Still Sharp After All These Years

*updated with a liger and some video on 7/25/08*

Back when I was 18 or something, I got a summer job selling Cutco cutlery. Yeah, I was hot stuff. I had to fight for this job. I remember there was some Vector Marketing "seminar" to be a Cutco salesperson, and my brother was going, so I went too. At the "seminar," they give the whole group the "spiel" with all the amazing knives and accessories, and then they tell you about all the self-made knife millionaires who've come through there, and then they call each of you into the manager's office for a one-on-one interview, where the manager asks you why you want the job and then tells you whether or not you've got "the stuff " needed to sell knives. So my brother goes in, and emerges later with a job offer. And I go in, and I'm told I'm not right for the position. Buh-bye.

Later, we're debriefing, and Bryan's all, "Yeah, he said I was in, but I told him I wasn't going to take it; I just couldn't see telling people they need knives to complete them." And I'm all, "Oh. Well I didn't get the job." So he says,"What happened? What did you say when he asked you why you wanted the job??" "I told him I needed the money." Bryan found this really funny. Way too funny for my taste anyway. Then he told me to go back to another seminar, and to say anything but that. So I went back, and made up some crap about how a sharp knife is the answer to the world's problems, blahblahblah, and I got the job.

So then I had to buy the demo set, to demo the stuff, and hopefully sell it, to everyone I knew. Which was, like, my parents (they actually bought the demo set and let me use it), my parents' friends, relatives, former teachers, my dentist's wife, my boyfriend's parents, their friends, etc. Talk about awkward. But I have to say, it was amazing how many people were sweet enough to sit through a demo. Though, I think I stood up my dentist's wife during a scheduled demo, and got a "talking to." I guess I wasn't used to making (and keeping) appointments at that age. A good life lesson. Now when I miss appointments, I make sure my mom doesn't find out about it.

During one demo, I was showing a neighborhood mom, whose daughter I'd babysat a few years before, how the slotted cutlery storage box could be turned upside down without the knives falling out (safety feature! This part of the demo comes right before the big finale, where you cut the penny in half with the Cutco scissors!). Well, of course all of the knives fell out, one right onto my foot, gashing the top of it nicely. As I bled on neighborhoodmom's living room floor, she called my mom to come get me. Then she examined it while we were waiting (she knew my mom because both were nurses at the same hospital): "Hm, looks like you need sutures." Hey, they were sharp knives, so it really was a successful demo, if you think about it. But she didn't buy anything. And I stopped flipping the holder thingy upside down after that.

Why do nurses always say "sutures" instead of "stitches?" Sounds so serious.

Waaaaaay back then I was with Steve. His poor mom sat through the demo and then bought some stuff. She was very nice to me. Well, Steve and I were actually together for over 5 years. One year, Steve's mom gave me the biggest Christmas present (Steve's brother was miffed). He and his wife Pam now live in Miami, FL (makes Baltimore feel less humid??), and just had a baby. Her name's Raina, and she's tres cute, and I'd like to bite her cheeks off.

I digress! Steve and Pam are back in Baltimore right now, visiting the folks like couples with new kids do, and I just got an email from him, entitled "20 year old cutco knives". Just this photo,
and the phrase "they still work pretty well!" I guess my legacy lives on. Yeah, that's right.

Did you know the handles are made from bowling ball material? Won't warp like wood. And the rivets are flush, so food won't get caught in the handle. Because how totally unsanitary would that be?!

In other news, my parents just went to Artscape (A Baltimore art festival) and sent me this figurine, made of railroad ties, that a local artist had made ("Roland Metal Art") and was selling there. Isn't it so cute?My dad put the "Death Ride survivor" sign on there.

And finally, my BFF emailed me a drawing of a liger today. Because you're never too busy to email someone a drawing of a liger. GOSH!And seriously finally, for real this time, I was referred to an upper extremities surgeon, who recommends surgery on my elbow. After I broke it, the tip of the olecranon fused quickly, but poorly, with the rest of the ulna, it turns out, leaving a gap in the bone on which ulnar nerve is sitting, causing irritation and numbness in my fingers, and limiting range of motion in my arm. But I'm going to try to fix it myself with better stretching and a new weight training program. To be continued!

