Why yes, that is a vacuum cleaner in my pannier.

Yesterday my friend said to me, "Are you ok then? I worry about you." 

It dawned on me that I've created this victim persona of myself with her. That identity does not give me comfort. I never dreamed my ex-husband would do the things he has done, but that is not me. I am not living the prescribed life that my family or former friends would like for me, but I am me. I am not a victim. I am not what has happened to me. 

Alertness set in on me early this morning, my whole body filled with inspiration. Yesterday's sickness and fever linger, and it is 26 degrees. I have to get in to the office to remove a mural I painted a few weeks back. My thoughts grappled with each other: drive or bike this morning? 

I remembered a movie, 180 deg South. I lusted after the responsibility-free life of these climbers. These guys did everything to climb, surf, and sail. They gave up the things I define as success on a hunt for a thrill. Hey self: slow down there, Judgy McJudgerstein. They aren't less than human any more than you are or anybody is. Hell, they have a movie. This is their path. What's yours?

"If you set out on a journey to affect some kind of physical to spiritual gate and you compromise the process along the way, and you’re an asshole when you start then you’ll be an asshole when you finish” ~180 deg South

This is how I find myself packing a vacuum cleaner into pannier bags and donning the ski gear intended for yesterday's non-trip to Wintergreen mountain. It isn't because a sickness happened to me, but because the backside of pain is experience. Experience is life, and life is beautiful.

In no particular order I present to you, dear Universe, my goals:

• Ride the divide from Banff to Fort Collins
• Lose sight of shore for long enough that it becomes a new normal
• Build a product and company that serves the greater good
• Raise up some childrens (ya'll)
• Keeping working a handstand until it breaks my bones

I Can Ride my Bike with No Handlebars

My son wanted a nerf gun for Christmas. That's cool and all, but I don't really do nerf guns. Maybe you notice I ride bikes? I decided that what I wanted to give him was a bike. He grows so fast! This week was a whole makeover - new glasses, new haircut, new bike. He was a whole new man.

At first he didn't love the bike I chose. I thought he could still be satisfied with the simple criteria: two wheels plus pedals. My choice was also in a steel frame, disc brakes, and sora components. It was a deal -- and way too big... and maybe not cool enough? Feeling a little depleted in the value of my choice, I took him back to the bike shop. I was pretty convinced he was going to just return it. I don't even know what we bought.  No idea the type of components, and I would have to go down to the garage to recall the brand. While we were there, his love of bikes revived.

He doesn't know it, and please don't tell him so I can still hold out for some additional chores-in-lieu-of-presents, but this was the perfect gift for Christmas. My child is riding bikes with enthusiasm again! Here's us the next morning getting bagels for breakfast.

Bag Lady

My mother has trained my daughter in the art of putting things in a bag to carry them. My daughter has as many bags and purses as my mother. The humor here is that I have so few. I will go out of my way to not carry a purse that I will leave things I *might* need. If the likelihood of needing the item is less than 100%, there's a good chance I will leave it at home. I try to carry very little baggage. Weekend in south Texas? A purse with a bathing suit, a dress, and sandals is plenty. For everything else, there is retail shopping and shipping.

Something amazing happened on the bus -- AGAIN. Let me set up the logistics a little. My car was at the office. Sometimes I leave it there and bike home.  Enter the drama.

I'm headed to south Texas and I really have only my bathing suit, a dress, and sandals. I'm a little panicked because I tried to drive my car home last night. Mental recall of events tells me that I must have dropped my wallet with my car keys on the bus yesterday morning. I'm headed to work before going to the airport. The bus company is closed so I leave a message. There's nothing more to be done except cancel the cards and replace the keys. Replacing car keys can be really messy (read: expensive). In this particular model, you have to have it towed to a dealership and have a new key programmed. All in, we're looking at ~$1k. GAH. Deep sigh. Mantra, "it's just money."

I'm about to accept my fate, leave my car at the office for the weekend, and fly out when you know what happened? I got a phone call from the bus company. Somebody turned in my wallet. It was light a little cash, but it had the very expensive key and all of my cards.

My love-hate bus pendulum swings back to love.

Normal day

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

Mary Jean Irion

Bike packing attempt 1: chicken church to shakori. Total success.

Admittedly, I set out later than you should in summer. I wasn't worried. I don't mind heat and I had plenty of water.

Let's roll back a few months. I saw a picture of a road that simply ended with the caption "sink hole". I paid little attention because it was across a lake far from any of my regular routes.

EXCEPT THIS DAY, of course. On this day, I totally found the closed road due to sink hole.

I detoured around the steepest golf course around. On our first really hot day. It was the smallest lateral mileage, but clearly the most climb. I would have known this had apple kept up with the sink holes in america.

I got a little grouchy. A little tired. I called for a pick up.

The ride didn't come through, and I was still suffering. I took a minute. I sat down on the roadside and drank in steady breath and shade. I realized I was shivering and began connecting the dots. I sent a text to my heart spoken ninja who would figure it out from a distance if necessary - "Have heat stroke. GPS pin here."

When my symptoms abated enough, and I got back on the bike. Here began the suffering. It was a mile up the road and around the bend to the grocery story. I zombie'd myself into the store and bumped into the perfect person - a product guy holding a monstrous wedge of watermelon on a stick. The grocery stores here are so cool because they sell odd lawn furniture. In this case, there was a hammock. I laid down in the air conditioned hammock with a couple watermelon popsicles and waited for recovery to find me.

When I set back out, I had a record-breaking 5mph pace including rest. The spot in this picture was a swimming hole. I stopped for ice a few miles later before I saw the shot gun adorned sign "Enter at your own risk."

I slept in a hammock under stars this night after an amazing set of live music. Maybe bad things also happened on this adventure, but I choose to remember showering in a farm shower in the forest and waking up to cold-brewed coffee. Long live Shakori.