Still 100% Rain

Granola
...it just doesn't get much easier....

Combine in a big bowl
4 c. old-fashioned oats
1/2 c. wheat germ
1 c. almond slivers
1/2 c. sunflower seeds
1/4 c. sesame seeds
1/4 c. dark brown sugar
1/2 t. salt

Simmer
1/2 c. maple syrup
6 T canola oil
2 T water

Heat oven to 275. Mix dry ingredients. Drizzle syrup mixture over oat mixture, stirring to combine (squeeze into clumps if you're a clumper). Pour everything into two 9 x 13 pans (I use one 9 x 13 and one 9 x 9). Bake for 30-45 minutes, stirring every 15 min. Let cool. Can be stored for up to two weeks in an airtight container. Makes a bunch (a quart and a half?).

- TOB's doing laundry, vacuuming, cleaning floors....

100% Rain

...didn't deter me from taking a grocery run.

Part of my ride to Cub Foods.

Halfway home.

Dear Prudence.

- TOB (when does anyone ever see a prediction of 100% rain?!)

Complaint to Pearl Izumi

It was me.

Finally I was able to bend an actual rep's ear last night at Freewheel. Damn, I forgot to ask his name, but he said he'd send the message along.

So that guy. Freewheel in Minneapolis. April 28th. I was the one. He heard me out.

I buy your bicycle clothing. It's quality stuff -- my fleece-lined bibs still look as good as they did when I bought them last fall. By comparison, the fleece-lined tights I got from ABC Cycling Mfg. started pilling within a couple of weeks. Your shorts keep my backside irritation-free.

Your women's jerseys...

they

suck.

Pockets. I look for and will buy classy an entirely separate Pearl issue, fun, sleek women's jerseys with three pockets. Three full-sized pockets. I will buy more expensive jerseys because of pockets.

Someone, somewhere, somehow associated with Pearl Izumi, has gotten the idea that women don't need to carry stuff. Pearl Izumi offers one-pocket models. Pearl offers two pocket models. Pearl offers what is called three pockets, however the two on either side of center are about 2" wide with a slanted top opening slanted top opening that effectively removes about half of the carrying capacity.

What useful cycling item would you carry in your 2" x 2" jersey pocket?

Show me any men's jersey with those same pockets.

If'n ya can't, then don't be offering them to women.

I'm not looking to carry my lipstick and a credit card, here. I don't parade. I ride a bicycle. And I don't ride a rig with a trunk on a rack not that there's anything wrong with that. I haul a cell phone. Snacks. Sunscreen. Money. Arm and leg warmers.

I use three full pockets.

- this stuff so irritates The OB

And what's with the Dale Evans getup?

hrrrrrumph

The Search is On...

You know how it is when you just can't get those search engines to serve-up what yer looking for....

- this was the good humor that started the Bag's weekend
but there's that damned gray word again

Gray-Haired Woman on the Bianchi

OK, so it's not that gray...
still has some brown
some

~

LBS Owner: Hey, you're getting a reputation on the street.

OB: Huh?

LBS Owner: You're getting a rep. These two guys were in the other day saying you're kicking @ss on the bike.

OB: Really?

LBS Owner: They were saying, this gray-haired woman...rides a Bianchi...Jeee...Jaaa... I said Jeanne. They said, yeah her.

OB: R e a l l y . Gray-haired woman. Now I'm going to have to kick some @ss.

LBS Owner: Said you kicked their @ss, and I'm sayin' aright! Go Jeanne.

OB: Cool. Wait. Was it the big, round guy?

LBS Owner: No.

OB: Cool.

~

- but The Old Bag knows it coulda been the guy with the heart condition, the dude on the mountain bike, the one whose chain froze, the guy with his IV drip brazed to his frame....

Joe #2

I look for Joe on every organized ride I join. I begin as the crowd gathers in the parking lot. I know his truck. I know he tends to arrive late. If I can't make my way his direction during the pre-ride briefing, I'll mark him on the roll-out. We end up riding together. Just about always. Often.

Joe isn't married, but is in a recently out of a long-term relationship. Doesn't matter. We don't talk about it.

I'm not interested in Joe that way.

I want his wheel.

