The Beer Can Scramble

Tuesday is the only day of the week that I regret giving up the paceline. 

It's not that I miss the road bike that much - not at all, actually.  What is difficult about Tuesday is riding alone.  Any other day of the week it's fine to be solo, but Tuesdays, when nearly everyone else I know has taken to the pavement of Palm Bay...    

Still.  I am stubborn.  I am no longer a roadie, dammit.  But what is a mountain bike aficionado to do?  Especially on a Tuesday?

OK, so create a new ride.  A fun ride.  A ride to bring together those rugged individualistic few who prefer their cycling dark and dirty.  

But how to attract mountain bikers when you live in a town flat as a pancake?  There's only one way I can think of.  

Beer. 

Either lots of beer.  (Not a good idea for a week night.) 

Or free beer.  

Although I do not own a Stand Up Paddleboard, I wish I did.  Not because they look like fun.  Seriously.  They have got to be more fun than they look. 

No, I wish I owned a SUP because of the Beer Can Races.   

According to the facebook page, the paddlers meet at the causeway on Wednesday night.  Each one brings a beer for the pot.  Racing ensues. Winner takes home the pot. 

What an excellent idea!  

But would the more eclectic off road crowd go for a race?  And certainly no mountain biker I know is interested in watching their beer go home with someone else.  

But still, it's such an awesome idea... 

How about... a beer can race in reverse?  A race where everybody wins.  And everybody goes home happy.  (Although some might go home a little happier than others.) 

I run the idea by Popeye and he instantly comes up with the perfect name.

The Beer Can Scramble

Tuesdays.  6PM  Brook Hollow Trailhead.

Bring a beer for the cooler, as good or as awful as you like.  Last guy in gets last pick.


And speaking of last, just one last thought... 

Could pay to be nice. 

After all, the beer you get could be your own.

The arrival of Lady Liberte.

If it weren't bad luck to change a boat's name, I would change this one to Plain Jane.

Catalina 22.  A dime a dozen.  Boats just like her on any canal around.  White hull, white sails, black sailcover.   A clorox bottle with a mast and a swing keel. 

In other words, the perfect boat!

In fact, if she is distinctive in any way, it is that she is not too rough.   And since it's been raining all day, it's easy to tell that the cabin is completely dry.  I know.  Hard to believe, right?  So I waited for the next burst of rain and looked again.

  

See what I mean?  Not too shabby for a 1982.  Literally.  Most boats this age have been rode hard and put up wet.  I suspect this one has too.  But she seems OK in spite of it. 

Which, of course, means she is going to be our kind of boat.

Looks awfully little down there, doesn't she? 

No galley, no roller furling, not even a porta potty.   

But we've got big plans. 

And, for now, a bucket.

Hammerhead Report - Interruption by Hit and Run

No, the hit and run wasn't at the Hammerhead 100.

The hit and run was the Tuesday after the Hammerhead.  The day I started to write a blog post about the Hammerhead.  

This was the view in my kitchen when I walked in from my ride that Tuesday night.


                                              

 
I think Popeye is very lucky to be standing in the kitchen at all.

Rectangular whack on the calf from the hit of the passing boat trailer.   Road rash - leg, hip, shoulder, knuckles and elbow - from the immediate slam to the pavement.  Tattered jersey.  And shorts? What shorts? They are just plain gone on one side, clear up to the waistband.

The broken helmet was disturbing.   As was the headache.   And his pretty much constant consumption of Advil for the next couple weeks.

But most disturbing of all, is that a hit and run, with multiple witnesses, could be completely dismissed at the apparent whim of law enforcement.  

Basically the officer talked with the driver down the road and decided, since there was no damage to the boat trailer, there was no proof that it hit Popeye at all. 

I tell you what.  I was mad, and I wasn't even there. 

How about some flesh and blood proof? 

But then, who feels up to arguing with the police when you're standing on the side of the road with your shorts half gone, complete with road rash and the headache of your life.  I bet it feels like - well, like you barely have a leg to stand on, right?