And super duper duper finally, here's me practicing with my band, the Webster Street Miracles. We all work at an organization on Webster Street, and we get together once-yearly to perform on the annual summer cruise. It's very The Office. There were some shenanigans involving some band members performing without other band members at the annual Christmas party (perhaps you read about it in Rolling Stone?), but we managed to overcome the drama and bring it back together to rock everyone's face. Yeah!
Took me years to master the tambo. Now I just need to master the "brooding musician" camera pose. Found some wacky footage of last year's "big event":

Mosquitos, Hail, and Other Unexpecteds

I expected to suffer. And I can "doom and gloom" with the best of them. I play movies of crashes in my head, and I'm always the star. I can't help myself. And yet.

I arrived at Kirkwood on Thursday evening to acclimate. 8700 feet! I was supposed to be there by the afternoon, but I puttered, and then I took 580 West up into Marin, when the directions actually had me going 580 East through Livermore. Screwed by autopilot yet again. I was told later that I shouldn't think of Tahoe as "north" but rather "east, oh and by the way, north." Noted for future trips.

My room was serene and quiet, and after losing the key between the front desk and the room, getting another key at the front desk, finding the original key in the pocket where I'd placed it so I wouldn't have to search for it, and hauling my bike, gear, cooler of food, and clothes up to the 3rd floor (oh my god the thin air!), I went to the rec center and soaked in the hot tub to loosen up my back/arm and catch my breath. I'd brought a bottle of Gatorade with me (altitude + hot tub = dehydration), but I'd forgotten to close the bottle top. It spilled all over my phone, which now randomly flashes the message, "enhancement not supported."

Marty called and he was coming in late. We met up the next morning, and hiked to the top of Kirkwood (Acclimate, acclimate! I know. It takes 2 weeks. But the psychological factors must not be underrated). It was a beautiful hike; wildflowers everywhere, and cool to see the same ski trails I'd snowboarded , now deserted and green. We were on the very run where I'd yelled to the chair lift guy, "PLEASE COULD YOU SLOW DOWN THE LIFT" so that I could dismount without falling off my board and onto my tailbone again. And he did. And I did, for the first time. And he'd given me a thumbs up.

Now, we stood at the top of a motionless chair lift and pondered life. Marty closed his eyes for a moment and meditated in the silence. I threw blades of grass at his head. Om.

I didn't really throw blades of grass at his head. But wouldn't that be funny?

Then we went to the expo and I got so much swag that I had to bum a plastic bag off a volunteer to carry it all. I love swag. Even really lame swag. We also registered for the ride there, and then went to Markleeville for lunch, where we ran into Kathryn, who was waiting for the tow truck to take her back to the top of Ebbetts pass where Bobby was waiting by their truck, which had died after they'd strayed off the beaten path looking for rocks. We had fun chatting and reapplying sunscreen and flexing our biceps until the tow truck arrived.

Marty and I decided not to join the group for dinner in Gardnerville, because it's an hour away from Kirkwood, and that's time that should be spent getting everything ready for the next day's adventure. Plus, I wanted to be asleep by 8, because I'd be getting up at 2:45, to be at the start and on my bike by 4:30, where we were meeting Tracy, who I'd convinced to do the ride at the last minute (you get in by lottery only, but there are always tickets to be found on craigslist), and who had resolved to do so despite catching some sort of stomach bug on Thursday (hard core!). So we ate at Kirkwood and set about preparing for the ride. Tires were pumped, bikes and bags were packed, and all I had to do was wake up, dress, eat and go.

Pasta at Bub's. In bed by 8. Awake an hour later. Huge party of what sounded like a gazillion people in the next room. Argh. Went over there twice to ask them to please shut up, but after the second time, I was furious and wired. I'd gotten this 3rd floor room with no elevator because it was supposed to be quiet! The entire rest of the complex was blanketed in darkness. Even the pub was quiet. Why me?! Et cetera.