In the fervor of recreational cyclists burnin' their way down the road, Joe is the wheel one of the wheels I'll follow into the fire because I know he'll bring me to the other side unscathed it punches a good-sized hole. He knows how to pick a line, knows how to finesse around pitfalls and people, knows how to gently alter his speed, knows how to stand without affecting his tempo and therefore the riders behind him. Joe knows there are such things as slow days, and that they make a cyclist stronger but doesn't necessarily use them to his advantage like he could. And he knows when he's got a smooth rider on his tail.

Synergy.

Baby, oh.

I trust him with my life rolling by at 20 mph but on the screaming downhills I look for Joe #2.

- OB knows there are so many Joes

Joe #1

I look for Joe on every organized ride I join. I begin as the crowd gathers in the parking lot. I know his truck. I know he tends to arrive late. If I can't make my way his direction during the pre-ride briefing, I'll mark him on the roll-out. We end up riding together. Just about always.

Joe isn't married, but is in a long-term relationship. Doesn't matter. We don't talk about it.

I'm not interested in Joe that way.

I want his wheel.

In the fervor of recreational cyclists burnin' their way down the road, Joe is the wheel I'll follow into the fire because I know he'll bring me to the other side unscathed. He knows how to pick a line, knows how to finesse around pitfalls and people, knows how to gently alter his speed, knows how to stand without affecting his tempo and therefore the riders behind him. Joe knows there are such things as slow days, and that they make a cyclist stronger. And he knows when he's got a smooth rider on his tail.

Synergy.

Baby, oh.

I trust him with my life rolling by at 20 mph but on the screaming downhills I look for Joe #2.

- OB knows how to pick'em

Don't Want to Go to Work

just
plain
d'wanna
go
.
.
.
don'
wanto



- The Bag's cup o' coffee is tastin' pretty darned good this morning

'Crastinators Anonymous

I've ridden the same cassette and chain for, um,

five

years

...maybe not the chain, but I've got no recollection of ever changing it out. None whatsoever. My frame was replaced about three years ago when my original developed a crack. The jewels were pulled off one frame and hung onto the other. A different chain may have appeared then.

They do that, don't they? appear?

Last August it hit me that as long as everything brake pads=three years was running smoothly I'd best not ever get a new chain ever, because if I did then it would skip and jump and I'd be forced to get a new cassette. And let's face it: if I can get a few more miles outta something, I'll find the way

I decided to run the chain and cassette until they both ended up in pieces on the road, together for eternity. A pair so entwined can't be thoughtlessly separated. Chainring tattoos began appearing on my calf from the built-up gunk -- numerous grains of crud had developed an intricate role in the functioning of the drivetrain: cleaning anything would wash my good karma down the drain.

But this spring, a shiny new set of aero-spoked wheels rolled my way. A half-eaten cassette and a grit-covered worm of a chain just wouldn't do. The time had come.

I also knew the time had come to consider a cassette that would give me a lower gear. I've used a 12-25 for years. It's still fine for me, but every now and again in the coulees of Wisconsin I wish for just one more bailout. It's early season and I'm on my way to the hills.

So, there I was at the LBS. Two cassettes sat nestled in their boxes on the counter: a 25 and a 27... 27. My stomach felt like it used to when I faced lima beans as a 7-year-old. When it comes to gearing no one else can make your decision, nonetheless I asked for a variety of opinions, even what size other old ladies use: 27. I tried, but I just couldn't embrace it when all else fails, see how it looks. I put it on the wheel. I held it up for Joe to see.

Wow. It looks, um, BIG.

I may be riding recreationally these days, but my racing past is deeply ingrained and just can't be rationally explained to someone who hasn't been there. I couldn't put a big 'ol cassette on a set of nice wheels. I walked out with the 12-25 and the resolve: I will suck-it-up on the inconsistent Wisconsin hills until I'm 50 and won't complain ever about having denied myself that one lower gear.

At home I started the trade-out, the old and new wheels side-by-side. My current crud-covered cassette...looks...smaller...than the new 25...because of the crud? I looked closely for the marking indicating tooth-number. Couldn't find it amidst the gunk. So I started counting. Hm. It appears to be...yes...it's a

a 23!

All this time I've been riding a 23!

