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. 

Complications

Dear Followers,

I apologise for leaving you all such a shamefully long period of time without a blog entry.  Life gets very busy at times, or to be more precise I managed to find myself an absolutely amazing boyfriend; sorry people of internet land, but cuddling beats blogging just about any day of the week.

Essentially, training for a marathon bike ride isn't that complicated.  Basically, you ride your bike, until your body becomes accustomed to riding, and you can ride more and more.  I began to understand that preparing for this bike ride is really a two step process ie

1) Bike Training

2) Bike event

Life likes to throw curveballs at you though, and now my bicycle event has become a bit of a three-step process.  This morning my Dr. diagnosed a tumor in my breast.  Now, over the next few weeks/months/however god-damned long it takes I will be undergoing various tests, surgery, and follow-ups until such time as my body is cancer cell- free.  So here's my new three step process.

1) Anhilate tumor/cancer.
2)Bike Training
3) Bike event

Now, I could start quoting from the hagakurae, or Sun Tsu's "The art of war"  I'm a well read and learned woman like that.  I've also done a fair bit of martial arts training, enough to spout tough chick platitudes until the sun goes down, the cows have come home, and the fat lady has sung until blue in the face.

I'm not going to quote, I'm going to use my own words here.

I am going to war on this tumor.  I will use every scientifically proven technique available.  I am not afraid of scaples, of hard ionising radiation, or of cytotoxic chemical compounds.  I am confident that the strength, tenacity and reserves in my body are greater than that of this piss-ant clump of parasitic cells.

I am a logical thinker and an athiest, and my response to any twit who suggests that touching a crystal while sniffing burning herbs and singing a song to the full moon with a pair of hessian knickers on my head will do a better job than decades of peer reviewed scientific research will make the opening scene of Stanley Kubrik's full metal jacket look like a tupperware party.

I would like to highlight that early detection provides the best possible prognosis for breast cancer survival, so please do your regular self exams, and more importantly follow up on anything that seems out of the ordinary.  Guys, be like my boyfriend, and if you notice something unusual about your partner's breasts, say so.  Face it, you've probably touched more different pairs of breasts than she has.

Finally, to my boyfriend, thankyou for being wise and mature enough to say something about the lump.  You're an awesome cook, delightfully witty, a pleasure to be with, and have quite possibly saved my life.  I can honestly say I've never met a man who's done so much. 

Until next time followers,
M.

Cranky on the commuting ride

Life, seriously.  Settle down. Please.  I love you and all, you're wonderful, but please, chill.  This week has included fourteen hour days at the office, lots of family time, massively pressing deadlines, huge projects, my very good friend and colleague is away.  My "Facebook status" has changed from "single" to "in a reltionship.

I've gotten to know all the cleaners at my office really well; both the morning shift people, and the night shift people.

This blog is dedicated to my commuting ride.  It's all the bike time I've gotten this week really; and as I do a lot of commuting on my bicycles, it deserves an honourable mention.

Today I cycled my 15km trip from work to home in 26 mins.  I was on my road bike, and got a sweet run with the traffic lights on the down-side of the hill. 

I threw my leg over "The defiant" (my road bike) at 7.20pm, and unlocked my front door at 7.46pm. The ride starts with a warm up jaunt through the city walk.  I roll along, weaving the bike between the thin spread of pedestrians strolling amongst the shops.

In the distance I spied a green turning arrow onto Northborne Ave Canberra.
"I want that green light"
I tucked down onto the drops and pulled on the cranks, slipping up three gears in a thumping alpine shift.
"I'm going to take that green light"
I tucked the bicycle into a tight right turn, counting the cranks, right foot up, left foot down.
The light changed to Amber as I exited the intersection.
Okay Canberra, it's on like donkey kong.

I keep the gear and cadence up.  rolling to the next intersection, taking the green light.  I turn left at the next block onto Barry drive.  I tuck the bike tight into the corner, counting the cranks, left foot up, knee tucked to the frame.

