Decision.

A crazy idea, months of training, a brief cancer scare... what do these things have in common?  They've lead me to where I am now, which is where I have been all along.  I am going to ride my bicycle over 800km in the hottest part of summer across two states and one territory.

There have been a lot of things to get in my way this year, particularly my health, then my time got taken up with a boyfriend, whom I was hoping would be someone special.  Unfortunately that wasn't the case. I could go on about this in great detail, but I'll keep it simple.  I gave him every chance under the sun.  I ended it when it became untenable.  I'm glad and relieved that it's over.  He didn't really take it so well, but I'm fresh out of sympathy.

Now, events in my life seem to be pushing me out of the door, and I can almost feel the long dry miles calling my name.  Work has settled down, I'll be very busy early next year, but for now I seem to be working actual business hours as opposed to my more usual 10-12 hour days.  The days are longer, allowing me to take a quick jaunt up black mountain on my way home from work to get some extra hills into my legs.

I'm in the process of buying a house, and will probably move as soon as I get back to the ACT next year.... 

So, I have made a decision.  I am going to pack up my house, put my things in storage (save for my bicycle and what I need for the ride), and hit the road as I've been planning all along on the 15th of December.

This means quite simply, that I have made the decision to go all the way, to not give myself a choice, or an option to fail and turn around.  I will be on my bicycle, on the road, pretty much armed with a clean pair of socks and a can of Bushmans. (god I love that stuff) The only way out will be through.

I think the crazy and lengthy sequence of events that has made my life this year has had a theme....  It doesn't matter what happens, around me.  I've learned that I can take down just about any barrier between me and my goals.  As long as I make the determined decision to do it, I'll make it happen.  Well... two themes, my personal grit. (or as one of my old ATC mentors said to me "a good bit of mongrel") and my desire to conquer the distance between myself and my family under my own power.

I don't know how regular my internet access will be while on the road, but I'll blog "old school" and keep a notebook and pen with me for the journey.  I'll try and take a few photos to share while I'm at it.  Due time constraints associated with finalising training, packing my house,  going through the contract exchange process, co-ordinating visiting family for Christmas, slowly churning through my novel, tying up loose ends at work and my volunteer work, I may not blog again before I go.

Thanks for reading guys! see you soon!

Hot Hundred

My first century after cancer surgery... you bloody ripper.

The mountain bike was saddled up at 7:10am, with 1.5 litres water, 2 mandarins, 1 apple and a carrot.  The leftovers of my "office snacks" from this week.  Learn from my cycling fail, the above listed items are not sufficient sustenance for 118km of ACT/NSW hills and mountains.  Always carry more food than you think you'll need to eat, and more water than you think you will want to drink.  What follows, is overall an enjoyable bike ride, but also a bit of a cautionary tale for those who's eyes are sometimes smaller than their stomachs.

I cycled towards Copins Crossing, grinning broardly on the downhill, applying minimal brakes before the corner onto the ford, and easing myself quite smoothly up the 13% slope on the other side.  The morning was cool, but not cold, and I couldn't spot any wind.  Perfect cycling conditions.  Apparently everyone else agreed, by the time I rounded the corner and pedalled up past Stromlo forest I had the distinct impression that I was just one extra body on a bit of a bicycle highway.

I'm still listening to The Satanic Verses, and I must say that while it has interesting enough moments, and as an athiest I strongly concur with the books commentary on the "insanity of belief" (where belief is referring to theological belief) I'm just not sure I'm totally digging it.  I actually find the voice of the guy reading the audio book quite annoying, he doesn't seem to read at a consistent volume, and I found myself on several occasions missing a sentence while pedalling up a hill as a car wooshed past me, while shouting at my ipod like an old woman armchair detabing an episode of today tonight. "Speak up man!"  By the time I'd adjusted the volume of my ipod, the reader had regained his head of steam, and launched into the next paragraph at top volume, blasting my ears. 

I continued up along the undulating terrain, and started to notice how low the cloud was, or possibly noticing how much altitude I'd gained.  I cycled up a few stretches with slopes rating between 10 and 13 percent, which is ferociously steep.

