Christmas Orphans

Those of us who stay in town for the holidays (Thanksgiving included) call ourselves 'orphans'. It's cute and catchy and somehow makes me (at least) feel less lonely to know there are others in the same situation.

Brisk hosted Christmas dinner at his house. Cyclist and I loaded up, drove out there and spent 7 hours watching Christmas specials, eating Christmas dinner, and enjoying way too many ginger snaps.

It was calm and pleasant.

Oh, and when Cyclist asked us what our plans are for New Years Brisk immediately replied, "Making out with Granola."

No one believed him.

But, I wouldn't object.

All I Want For Christmas

is to stop getting flat tires!

Brisk decided to organize "bike training camp" for the week many of us are taking off between Christmas and New Years. He sent out the invite to all of us but Cyclist and I were the only two who responded.

Today was the first ride. A short 25 mile jaunt around Lake Sammamish. He planned on it taking a little under 2 hours. A fair assessment, I believe(d). Cyclist bailed at the last minute so it was just Brisk and I for a soggy ride. We met up and got suited up, and just as we were nearly ready to leave Brisk discovered he had lost his car key. We combed through his car—3 times. We looked in places it couldn't possibly have fallen and discovered things we shouldn't have had to discover (ok, really just a butter knife under the driver's seat). We checked all his pockets and under the car twice. Finally, as I stood from checking the passenger's seat I saw the key sitting calmly on the top of his car, tucked neatly next to the roof rack on the driver's side. We laughed, finished gearing up, and, 35 minutes after arriving, headed out.

Not far out I got a flat tire. We pulled off to the side of the road so I could change it. Brisk stood there watching me struggle with it and finally took pity on me and took the tire off the wheel (let me pause at this point to let you know: I'm never getting a wire beaded tire ever again. They're a pain in the butt to get on and off). He did, however, make me pump the thing. As it turns out, I really dislike my new bike pump. And, the whole while he stood there smiling at me, enjoying my 'pain.'

Once back on the road we continued to enjoy our soggy soggy ride. In truth, after a while you don't even notice the rain anymore.

And, then, nearly 10 miles from the end of our ride I got another flat. This one on the other wheel. I didn't have a tube, and Cyclist was meeting us for lunch, so time was of the essence. I told Brisk to just go get his car and pick me up, since we really didn't have any other options. He left me with his tube and off he went.

15 minutes later (I've had to change that particular tire before so it's a little easier to get off the wheel) I was back on the road. At some point in his back tracking we missed each other, so he turned around and headed back towards me. Once again, we missed each other. But, this time just barely. He made it back to the Park and Ride minutes before I did.

I changed into dry clothes and 2 hours later than originally planned we were eating Christmas Eve Chinese food.

For the record, Brisk and I inhaled our portions.

And, after wards I immediately bought three new tubes (one for Brisk) and a CO2 pump. I'm tired of the hand thing. Harumph.

I'll be (not at) Home for Christmas

It was a long and drawn out and thought out process, but I decided to not go home for Christmas this year. I have gone home every Christmas except the one I spent with ExOfNote's family since I left home. This year, like many others, it was just going to be my parents, Midge, and me.

The more I thought about it, the more I decided that not going would be a better idea. Whenever we're around each other—at least at their home—my father and I invariably get in some fight about something that ultimately doesn't matter. But it gets ugly. And I'm done fighting with him. He knows exactly what buttons to push, and if it's been too long without an argument he'll go at them full force. It's ridiculous and I decided I don't need to put up with it anymore.

Add to that the expense of flying on Christmas and the fact that I just saw them in September, and, though I know it'll be a bit lonely, I decided staying here was better than going there.

Hopefully we all have a happy Christmas.

I Am Not Your Therapist

Dear friends and loved ones:
I understand you're feeling down and sad and need to work through some things, but the time has come, it's been brewing for a while now, for me to put my foot down. I am many things, your friend, your sister, your comrade, your sounding board, your slap in the head. But, I am not your therapist. I love you and want the best for you, which is why I'm telling you now, honestly, pointedly (ok, and on a blog you'll never read, so more behind your back than anything), I am not your therapist. Please, for your sake, for mine pay someone to listen to your problems and help you come up with solutions. I need a break.

Running

Well, I've been working on the whole running thing, and today managed to jog 2.8 miles in roughly 40 minutes. For those of you who don't feel like doing math that's 4.2 miles/hour, or a 14 1/4 minute mile. Which is pretty good. If I could sustain that rate, that means I can expect my marathon to take me 6 hours and 15 minutes. I don't think that currently I could sustain that rate for 6 hours.

In 25 weeks I hope I can get to that point.

Old West

Every morning I bike past a train yard, and then next to train tracks for nearly 3 miles. This morning as I was riding a freight train was slowly making its way down the tracks. As I rode past it the William Tell Overture popped into my head. And then mental images of cowboys and a great train robbery. And, before you could predict, there I was, in the Old West, about to execute an amazing train heist—on my bike. It was Awesome!

Fact: imagination is a wonderful thing.