Flowers of August and July

It's been an odd summer. Torrential rains in July, followed by a cool August, made for plenty of wildflowers on the roadsides, but hardly any tomatoes in the garden. Miles have been sparse too, but there have been a few rides (literally just a few). Of course I can't take a bike ride without taking wildflower photos, so here are some of the blossoms I saw in July and August....

Mid-July, clockwise from upper left - salsify, wild sunflower, Queen Anne's Lace, yellow coneflower, and wild bergamot:

(Wild bergamot is like the Phyllis Diller of flowers. The petals and stamens look as maniacally dishevelled as the divine Miss D's hair.)

Next up, clockwise from upper left - crown vetch, spiderwort, birdsfoot trefoil, hare's-foot clover (charming name!), and spotted knapweed:

I do occasionally drag my eyes from the wildflowers to look at other things, like sandhill cranes in a soybean field. There were three that day, but as soon as they saw me get out the camera, they split up and began evasive maneuvers. So here's a shot of one of them:

Wildflowers are much more accommodating - unless there's a high wind, they mostly sit still for photos. Below, clockwise from upper left - curly dock gone to seed, hoary verbena, lesser centaury (new flower for me this year!), rough-fruited cinquefoil, fireweed with fleabane, and Turk's Cap lily:

Late July - Mr. M and I participated in a local MS ride. It was a damp and foggy morning, not very conducive to photos, but I had to snap these flowers and outbuildings (the barn on the left has two barn quilts, though they don't show very well in this photo):

After we got home and did our laundry, the sun came out. Guess which jersey is mine:

:)

Early August - a short solo ride along roads that seemed to float on a billowing sea of Queen Anne's Lace, wild chicory, and hawkweed. It's hard to do justice to the amazing quantities of QAL that bloomed this year:

A doe and twin fawns crossing another, less-flowered road:

Other wildflowers seen that day included, clockwise from top left - wild bergamot going to seed, whorled milkweed, exotic-looking horsemint, the first lavender asters of the year, and the very beautiful lesser purple fringed orchid (another new flower for me this year):

Mid-August - Mr. M and I did another short charity ride together. I believe I set a personal record that day by not photographing any wildflowers (the exception that proves the rule?). Instead we have, clockwise from upper left - self-portrait with water weeds, Mr. M on a country road, shadow shot, a new use for a cycling helmet, and Iris the bike reposing on a rustic bridge:

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Summer is the time of year when every ride or drive brings continual glimpses of beauty, and the list of flowers rolls like a litany off my tongue as I recite their names to myself.

"But beauty vanishes; beauty passes." There's frost in the not-too-distant future; let's savor summer while we can.

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Prayers for the people of Texas who are seeing not flowers but flooding right now.

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It Doesn't Matter How Many Miles You Ride

Deception Pass, September 2016

Last fall, during Bike MS Washington, there were policemen stationed at either side of Deception Pass to control the flow of cyclists and cars across the bridge. When I reached the bridge on the homeward leg of Day 1, the policeman asked, "How far are you riding today?"

"Only 60," I replied.

"A lot of you are doing the 60," he said. "But you all say it as though you're embarrassed. Why is that?"

"I guess we were all hoping we could go farther," I said.

Crossing Deception Pass

Cycling, like most activities, has its instant camaraderies, its friendly ambassadors, and plenty of cheerful encouragement between enthusiasts who meet on a common road. It also has its snobberies and self-appointed elite, who gauge a rider's worth by his equipment, clothing, mileage, speed, and - if you can believe it - the smoothness of his legs.

Even for those of us who belong to the former group, there's a certain shamefacedness in admitting that we don't ride hundreds of miles every week. (Some of us don't even ride one hundred miles a week.)

I think this is partly due to social pressure, and partly to aspiration. The social pressure needs no explaining; it's merely the cycling variant of keeping up with the Joneses. The aspiration, however, is harder to deal with.