After 3 hours of sleep total, my alarm woke me. I thought about blasting the TV for the neighbors. What's worse than a shrill I Love Lucy when you're trying to sleep? But I just couldn't. I had my coffee and tried to eat my oatmeal but it was disgusting at that hour so I only managed about half. Marty called to be sure I was awake. I slathered on the sunscreen (weird to do in the dark), donned my plastic shopping bags (I'd created plastic thermal underwear for warmth - thanks for the tip Anthony!!!), and then suited (kitted?) up. We met at our cars, and caravanned to Turtle Rock. There were quite a few vehicles on the same schedule, so it took longer than we expected and we were about 5 minutes late meeting Tracy, but when we rode up to the start, she was there! In the 2 minutes it took to ride to the start, my headlight had died (I hadn't used it in a year, and should have replaced the batteries). And it turned out that Tracy's taillight was out. So we rode with Marty in front, Tracy behind (for visibility ahead), and me last (for visibility behind). It was really scary, because the ride starts on a descent, and it was pitch black and I couldn't see shit. We floated down the hill and I prayed for no potholes. I have to say, I was toasty warm in my plastic underwear. Periodic roll call kept us together until it started getting light, which coincided with the beginning of the first climb (front side of Monitor pass). I balled up my plastic underwear and stuck it in my back jersey pocket.

We lost Marty immediately. He was going strong and there was no reason to hold him back. Then Tracy pulled me for a while, until she wanted to speed up and grab a wheel to get out of the wind. I decided to hang back, because I was feeling the altitude and didn't want to blow it early. I was making sure to keep my heart rate at ME for the most part, and I stopped to shove something in my mouth every hour on the way up. Eventually, I grabbed a nice slow-moving wheel and stayed there for the remainder of the climb. Slowwheel's buddy, fatcyclist.com, grabbed mine, and this is how it went for a while. They bantered, and I remained silent, conserving my energy, until slowwheel asked where I was from and then fatcyclist.com said, "you've got a skeeter on your leg." "Oh" said I. Fatcyclist.com started coming around me, I thought to pass, and suddenly, bam. He hurled his fist into my calf. I almost went down. He examined his fist and said, "yup - full of blood." Meanwhile, I was pondering the possibility of crashing out of the Death Ride on my first climb (going about 4.5 mph). This struck me as hilarious. It may have partly been the altitude. I would keep running into fatcyclist.com throughout the ride. he would say stuff like, "I knew I'd run into you again, Pigtails!" It's so weird to keep getting passed over and over by the same people, that you didn't realize you'd passed again.

So the front side of Monitor was otherwise uneventful, and after thanking slowwheel for pulling me to the top, I, staying true to my goal of not stopping at the tops of the passes, kept going over the summit and plunged down the back side. My computer registered 47.3 mph on the way down, which was good for me (you make up all your time on the descents, but I find them scary). When I stopped at the bottom, Tracy was there; we re-filled, grabbed bars and headed up the back side for pass #2 of 5 together. Himgan and some other Touchstoners blasted by us, accelerating up Monitor and looking fresh as daisies. Tracy herself was looking incredibly strong, and it was clear she was hanging back for me (there was a photo opportunity near the top), which was very nice of her.

And this is where the funniest part of the ride happened. There was a guy on the side of the road, fixing a flat. Tracy was up ahead a little bit, and there was a guy right in front of me, who said to the guy on the shoulder, "do you have everything you need?" which is what is always said by one cyclist who passes another on the shoulder when it appears they're having mechanical problems. Unwritten rule. Most people are well-prepared, and can say "yes." It's also an unwritten (and sometimes written, like on an organized ride) rule that you carry spare tubes, etc. with you. But this guy said, "uh, no, actually I don't." And the guy in front of me goes, "Oh. Well...I don't have anything. Sorry." And he kept going. Can a guy's back look sheepish? Because this guy's sure did. Since I’ve started cycling, I’ve always contemplated this scenario. It happened on the Death Ride!

So Shoulderguy needed a new tube, a C02 cartridge, and a C02 cartridge inflater, because his spare tube stem had broken off in his inflater! I had all 3. But then someone more experienced stopped too; I didn’t feel I had much time to spare, so I was happy to let him take over, and I took off after Tracy. We got our photo taken together climbing to the top, and headed over and down the front side. I passed by the infamous Pink Lady! And two passes in the bag. I saw Tracy briefly at the base of Ebbetts (the start of pass #3), but I told her to move on, and that was basically the last I saw of her. Remarkable really, given the stomach bug she’d caught on Thursday, that she was throwing it down. As opposed to up, I mean.

