Tour de Fiasco, Tour de Melbourne, Hash de Merrit Island

"Congratulations! 

You are now entered for the Tour de Felasco 2012."

Thanks to a little help from our friends. 

Hey, at least the site didn't crash this year.  But for a few hours it did refuse to admit that there was such an event available.  Interestingly, a few hours was the same amount of time it took to fill up.  Emails flew.  Facebook lit up.  Suddenly everyone was in the loop.  The old secret password trick.  Ha.  Foiled by the same internet employed to confound us.


The opening salvo of the Tour de Fiasco happens at 6AM every first of October.  Thank goodness following their trail markers is easier than following their online instructions.   

Busy weekend here.  Too busy to justify driving all the way to Hailes Trails.

We signed a contract with the builder. 

Silly me.  I thought we'd have 30-45 days to pack up and move out of here.  Uh-uh.  2 weeks!  Yikes!  Find a place to rent for less than a year (as if), that takes pets (good luck), arrange storage, and get packing. 

But just because we boxed a bunch of stuff doesn't mean we bagged all the fun.

Being up early on Saturday morning for the Registration de Fiasco was not a total waste.  Popeye had time to get to Palm Bay, while  I got an early start on my ride around the block. 

The Melbourne block, that is. 

Which is the most dirt I can pack into a local ride, without violating my no-riding-alone-in-the-bum-trails-rule.  Highlights along the way were stops to chat with other Fiasco victims out early, and a few places-no-faces photo stops.

Nice and Lord-OTF were out early and stopped to commiserate.   

Then there was the informative conversation with the poison ivy spray man in Mel Village, who was kind enough to show me a native potato plant.  Right before he sprayed it. 

Semi, the original Fiasco pusher, was coaching soccer in Wickham. 

Gadget Guru and Motorcycle Mama were just starting out on their slick tires, a late take off for their Cocoa Village ride. 

As for me...  Melbourne Causeway to Melboune Village to the Airport Trails to Wickham Park to Eau Gallie Causeway, and reluctantly, home. 

Miles: 36
Tires: fat  
Time:  Uh... home in time for lunch.

I think I took a wrong turn in Melbourne Village.

Don't put a foot down.

(Unless you are off the bike to take a picture, of course.)

Airport Trail

No, I couldn't get the phone out of its ziploc fast enough

to get a picture of the deer as it ran across trail.

You can probably do a century ride in Melbourne

on canal banks alone.

Just a single swoop through Wickham.

Running can resume once the move is accomplished.

So.  Early Fiasco.  

Saturday morning ride. 

Followed by Saturday afternoon condo viewing. 

And Saturday evening Roller Derby.

Roller Derby - Palm Bay Rec Center - BYOB

One bout left this year.  Nov 5.

Check Molly Roger Roller Girls on facebook.

Sunday morning.  Back to work.  I packed up a few boxes while Popeye put in some overtime in Malabar....

Then out to play again.

Hash ride!

(It's good to be vertically challenged.) 

There's only 2-3 miles left undisturbed at Ulimay. 

If anything, it has grown in even more since this was taken Nov 2010.

Who can resist the allure of the amazingly eco-, and economically, diverse Merritt Island?  Thank you to the hares who, of course, did down downs for their trail.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Miles:  19.27

Tires:  fat

Time:  great!

Good bye, weekend. 

Hello, alarm clock.     

It's Monday. 

And we're gonna need a lot more boxes. 


 

Back Behind Bars.. The List of Possibilities for fall.

Finally.  Back behind bars. 

Four weeks have gone by since the surgery, and release is official.  The exercise ban is lifted.  Hooray!  Even though it's been a month of no-to-low-mileage recovery, it's hard to think in terms of easing back into riding.  There are just so many events available in the fall.  All I want to do is to jump in on both pedals. 

Boy, I hate to see summer end.  Getting up in the dark. Sunsets earlier and earlier.  And eventually, shoes.  With socks.   

Took the lights along for the ride last night - and used them.

Oh, fall has advantages.  Crispy clear days.  Open windows. Turning off the Sunday alarm.  Ride any time of day.  Or at least you could if there weren't such a full schedule of events.  Like century rides.  And mountain bike racing.  And trail runs.  

Keep that alarm clock within reach after all. 

There's not much that's new on The List of Possibilities from last year.  It's always longer than would be possible, even if you could be in two places at once.  Or some days, three.  Some weekends could be as much about juggling as riding.  

Any choice is possible.  Except for sleeping in.



The List of Possibilities - Fall 2011

Sept. 4     8 Hours of Labor  (Stupid surgery!)

