Tell Me Another One

The difference between a good cycling trip and great one is the leadership and guiding.  Wrangling eighteen very different people, through rides, hotels (we will have slept in twenty hotels by the time our trip is over), and sites is a daunting task.  Feeding the hungry beasts even more so.
In come Bas and Sean, from Adventures South NZ - a dynamic duo full of expertise, information, and amazing stories.

Bas is a Renaissance man with a strong love of history, politics, and basically mankind.  Sean is a wealth of knowledge in all things Maori, flora, fauna, and the planet.  Bas has cycled around the world, Sean has served in the military with many tours of duty - thank you Sargent Major.

These two planned and plotted (with the help of the home office, Sandra) and gave us a trip of a lifetime.  All with humor and grace - even when the situation didn’t necessarily deserve it.  With their experience, they were able to adapt and adjust our rides to accommodate interests and abilities.  They cared for us - like really....that’s big.

They were the type of guides that made you want to go back and do more research on the subject, learn more because it was so darn interesting.  Besides everything I learned about New Zealand, it’s people, history and environment, it’s the storytelling that will stay with me.

Both Bas and Sean wove tales that made you laugh, wonder or both.  If I  had heard a story without Jeff around, I would hold onto it until a particularly nasty climb ( plenty to chose from), and retell it - while trying to breathe.  (It kind of reminded me of labor, and being distracted by a focal point, but let’s not go there.).  Anyway - this ones for you - Bas and Sean...cheers mates.

Sean left, Bas right...thanks to Sally for the photo

Joe the Volcano

 No - that’s not the name, but we watched the sunset and opened our eyes to see sunrise from our bed over this volcano in Tongario National Park.  We were led by our naturalist Sean on a hike through the bush, learning about ferns, trees, birds and of course possums (this time an x-rated possum story :)

Adventures South has done a great job of mixing it up.  Just when you think you’re about to lose your mind over the world’s nastiest hill (Gentle Annie my Aunt Fannie), they have included Maori Cultural performances, walks to waterfalls, mineral pools and those hikes.

Last night we had dinner at Gintrap - Jeff was happy.  (I thought the Hawkes Bay was pretty tasty...)

How North Can You Go?

We’ve continued up our trek along the west coast, all the way to Cape Reinga the northernmost tip of the North Island.  There the water of the Tasman Sea and the Pacific meet - pausing and combining.  The 12-17% grades are relentless, but you never know if it’s that or the views that take your breath away.  Today we rest in Russell.

We are beyond grateful...

Kiwi searching, possum avoiding, ancient trees and hoping we don’t run into wild pigs!

The meeting of Tasman Sea and Pacific

Seconds before, hands were on knees and sucking wind...just saying...

Ferry on...

goodbye little harbor...

Blue Bottle Jellyfish - cute and pesky

                                   What can I say?  Still haven’t seen one, can’t stay up late enough...

Just a bite...Los Angeles

RockN Seafood Manhattan Beach

We were there in 2012, loved it so much it was the first place we went.
Vibe - charged and comfortable, wrapped in one.
Service - friendly, knowledgeable and perfectly paced.
Drink - they know how to make a Manhattan.
Wine- unpretentious yet elegant selection.
Food - though it was Dine LA week, and offered a couple of tempting three course options, we ordered off the menu.
Grilled artichoke - tangy, smoky, smooth.
Mediterranean- filled with garbanzo beans, feta, freshest of greens, and a light, enhancing dressing,  Our mains were ahi tuna and salmon both fresh and luscious.

We’ll be back.

https://mb.rocknfish. 

What’s that smell?

As we go along the west coast, riding to the northernmost point of the North Island, we pass long pockets of an earthy smell of warm honey. At first, with all the beehives around, we thought that was the source.

Sean, one of our guides, a naturalist and environmentalist, among many other badges, wondered if it was the honeydew, a sweet secretion from a scale insect found on trees - ew.

Then, as we just stood there in the heat, there was that smell again, and he knew just what it was - NZ Tea Tree - a kind of spruce. When you rub the sharp needles, its fragrance blooms. If bee keepers, whose beehives stand unprotected since there are no bears (shocking NH folks when they ride by), they place their hives near the Tea Trees to enhance their Manuka honey.

I just breathe deeply while I suck wind on the uphills, and I almost forget my quads. Almost...

Ti Pikinga Reeserve

Waipu 

Cape Reinga

                                                        Inhale...