I pull the bike up straight, digging and pulling the cranks up, slipping up another chain ring.  I overtake a bus past the next intersection, turn my head to the left to watch the slip-lane, then slide the bike across back to the bike lane.

I settle in for the hill; as Barry drive skirts the edge of black mountain.  I ease back three gears as I hit the base of the hill.

I grudgingly ease back one more as I hit the bicycle green paint and the second portion of the hill.  My legs are burning with lactic acid.  I shout at myself in japanese.  I shout at myself in english.  "COME ON! PULL THOSE CRANKS! HAVE ANOTHER GEAR!! PEDAL BITCH!"

I tuck down to the drops and drag my aching legs against the gears.  I look down.  Big chain ring.  Half way down the rear chain rings.  Hang on?.... I'm pulling a massive gear on this hill! yeah!

I hit the rise, and coasted for a moment, taking in a ragged breath.  The wheels picked up speed as I gained momentum down the hill.

I stood up in the cleats for a quick calf stretch, then tucked down again, quickly slipping the gears up to the top gear.  I brace my hands clear of the gears and brakes as I hit the bottom of the hill, taking the weight out of the seat and onto my quads.  I tuck upwards as the bike bounces over the uneven drain-hat and gravel at the base of the hill, then I slide the bike across the concrete drain and onto the bike lane.

I slip down two quick gears, and settle in for the long slow slope up to Hayden drive.  I'm listening to "adagio for strings" .... only it's the DJ Tiesto remix.

A large LED sign flashes at the side of the road. "SLOW DOWN" it instructs. "3 demerit points, $277" it intones.  "Worth every bloody penny" I think.  I force myself up a gear, and dig my legs into the cranks.  Pass the green sign.  No more up hill.

I spy the green bike light in the distance.  I want the green light.  I pile on three gears, and tuck down.  200 meters out from the intersection, the light changes to amber.  I'm not going to get the light.

While waiting for the light to change I re-shuffle my ipod.  "sickness" by disturbed.

The light changes to green and I push off, beating a suburu imprezza across the intersection.  (not the WRX)
I nail the bike down the hill, the bike cruising in top gear.  The wind breathing through my helmet.  I round the corner for the last hill before coulter drive.  My legs burn with fatigue.  My eyes burn with fatigue.  I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.  More shouting at myself in japanese, and the occasional bit of english.  I lift my tail out of the seat and push the bike over the crest of the last hill.  I turn my neck to the right and check my blind spot.  Three lanes clear.  I scoot across, and take the right turning lane.  Red Light.

I stop at the light, and take off my polar fleece tucking it into my back pack.  I indicate with my right arm for the turn, feeling the cool evening wind blowing over my skin. 

The light turns green.  I tuck down on the drops and drag the bike through the intersection.  as I round the coner, check the slip-lane and slide across to the bike lane I spy something.  Flashing red light.  Another bike.  I knuckle down to the drops and drag the bike forwards as hard as I can.  I want to overtake that bike.

as I pass the cyclist, I do a double take... It's Andre!  The nice man who rescued me my first week in Canberra when I had a flat tyre!

Andre is this guy, whom I only know as Andre, who drove me and my bicylcle home one time when I had a flat tyre.  I was suck on Belconnen way with a 8km walk home (in my socks)  The lift home with my wounded bike meant that I was able to make it to Kung Fu class that night.  I slowed down, and pedalled alongside Andre to say Hi.

We passed the general cyclist chit chat, and challenged each other along the last 1km of bike lane before I turned down my street. 

I eased back on the pdeals, turned into my driveway.  I looked down at the clock on my handlebars.  7.46pm. 

I love riding.

Why I love my mum. (or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bike)

Firstly, what a crazy crazy week.  Icy cold weather, sleet, socialising, a full on work schedule and a wounded bicycle were all crushing blows to my cycling time this week. 

My parents are in town visiting this weekend; and they were obliging enough to spend the morning with me at the science museum while I did my volunteer rounds.  They actually got right into the experience, and we had a great time playing with the exhibits.  I even got some curious kids asking me my favourite question.

"BUT WHY?"

Then off I went with my family for a nice lunch.