Sept 24    6 Gap Century - Dahlonega, Ga.  (Not me.  It's possible for Popeye, though, and Ft. Clinch is on the way home...)

Sept 25    3 Gap - fifty miles

Sept 25    Ft Clinch - mtn bike race.  Goneriding FSC#2


Oct 1     Set the alarm!  6 AM  Register Tour de Felasco 

And since you're up early, throw the mtn bike in the car and get to Gainesville.

Oct 1     Hailes Trails open to public for 1 day

Oct 2     Hailes Trails - mtn bike race.  Goneriding FSC#3

Or ride Hailes one day and Withlacoochee Trail the next.

Oct 2     Rails to Trails Ride - Withlacoochee

Oct 8     John Holmes 50k and 16m run - Croom

Oct 8     Rocky Raccoon Revenge  - 8 hours of Raccoon Mt - Chattanooga.  Goneriding.  (Wouldn't this be an even nicer finish to the 6 gap than Ft. Clinch?  The 6 gap, a few days camping at Tsali or Occoee, and then the Rocky Raccoon?)  

Because it's not likely any of that will happen... more choices closer to home.

Oct 9     Ride 4 ABreast - Melbourne

Oct 9     Tour de Vero

Oct 15  Tour of KSC - Be nice to your space center friends.  This one is invitation only.

Riding the runway at KSC, 2010.

Oct 15    Mt Dora Century and Metric Century

Oct 16    Stay over for the Mt Dora Assault on Sugarloaf, or pack both bikes again, and head to the west coast instead.

Oct 16    Alafia - mtn bike race - Goneriding FSC#4

Oct 22    Santa Fe Century - Gainesville

Uh oh.  Way too many choices for a Santa Fe follow-up.  Felasco, du, or Horsefarm, I'm taking the Superfly.  (A second century should be cushy.)

Oct 23    Horsefarm Hundred  

Horsefarm Hundred 2010

More than just horses.

Oct 23    Felasco - mtn bike race - Goneriding FSC#5  

Oct 23    Dirthead (off road) Tri and Du - Croom.  Much as I love the water, if the gators are anywhere near the size they are at the Econ...  Just sayin'.   Tri or du, it's up to you.  I know what I'd du.

Oct 30    Intracoastal Waterway Century - Cocoa


Nov 6     XTerra Wildhorse Trail Run - 1/2 marathon, 10m, 10k, 4m

Nov 20   Horrible Hundred - Clermont  (West Orange Trail is a 60 mile alternative if you don't feel like riding with the roadies.)

Nov 20   XC marathon, 30k, half marathon, 5k - Alafia


Dec 1     Santos - mtn bike race - Goneriding FSC#5 

Dec 9-11  Highland Bike Fest

Jan 14  Tour de Felasco

Feb (date tbd)  Croom Fifty


It's good to be back behind bars.  My body's got some work to do to catch up with my head, though.   So many choices!

Right this minute the possibilities are nearly as endless.  

Dishes.  Laundry.  Bridge repeats. 

Nap?  



  

Confessions of a Mermaid's Mom

Seaside (The Shadow Over Earth) (Kindle Edition)

By Lindsay and Trevor If

5 STARS to Lindsay and Trevor If for creating a truly original alternate universe. A universe where a decision as mundane as what to wear to school can mean life or death. Where unearthly magic and a history of human sacrifice are as close as the church on the corner. Where the ultimate drug is as near as the beach.  But all is not darkness and strife. Making friends at a new school, figuring out your best color, and asking a boy to the homecoming dance, are all perfectly blended into a slow reveal of magic and a hidden underwater world.  Ashley Dunlop, high school sophomore, must find and reveal her own true colors, not just in her wardrobe choices, but in her quest to make an imperfect world into a better place.  The ending leaves one teetering on the shoreline of a secret alternate universe wondering, what's next?  I can't possibly imagine, but I bet the Ifs can, and I am ready to plunge into the next book of this series the instant it comes out.
 

Wow, what a review!  Five stars!  A review so glowing it's like something your mother might write.
 
But hey, you can read it too, and write a glowing review of your own.  Which can be really fun, especially if you know the author (or the author's mom).

To read the book, no need to own a Kindle.  The Kindle app for iPhone, Android, or your PC, is free. 

 http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/ref=kcp_pc_mkt_lnd?docId=1000426311  

"Seaside" has gone up from .99 to $2.99 though, so get it now before it takes off for double digits.  As it is surely bound to, with such glowing (and absolutely right-on) reviews.  
 