Climbing, climbing, climbing

 A man with a plan...

Two days of warm up rides outside of Auckland.  We’ve gotten the hang of riding on the left (Scotland and Ireland were a big help).  I’m pretty sure Jeff dreams about my voice, “Tight left, wide right.” We almost have our rhythm and routine together, and a 3,640 foot climb today was both  humbling and consolidating.

Yes there were sheep, the ones with the black faces, but oh so many cows.

Rolling hills, riots of cicadas and birds in the trees, and some plant that smelled like warm honey.









The ocean kept our attention, and cooled our tired toes.

Auckland seems both new, and a moment captured in past times, full of construction, melting pots of cultures, and bursting the seams.  It too is climbing...

Excellent Adventure

Manhattan Beach ‘20

In 2012 Jeff and I had an excellent adventure.  We rode from Manhattan Beach, Los Angeles, to Boston. CrossRoads Cycling Adventures, at that time owned and operated by Tracy Leiner, and manned by a beyond amazing support group, made this trip not only possible, but truly shifted our lives.  I know, dramatic, but...

We’ve always planned on returning to CR to repeat that ride as more seasoned riders, only to have missed the opportunity with Tracy and Co. My search began.

Then there was Mel and Tandems East. Every couple of years, he and his wife Barbara have organized a cycling tour in New Zealand.  I’ve never met Mel in person, but have had plenty of contact with him.  Mel custom designed our current bike. Jeff is a full twelve inches taller than me...think Mutt and Jeff. You always want to answer the personal questions needed to have a proper bike fit.  I’ll just leave that here.

So tonight we fly to Auckland, meet the new crew, and begin our next excellent adventure....

#101smiles

I have captured a moment for one hundred and one days. 

These were not ordinary moments.

These were not easily caught.

Last Monday was last day of a #101smiles project on Instagram.

I’m not certain who started the project.

 The premise was to photo document something in each day that made you smile.

It came on the heels of me completing my prayerful photographic advent meditation.  During the season of advent I go through photos I have collected throughout the year, and in reflection, I post pictures that voice what I value in life. 

At least for that year.

My “What’s Important” series looks for the good, the necessary.

#101smiles was different.

I didn’t have the luxury of a year to reflect.

It forced me to be mindful each day to search for the good.

Search for the smile.

It was shocking to me to realize that there were some days, sometimes weeks, where finding something to smile about was a challenge.

Life and I can get into my own way.

It was through the exercise of daily searching for the day’s post that I found it was truly in the little things in daily life that brings joy, or peace – a smile.

Trite – I know.  I got over it.

I have not posted my last #101smiles until today because I wasn’t ready

to let go.

I won’t be posting each day for #101smiles, but I haven’t let go.

I will keep capturing the good.

I like series.
Movies - Harry Potter, case in point.
Sports - still a Patriots fan.
Books - current one, At Home in Mitford., by Jan Karon.

It's a gentle series revolving around the life and times of an Episcopal priest living in small town Maine.
I know - it may sound small and uninteresting, but for me,
it's like sitting with a friend, and hearing the news,
good and bad of our families and friends.
If I have a choice of listening to The Donald spewing idiocies,
or listening to how Esther is fairing with her respectable mayoral bid
as the incumbent - I'm going Mitford all the way.

I believe there are eight books in the series, and I'm in book four - A New Day.
Yes - there is a Christian bent to it, but more than that -
there is a play on the goodness of people, with the evil in the world to challenge their goodness. Sometimes the characters fumble, but there is proof that friendship and love can buoy you.

Yesterday, a line stuck with me.
It was in the middle of a prayer by Father Tim that said something to the effect - " Lord, we could spend all day thanking you, but instead we're going to enjoy the company of these good people, and the meal they have prepared..."

I feel that way often.  I can spend hours counting all the blessings for which I can be thankful.

Blessings aren't always wonderful - sometimes they are are plain awful - but they lead to good. During those terrible times I am thankful for those who lend support.
I'm thankful for my kids.  I have four of them.
Each of them, all adults now, bring so much into my life.
They make be laugh, be honest, work hard, rest harder,
and toss out the life line when I need it.
My mom is in hospice.  This is an odd blessing.
In it's awfulness, my children have rallied around me, each in their unique ways.
It's something for which I'm truly thankful.

It's a good thing I had four of them.
I told you I liked series.