It took several days, and a whole lot of calls and emails from witnesses (thank you so much to them!), but the FHP officer did decide to investigate further and issue a ticket after all.  Not for hit and run, and nothing to do with leaving three feet to pass.  As far as I can figure out it amounts to some sort of reckless driving.

Meanwhile, the headache's gone and the Advil supply has been replenished for next time.

Road rash takes a while to heal. 

Then comes the itchy stage...  

There ought to be a ticket just for that alone.   Yowser.




   

Weighing in. No help from the Rabbit.

"Coffee, tea, water, gum.  Coffee, tea, water, gum."

I rode the Superfly over three hours on Tuesday.  And hit my planned calorie range dead center. 

So, what happened when I stepped on the scale the next morning? 

I gained a pound.  That's what. 

That is how it happened that the words "Rabbit, Rabbit" weren't the first words out of my mouth on May 1st.  No wishes-come-true for me this month.

This lose-a-few undertaking is most frustrating. 

So complex. 

And yet so simple.

Back on March 1st, I decided to give myself ninety days.  Make super-good food choices.  Limit amounts, but not too limited.  Address any emotional issues.  Exercise.  See what happens. 

That's really all there is to it.  Right? 

Right.

Really.  That's all there is to it.  No magic wishes required.

In theory, anyway. 

But trust me, if I had a wish right now, I'd use it.  

I take a look through the new Kindle Fire.  Since Christmas day,  I have read 6 books about losing weight.  There is 1 more, half finished, and 2 more in the queue, for a total of 9.   

"Finished being Fat"   Betsy Schow

"...Then Just Stay Fat"  Shannon Sorrels  (Some excellent tough love here!)

"Fat Chick"  Lorraine Duffy Merkl

"Suddenly Skinny"  Freya Taylor

"The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl"  Shauna Reid

"Half-Assed, a weight loss memoir."  Jennette Fulda

"Lucy Wagner Gets in Shape."  Claire Matthews

"Toxic Fat"  Barry Sears, PhD

"A Week in the Zone"  Barry Sears, PhD


A little bit of science, and a whole lot of heartache and courage.

Suddenly, I plop the Kindle down on the table.  I hop up from the computer to go look in the refrigerator. 

I take out plastic containers of salad and leftover turkey from last night's dinner and set them on the counter. 

I look at my watch.  It is 9:43 in the morning. 

I put the leftovers back. 

With the refrigerator door safely closed again, I repeat to myself, 

"Coffee, tea, water, gum."

The leftovers can wait for a couple hours.  I put water on for tea and sit back down.

The battle was short and decisive. This time.

This sure is one stubborn behavior.  Every day, every single freakin' day, for sixty days now.  If I am near the refrigerator, I have to open it up and look.   

Sixty days.  Same behavior.  Harmless refrigerator gazing.

I guess it's harmless.  It's certainly a tad on the compulsive side to feel comfortable with it, though.

Mostly I just gaze, then shut the door and go back about my business.  Sometimes, like this morning, I go so far as to take something out.  And then I put it back. 

In the last sixty days, I have very rarely eaten anything as a result of these forays.  

I have no explanation for this behavior.  A need to be sure the food is still there?  Or more likely, seeking escape from household chores.  But an escape from the fun stuff too - like reading an email or writing a blog post?  Does that make sense? 

Nope.  It's just weird.

I reach for my adorable pink owl cup, take a sip of steaming Plantation Mint tea, and look back at the list of fat chick book titles.  Most were funny.  Amusing and heart wrenching at the same time.  A couple were actually helpful tough-love type pep talks.  One was oh so young and way candy coated.   One of them I don't even remember reading, but the setting was left on the end page, so I must have.  

Every single one of them glued me to a chair for a good chunk of time, though.  (Except when I was jumping up to pad into the kitchen, of course.)

OK, so for the last thirty days of this endeavour, the diet books are going the way of desserts.  On hiatus.

I'm back on my own here.  No amusing anecdotes.  No magic wishes.  Just me. 

Me.  And some coffee, tea, water, or gum.


PS   I also thought this article from Outside magazine was pretty ground breaking:
 http://www.outsideonline.com/fitness/Your-Fat-Has-a-Brain.html