HANG ON JUST A COTTON-PICKING MINUTE.  THIS BLOG IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT BIKE RIDING, ESPECIALLY THE LONG DISTANCE TYPE.  I know what you're thinking dear reader; all your faithful author has done today is talk and eat.  Both of which are admirable activities to be sure, but neither of these activities were done while on a bike so what's the point in blogging it?.

Well, it was the conversation that makes this so worthy of blogging.  So crazy and exciting that, well, I'm excited like big Kev (obviously excited like big kev prior to him being deceased.)

Over lunch, I told my parents about my cycling plan.  I was surprised by their response.  No surprise whatsoever.  Just a "That sounds like your idea of a holiday" 
Then my mum chimed in.
"So you're going to ride down for Christmas, and then I guess knowing you, you'll turn around and ride back home"

A cheshire-cat like grin spread across my face.  I hadn't even thought of getting back home.  What a fantastic idea... I may as well ride back..... It's really a bugger of a job to put a bicycle in one of those big boxes to go on the aircraft, and I do always get that cringey feeling when I watch the baggage handler lob my most precious posession with one arm from the aircraft down to the baggage trolley.   I don't think there's anyone on this planet who'd want to give me and my push-bike a random lift from Colac to Canberra.  Riding my bike back just makes perfect sense.

So, like Frodo Baggins said, "there and back again"  instead of 810km, that makes it 1620km.  Providing my boss lets me have enough time off work, I see no reason why not.  Besides, what if I were to miss some scenery on the way down... or worse, not sample the coffee in every town possible?

By this stage my wonderful dad had rallied himself, and collected his jaw off the table.  He very gently suggested that maybe I should take things a little bit easier and head off to the Phillipines to do a spot of gentle and lady-like spelunking and white water rafting.  Great idea dad, I'll lock that adventure in for 2012; after the bike ride of course.

Love ya mum and dad!

Ohhhhhh shift!

Hi guys,

I've been away from blog-land for a little bit as work has been a tad busy, and has been eating into my training time.  As luck would have it, yesterday I had a free day with no obligations other than completing an assignment for my online course, so I had a bit of a sleep in then went for a ride.

I headed off with the intention of cycling to Brindabella.  I pedalled my way down William Hovel drive, still listening to "the invisible gorilla"... it's a 9 hour audio book, and I've still got a little way to go.  It's still fascinating me every chapter, and yesterday I learned about things like "flashbulb memories" and how false they actually are.

A flashbulb memory is the term used to describe how everyone can remember "where they were" or "what they were doing" when a momentus event occured, ie if I ask "where were you when you found out Osama Bin laden was killed"  I'm sure you'll have the answer popping readily into your head.  If I ask what you were doing the day before though, the memory might not be so clear.  However, our "flashbulb" memories are not always correct, our memory is fallible.  Furthermore, as time goes on, the memory gets worse and worse.

While slowly tackling the steep hills at Coppins crossing (and I must say the downhills and bends are quite fun, and when you do go cycling out there prepare to be using your lowest gears, and trundling up the hills quite slowly... I was)  I participated in a thought exercise with the invisible gorilla.  The book asked me "where were you during the 9-11 attacks"

"Ha I thought... too easy, I was actually in hospital, with a stack of broken bones in my left leg, a broken hip, broken ribs.. etc etc."

  In September 2001 I was hit by a Nissan Patrol 4WD while cycling, and was very seriously injured, in fact I'm extrememly lucky to be alive.  The car that hit me was doing 80km/h at the time, and there's about a 5% survivability rate for Car VS cyclist accidents at that speed.

  However, my memory was completely wrong....   I was hit by the car on the 3rd of september.  9th september was my first day home from hospital.  I learned about 9-11 while lying down on the couch in my parent's loungeroom.... Wow, how could I have remembered it incorrectly; I have such a vivid memory of being in hospital and watching the 2nd tower fall on the TV.  I remember the IV in the back of my hand, I remember the white cotton hospital blanket, and even the pajamas I was wearing. 

