Rescue Mission

Easy spins are so boring to me. On Tuesday night I had a purpose. It made the time pass so much faster.

I found my little turtle friend trying to cross Lakeshore Drive at rush hour on Upper Greenwood Lake. I jumped off my bike and threw it to the side and waited for my opportunity to save him from being road kill. I've been known to stop on Margaret King Ave to pull a box turtle from the road. I couldn't handle if I saw turtle smash that I could have prevented.

I put him in my back jersey pocket to take him to a safer place and he climbed up my back as I was riding. I stopped and retrieved him and he got the thumb and forefinger treatment all the way to his new home near Cascade Lake in Warwick, NY. Some quad trail and a few rock gardens...Hope he enjoyed the ride!

Reality Smack

It's that time of the year when all of my doctor's appointments are grouped within a two week time frame. They want to compare notes on how everyone's poking and prodding of me went. Like anyone who has a chronic disease or condition you become a professional at the doctor's office. No confirmation call necessary and you always have exact change for the co-pays and, most importantly, you always know where the remote control is hiding. Rheumatologist, cardiologist, pulmonologist and neurologist. I think that about sums it up for the past week or so.


My rheumey moved west so I had my first appointment with the new doctor (I will call him Dr. McSchweatyfrompenstein). It wasn't good. I'm a tough customer. There was an interview process and I will not be hiring him. First, he was portly and sweaty. I know, I know. He could be a good doctor give him a chance. Nope. Not going to happen. Strike one. Second, when he was examining my nose I could smell his nasty cigarettey hands. Ick. Strike two. Third, he asked how I got a bruise and some cuts and I told him it was on a mountain bike. He told me it was time to find a new hobby. Strike three. No good. I could go on. These are just the top three. Wait. No. I really must go on. Here are a few of his questions with the answers I had to keep to myself (so, so hard):

What's wrong with your feet? What's wrong with your face? Why are you sweating so much? Did you run here? That is the question. I don't even want to imagine what your feet look like. Barf. Hairy Fred Flinstones with talons, I presume.

Beauty-Full. Broken, mangled, Linscott freak finger-toes and all.


What is that from? A pedal. I explained and acted out my coming out of the pedal in a rock garden and the pedal cracking me in the shin. Still a blank stare. Seriously, I'm not a battered woman. Let's move on.


Did you fall? Meaning: Are you a battered wife? Did you have a memory lapse? We just covered this. Hmmm...I think we went over this mountain biking in the woods thing.


You want to start IVs again? Do you want to go on Jenny Craig and the patch? Do I need to? Do you have a reason to do so? I don't feel that crappy yet. No. Not happening yet. Seriously. At least get my blood work back before you go to that. WTF.


The best part is I go to see my cool cardiologist the next day and I told him I went to see Dr. McSchweatyfrompenstein. He looked at me and laughed and said, "Well, knowing you I know that did not go well." No. No it did not. "Are you going to be good and keep your Holter Monitor on for a day next week? Can you not sweat profusely or rip it off for a full 24 hours?" See. He knows how to talk to me. I can't promise him anything but I sure will try.

Mercy Killing

It's been a while since I've flashed back to 2006 when I did All-A-Muchy on a rigid ss after just being introduced to bikes the year before. It was all about survival. My bike handling skills felt like they reverted to the 2006 non-skills as well.


I thought by having a day or two to digest more words would come. I thought I would be able to put something together to describle the course and the experience. There really are no words. It's something that needs to be experienced. The Maximus made Waway look groomed and Stewart look like an indoor velodrome. It was rough. 10 girls started and only 5 finished (for those of you keeping score that's only a 50% survival rate). I was a mercy killing (pulled) and did not suffer from puss-a-bifadous (DNF). I came to the 30 mile point and the promoter told me that the last 10 miles were now taking anywhere from 1.5 to 2+ hours and I was the lucky one to not have to experience it. I was upset and secretly relieved at the same time. After making my way to the truck and telling Mike I was pulled he also told me I was "lucky" and something about how I would want to quit mountain biking and my spirit would have been forever crushed had I done those last 10 miles. Huh.

We waited for Jane to finish. As soon as she came across the line Mike and I congratulated her on her survival skills and the awesome finish. She asked how I did. Out of blue shivering lips and chattering teeth I could make out, "That's awesome you muh-muh-mm-made it 30 miles. The last 10 miles were the worst. You are so frrr-ffrr-freaking lucky. I have to go get warm now, mate."

It's hard to make out in this horrible cell phone pic but times were so tough Jane felt the need for recovery Cheetos.

Cracker Barrel and ride home conversations mostly revolved around the realization that this experience changed all of our perspectives. Shell shocked. Like the last survivors of a Saw movie we had a bond for just surviving the harrowing experience. If you had asked any of us when we finished if we would ever do another Michaux series race the answer would have been an emphatic "Hell No!" About two hours later we were all talking about checking the schedule to see if we could make it to the next two. It was that brutal.