Well, I hate Ebbetts. It's the highest of all the peaks, so you get the thinnest air. And you have to hug the steepest part of the switchbacks on the right, what with the riders hurtling down the left side of the twisty, narrow road at 50 mph. View, shmiew. I’ll take Monitor over Ebbetts any day. But there I was. I decided to go slowly and steadily, and to try to keep my heart rate in medium endurance range. That, and the “Rolling Bones” riders toting the skeleton behind me, singing badly to their cheesy, loud, piped-in music, kept me going. The wildfire haze also kept most of the heat out, which was nice. I reached the top, declined a Red Vine (they always have Red Vines at the top of Ebbetts, but sadly I’m a Twizzlers gal), picked up my 3rd pass sticker, and headed down the back side. I heard Marty yell “LAURAAAAAA!” He was summiting the back side of Ebbetts, a full pass ahead of me, and man, was I envious. Further down, a blurry Tracy (was she smiling while climbing up that damn hill?! I really have to pop some Tums next time I do this, if I ever repeat it). And finally, I was at the bottom. My back was smarting on these descents. I simply couldn’t get any relief. Andrea was there (she was just ahead of me on most of the ride), and so was Melissa. They headed out as I re-filled my bottles and barely remembered to eat. This was where I started feeling broken down. For some reason, I thought I was way too close to the cut-off times, and that I’d never make it. Yet, there was nothing to do but move on, so I did. I was bonking and had to stop halfway up to eat some Fig Newtons. They did the trick, though, and I gained some speed and energy, and started feeling more optimistic. Suddenly I was at the top again, well short of the time I thought it would take (I think the descent just felt so endless that I thought the climb back up would be longer than it was). 4th pass down, and now, to lunch! Tried not to think about the fact that I still had 50 miles or so to go.

Saw Andrea, Melissa, and Bobby at lunch, but I didn’t dawdle. Bobby said we were fine, time-wise, but for some reason I wasn’t buying it. Plus, lunch was cold cuts. Yuck. I was back on my bike within 15 minutes, and latched onto every wheel I could on those rollers toward Turtle Rock (my god, the wind!), and finally into Woodfords rest stop. I was really dragging now, but so was the guy with whom I’d been trading pulls (Yeah, like I’d end a clause with a preposition. Please!), so it all worked out. We headed out of Woodfords together (I’d confirmed that we were at least 1.5 hours ahead of cutoff times, and would easily make it) and drafted to Pickets (itself a 7% grade – not fun), where, at about mile 100, I told my drafting buddy to move on because I needed a real rest. I sat, and gave myself a desperately-needed foot massage while watching storm clouds roll in. Now that I was stationary, I was cold. I started to shiver. Andrea showed up (weird - didn’t even know I’d passed her?), asked if I thought she’d regret stopping her ride here (Answer: You do not turn back from Pickets. Only 9 miles to the top of the 5th pass!), and laughed at the sight of me donning my plastic thermal underwear.

“Laura, what are you doing?”

“I’m freezing.”

“But, we’re going up (points up for emphasis).”

“But it’s going to rain (looks at storm clouds for emphasis).”

“It’s totally not going to rain.”

So I yanked my plastic bags off my chest and put them back in my pocket. Andrea moved on while I waited in line at the porta potty (normally I’d go elsewhere rather than bother with a line, but I needed to apply more chamois cream).

Then I was off for my last pass! Yeah! But I realized I hadn’t thought to eat anything at the rest stop. So I pulled over, pulled out a bar, sat on a rock, and ate. Bobby passed me and asked if all was OK (I smiled, secure in the knowledge that he was sincere). I said all was fine, and he moved on. And then I hopped back on my bike and took off. And it got super dark. And then the hail started. And then the pouring rain (which lasted for the rest of my ride up Carson). Truthfully, Andrea, the plastic bags wouldn't have helped in this downpour, as we both know. But: heehee! I wrapped my cell phone in the plastic bags, hoping the enhancement would be supported. And then the weird squeaking noise started emanating from my bike, which was worrisome, but not as worrisome as the car traffic, wetness, darkness, and lack of shoulder.