Once you get a taste of longer rides, and realize that yes, it is humanly possible to ride x number of miles and survive, you want to keep going. The numbers cease to frighten; instead they become alluring. Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty - heck, why not a hundred? Why not a hundred and twenty? It's a kind of Rockefeller-and-money thing: you always want a little more. And, if you're like me, you always feel a little inferior in the company of those who have achieved it.

Rest stop, Bike MS Washington 2016

After my surgery last month, the transport tech who wheeled me out of the hospital (I could have walked, but you know how hospitals are) was wearing a bike-print headwrap.

"Are you a cyclist?" I asked.

"Yep," he said. "Are you?"

"Just a hobby cyclist," I said apologetically. "My rides are mostly short. I've never even done a century."

"I've done, let me see, five centuries since my knee replacement," he said cheerfully, "and I forget how many before that." He went on to tell me about some severe back and leg problems he'd suffered through, the many surgeries he'd had, and the riding he'd done before and after each.

"I dream of training for a century," I said, "but life seems to keep getting in the way. Every year I think 'maybe this will be the year', but something comes up to prevent it. So I do my little 15- and 20-mile rides, and keep hoping."

"Hey," he said. "It doesn't matter how many miles you ride. Some people make a big deal about distance, but as far as I'm concerned, if you're out on the bike, you're a cyclist. Getting out there is what counts."

Then Mr. M pulled up with the car. I got out of the wheelchair, thanked the tech, climbed into the car, and went home.

~

I've thought about the tech's words a lot since then. Recovery was supposed to be fairly quick, but in some ways it hasn't been. For several weeks I couldn't ride at all, and when I did get back on the bike, it didn't go well.

So now I'm starting from scratch, and things are slowly (oh so slowly) improving. I can ride a mile without hurting badly afterwards. Maybe next week it will be two. (Meanwhile the flowers blossom and fade, and the year is flying by.) When I get frustrated, which happens on most sunny days, I try to remember a fellow cyclist's kind words:

It doesn't matter how many miles you ride. Getting out there is what counts.

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Famous Rock Group

Mr. M and I had an awesome trip to Bike MS Washington in September. (A Really Good Blogger would have told you all about it weeks ago, but this blogger was seriously slacking off - hence the very delayed report.)

It's a long drive from Wisconsin to Washington State, and we allowed for plenty of stops along the way. One of those stops was in Rapid City, South Dakota, where we were privileged to see a very famous rock group - possibly the most famous American rock group ever.

We drove up a winding mountain road...

And through a rocky tunnel...

Suddenly, after rounding a curve, the Famous Rock Group burst upon our sight! We could hardly believe we were seeing them in the flesh.

These are the kind of Presidents I like :)

A little farther up the road, we turned off for Mt. Rushmore National Park. We paid the parking fee, and headed towards the entrance.

The grounds of the park are very thoughtfully laid out; nearly every point is a vantage point, designed to highlight the amazing central sculpture.

Approaching the very beautiful Avenue of Flags:

Each state is represented by its flag, and carved on the pillar beneath are the state's name, order of admission, and date of admission into the Union of States.

But the Rock Group is definitely the main attraction.

Selfie with Famous Rock Group

Just as Rome wasn't built in a day, the carving of Mt. Rushmore took many years and many hands:

The detail on the sculptures is amazing. Look at Teddy's pince-nez, and the lifelike glimmer in Abe Lincoln's eyes:

After marvelling from the Viewing Terrace, we walked the roughly circular Presidential Trail, which winds across the base of the bluff, offering spectacular, many-angled views of each President's face, with signboards giving details of the life and achievements of each.

There were also plenty of gorgeous rocks, trees, and views across the Black Hills, looking out over the South Dakota plain.

And wildflowers. :)

Seeing Mt. Rushmore in the flesh is like seeing Big Ben or (I imagine) the Eiffel Tower or any other iconic landmark for the first time. There's a sense of delight and wonder at finding that it's really real. And despite the myriad of photographs already taken by others, it's irresistible to anyone with a camera. It's huge; it's heart-warming; it's beautiful and noble and stirring and awe-inspiring and, quite simply, captivating.