I rounded the corner to Uralla Crossing while listening to a scene from The Satanic Versus, that I immediately realised had some fairly surprising parallels to the backstory and plot of Dark Angel. (think of the escape of the mutants from the manticore laboratory).  I must say, in all of my days spent in various laboratories, I never got to do anything quite as cool as create a mutant. 

Rounding the corner to Uralla crossing, I noticed that it was almost a carbon copy of Copins crossing.  Sweeping left turn with steep down-hill, followed by tight right turn onto the crossing, and then sweeping bends and steep up hill.  My legs announced that they were fatigued, and had enough climbing for now.  I crossed the river, and pulled to the left to the parks and picnic table, deciding to stop for a drink and a snack.

I devoured an enormous and wonderfully fresh honey-murcott mandarin, and a pink lady apple.  I chugged down half a liter of water... Immediately after this consumption I checked my supplies, and realised that I'd possibly under-catered; a cardinal sin at any event for sure.

I set off up the steep climb out of Uralla Crossing, resolving to bring myself more snacks next time; and settled into the undulating road towards Brindabella.  The Satanic Verses got more and more surreal; and I realised I'd gained some serious altitude when I rounded the corner, and found a cloud, sitting right across the road.  A puffy white cumulus cloud, not really caring that the hill was intruding into it's bit of atmosphere.  A thin layer of cold mist formed on my face and arms as I cycled through the cloud, discovering that this particular cumulus was part of a gaggle of clouds, turning the bike ride into a rather beautiful experience.

My legs continued to protest, and some fairly serious muscle pain settled into my upper thighs.  About 20km out of Brindabella I stopped for another break, washing down my carrot with another half liter of water.  My stomach grumbled.

By the time I made it to Brindabella, my legs were aching, and the rumble of hunger had settled into my rather empty stomach, vying with my aching legs for primacy of attention.  Of course, there really isn't much in Brindabella, and certainly no food source unless I plan on making like the sheep and eating some grass.

I pull over, consuming exactly half of my remaining water, leaving me with 250mls for the 60-odd km ride home.  I change my ipod from audio-book over to music and start pedalling back home, comforting myself with the thought "well it was mostly uphill on the way here, so there'll be more down on the way home."

30km down the road it became clear to me, that I'm an idiot.  A complete fool.  Apparently, in an undulating landscape there's some laws of topography that I just don't understand.  No matter which direction you're cycling in, you are by the very laws of nature pedalling up hill.  I ponder this, as I approach Uralla Crossing again from the other side, my legs screaming with effort to clear the hill, using the 2nd lowest gear my bike has to offer.  I begin to wonder if I could actually walk faster, the bike just seemed to be crawling along at such a sad pace.

I stopped again at the top of Uralla crossing, consuming, again exactly half of my remaining water, applying some sort of logic in my starved, dehydrated and addled state that if I did that, I'd not run out.  Refer to the previous paragraph for a discussion of my intellectual powers while under the influence of hunger.  I got back on the bicycle, rolling at a fairly slow pace back through the undulating landscape towards stromlo forest.  As I passed the forest I was overtaken by a group of mountain bikers, in a further dashing blow to my pride, the mountain bikers were actually inside the forest grounds, on the rocky rough mountain bike track, while I cruised along the road with my suspension fully locked out. 

I passed the sign for Stromlo forest, thinking thank goodness, I'm almost home, there's only another 10 or so km to go.  By this stage, I'm not enjoying the ride at all.  My stomach is in constant constricted grumbling hunger pain, my leg muscles are so laden with lactic acid they are burning and protesting every pedal, I'm starting to see little blue spots in front of my eyes from the dehydration.  I'm exhausted, and I've still got at least one more 13% slope to climb, and one more 10% slope to climb.

I shake my head to clear it, and admonish myself not to think about the hills.  I try to just put my head down, and pedal.  It doesn't matter how fast I'm going, it just matters that I'm on the bike and pedalling, that I'm keeping this vehicle rolling.