I confess that I am un-savvy to the wily ways of computer linkage and ebooks.  Anytime I access Amazon, it knows it's me.  It looks from here, that if I put up a link for you from my computer, you will be "me".   I really do love this book, and hope you do too.  But I would prefer you to buy your own copy, you know?  Besides, hey, $2.99!  5 stars!  You really can not go wrong here.  

Besides, admit it, you are dying to voice your own opinion by writing your own review.

So.  Got to amazon.com and search for "Seaside Lindsay If" and it will take you to the gorgeously illustrated turquoise-with-mermaid cover and all the (glowing) reviews.  Download to your Kindle or your phone or PC.  

You will love this novel.  Trust me.  I'm someone's mother.
 
 
  

Irene - Over Easy.

7 days without riding makes one weak.  

30 days could make one outright crazy.

So I compromised.

Saturday morning.  Day 11.  Easy does it.  I probably wouldn't have tried it but for the super cushy Superfly. 

First stop - the beach.

OK, I admit I am starting to appreciate what all the early birds see in the dawn's early light.

Satellite Beach

7:30 (AM!!!)

8/27/11

Except for the obvious power and the occasional boom, the surf seemed almost subdued.  And mesmerizing. 

That five mile ride on Saturday wore me out, but it felt good.  So of course, I was compelled to do it again on Sunday.  Just a bit further. 

Whoops.  Too much.  Ache deep in the gut for the rest of the day.  

Note to self:  Stay vigilent.  Pay attention.   It's not even September yet.  Listen to the forecasters, but go with your gut. 

My gut is saying it's back to walking for a couple of days. 

And keeping an eye on the weather.

Good night Irene. A storm, a surgery, and a sea story.

What do you call a girl with a wooden leg? 

Ilene.

Ok then, so what do you call a Chinese girl with a wooden leg?

Hint - our latest hurricane... 

Satellite Beach

8pm  8/25/11

 Irene passing 200 miles offshore.

Oh, I shouldn't laugh, that's not nice. 

Haha - ouch. 

Karma.  Hurts. 

Especially if you had kidney surgery last week.

Looks like Irene is going to give us the brush off and go kiss some of the northern cousins instead.  

We call Pie Man and Scout, just in case they've been having too much fun in the Chesapeake to watch the weather.  Their cell phones were on, of course, and they have already found a mooring.  I laugh at myself, thinking even for a second that they might not be paying attention.  Of course they are. 

There are three kinds of sailors.  Smart, lucky, or dead.  

Planning ahead, thinking things through, being aware, can add a little layer of stress to cruising.  Much less stressful though, than dealing with the moment when all else has gone ka-blooy.


After hurting me sufficiently with his joke, Popeye pours coffee into a travel mug and leaves for work, promising to be back at 2 to take me to the doctor for the follow up.  One week and one day, and no news on the biopsy.  I get the feeling they are holding off to tell me in person.

After the 6 pronged assault to my abdomen, it hurts to laugh, or to sneeze.  Heck.  It hurts to breathe. 

Pain, hurricanes, sailing.  I check out my six new scars in the mirror, and suddenly notice all the old ones.  Long, artful incicions of years past, instead of these new raggedy holes.  Old, old scars, still there.  Just long forgotten.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Yes.  No matter the method, it is exactly the same sort of pain.  And, the same sort of prison created, keeping you from your freedom, dependent on others. I wait at home for 2 o'clock, while time runs back to a different day.

It is late summer in Vinalhaven.  I forget the year.  The breeze is light and capricious.  Corsair has been dragging anchor back and forth past a huge “Underwater Cable - Do Not Anchor” sign for two days, ever since my release from the Penobscot Bay Medical Center.

The Mate is characteristically unconcerned about dragging, and I am in no shape to argue.  I have a hard enough time just standing myself up in the cabin.

By the end of day two though, willing to risk rupture for a glimpse of daylight, I lurch my way up the ladder, and poke my head clear of the hatch. 

The scene (think technicolor!) is of the cockpit looking aft.  It is a brief moment, a still shot.  There is an unreal, movie set quality about it.  A sort of Indiana Jones comic moment. 

The Mate in the scene is fully absorbed in a posture of delight, pulling a mackerel on a handline up into the cockpit.  

Directly behind his head, on a spectacular background of ocean horizon, rises a huge bank of clouds, so black and so high, it might as well be a mountain range.  A mountain range moving right for us.

Spread east to west, horizon to horizon, it has already closed into the throat of the channel, ready to swallow us whole if we try for the exit.  

The calm before the storm.

It’s amazing the effort it takes to get someones attention when standing mid-ladder on a 35’ sloop with a 7 inch incision in your belly. 

Especially if they are preoccupied with yanking up a mackerel.  

An instant later the still shot jumps to a movie in fast forward. 