I've always loved my country, but seeing Mt. Rushmore somehow made me love it just a little bit more. We felt blessed to visit this National Memorial, and a little sad when we had to say goodbye and head back down the mountain.

We hope we can go back someday. It's definitely worth the trip.

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Vintage Crochet ~ a Double Giveaway!

(Note: The magazine giveaway is now closed, but the apron giveaway will remain open until August 28, 2016. See below for details.)

Have you seen Vintage Crochet 2016, the special issue from PieceWork magazine? It's a beautiful collection of 21 vintage-inspired patterns and 7 feature articles, all celebrating the tradition and history of crochet. The patterns include a wide variety of techniques, including Irish, filet, Tunisian, hairpin, and more.

I'm very excited to be part of this issue, and even more excited to have a copy to give away. And just to spice things up, I'm holding a double giveaway. Read on for the details....

1. Vintage Crochet 2016 Giveaway (giveaway now closed)

You could win your very own copy of Vintage Crochet 2016, and a skein of lovely Malabrigo Silkpaca in Polar Morn (a pale silvery-grey with faint bluish undertones):

How to enter the Vintage Crochet 2016 Giveaway: Leave a comment below that includes the words "Vintage Crochet".

~ If you're a "No-Reply Blogger", or if your online profile does not include an email address, make sure there's a way for me to reach you.

~ If you can't leave a comment because you don't have an online profile, send me an e-mail (see my profile for the address) with "Vintage Crochet Giveaway" in the subject line.

Giveaway closes on: Sunday, August 14. The winner will be chosen by random number generator.

Magazine winner to be announced on: Monday, August 15.

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2. Apron Give-Back-Away

Yes, I'm giving away the original Modern Afternoon Apron - the very same apron that appears in the magazine:

Left photo by Joe Coca for Vintage Crochet 2016, copyright F+W Media 2016.
Right photo by me. :)

But this Apron comes with some strings attached (really obvious apron pun). I'm happy to give this apron away, but I'd like you to give something back.

How to enter the Apron Give-Back-Away: Make a donation to Bike MS - ANY amount, big or small - on my Bike MS Washington fundraising page. (To donate, click here or on the blue "Bike MS" button near the top of the blog.)

Please note: this money isn't for me. All donations go straight towards services and research to help people with Multiple Sclerosis. I do have a fundraising goal to meet, and I'm excited about being part of this amazing bike ride. But even if something happens to keep me from riding, your donation will still be doing good work for people with MS.

How the winner will be chosen: You can make a donation to Bike MS at any time, but I'll choose a winner by random drawing from those who make donations from today, August 2, through Sunday, August 28.

Apron winner to be announced on: Monday, August 29.

~

You are welcome to enter both Giveaways! Just remember: comment for the magazine giveaway, donation for the apron giveaway. (Even a dollar will help the fight against MS, and every dollar counts. Yes, I'm shameless about asking for help in a good cause.)

Both giveaways are international. Good luck, and, as always, thank you for reading this.

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A Very Damp MS Ride

Every year, at the end of July, there's a small MS benefit ride held in our county. Unlike larger, high-profile events, this one runs mainly on the goodwill and hard work of a small group of volunteers and donors who give their time and resources to organise the ride, mark the course, and provide rest stops for hungry cyclists. No fundraising is required, and the entry fee goes directly to the National MS Society. A smashing lunch is served after the ride, and a good time is had by all.

This is the third time I've participated. (You can read about the other two times here and here.)

~

Saturday morning we wake to dense fog and warm temperatures. The forecast warns darkly of Hazardous Weather and Dangerous Heat Conditions, and I start to wonder if I should choose a shorter course than originally planned. But the fog seems to have cleared a bit by the time I take off for the ride, and the temperature doesn't feel too dreadful. I decide to stick with my original goal of riding the 40-mile course.