The sun comes out, finally burning off the layers of cloud.  Maybe it's the hunger, dehydration and physical exhaustion messing with my head, but I realise something.  I'm lucky.  I'm lucky to be pushing my body to within some reasonable proximity of it's limits.  I'm lucky to feel muscles burn from exercise.  I'm lucky to feel hunger and thirst.  All of these sensations mean that I'm alive, and well enough to be riding a bike to exhaustion.  I'm lucky to be alive and well.

I make one more stop on the way home, eating my mandarin at the top of Copins Crossing.  A zippy cyclist on a road bike stops to ask if I'm okay.  My response of "yeah mate, just stopping for a snack" is met with a cheerful "good on ya"  as he pedals off into the distance.  Renewed witha fresh dose of fructose I hop on the bike, chuck on three gears and dig in.  I round the corner, I'm gaining on the other bike! Yeah! Get him!  I round the next corner, and discover the hill is so steep that I'm pedalling at a walking pace in my lowest gear.  I'm an idiot.

I finally make it home, the entire distance up coulter drive thinking the most longing and loving thoughts I've possibly ever thought about a bowl of pasta with mushrooms and tomatoes sitting in my fridge.  I've never lusted over leftovers quite so intensely.

Convoy of no confidence

On Monday this week Canberrans were warned to batten down the hatches, to remain at home if possible, to avoid the massive gridlock that was anticipated to be the convoy of no confidence; a protest against the Gillard government in general, and the proposed carbon tax in particular.

It just so happened that on this particular Monday morning, I had an appoitment with my surgeon to double-check that I'm healing well after my operation, and to clear my return to life in general.  There is no chance that I was going to let a few thousand pesky trucks get in between me and that appointment. 

Monday morning arrived, I awoke to the dulcet tones of my alarm clock informing me "Time to get up.  The time is six am"  I roll out of bed, pleasantly surprised by the lack of icy Canberran winter chill.  I realise that aside from anything else, this Monday will be a great day for a bike ride.  I organise myself, saddling up the mountain bike, and double checking google maps for the main route to the hospital for my appointment, an alternate route, using back roads should the 10,000 strong convoy be blocking the bike lanes on the main roads, and a tertiary back-up consisting of using the cycleways and the odd bit of cross countrying.

I set out on my way, now up to chapter four of "The Satanic Verses" by Salman Rushdie.  I remember commenting at work, that into chapter one, I just didn't understand how this book was possibly worth the ire expressed by some of the muslim faith.  By chapter four, I understand.  The main character is having a trip down memory lane, and remembers a serious illness that put him into a coma.  He was in the coma for seven days.  During this time, he prayed to allah, begged, pleaded for his life to be saved.  On the seventh day, he came to the realisation that there is no god there, that there is nothing in that emptiness; and more importantly he came to the realisation that he could happily accept the lack of diety and face whatever consequences that caused with equamity.  It was once he made this realisation he awoke from the coma, and returned to health.    Once returned to health, he proceeded to the nearest resturant and stuffed his face with pork, bacon and sausages while exclaiming "See no lightning bolts!"

Oh, now I get it, I can see that could be a tad inflamatory to those who truly believe that you will instantly go to hell for eating a pig. 

After making this realisation while listening to my audio book, I started to notice something, or more particularly, the lack of something.  I quite honestly, have never seen a smoother run on the arterial roads of Canberra.  I cycled to the hospital on the main road, with even less than usual regular traffic.  I started counting trucks wherever I could spot them.  I saw four, on my way from my house to the hospital (just under 10km)  One of those trucks was a concrete truck travelling opposite direction to me.

I arrived in time for my appointment, and was happily informed by my surgeon that I'm healing well, and am cleared to do pushups like normal again; which is great as the one armed pushups were a real killer.  We shook hands, and although my surgeon is a talented, intelligent personable man, I scincerely hope to never need to see him again.

I re-mounted the bike, and pedalled the rest of the uneventful journey to the office.  I was so excited about the truck protest, and in a way disappointed that I didn't get the opportunity to use all of my excellent preparation.  The truck tally by the time I got to my office, was a total of thirteen trucks.... none of them driving in convoy.  Bit of an anti climax really.

