enjoy my ride today.

I'm getting used to my new bike. It is so much lighter and feels more responsive. I think it needs a few minor adjustments, but it's a real improvement over the Trek fitness bike that I started riding on in 2012.

I am beginning to feel a little more confident about the Tri Latta race in June. The swim should be fine. The bike portion longer than other sprint tri's I considered, but it will be OK. It's that run that has me scared. My couch to 5K program is moving along fine, but I'm still wondering how I'm going to run a 5k after cycling 17 miles. Training. It's all about training. Consistent plugging away at it in these next few months. Not hard at all on a day like today!

A winter ride

I wish I had pictures to show you, but alas, I don't. I went on a ride yesterday afternoon and all the time, I kept thinking how beautiful the winter afternoon was and what I had the privilege of seeing. And to think, I almost missed it.

My husband, ever faithful, ever disciplined, rarely deterred from exercising because of weather or anything else was getting ready for a ride. I'd been sewing all afternoon and was happily closing in on finishing a project. It was 42 degrees. I was feeling not exactly lazy, but just not up for going out, knowing I was going to be cold ... and you know how I hate to be cold. I was battling the inertia inherent in stopping one activity in which I was totally engrossed and starting another one which I knew would not exactly be pleasant, at least at the beginning. I was rationalizing not exercising by saying I needed to finish my project. But, I really didn't need to finish. It was just an excuse.

Coty asked if I wanted him to wait for me. "I don't know," I moaned. "Just go ahead," I finally told him, not sure if I was actually throwing in the towel for the day or not.

This is where having a goal that you've stuck to for a while helps. That two walks, two swims, two bike rides a week goal that I set back in November has become more or less routine. It is so much easier for me now to rouse myself to get out there and walk, ride, or swim so that I will stay on track with my goal. I don't have a perfect "streak" but I've been sticking with it. So, I went upstairs and changed into cycling clothes, found a hood to wear under my helmet to keep my ears and neck warm, and headed out.

A little observation - the act of changing into workout clothes means I've won. I've overcome the inertia and will soon be out the door.

As I expected, I was cold. I know that 42 degrees isn't frigid. It's really pretty pleasant for early January, especially if it's a gloriously clear and sunny early January day. But remember, when you ride, there's "wind chill." Pedaling faster at the beginning means I'm going to be colder. Speeding up as I go downhill means I'm going to be colder.  And you know how I hate ... yea, I said that already.

It took two miles for me to warm up. Fingers and toes stayed cold the whole ride, but the rest of me was fine. And then, I started noticing things like ...

• the crisp, clean feeling of the winter air on my face,
• the way the slanting afternoon sun turned the siding on the houses I passed to lavender, salmon, and pink,
• the stillness of a hawk on a phone line, perched, watching, waiting,
• the beauty of a field of dried grasses waving in a slight breeze
• the winter sun and its halo and then in the last mile, a sundog

I had decided when I started on my ride that I would not concentrate on time or pace. I was just going on a ride with the intention of overcoming the cold aversion and enjoying myself. I did. 15 miles of pleasure. Further than I intended to ride. It just felt good to keep going.

The memory of yesterday's ride will help me keep going through the remainder of this winter. There will likely be colder rides. I will likely battle inertia again and likely complain about the cold. But I'll try to remember the lavender houses, the hawk, and the sundog, and then slip into my thermals and head out.