Mom 

***For more info on the Mitford series - here's where you can go:
https://www.goodreads.com/series/44044-mitford-years
http://www.mitfordbooks.com/

Cycles

Remember autumn?

The bad news when you live here in the Northeast, is that you are sad when you realize that the last bike ride you took, was the last fresh air bike ride for...well, quite a while.  
This happened to us way back in October.  
I was chilly at 60 degrees temps.  Pfft!  
That cycle was over.

Sure there are the diehards cyclists you see throughout the winter...
out there, bundled up, and peddling between snow pile and road sand mound, 
but really - why?  
(Yes - I know you could say - why not?  
Because it's freaking cold and dangerous!)

This year, not even the uber dedicated cyclists are out.  
There's no room on the roads. 
Snow after snow storm has dumped road blocks of snow.  
There are snow monsters, snow walls, and snow edifices.  
With temps marking "Feels like: freeze your butt off degrees", 
they are just not going to risk it.

Feels Like...

It is right around this time of year we plan our spring training ride.  
A hopeful part of the cycle.
My favorite place remains the Palm Desert area.  
You can count on the weather, and the roads.  
But this year I'm thinking someplace new.  
I'm looking all over the place...mostly stateside.  

Tell me - where is your cycling mecca?

The good news when you live here in the Northeast is that you are happy for the strong back and shoulders from all that snow shoveling...it will make staying on the handlebars easier.

Glass half full people!

Christmas without the Kranks

I know - I know - I have fallen short of the blogger cardinal rule...
write regularly.
Dang.
But life gets in the way -
and when you're a wee bit ADD -
each day contains millions of tiny little things...
every once in awhile they are productive too!

But today I had to share.
I crack myself up - pretty regularly...myself that is - no one else.

So even though this is Halloween - let me present you with my Christmas letter I just sent my children and husband, entitled -
Time to Talk:

Hi Gang,

It's time to have this talk.  By now you all know the truth about Santa.

He's a double agent.

On the one hand, he presents you with gifts that you need, that you can not or will spend the money on - 

despite its need.

On the other hand, nothing fills his sense of accomplishment more than presenting you with that one item,

that object of your heart's desire, 

that once again - is out of your reach or reason.

In short, he provides the socks AND the shiny, electric gizmo.

Yes, yes I did say gizmo.

So while I understand today is a day full of sugar induced comas, and frenetic parents everywhere - 

you need to set aside some time giving thought to Santa's assignment for 2014.  

Time is ticking, and I know his elves are starting their power play on Monday (big hockey fans those elves).  

Get out there - plan those lists for Santa's alter egos, and get them to me ASAP!

This message will not only NOT self destruct, but the absence of a response might encourage a certain spunky Cuban woman to start persistent pestering.

Glad we had this chat - carry on.

xo - me

Not chuckling?  That's okay - I am.  Carry on (as PH would say - right?)

Can you hear me now? (A rant.)

I remember a time when my mother would get a phone call,

and the world would stop.

The telephone had prime spots in our three-story home. 

One in the kitchen, one on my mother’s bedside table, and one on the third floor landing. 

As a preteen I recall the first telephone call I got from a boy.  I was certain that between all the concrete blocks and miles of wires he could see my flushed face, and hear my heartbeat…pounding, pounding. 

As I grew to a teen, I could easily spend hours chatting with friends about everything and nothing. 

Telephone cords were stretched long in an effort to shut a door somewhere. 

You could try for a private conversation, but the reality was, your laughter and words were carried through the house like a hum or a chime.

When I was a little girl, my mother would settle into the side of her bed, remove her cleaning gloves, and start talking, and laughing, and um humming. 

I would lie on the bed, settling my head in her lap, as she would stroke my hair, and talked with her friend on the other end.  I would know within moments, based on the tone of my mother’s voice, or through the faint, tinny sound of the person on the receiver just who was chatting with her.  I’d feign sleep and hear gossip, and stories, and jokes that I didn’t quite understand…but was thrilled to be privy to them anyway. 

It was the ultimate way of reaching out and connecting to another person, intimate, and whole.  It was a way to remain a part of the family unit, your voice and self never out of touch with everyone else in your home world.

Before I go on – let’s just get one thing straight – I love technology.  Adore it, 
in fact.

Today, I tried reaching out to an old friend.  We’ve kept tabs on each other for years.

When telephone calls were too tricky, we switched to AOL…

You’ve got mail…remember? 

From there we went to straight emails.  Then texts. 

