Nature Deficit Disorder

Deficit:  An excess of liabilities over assets, of losses over profits, or of expenditure over income.

The author, Richard Louv, in an interview on the Today show, was the first that I know of, to pair "nature" and "deficit" with "disorder".   

Nature Deficit Disorder.

We have it and we hate it.

Around here we strive to make one day a week an off road day, and once in a great while we camp out near some groomed single track, on an Elephant accessible campsite. 

(In some towns you can't even go to the beach and be free of traffic.)  

New Smyrna Beach
Sunday after Sugarmill
(Taken hanging out the window of a beachside burger joint.) 

I'm finally on the bandwagon, reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert, in which the author travels to Italy, India, and Indonesia in an attempt to put behind a bad divorce. 

I just started so I'm still on the "eat" portion of the book (Italy).  What is the fascination with tourists in Italy and gelato?  Nobody's immune, it seems.  Not even mountain bikers.

After one loop of Sugarmill, riders rolled around us as we stood at the trailhead saying goodbye to Krafty (no doubt relieved to be heading for a family father's day, poolside.)  

Puffing riders, complaining about the heat, slog their way out.  A couple guys quietly roll by heading for the loop.  After a few minutes, Popeye and I head in after them.

I pass them before the overlook, but decided I just had to wait and ask the owner if I could have a picture of his bike. 

White Trash Cannondale

When a rider names his bike, there's usually a story.

This one had gone off a car at 70 mph, bounced once, and landed in the median.  It was given to it's current owner as a hopeless case.  He went to work fixing it up.  Six months later, finishing it off with a new white paint job, he found it irresistible to add the name. 

Chatting a few minutes led to discovering that the Trashmaster lives in our neck of the pavement, and we exchange our (unprintable) hash names. 

Clipping back in to leave, I ask if it's OK to put the White Trash picture on my blog, BikeEatSleepRepeat.

"I guess Eat, Pray, Love was taken, huh?" 

Ha. Ha.  

But I am too amazed that two grown men even know such a book exists to be offended for long at any implied unoriginality. 

I stop and put my foot back down.  

I owned a copy but so far hadn't been drawn to read it yet.

"It took some searching, but we found her favorite gelato stand when we were in Rome.  Just a hole in the wall, but really good."

OK, so back at home I finally pick up the book.

Like gelato itself, an infinite variety of flavors can be infused into prose.  From the dead weight of melancholy to the simple joy of discovering a dripping, moss-covered fountain, there's a richness to this lean writing.  It's quietly healing; like a good meal or a stroll on a summer evening while spooning gelato.

I look up gelato recipes. 

Nah.  Too much trouble. 

So, on to downloading Sunday's photos.  Suddenly I am yanked away from thoughts of evening strolls and cool desserts.

  New Smyrna Beach

Rows of cars park along a streaming bumper to bumper two lane highway of sand.  

Nature Deficit Disorder as far as the eye can see. 

I imagine these same people a few months from now being the first to complain when tar balls stick to their tires....

... and for some reason, I go back for a second look at those gelato recipes. 

     

  

A Mile in My Shoes.

While Krafty and JediJosh battled the ticks of the Econ, Popeye's  Honda Elephant carried us southbound down the old I-95 trail to ride at Crossroads, where we were treated to a typical Ft. Pierce Sky. 

Everywhere else in Florida, summer rain arrives in late afternoon, like a gigantic and perfectly programmed sprinkler system.  Not Ft. Pierce.  

About two miles shy of our exit, sure enough...

But it waited until we were on the bikes, departing the trailhead, to really let loose.  

It's a whole different trail in a deluge. 

TriLady waited up for me under one of the overpasses, but honestly we were soaked anyway, and with rivers running down the center of the singletrack, the novelty was just too much fun to pass up, and we continued our loop in a pouring crashing flashing thunder booming storm.    

You know what they say about Florida.  If you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes.  It'll change. 

OK, so it took twenty.

The rain pounded.  Temps were soothing and cool.  And just as we gave up on the bikes and pulled on the run shoes, the sun came out full force. 

In the time it took to change to my new "toe shoes" (and apply a second layer of Deep Woods Off), the flowing trail had drained completely, with a thin surface of dry to hide the slidey stuff.  

In other words, the bike loops were a pounding wonderous whoop and hollor joyride, but moments later the trail became a hot, steamy, slippey, slidey, bear-of-a-loop to run.

The new Toe Shoes - pretty glam, huh?

As predicted by the happy clerk at Happy Feet, the little toes were first to feel the acute separation anxiety, necessitating a return for the tried and true Nikes somewhere around mile one. 

Nikes, which were every bit as slippery on trail as the unhappy Toe Shoes, but with a whole lot more sole.  So much sole that I caught one on a chunk of carpet and did a face plant in totally dry sand underneath the overpass, the exact spot where my only bike crash had occurred as well.  Proving once again that you don't need no stinkin' rain to crash!

So.  Big shoes.  Gallons of sweat.  Dry sand. 

(Try running as a big fat sugar cookie sometime.  Yuck.)