How amazing, that my brain all by itself has made this nice little video montage for me... I had not just one momentus event, but two! (the 9-11 attacks, and my serious injury) to remember, so one would think I had every reason to have strong memories of the time.  I think it's quite amazing and fascinating that our brains simply don't work the way we think they do, that simple anecdote just raises so many interesting questions... how accurate is memory really?  how many of these "incorrect" memories do I have?... why do our brains do it?..... why are we so confident in these false memories?  why do they "feel" so real?

Bending my head around this concept was great, as I wasn't thinking too card about the hill leading up from copins crossing.  Oh my it's steep.  I was in my lowest gear, and trundling along at a very slow speed.  However, I surprised myself by making it up the really steep hill (some of those hills are actually quite a bit steeper than Black Mountain, and that's a slog). 

I took the right turn onto Uriara Rd to head out towards Brindabella, but got distracted.  There was a stream of mountain bikers heading into a place called Stromlo Forest.  How could I resist?  Who was I to say no?

I figured I'd check it out.  Brindabella would still be there next weekend I figured. (well as long as that harold camp guy was wrong about the rapture being today... just like he was also wrong back in 1994) 

I turned left into the Stromlo forest park, and was not disappointed by taking the turn off.  There's kilometers an kilometers of mountain bike track, ranging from "tad bumpy" to "omg a billy-goat would be scared of that!"  I took a few of the "tad-bumpy" tracks, then tried a "tad bumpy and a little bit hilly" it was all quite fun, and I'd like to return without so much stuff on the back of my bike some time to have a proper crack at those tracks.

I popped out on the Mt Stromlo road, said G'day to an amazing lady on a road bike who was cycling up mt stromlo.... cycling down.... turning around... cycling back up..... Wow, there are some really really fit people out there. 

I putted down mt stromlo road, and got to a T Intersection.... I could turn left and go back to Canberra, or I could turn right and go to Cotter.  I turned right and went to cotter.  The views are just stunning.  Rolling hills, gum trees, blue skies, sunshine.  Perfect Autumn day.  I roll on down past Casurina Sands, and mentally mark that park as a place to visit in the future, looks like a beautiful spot by the river.

I stopped at the traffic light before entering Cotter township, and crossed the one way bridge with a very patient BMW 4WD trundling along behind me.  I found a nice park on the edge of town and sat at a picnic table for lunch, which I shared with two of the fattest crows I've ever seen; though I'd almost swear they were raised by seagulls.

The ride back was great, with undulating ups and downs culminating in a big uphill at Coppins crossing; during which I used my 2nd lowest gear.  It was a big slog up the last hill, but well worth it.

Total distance, 77km.  Didn't keep time.

Putting my money where my cranks are

I had to go to Sydney for Monday and Tuesday this week for work.  After making the discovery that cyclists recieve free and unlimited parking at Canberra airport, I figured that I had no excuse to drive my car there.

So.... Monday morning I got out of bed at the very bright and early hour of 4:15 am.  On the bike by 4:25 am, and pedalling away while listening to the audio book "The invisible gorilla"  Google it.  I did, here's their website
http://www.theinvisiblegorilla.com/

It's an amazing book, that really starts to uncover the fact that our brains simply don't work the way we think they do.... and that really, what you see isn't necessarily a complete and true representation of reality.  It's completely awesome, and I'm only about a quarter of a way through the book.  Can't wait to listen to the next installment.  I'll add the comment though, the psychological study covers gory details of car vs bike accidents, ie those ones where the car driver says "they just came out of nowhere" and stats actually showed that hi-vis and fluro gear doesn't have a statistically significant reducing effect on your likelyhood of avoiding a car vs bicycle accident.

I ruefully glanced down and back at my hi-vis pannier covers, my flashing rear red light, my flashing orange spokey-dokey light, my high-vis ankle bands, my reflective vest, and self-consciously adjusted my head-torch, and front handle bar mounted flashing white light.  "Am I fluro enough for ya?" I thought?
I didn't need to worry too much about my visibility, as during my cycle to the airport (almost 30km) I counted a total of 12 cars, and one garbage truck sharing the road with me.  The only other soul I came across was a bunny rabbit who gave me a surprised look before ambling out of the bike lane near the base of black mountain.