Then Facebook messages. Then Snapchat.

Then Viber. 

Then there’s Instagram, Twitter and

go ahead – call some other ones out – you know them. 

Now today.

Somewhere along the way the laughter has left, as did the words. 

Our communication and connections had become so economical, that what was left, in the end of it, was a void.

There are circles, chat rooms, and group boards.  Suddenly the word “friend” has an entirely different meaning.

No one on my family knows with whom I’m talking to when I’ve my phone in my hand. 

And certainly, no one would lie their head down on my lap while I text.

Today – the world never stops.  And I’m left wondering –
who can hear me now?

Dirty Lttle Secret

We all have (at least) one – right?

Last week, one of my daughters, while packing her place up, found that she had collected a mass of magazines.  She confessed that she was a bit of a glossy print hoarder.   

With her tongue thoroughly imbedded in her cheek, she wondered aloud where she got this trait.

We both knew the truth.

This sent me on a journey throughout my house this morning, hunting and gathering anything that had a subscription label on it, and at least two dog-eared pages. It wasn’t hard.  Nooks and crannies, corners and cabinets were scoured as periodicals were rounded up.

There were plenty of stacks.  I toyed with the idea of adding another leaf to the table so it could support the collections.  If my daughter had a mass – I had a critical mass. 

As I sorted through the varieties of design, improvement and enrichment – I wondered where I, myself, had gotten that trait. 

 It was my mother.   

She did not have the opportunity to grow up with many books, so as an adult, she collected them as treasures.  Piles of them neatly on shelves and end tables abounded.   

A gift of a coffee table book resulted in her having a look of wonder and awe.   

She cherished them. 

I have already shared my love of books with you, and to be honest – I don’t love the magazines.  But I do cherish what they represent…just as my mom did...and perhaps my daughters:

There’s always room for improvement.

Beauty is everywhere.

Possibilities are endless.

So are subscriptions.

Mischief in the Making

I was wrong.

There are lots of adventures you can experience in life
- if you are lucky.

Living in different places, careers made from dreams,
finding children in your life,
holding onto love - whether for a moment, or more than a long exhalation of time...
these are the types of adventures that buoy one through one life stage to another.

Then there are the experiences which jettison you through your short stay on this planet
- for an even shorter moment of time:
the hike through the alps,
careening down rapids whose category you do not want to know,
the climb up an oxygen-absorbing peak,
or the tedium of one pedal stroke after another to cross a country,
or continent.

I thought that once we did one of those "super experiences" we'd be good -
no - I'd be good  - for life.
The scary, exhausting expeditions would be behind me.
I would have satisfied a need.

Nope.

Little did I know that a restlessness would sink in.

Need changes to crave - and the search for another adventure needs to begin.

I was wrong.

Begin Again

My sister taught me a song when we were little:

There was an old man named Michael Finnegan.

He had whiskers on his chin-agin.

The wind blew them off,

and he grew them in again.

Poor old Michael Finnegan,

begin again.

As you may suppose, you repeat it again, and again.

That's how I feel each January 1st.

I never make resolutions for the new year.

I've always thought they were a recipe for failure.

But I do make plans and lists, 

and search for

inspiration.

My inspiration this year was the number 13.

It's my sister's favorite number.

My plan is to try 13 new things in 2013.

I've started,

#1  Acupuncture - weird, not my fave, but would try again

#2  Swimming - including it in my cross training - brr.

#3  Diet - concentrated effort to eat fully "clean" - tricky, I like chips.

#4 Bike daily - already failed - that's what happens to unrealistic expectations.

And then I realized I had done three things already...
and the first month wasn't over.

Clearly, I need a plan and a list - so here goes:

January - Change 

February - Change your roots

March - Change your focus

April - Change your attitude

June - Change your expectations

July - Change your balance

August - Change your routine

September - Change your hairstyle

October - Change your missions

November - Change your aspirations

December - Change your outlook

I don't like change, but "change is hard, change is good."

The nice thing is that once this 13/'13 is over...

I begin again.

Paradise Lost

I've been in Paradise Penitentiary...in other words a fancy spa.  
For years, Jeff has given this to me as either an 
act of love, or a resuscitation of his sanity...
I'm never sure which.  
I didn't go last year, due to our little bike ride, 
so this year it's been an extended stay. 
This is a place that serves the needs of a variety of folks.  
This isn't just for the I-Want-To-Be-Beautiful crowd, 
it's also for the 
I've-had-a-loss/illness/scare/breakdown/dysfunction crowd.  
People watching could be fun...but I don't, out of respect.  
I'm part of the 
Could-We-Work-This-Kink-Out-Of-My-Neck-And-Backbend group.