I'll take it.

Step two... get on the bike and ride.

Sun is shining, weather is warm, light breeze.  It's an impossibly beautiful day.  I throw my leg over the mountain bike and roll to Lake Ginninderra, just a few minutes from my house.  The earphones are firmly jammed into my ears, playing some music with an energetic beat.  I've managed to lose track of my ipod cable and will have to find it before I can download audio books from my computer to my device to listen to. 

I set myself a goal, four laps, 28km, possibly 30km if you count the trip from my house to the lake.  Let's be honest, for someone who's planning on riding 800km at the end of this year, 28km isn't exactly an inspiring effort.  However, for someone who's wearing a scar close to her heart that's held together with steri-strips, it's not so bad.

I set off at a comfortable pace, angling my weight back to take pressure off the handlebars, and hopefully off my chest.  The lake is popular spot, with a cheerful assortment of naturalists looking for birds amongst the gum trees, dog walkers, joggers, teenagers on BMX bikes, families with little kids on an assortment of scooters, trikes and wobbly bicycles.  On lap number two I quickly dodged the bike off the path and onto the grass to allow right of way to a four year old wobbling along on his bike, unfortunately allowing his egress was not sufficient assistance and the child took a bit of a tumble.  Much to his credit, he'd gotten up and was brushing the dust off his knees by the time I'd gotten off my bike to make sure he was okay.  A concerned dad wasn't too far behind, and a quick "cycling in a straight line 101" on the grass next to the path followed. (I suggested it would provide a softer surface for future tumbles)  A few minutes in, we'd covered the concepts of "look where you want to go, not at what you're doing"  "The pedals are always stuck to the bike, and if you're sitting on the seat the pedal will find your feet"

Before much time had passed this kid was tearning around the grass on his bike like an absolute champion, sitting straight up, without wobbles, and going exactly where he wanted to go.  Fantastic.  Smiles and high-fives all around.  I really hope that kid grows up to love cycling his whole life.

I continued on, feeling like I'd done my good deed for the day.  However, about half way through lap four a final opportunity to do some good presented itself, two older ladies were standing next to their bicycles with a large map spread between them, and their body language making the international signal of "Mate, I'm bushed"  I pulled over, spying a gaggle of those wide-body large three-wheel prams about to enter the narrow wooden bridge across the end section of the lake anyway, figuring that I'd allow the prams to cross the bridge, and pass them further down the track after helping the lost ladies.

Happily, I was able to help them, elicting a "ohhhhh you're allowed to do that!" when I turned the map to face the direction that I was facing before I gave them directions.
"Yep, if it looks silly but it works, it aint silly."
The ladies cycled off on their way, with a list of directions and some landmarks to assist their navigation. 
I completed lap four, standing up out of the seat, and riding my bike over the edge of the gutter to get to the bike lane to head home. 

I arrived home, and noted upon dismounting the bike that there was some level of pain around my surgical wound.  After chatting to a very wise friend who reminded me that there are no prizes up for grabs purely for being in pain, (well outside of the world of japanese television game shows that is) I quite sensibly took some anaelgesics.

So, in summary not my most massive effort by a long shot, but you have to start somewhere, and I've started from much worse places than this.  It's a start, and I'll take it and run with it until I'm as strong as I want to be.

Three step program... Step one.

The three step process is coming along....
Step one: Destroy Tumor

Last week I had a day in hospital to have surgery.  I came out of hospital, high as a kite on drugs, dizzy from blood loss, and have a 24 hour period from which I actually remember very little.  Apparently during this time I posted on Facebook, sent SMS messages and had phone conversations, all of which my online record attests to; however I don't actually remember very much from that day.  I remember being given chocolate.  I also remember trying with little success to complete my 2nd kung fu form in the kitchen while waiting for my kettle to boil, lifting my arm up above my head in a correct block was a bit too much.  Also my feet just couldn't seem to point the right way.