Passing a house just out of town, I hear someone shout "Allez! Allez!" Apparently Mr. M and I aren't the only TdF fans in the village. :)

A tandem looms up out of the fog behind me; as it passes, the stoker looks over at me and says, "You need a set of windshield wipers!"

She's right. My glasses are so covered with beads of moisture I've had to push them halfway down my nose so I can look over them to see the road:

Everything is dripping: my helmet, my face, the trees.... The air, which seemed reasonably cool before, is now beginning to heat up. Riders come steaming out of the mist to pass me and disappear in the dampness ahead:

The humidity is affecting my shifters, and apparently those of other riders as well; I hear plenty of clunking, clicking, and cussing, and pass more than one person whose chain has come off. (Later my own chain sticks and comes off. All part of the fun.)

Finally, about 12 miles out, a few rays of sun break through the clouds:

Soon we reach the first rest stop, where a dedicated volunteer works over a hot stove to produce the ingredients needed for build-your-own breakfast burritos. Cyclists stand in line or mill around, every one of them drenched with fog and sweat and happily complaining about the weather.

My breakfast burrito is small but sustaining, with eggs, cheese, a sausage, and salsa. I half-fill a cup with pickle juice and raise a mental toast to Snowcatcher, my long-distance cycling buddy and partner in pickle-juicery.

A buggy squeezes through the sweaty throng (we're in Amish country here):

When the break is over, it's a great relief to get back on the bike and feel the air flowing past me. This is the muggiest ride I've ever taken.

A few miles later, the sun disappears, but the steamy conditions remain. We bump our way over one of the rougher sections of the route:

(I ask one of the recumbent riders if she has any suspension on her machine. "No," she replies, "but I've promised myself that when I turn 80 I'll splurge and get one with full suspension. And power assist.")

My shifters continue to alternately stick or go slack (usually just at the wrong time). And my camera is behaving oddly. About every other time I pull it out, it refuses to work and flashes the "Change Battery" sign. I think the heat and moisture are getting to it.

But it's working when I reach the second rest stop:

Here pretzels and fruit chews restore the inner cyclist and provide some welcome salt and sugar. Then it's back on the bike for another 16 miles of occasional drizzle and rolling Amish farmland.

The weather seems steamier than ever by the time I finish, and as the post-ride lunch is served, large raindrops begin to fall. I eat my burger, grab an extra brownie for Mr. M, and head home just in time to beat a severe thunderstorm. I'm glad it didn't strike sooner!

A good ride for a good cause.

~

Speaking of good causes: this September Mr. M and I are heading to the Pacific Northwest to join our friends Snowcatcher and the Lizard at Bike MS Washington. Our goal is to raise $750 dollars for the fight against MS.

If you'd like to learn more, or make a donation, just click on the button below:

(All donations go straight to programs, services, and research to help people with MS. Every dollar counts, and even one dollar will help!)

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How's your July going? Are you ready for August? :)

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Pickle Juice

(This is the fourth in a series of posts about our Colorado vacation)

Sunday, June 29th - Day 2 of Bike MS. The alarm was set for 3:30 am, but I woke just before it went off. Though completely exhausted at the end of Day 1's ride, ibuprofen and sleep worked their overnight magic and I felt pretty decent the next morning. My knees were making their presence known, but they weren't actually hurting - just grumbling a bit.

I was halfway into my cycling clothes when I realised that the doubts of the night before (about my ability to ride a second day) had already been unconsciously resolved. Of course I would ride - but not the entire 66-mile course. My hope was to reach the lunch stop (40.3 miles), and, if things were going well, to continue to the next rest stop (53.2 miles). These limited expectations really relieved the mental pressure of getting back on the bike.