Besides the compulsory laying of hands on your body and face with lotions and potions, 
you also have the ability to workout like a crazy person, 
or connect with the outdoors.  
I chose the former. 

It's a joy to be a participant, 
and not the person with the microphone, 
memorized routine, and prayers to the sound system.  
I get to choose whether or not I'm going to listen to the instructor, 
or develop a blank stare on my face as I do my own thing - 
half tempo.   
I have danced, folded, planked and plunked for days.  
But the best class has always been the spinning class.   
The room is amazingly filled with state of the art bikes, stereo, 
and lighting effects.  

I taught SPIN classes for a few years.  
I would choose rhythms and music, develop catchy phrases, 
and design "routines" all with the goal of inspiring and motivating.  
I was never a "yeller".
I'm more of a catch flies with honey, 
instead of vinegar, kind of instructor.  
Other than Coach Troy training DVD’s for our XC ride, 
I haven’t been in a SPIN class in years.

I was so excited to take the serious SPIN class 
offered here each early morning.  
This was going to be a part of my "13 new things in '13"...
to see if I could return to cycling every day, something 
my body and mind came to count on, without fail. 
I failed.  

I was fully embracing the variety of instructor’s music, 
routines, and teaching styles...until I got to The Yeller.
This instructor screeched, whooped, 
and threw out canned phrases of "encouragement"
which would have served me very well,
if I had chosen to train to be a Navy Seal.  
I'm not.  
That was it.  
I couldn't go today in fear that - 
that instructor – that prison matron,
would be returning (they rotate).  
I yell at myself enough, 
I don't need someone else doing it for me...
at an ear piercing volume. 
(If I think the music was loud, then...)  

And then I realized that I allowed one person's negative edge
impact all of my positive juju.  
I forgot that 
I could ignore her, 
do what I believed was better for my head, heart and health, 
and return to my purpose of this 13/'13 goal...
the joy of the bike, the music, 
and ultimately the ride.
I could be true to myself.
 
So, when I finally bust of this joint, 
I will continue with another new 13/'13...
just to be myself, 
act and react as necessary,
at all times…good juju and all.

Risky Business

One day, towards the end of our tour,
we got an email from one of our kids. 
In it, she described going for a six mile run. 
The sentence that caught my breath was,
"...I know it's not as impressive as what you and Dad are doing..." 
I had to pause. 
She measured herself against what we had undertaken -
and that was never anything we ever wanted.

Risk, for me, is doing something in the face of uncertainty and unknown outcomes. 
There are many kinds of risk, calculated, foolish,
personal, professional,
physical, financial and emotional. 
Waking up in the morning can be risky. 
For the men and women we observe today and yesterday -
they risked their lives for others.

Beginning or ending,
starting or stopping,
staying or going,
gaining or releasing,
pursuing or rejecting...
all can be risky business.

We traveled with a group of individuals who embraced risk -
and not the physical kind you might think. 
At the end of our tour, we were ask to present a closing statement. 
Each person, whether with humor or emotion told of their personal uncertainty,
their challenge, their unknown. 
Each person's was unique to themselves, their lives, their limitations and accomplishments. 
No one would dream to measure their own tale to the other. 

The fact is - they took a risk.

So does the soldier, firefighter or police officer
     who perform their daily job with potential threat.
So does the young couple when they
     buy their first home at a stab of permanence and stability.
So does the parent when a child is conceived.
So does that teacher when they walk into their classroom.
So does the family provider when the economy threatens.
So does that young man when he applies for yet another job.
So does that woman running her first 5K.

What we want for our children is to take their own risks.
Their own - not anyone else's.
It is from taking risks and succeeding, or more importantly - failing -
that we learn, and find happiness...
or at least risk finding it.

Biker Chick

On one side of the road - fifty or so motorcyclists. 

Leather wearing, beard blowing, beer for breakfast, grit goggled cyclists.

On the other side of the road - two tandem bicyclists.

Spandex wearing, head helmeted, V8 juice in hand, grit goggled cyclists.

Biker - You ride that thing?

Me - Yep.

Biker - Looks like hard work.

Me - It is.

Biker - Grunt of respect.

Yeah, that's right...I'm a biker chick.