Well.

What am I going to do with this new 25 now?! It's not like I need it....

- OB knows she's getting old but it's really not so bad

45

Last weekend...not too happy about this one for some reason, but I'm getting used to it.

- tOb

Gotta Have this T-Shirt

because
"nice wheels"
doesn't always mean
they're talkin 'bout yer bike

- nope, the Bag's not making anything off the sale of Pilderwassers

Note to Others

an addendum

ya know
ya put on yer kit
you once-over yer look
mebee ya turn back
look over yer shoulder
into the mirror
check over yer arse
spite o' contortions
it's not the same view
one gets from behind you
when yer bent over riding

so
ya
gotta

depend on yer buds
to give ya the skinny
soon as they notice
'cuz you'd ride at the back
from the start of the ride
if'n ya knew you were showin'
so's not moon the whole pack

but
rather

later they tell ya

sure I could see it
but it was so early
the ride hadn't started
I figured ya couldn't
do anything 'bout it
I chose to say nothing
preserve your feelin's....

mercy!

- the horror hit TOB while she was pullin' the clothes outta the bag

Note to Self

next spring
move the old cycling shorts out
you know the ones
with the holes and bare spots
the ones you wear in the winter on the trainer
in the basement
where no one ever sees you
because if they did they'd see too much of you
those ones
move them out of the dresser
once the temps get out of the fifties
just to be sure you don't ever grab the wrong pair
and ride 65 miles
in the midst of forty people
on the first nice day
next spring

- ob @#$%!!

Of Skeptics and Rain

We're coming outta the hole, you know. During the winters, we Minnesotans hang-out in our warm, dark places being industrious: moles and voles busying ourselves with the comforting work of keeping busy, knowing our hunkered-in spaces by memory, the necessity of sight second-guessed.

The spring transition comes slowly. Streams open and the March snow pulls back from sidewalks as the sun adjusts its downward angle. Geese fly northward. Tree branches, while still bare and gray-brown, sway instead of clattering together like old bones. Green begins to creep throughout our yards.

Days lengthen.

Our houses turn a bit toasty. The furnace kicks-in and we wonder why maybe a short-sleeved shirt.

Plastic comes off windows, but only in that one upstairs room that always tends to be a bit warm anyway.

In April, we throw our heads out the front door testing the air temps wondering which jacket to grab. But there are no bright eyes here. Blinking, squinting skeptics, we are.

Wow...other people live in those places across the street!

As a group, we aren't quite sure what to do with a sunny week of temps in the high 70s. Unseasonably warm. Our transition sequence has been interrupted, and we're a bit outta sorts at being so brazenly thrust into summer. We squint at the brightness eeking through our sunglasses. We doff the cycling jacket in favor of the vest...which is never left at home, but in the jersey pocket. Rides begin with tights and arm warmers and end with them stuffed and tied wherever they can be. We'd rather sweat through an extra under-layer than do without. We can't quite be convinced to let go of our trappings. Our heritage insists upon it.

We do start to forget ourselves, though, just a bit. The pink on our noses is testament.

However, Midwesterners know that after a few idyllic days something will come along to balance-out our measured joy. It's just as well. At yesterday's ride, I heard more than once about today's rain prediction: I hope it does rain, so I don't have to be out riding and can get things done around the house. We need rest. We're tired from being rushed along.

Indeed. Today the wind and rain arrived.

We knew it would.

Whew.

- The Bag's regrouping and resting

OK, so Last One

...maybe, i think....


- BOT

Life in the West Valley

OK, not everything is gone yet....

:-]

- OB

Gene and Paul

Two of my bikin' buddies who came out to ride in cloudy, windy, rainy 60-degree weather...typically, that's non-riding weather in Phoenix.

Gene figures he'll hit 100,000 miles on this bike next summer.

- OB

Backside of the White Tanks

Naked, Naked, Naked

The main drag through Sun City Grand, AZ, is lined with these barkless trees muscle striations and tendons and knees and wrinkles in the bendy places....