(Fair disclosure: if you're hoping for a surprise ending - a Mrs. M-triumphs-over-the-odds-and-completes-66-miles-after-all ending - I will tell you up front that it didn't happen. I had pushed myself too far on Day 1; there would be no heroics on Day 2.)

~ ~ ~

We meet Snowcatcher and the Lizard downstairs for a quick breakfast of hardboiled eggs, yoghurt, and fruit. A hot-water urn and teabags are available, so I suck down a precious cuppa and feel as though the day is getting off to a good start.

We arrive at the staging area bright and early, take a few moments to slather on sunscreen, then fetch our bikes from the bike corral, while hundreds of cyclists mill around eating breakfast and making last-minute pit stops.

We check that our water bottles are full. I kiss Mr. M, and he says "Ride careful!" Then we're off.

Photo courtesy of Mr. M

We pass the sculpture at the campus entrance, which for some reason reminds me of War of the Worlds:

Then it's across town and out into open country. The morning is beautifully clear, and the sun is casting sharp shadows:

The mountains are, if possible, even more beautiful than they were yesterday:

At the first rest stop, Snowcatcher and I try something new: pickle juice.

We've seen pickles on offer at rest stops before, though I, being a confirmed pickle-hater, have always ignored them. But over the weekend we've been hearing from other riders that pickle juice makes a great sports drink. No one seems to have any hard scientific data as to why the greenish liquid works - though salt, vinegar, and antioxidants have all been cited - but wherever the pickles are on offer, cyclists are lining up and asking for shots of pickle juice.

We move tentatively towards the pickle table, and Snowcatcher (brave soul) is the first to taste the juice.

I watch her carefully as she sips; as she neither grimaces nor breaks out in green spots, I conclude it can't be all that bad. I remember yesterday's salt depletion, and think, what the heck - if there's a chance it might help my electrolyte levels, I'll give it a try.

I get a cup for myself, and down the hatch it goes.

Photo courtesy of Snowcatcher

Much to my surprise, it's absolutely delicious - salty and satisfying and wonderful. (How can this be? I detest pickles.) Though there's simply no accounting for it, we agree that pickle juice really hits the spot, and we hope there will be some at the next rest stop. (There is - sweet pickle juice - which turns out to be more ambrosial still.)

We set off on the second stage. Riders are strung like bright beads along the road, the mountains smiling down on us all:

I pass Cloverton the Deaf Dog - a local celebrity and top Bike MS fundraiser:

At the next rest stop, we make Cloverton's acquaintance, and find that despite his celebrity status, he is polite, friendly, and happy to pose for photos (click here to see him posing with Snowcatcher).

We also see the Lizard, who beat us here, though he's already ridden 11 miles farther than we have this morning. Lizard hangs around just long enough to hug his wife, before speeding away on the next stage.

Don't they make a great couple?

Soon we too are back on the road, heading for the lunch stop about 16 miles away.

Can't seem to stop taking photos of these mountains....

By the time we reach the lunch stop I'm feeling pretty beat. Sore shoulders and painful hands are making it hard to ride, and a saddle sore is beginning to form, despite frequent and copious applications of Vaseline to the undercarriage. I should probably quit here, but I really want to beat my total mileage from last year. The next rest stop is 12.9 miles away, which will give me just the miles I need. I think I can make it, and decide to try for it.

Snowcatcher finishes lunch before I do, and we agree that she should take off without me. She's doing the entire 66 miles, and as the day is getting hotter by the minute, she wants to finish the ride as quickly as possible. She waves goodbye and pedals off, while I finish my own lunch and try to work up the mental gumption to get back on the bike.

The next stage is very painful. My left hand (the accident-injured one) feels as though someone has stuck a knife into it, and I'm having trouble gripping the shift lever. The 91º heat is also becoming a real problem. Finally I reach a sign that says "Next rest stop, 1 mile". The end of my ride is in sight - or it ought to be - but it's taking an awfully long time to reach it. Another rider passes me and says, "It's a pretty long mile, isn't it?" "Yep," I reply. "You okay?" he asks. "Yes, thanks," I say.