The great part of having surgery is that a tumor about the size of my thumb (you can use your thumb for scale if you want to check out what that looks like) has been removed from my body.  The not so great part is that my body feels like it's been kicked by a donkey.  Repeatedly. 

I'm still in a bit of shock over the whole experience emotionally.  I'm so happy that the little bastard of a tumor is out of my body, and I just can't quite shake the odd feeling that I've just dodged a major bullet.  I was sent home from hospital with a large packet of pain-killers which I'm not taking, as I hate the cotton-wool head feeling.  The constant pain of now empty flesh tugging at my fresh surgery wound is almost a comfort.  I can physically feel that something is gone from my body.  I can feel my flesh settling back in to place.  I just don't know yet if I should be jumping up and down to celebrate (well jumping very gently as everything still hurts) or sitting down to have a big girly cry.

Well onwards and upwards, I can't wait until this blog is back to bike rides and audio-book reviews.  I found myself an audio copy of Salman Rushdie's "The Satanic Verses" which I'll start listening to when I'm cleared by the Doc. to get back on the push-bike.  Frankly, the blurb of the book itself didn't grab me that much on it's own merit, my fascination is more due to the amount of public attention the book and author has received.   
I'm just so eager to get back in the saddle, put my feet to the pedals, and wind my way up into the hills. 

Red Hill round-up

This weekend I shook things up a bit, I took a non-solo cycle in two parts.

The ride started out with the tall man and myself pedalling our way cheerfully along to the Red Hill lookout.  It's a big hill in an inner southern suburb of Canberra.

Red Hill is a great way for Black Mountain aspirants to cut their teeth before tackling the real bad-boy of hills in Canberra.  The corners are gentler, the road is less steep, wider and with better visability (less trees obscuring corners)  The view from the lookout is great, and totally worth the ride.

I needed a rest part way up to catch my breath and give my legs a break, but found the ride much easier with a bit of a rest.  I guess there's nothing wrong with just hopping off the bike for a minute when it all gets a bit too much.

I was happily rewarded at the top of the ride, with a large red-setter dog complete with cheerful owner.  The dog loved pats, and happily submitted to my ear-squiggling, chin-rubbing confirmation of the dog's general "goodness". 

The only thing better than patting a big friendly dog is riding a bike downhill.  We can all guess what happened next, the downhill is lovely, shallow enough for those new to downhills to apply brakes and take at a more comfortable pace, but steep enough for the adrenaline junkies to tuck their torso's down to the bike, their tails in the air, and absolutely flog it.  A word of caution though, there's no footpath up Red Hill, and there seem to be quite a few pedestrians traipsing up, down, and across the road all quite near blind corners. 

Upon reaching the bottom of the hill (and again a safety note, the bottom of the hill terminates in a roundabout intersection, so you will need to wash off some speed before you start mixing it up with the urban traffic)  we headed in towards Civic via old parliament house.  It was a real treat to be pedalling along under the tall man's navigation, I just rolled along enjoying the view.  The first portion of the ride concluded at a pub in town, where we met some friends and enjoyed a well-earned frosty cold drink.

By the time it came to ride home the sky had clouded over somewhat, and darkened considerably.  The cycle home was taken mainly off roads, and along one of canberra's many cycleways; which I confess are still an arcane squiggle of paths not necessarily leading anywhere useful for me.  Once again, tall man was at the ready with knowledge of how to get where we needed to go.  Most excellent.

We started at LBG, went westerly, around the dam and then along the Cotter sort of area.  There's lots of construction going on there, with new wections of bike track, and modifications to existing sections.  I learned that canberra's bike tracks are fantastic, if you can bloody work out where you're going.  If I hadn't had a navigator to follow, there were several points where taking a reasonably logical guess as to where I needed to turn off would have lead me somewhere quite different to my destination.  The bike tracks are a great option for those who don't want to take to the bike lanes and share with the car traffic, but definately attend armed with a map, or a navigator.

Thanks for the ride tall man :-)

EFF this I'm going on a bike ride

After a day of dealing with the kafkaesque machinations of the medical administration system (and yes I've read Kafka so I'm allowed to use the word Kafkaesque in a sentance) it was time to clear my head.