I'll be quite honest, and admit that if I'd known how cold it actually was in Canberra on Monday morning, I may have elected to contribute a little bit to global warming by driving my car to the airport and forking out the fifty bucks or so to park.  I noticed that my wrists and hands were getting quite cold, despite my full-finger gloves, long sleeve jersey, and thermal layer (yeah I know right now everyone is thinking... oohhhh sexy lady......)

The views, and general pleasantness of the pre-dawn ride kept me going.  Cycling past Anzac Avenue in the dark is stunning, the parliament house and war memorial just look amazing.  The sections with road works are a tad challenging, as the road narrows and the bike lane disappears.  I would like to thank the courteous canberran drivers who made every effort to share the road, and leave a reasonable space especially while driving on the narrow sections.  See! my fluro gear and flashing lights are working a treat!

I arrived at the airport, and followed the parking manager's instructions (if you want to cycle to Canberra airport just google "canberra airport parking" and navigate to the page, the parking manager's number is on the website to call) and drove in the "no entry" section of the hire car parking bay, and turned immediately to the right.  A total of eight bicycle parking bays are available, the parking is a simple set up where you lock your bike (BYO lock) to a retro-style bike rack like the type you would find out the front of a milk bar in the 1980's.  They are not the fancy U shaped ones that are bolted to the concrete.  However, logically the chances of someone stealing a bike from the airport are pretty slim... seriously, who's going to go out to a seriously secure establishment, which is constantly attended by the AFP, in order to nick a bike.  Then, once you've got it what do you do with it?  Ride it all the way back to town?...  There's one other bike parked at the rack.  I give a little mental shout out to my fellow cyclist.

Upon dismounting the bike, I discover why my hands and wrists were so bloody freezing.  A layer of frost had formed over my hands, and some of the ice was working it's way through the gap between my gloves and the sleeve of my jersey.  Okay... before 5am, sub zero temperatures, 28km to ride to the airport with business attire in the panniers.  That's putting my money where my cranks are. 

I get a couple of odd looks as I stride into the airport and check into my flight stylishly attired in leggings and a bicycle jersey.  No comments though.  The Qantas club provides adequate refreshment, breakfast and warmth.  The cold really erm... stimulates the apetite.  I virtually inhaled two slices of raisin toast that were so thick they could be mistaken for bits of 2by-4 from a distance.  I then moved onto fruit and coffee, and with a warm and full belly strolled onto my flight, easily stowing the panniers in the overhead locker.  I noticed my colleague, who was heading off to Sydney with me; sporting half open eyes and a five'o'clock shaddow.  He also looked rather incredulous at how disgustingly chipper and chirpy I was at this hour of the morning.

The return journey was just as much fun.  Upon preparing to exit the aircraft when returning to Canberra my seat neighbour gave me a few confused looks as while waiting for the aerobridge to deploy I popped my jersey on over my clothes, cliped my ipod to the collar of my jersey, tucked a drink of water in to the back pocket of the jersey, and slipped my ubiquitous fluro covers over my panniers.  I cycled past him on the way out of the car-park, he was still standing at the terminal exit, waiting for a taxi. 

The bike home was much busier, too much traffic to count individual cars.  I found myself with plenty of energy and a desire to attack the bigger hills, and was genuinely surprised at how much power my legs prouced when I got out of the seat and really gave the cranks a determined push.  Along coulter drive I enjoyed a traffic light conversation with another cyclist, he was on a very spiffy road bike, so I suggested that he might want to go ahead of me on the green light as he'd be faster.  Obviously 2 days worth of shirts and trousers, and toiletries weighs a lot, as I kept right on his tail without much effort for 2 blocks down coulter drive. (it's not my weight surely!)  He zipped off into the distance when I hit he flat at coulter and southern cross.