As a guy passed me, I asked him if my tail light was on. He said, “yep. what's that funny noise your bike's making?" And I said that I didn't know, that it had started with the rain. He said, "that could be your brake pads rubbing. Or your bottom bracket." I said "yikes" (searching my brain for the term "bottom bracket" and wondering how dangerous it was...). He said, "Ah, don't worry about it" and I couldn't worry about it anyway, because there were cars, there was a line of riders behind me, and there was no real shoulder to pull off to, only mud/gravel (I thought the noise was gravel grinding my chain). Finally there was a pull-off. I checked my wheel, and sure enough, the front right brake pad was hugging the wheel's rim! Who knows how long I had that extra resistance on the bike!!! Could have been the whole ride! I only found out when the rain made it squeak, and if the guy hadn't said anything, I'd never have known to adjust the brake pads (which took all of 2 seconds and felt better immediately)! He saw me at the top of the final pass, and asked me if the bike was still squeaking. I told him he'd made the correct diagnosis and that I'd survived the Death Ride with my brake pads rubbing the rim. He added, "in HAIL!" High five.

And there it is. 5 passes. Over 100 miles, and 15,000 feet of climbing. 13 hours. A whopping 6,618 calories.

What did I take away from this experience? Well, a long ride is nothing if not a great opportunity for contemplation, this was nothing, if not a long ride, and I am nothing if not an opportunist. Here it is folks:

1. It is truly amazing how much you can accomplish when you think you simply can’t accomplish more. And the elation, at overcoming that feeling of utter defeat, all on your own? Intense.

2. Replace your headlight batteries at least once a year, if you plan to use your headlight, and for the love of all that is holy, check your brake pads, you dumbass.

3. Please please stop with the white cycling shorts. Am I not suffering enough, on a 12% grade up Ebbetts, that I have to see your sweaty ass crack for an hour or more?

1st Place - Mt. Hamilton Century

"What's the Mt. Hamilton Century," you ask? Why haven't you heard of it? And don't I mean "Mt. Hamilton Challenge?"

One question at a time please. I'm quite tired because I won.

Well, it took place today, Saturday July 5, 2008. You've never heard of it because their lame-ass marketing team sucks. And no, I don't mean the organized Mt. Hamilton Challenge, though this particular century is quite similar to the Challenge in that you have to bring, buy, steal, kill, or forage for your own food. Yet it is quite dissimilar in that there are no SAG wagons or first aid stations, and it is in fact entirely 100% unsupported, but only because one of the participants (Tracy, the second place finisher! Yay Tracy!) forgot her cell phone in the car, so that even though they were lucky enough to have an emergency private SAG wagon "Plan B" in place, it could never have been called into action, had it been needed. And it felt sorely needed by one participantwhoshallremainanonymous in particular at mile 60, when she was suddenly totally out of water and thought she was going to die of dehydration in the scorching dry valley heat before the f*cking Junction Cafe appeared on the horizon.

All's well that ends well. After 105.27 miles, 8000+ feet of climbing, 4610 calories, 3 PBJ sandwiches, 4 fig newtons, some pretzels, almonds, a mojo bar (yum! my new fave!), a snack pack of fritos (had to slam my body as hard as I could several times into the vending machine in the planetarium on the top of Mt. Hamilton immediately after climbing 4,000 feet in the mid-day heat to shake that one loose! It got stuck on the spiral thingy! I earned those f*cking fritos and they were good!) 3 bottles of gatorade, 1 bottle of water, 2 bottles of cytomax, 3 cokes, and a big gulp iced caramel latte (so much for the 4610 calories!), I reached the car first (in the interest of full disclosure, I may have told Tracy that I needed to reach the car first and she may have pulled practically to the end and then let me go in front of her). So I won. Despite realizing about a mile into the ride that I'd left both of my water bottles in the car, and having to turn back and get them. (Here's the Bikely.com route; it says 95 miles, but we changed it a bit at the end after talking with a pair of riders that we kept running into.)

Thanks to Tracy for doing all the research, all the driving, and the lion's share of the pulling. And for almost having a Plan B, which was more than I'd come up with.

This was also the day after July 4, when I rode 50+ miles and did 5,453 feet of climbing (here's the Bikely.com profile), and then went to a BBQ with Scott, who got scolded for spending the whole time inside the house, which he only did to keep me company while I was stretching and resting my sore back, and then I had to go to sleep at 9 pm instead of seeing fireworks, or getting a drink at the tiki bar. Sorry Scott. Winner/loser. 2 sides of the same coin.

And now, finally, I rest. Nothing strenuous until the Death Ride.