The road bike and I mounted up, and sallied forth to Black Mountain.  I've cycled up Black Mountain a couple of times now, and it's always hard.  I always find myself stopping at least once at the "half way lookout" for a view over lake BG and a stern internal monlogue where I remind myself that I'm not going to die from the ride up the mountain, and that I most certainly don't need to puke on the side of the road.  I use my ipod to time the break, and listen to the end of whatever song is playing, then re-shuffle the play list and cycle the rest of the way up with minimal discomfort.

The weather was perfect for a ride today, light wind, sun shining, cool temperature.  The view over LBG was stunning, with the late afternoon sun twinkling over the lake.  I mentally ran through my day's frustrations as I dragged the cranks up the hill.  I'd initially planned on having one dr's visit, with just a minor inconvenience to my work day... How I'm laughing at that now. 

What should have been quick and simple turned into a saga involving several hours on the phone, and /or standing in front of a receptionist's desk taking attitude from an eighteen year old who looked like she'd borrowed her boyfriend's concreting trowel to apply makeup that morning, a drive across town to pick up a piece of paper with my laboratory results because some completely incompetent nerf-herder couldn't use a fax machine, followed by the "but we only release results to the Dr." Followed by my "1) It's MY BODY and those are MY RESULTS. 2)Stick it in a sealed envelope if you want, and just pretend I'm the postie.  3)Why are you still looking at me like we're having a conversation you nerf-herder?... I've told you I'm getting these results.  It wasn't a question, it wasn't a discussion."

I finally rounded the last corner of the hill to black mountain, the grin spreading across my face, and my fist pumping into the air as I made the circuit of the carpark to the map proudly proclaiming "YOU ARE HERE" which I usually High-five before catching my breath, and setting myself in for the exhilirating downhill.  I realised my brain was still seething with frustration at how I'd been treated today.  I checked the time on my bike computer, 3.40pm.  Dang, I'd made some good time.  I stood for a few minutes at the map, still running over the frustration in my mind.  I took a deep breath, re-shuffled my ipod and rolled the bike gently towards the downhill, hoping that the steep and challenging ride would force me to concentrate, and leave the crap behind.

As always, the downhill brings pure joy to my heart.  The mild fear of feeling my fingers slip in the cold over the brake leavers, the feel of cooling air rush past my face, the tension in my legs and shoulders as I tuck low over the bike, the synergy between my body and the bicycle as we lean into the corners, looking for the best line. 

I reached the bottom of the hill, and the moment the road levelled out I started gnawing at my frustrations again.  "but how could they be so disrespectful of my time?"  "didn't they have any compassion for how stressed out I was waiting for those laboratory reports?"  "don't these bastards realise that I have a bloody tumor in my body that I JUST WANT OUT!!!!"

I pulled the bike over to the footpath, as I realised that it was approaching peak hour time, and I wasn't focussing on what I was doing or where I was going.  The last thing I need is a bike vs car accident, and not watching what's going on around you is a good way to have one.  I took a deep breath, and remembered a conversation I had today.  The lab results are actually really promising.  After rangling and fighting, I have a copy of them.  My tumor has been identified.  It's a slow growing tumor, that has an extremely remote chance of spreading beyond my breast.

 I'll need an operation to remove it, and until such time as it is removed, I'll be feeling a seething and visceral hatred for this little clump of parasitic cells that I've never felt before in my life, and hope I never feel again.  There will be a follow up period, where I have to get checked out regularly to make sure that it's completely gone, and isn't coming back.... Really things could be a lot worse.

 In fact, it's really a good news day.  The practice of waiting for test results, waiting for appointments really hits hard on my worst personality flaws.  I'm impatient, and I can't tolerate ignorance, especially my own.  I re-mount the bicycle, spinning the cranks to stretch my legs, they'd gotten a tad stiff after being tucked tight under my torso for the downhill sprint. 

Who would have known the power of someone who cares giving me a straightforward sensible conversation, and a bike ride to clear the head.  I'm sure that things are going to be okay.