Even the longest mile comes to an end; eventually I reach the rest stop. Though I know that Mr. M is somewhere about, I pull into the first available shady spot, climb off the bike, and cry for a few minutes from pain and exhaustion. I'm very glad to be done, but I do feel (just a bit) as though I've failed. Then I get up, find Mr. M, and tell him I can't safely go any farther. I've ridden 53.2 miles, and it's time to stop.

At the water tent, I get a cupful of ice for my hand, and oh, the relief when I press it against my palm and wrist! Then Mr. M loads Iris into the car, and we drive away on the last stage. Relief struggles with guilt as we pass rider after rider (including Snowcatcher) toiling up the long hot climbs that mark the end of Day 2, while I sit in air-conditioned comfort, holding onto my cup of ice as to a lifeline.

The ice, in fact, works wonders on my hand - so much so, that I ask Mr. M to drop me off about a mile from the end of the course, so I can finish the ride on my bike. A slight climb, a corner or two to round, and I am riding through the finish, which is lined with people cheering and calling, "Good job! Great finish!" (This makes me feel very guilty indeed, having just skipped almost an entire stage.)

It's hotter than blazes at the finish. I find Mr. M, and we join the Lizard, who is sitting in comfort beneath a shady tree. In a little while I head back to the finish line to watch for Snowcatcher, and soon she comes rolling triumphantly in:

Way to go, Snowcatcher!

Not only has she completed the course, she's actually ridden a few blocks extra before crossing the finish line, edging her total weekend miles over the 150 mark, to honour this ride's original name of MS-150. (You are a real trooper, Deb, and I'm proud to have you for a friend.)

We load up our bikes, then head back to the dinner tent for the finish-line feast. Thoughts of cool showers begin to loom ever larger in our minds, so we eat quickly, then head to our cars for the drive back to Snowcatcher's house.

And Bike MS 2014 is over. (Whew!)

Thanks to Deb and Brett for their exceedingly generous and relaxing hospitality; to my dear Mr. M for his constant loving care and diligent bike maintenance; and a special thanks to all the bloggy friends who donated to Bike MS, and to those who have left encouraging comments on my cycling posts. Your support has gotten me up many a hill I would otherwise not have climbed. :)

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Things I learned from this year’s Bike MS:

• Bring your own electrolyte supplements, because rest stops can and do run out of Gatorade and bananas.
• Pickle juice is delicious, even if you don't like pickles.
• Pretzel sticks are a great source of salt; keep some in your rear pocket to suck on as needed.
• When your husband/bike mechanic offers to swap out your Wisconsin rear cluster for a Colorado-mountain-worthy rear cluster, take him up on the offer.
• It’s okay to stop halfway through a climb and rest if you need to.
• Carry Vaseline or bag balm, and apply it often.
• Don’t injure yourself just to finish a ride, and don’t feel bad if you have to SAG.

Because Bike MS is not about you - or me - or about any of the riders. It’s not about how many miles we complete - or don’t complete.

It’s about the guy with MS at Rest Stop 7, trying to keep his wheelchair out of the sun so he won’t overheat as he offers goodies to cyclists, while swapping stories with a cancer survivor, both of them laughing ruefully about their crippling fatigue. It’s about the people with MS who sit or stand on the route, ringing cowbells and saying “Thank you” to the healthy riders who pass. It’s about the man with a cane, walking painfully to the lunch tent, wearing a jersey that reads “I Ride With MS.” It’s about Deb’s two coworkers, and Joan’s daughter, and Jean’s son-in-law, and Leslie’s cousin, and countless other friends and family members who suffer from a disease that knows no cure.

In just a few days or weeks, my body will recover from the stress of this ride, but there are thousands of people out there with MS, who have, as yet, no chance of recovery. Many will never ride a bike again; many of them struggle to perform just the basic activities of daily life.

They are what Bike MS is all about.

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