Grrls in their natural habitat--bikes in the woods

After my glorious spill, I was itching to get back out there.  Since my husband and I have to trade off child-watching duties to get rides in, he was not able to squire me into the woods.  Fortunately, my enabler lives close and had a bit of free time.

Enabler

I'll confess to being a babe in the woods here and I don't like it.  I can definitely change a flat on a car, but haven't had cause to learn the same on a bicycle, so I don't ride alone.  I'd like to, but I've been repeatedly warned against it.  Sigh.

We met up at one end of an almost-27-mile-long rec trail wearing matching jerseys and smiles.  After a liberal application of bug dope, we got rolling.

As we emerged, victorious but tired, at the other end of the trail, I reflected on my improbable rise from couch-slouch to athletic phenom...

Nah, we rode for about an hour then went home.  But it was a fun hour.  I shook off my nerves from the recent fall and got great advice, too.

I learned the rules of the trail are the same as on horseback--to call out obstacles the others might not see, to pass left after calling it out, and to always keep a few sugar cubes in your pocket.

I was shown sweet tricks for quicker mounting and choosing lines.  Jen demonstrated extended slow-speed balancing while repeatedly waiting for me to catch the heck up.  I remember doing all of these things as a wilder child so the real trick to cyclocross is probably never to grow up.

Until next time, friends...get muddy!

Cyclocross: "make sure your sneakers are double knotted"--a friendly enabler responds to my cx questions

Not long ago--really, like a few days ago--I dipped my quill into ink made from crushed winterberries hand-gathered into a basket woven from locally-sourced swamp ash collected with my obedient children in tow.  I penned all my cyclocross wonderings onto parchment and sent it out into the universe by way of electronic journaling.  Hi.  I have three kids.  I work a full-time night job.  I'm tired.  It's quick or it does not happen!

To recap: adventurous spirit meets motherhood x3 and menial household tasks and physically-taxing job and inertia.  Adventurous spirit, undeterred, splashes some cold water on my face and reminds me that 1. I'm not dead and 2. I'm still alive.  Let's make something happen, shall we?

The spouse is a rabid cyclist, a roadie, who loves big hills and long rides.  I'm not sure he's sane.  I wasn't sure I wanted to tag along for 100 milers so I pretty much let him do his own thing.  Does that mean I am NOT a real cyclist?  Not a REAL cyclist?  Not a REEL cyclist (see below)?  Am I meant to drive the SAG wagon only, or is there more for me?

Deep questions.

Enter Jen Murphy, Master Enabler.  While shoveling piles of mislaid toys back into the toy box, I noticed a cyclocross photo she posted.  And another.  And then I was on local race pages noting registration deadlines and searching for sale bikes (thrifty=me, see previous two blog postings).  Hmm...cyclocross...I was feeling...excitement?  She seemed hooked on this crazy sport.

But, first, I had a few questions.  How do I know I've got the right stuff?

Friend Jen is a good sport.  She baited her hook and promptly posted this response.  Will she lure me in?  Is there something fishy about someone who overdoes metaphors?

Stay tuned.