The final Bicycle joy moment occured when I turned onto my street, only to do a double take, seeing someone carrying an overnight bag, getting off the bus and walking up my street.  Nooo surely not.  I cycled closer, was tempted to shout hello.... when I realised that this was my colleague, who happens to live in the same suburb I do exiting the bus and commencing his walk home. But I elected to keep my mouth shut on this occasion.  I cycled up the driveway into my unit complex, warmly smug in the knowledge that not only did I beat the tyranny of high taxi fares and airport parking fees, but that I'd be home quicker on my bike than someone who used an internal combustion engine to get there.  It wasn't peak hour, and the trip was almost 30km in distance.  I must have had a tailwind or something, as I had an average speed of about 26km/h for this ride.  Everything is better on a bike.

Queanbeyan ride

Yesterday I cycled down to Queanbeyan and return.  Cycled down via Belconnen Way, then the highway.  Time 40 minutes to the city, 1:00 to the airport and roughly 1:20 to Queanbeyan.  Total ride about 60k's... Total time on the bike... about 2 and a half hours.

My spiffy mountain bike came from Hammer'n'cycle Queanbeyan, so I figured I'd ride it down there for it's "settle in" service.
While waiting for the lovely people at the bike shop to service my bike, I took a stroll through the shops, and had a coffee. 

It was pretty chilly on the ride out, and upon returning home I checked out the www.bom.gov.au  to discover that it had been -1C ... no wonder it felt a bit nippy.  However, I listened to most of "I am legend" as an audio-book on my ipod.  I don't think I'd survive without the ipod.  I had a funny moment while stopped at a set of traffic lights, as the line "Do muslim vampires cower from the cross" intoned through my ear buds.  I started laughing; and the guy driving the car in the lane next to me gave me a very odd look.  Note to self: just because I can hear what's going on in my ipod... nobody else can.  That guy just saw some crazy lady on a bike start laughing at nothing...  As an aside, I am legend is a great book.

The ride back was just lovely, blue skies, sun shining.  I took the shorter way back via William Hovel drive.  If anything the short cut took me a tad longer to ride back, as crossing the freeway exits every couple of K's required a stop and a dismount to do safely.  However, there's no 2nd chances when mixing a push-bike with car and truck traffic at 90-100k's per hour, so slow and safe it is. 

I ended up getting back home in time for lunch, taking approximately 1:30 to ride from Queanbeyan to Florey. 
I hope to start taking a few pictures while out cycling to share, but I managed to lose my USB cable that connects my camera to my computer while moving to the ACT.  It's proving more complicated that I expected to replace the item, as the electronics shop at my local shopping center doesn't stock it, so I'll have to go to a camera store, as I'm away for work this will have to wait till mid-next week.

Tomorrow my training ride will be more getting up and going when I really don't feel like it.  I have a 6:45 am flight to Sydney where I have to be Monday and Tuesday for work.  I've discovered that Canberra Airport allows bicycles to park for free in the undercover car park.  Since I'm an environment specialist, I suppose I really should put my money where my mouth is, and reduce my carbon footprint.  I can also save myself about fifty bucks in parking fees.  Sweet.  My bicycle is going to pay for itself in no time.  The only catch is that in order to make my check in time, I'll need to be on the bike at about four in the morning.  In Canberra, heading into winter.  That's some serious bike love.

However, I know that I'll feel like such a champion when I stroll into the airport lounge in my cycling gear, and stroll out to board the aircraft looking sharp as in my suit  completely worth an early morning and being a bit chilly.

I'll sign off for now, and will be back next week.

M 


 

Watch this space

This is my first blog entry.
I've decided to start a blog to share my training, preparation for, and my experience of  my Pier to Pub adventure.

I'm going to cycle from a Pier (at Lake Ginninderra, Canberra, ACT) to the East Colac Hotel (Colac, VIC)

 So, maps, check. (I'm going old school and using paper maps)... never run out of batteries, never suddenly lose coverage.

Bicycle, check.  I'll be riding my spiffy mountain bike, fitted with a rear rack and panniers.

Training... well I'm currently a commuting cyclist, pedalling 15km each way for work.  I need to get a lot more go-juice into my legs.  The training is going to be a journey in itself.