Just so you know there's more to Crossroads than gray sand and grayer sky...

Taken before the fall:

Headed for the overpass.

Carpet covered ridges - great for the bikes - not so great for the Nikes.

Under water one loop, drained the next.

One reason why short people love mtn biking.

Ahh, a couple of well washed bike loops, a sugar cookie run, a big lunch with TriLady and Popeye... 

A nap back home would have made it the perfect day.

But, as everyone knows who's been to Ft. Pierce;

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep...

... with bikes to clean before I sleep.

Vibram FiveFingers

All us barefooters know that the surest way to become sure-footed has always been to go barefoot. 

And trail runners know the best way to avoid a twisted ankle is to strengthen your lateral muscles by running on rough terrain.  

So barefoot running on rough terrain seems the next logical step toward being the best possible trail runner you can be.

Except for...

OUCH!

Enter Vibram FiveFingers.

My new Vibram FiveFingers

They've got sole.  

   
OK, I don't get it either.  Why is a running shoe, made for the health of  your feet, named "FiveFingers"?  I have no explanation for that.

These have been around awhile.  My boss, Wild Bill, first noticed the young man from Idaho wear them into the store yesterday, and it jogged a memory.  I'd seen the five toed prints on trail at the park.  Wild Bill probably thought it was mighty peculiar footwear, but I was all over it 'like white on rice', as my friend Mrs. Peanut would say.  It was the first time I had seen the actual shoe, and peculiar they were!  But cool, very cool. 

So cool, that I set myself out today to acquire some.  

Shopping is about the most annoying activity ever invented, but this trip turned out to be as painless as a pair of bunny slippers.  Imagine expecting to have to go half way to Idaho, but finding that these dainty little hoof covers are sold exactly four miles from my house, in Indian Harbour Beach! 

Not so sure about the spread out feel of "yoga toes", but hey.

My size, trail friendly color....  Sold!

Anyone for a run tomorrow?

There Might be Flies on Some of You Guys

Why is it that a horse fly bite from Sunday itches more on Tuesday than it did on Monday?

You gotta hand it to the little meanies, they make the transfer from horses to cyclists with ease, and in daring style.  

Horse flies are pros at the art of drafting, and not just behind horses either.  Hikers are easy targets.  Bikers and runners are a little harder to catch, but catch us they do.  They fly behind in your draft, and the sting comes as a surprise from behind, a little like Mark Cavandish in a stage race.  

The name of the game at Santos on Sunday was Keep Moving!

Sorry, no chance of this bug magnet stopping for photos. Two hours and forty five minutes on trail.  Stop time: about 30 seconds.

The phone did ring once, and thinking I was in the clear because I was in the vortex and out in the open sun, I dug it out and answered.  In the seconds that it took to get the phone out of it's ziploc, a four fly attack registered from my backside to my brain and off I rode like a startled mustang, phone in one hand, handlebar in the other, and none leftover to swat with.  

Pedaling around the open vortex, phone in hand,  provided fly-by opportunity to shoot stationary targets.  

Gadget Guru, Tomcat, Northstar

Although no one was riding the drops, some kids were there working on a new one.  

Wooden ramps at the top of cliffs surrounding the Vortex send riders soaring to land on contoured piles of dirt.  When I asked what the plan was for this one, there was something about turning mid air and landing 90 degrees from the take off angle.  I'm not sure.  I was  pedaling; made for a spotty interview.

As usual, the camera reduces the scare factor to look about a tenth

as death defying as it looks in person.  It will take another visit on a day with no horse flies, for me to take the slow-go trail to the top of the cliff to see what the camera can reduce that view to!

*******************

By committing to the horsefly hell of Santos on Sunday, we missed out on the Wickham Park Marathon, the kookiest, all time best Marathon, 50, 100, and 200 Mile Fun Run, anywhere, ever! 

This off road run is a stage race consisting of four consecutive days, 50 miles per day.  Anyone not making the twelve hour cut off time each day is ineligible to continue the next day.

Wednesday's run in the park after work provided a bonus sighting of Matt Mahoney accompanying the one and only Joe Ninke, now the only human to have ever completed the 200 Mile Fun Run twice. 

Joe was at about his 198th mile of the 200 when I saw him.  He looked fresh and chatty, way better off than me at my 20 minute mark!  

The WPM,50,100,200MFR started 4 days ago, the morning we were swatting horseflies in Santos. 

It went on through Memorial Day while Popeye dug up pool plumbing, and we had a relaxing cocktail hour on Scout and PieMan's boat. 

It continued through Tuesday, back to work day,

through all of Wednesday,

until Wednesday evening, when we drove to the park after work for our usual mid week trail run.

Talk about staying in motion every moment! 

Not only did Joe Ninke stay in motion all day, every day, for 4 consecutive days, but he did it entirely without horse fly motivation! 

Wow.

To see photos of the marathon, and Joe holding his prize for 1st place (a fake rock), check out:

http://mattmahoney.net/wickham/2010/   

200 miles.  43 hours, 10 minutes, 30 seconds, no horse flies.

Wow.