- TOB couldn't ride down this street without turning red

Around the White Tanks

cycling through the desert
reminiscent of the prairie that raised me
windswept
open
forever
different in its arid air
similar in the life insistent upon being
where it isn't expected

- sometimes TOB finds home in the strangest places

Shadow of the White Tank Mountains

And So it Goes

the return has been difficult this time
a week in the West Valley
cherished relatives
the last of my mother's siblings
my last tie to her released
until next spring

the threads of cycling tie me to the retired vets
my seniors by 35 years who've taken me in over the years
a week at a time
ridden together to the far reaches of the valley
we greet and depart fondly
share our stories
but their aging is relentless
and doesn't stop just because I wish it to

finding the orange blossom scent was difficult this year
endless fields of roses and cotton now brown
irrigation canals weed-filled
farmlands turned developments to scrape
raze
sculpt for new homes

right now I don't want to embrace the movement of life
just today I want to turn around
and ride what used to be

- tob

Of Pets nadn HOme

blockig my th keyboard
plopped his big slef down
on the tabl in front of me
trying to ytpe over him
while he purrs at me happoy
to have me home
asking me to please don't go to work tomorroiw
and I woludn't if it
didn't look so suspocios
that i jsut wnat more time away

- /tge Bag's ogot jet-lag

Back

but
not
really
here
yet
.

- TOB's adjustin'

What Needs Catchin’

Like the X Bunny said, sometimes it's good to purge the body of its addictions from time to time extra chocolate recommended three days ought to be enough, ought'n it?

While my elderly aunt and uncle don't exactly know what blogging is, they do understand the concept of writing and reading online, and that my body is used to a time zone that has me up at 4:30 AZ time twiddlin' my fingers in the dark.

Finished my book.

I heard coyotes.

Was that the newspaper guy?

Because they don't spend all their time in Phoenix, they've subscribed to a three-hours-a-month plan three hours! My last post was done with all the planning I could muster: write ahead in Word…copy…okNOWhitAOLlogintobloggernewpostPASTEouttathere!

I looked at the clock: it took me ten precious minutes to do that along with a check of one email account where I dashed off three quick misspelled replies.

Shirley called AOL to see about the charge for a month of unlimited internet access costs vs. hourly and how it would all shake out in the wash if I could estimate the time I'd spend online.

Ya know, I’m happy to pay the $20 for unlimited. This way you’ll have time to research that illness you’re wondering about and none of us will have to keep track of minutes. And at 4:30 AM I can catch up with the things that need catchin’.

So, I can live with dialup that’s unlimited…but the IE 5.5? Outta here.

- The Bag did get a kick out of hearing a modem again

Now THIS Hurts

six days without it
my evening calm
can’t relax and catch up
the morning wakeup
running through my veins like caffeine
don’t know what’s up in Alaska
in California
Seattle
in Iowa
Toronto
Franklin
in SD
MA
NJ
inPAinFLinNY
inMINNESOTA FOR GOD’S SAKE
vacationing with all the time in the world
inhospitable land isn’t desert Arizona
it’s AOL’s limited dialup on Windows 98

- TO *sigh* B

Who's Da Ma...er...

the Woman?

It's one of those accomplishments that makes a person run up the stairs and fling her arms up into the air and the crowd goes wild and throw her head back as the camera pans from every direction.

~ I am the queen of the world ~

because

I got the bicycle into that leeeetle teeeny case.

This is what I'll be rollin' through the airport:

I hate to jinx anything by saying it, but I am so excited to finally be free of the massive travel case and free of FedEx. This even has a pull handle and wheels. Checks as regular luggage.

And ALL I had to do was saw my bike in half!

I was really fine with the coupled frame until I actually separated it and stepped away from the bicycle stand with half a rig in my hands. I looked at my hands. I looked at the amputee still hanging there in the stand ohmyGodwhathaveIdone and did an uncontrollable eye-roll and prayer to the Almighty. Seriously, I know it's fine -- I wouldn't have had it done if I hadn't done some research -- but it's still disconcerting.

Until the puzzle challenge begins. The first time any bicycle goes into any case it requires some unique finangling. It'll be a breeze the next time around!

Thanks to KM for the heads up regarding the TSA -- he suggested step-by-step photos inside the case along with my cell phone number on the odd chance they open the case and don't know how to get things back into place -- and to Pab for the you can do it on the crank arms.

- The Bag's sayin' whew