The mackerel splashed to freedom.  The Mate pelted for the bow.  After the effort of sounding the alarm, getting myself back down the ladder and out of the way was all I could manage. 

I feel a sickening drift backwards.  Anchor line being paid out. 

A handful of cockpit cushions and paraphernalia comes pelting down the hatch, followed by the Mate himself and the first hard spatter of rain.  

(Deal well with the moment sailor, for all else has gone ka-blooy.) 

The Mate stuffs me painfully into my wetsuit, not easy on either of us, but probably the most foresighted thing he has ever done, before or since.  We settle in by the ports to keep a bearing on the point, as Corsair jerks and slips her way gradually, incessently sternward, closer and closer to the rocks. 

50 feet.  

40... 

The Mate is on the second rung of the ladder with his hand on the latch when the bow snaps around and we fetch up hard into the wind.  

And there we stay, heaving into the spindrift, while David churns in from the Atlantic at 65 knots.   The anchor?  Dug in hard to the only good holding we'd found yet in Vinalhaven, the underwater cable. 

Irene, our hurricane of the present, demands attention, spattering rain across the dining room windows, like a vagrant knocking, then suddenly backing off to try a different door. 

We are back from the follow up at the surgeon's office.

The tumor wasn't cancer.  

It was a low-fat mass of blood and muscle, according to an Internet search using the 9 syllable word on the lab report. 

Treated like cancer until proven otherwise, hence removed.

So.  Still here.  Still alive. 

But somehow, not feeling especially smart or lucky.

It still hurts to breathe, dammit.
 
Even sighs of relief.

Good night, Irene.

I'll see you in my dreams.

Dreamin' global. Ridin' local.

There's a full moon coming up this weekend. 

It's on the List again.  Ride around Lake Okeechobee.  It was on the list to go to Maine in August too.  Yet another oh-well.

Been saying oh-well to a lot of opportunities so far this month. 

Haven't been out of town once.  Didn't make it to the Jacksonville Xterra.  Or Tsali.  Haven't even been to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer.

Doesn't mean we've been totally idle.  Just operating within smaller parameters, that's all.

While Popeye rides the Palm Bay group hammerfest a couple times a week, I am on my own.  Nope.  I won't go into how goofy it seems to me that no one wants to ride any where but out in the full sun, on the road, in Florida, in August.  I'll just say that I don't get it.  I don't get it at all.

But on road or off, there's no escaping the fact that it is August. Any other time of year, riding alone includes the luxury of going whenever I happen to be ready.  August is a special case though, and the last couple Saturdays I have been determined to get out aeap (as early as possible).

Saturday. 7:30 AM.  Every possible ounce of Gatorade squeezed into the camelbak, full suspension locked out, tires stans'd and pumped to a street-ready 30 pounds...

Wow, early is nice.  

It's been a while since I have been on my own in the airport trails.  

The old trail is still there.  It just comes out behind a different fence.

Whoops.  Gotta take the road for a bit from here.

The Eau Gallie dam is still accessible, though.  I love this spot.  You'd never know you are right in the middle of a town.

No I didn't ride across.  I've seen people try.  Did you know that fat tires will pop a bike right back up to the surface after plunging off a dam into deep water?  Kind of like the sub in The Hunt for Red October.  Good to know, huh?  Just the same, Keene spd bike sandals make perfect waders.  

It is only after I'm across that I remember the second largest gator I ever saw.  Melbourne Tillman Canal.  Huge.  He was stretched out under some falling water, very much like this spot, jaws wide open, waiting for something edible to wash over.

Oh well, the foot wash felt pretty good - once the heart rate went back down.

Even if you can't leave town, at least you can pretty much make any local ride about water.

A1A south toward the inlet has half a dozen beach parks. In August, any ride farther than the mailbox is going to be a soaker anyway.  Might as well add a swim.

You just never know what you'll see along A1A...  How about Cap'n Jack Sparrow holding a for sale sign?   I was by there again yesterday.  He's still there.  Still for sale.  Go figure.

Once every few weeks, there's more rolling around this town than just bikes.  

How about those Molly Roger Roller Girls!  

Saturday night.  Roller derby at the Palm Bay Rec Center.  A little bit Nascar (left turn, left turn, left turn), and a whole lotta bumper car.  It's BYOB and BYOSC.  Seat cushion, that is. 

I did take one video that night just as the home team jammer went into the penalty box.  2 minutes of Dub City (West Palm) racking up points, the 109 to 40 scoreboard in the background.  (I didn't spare you on purpose, it just didn't upload.)  Then, the very next jam yielded a broken clavicle.  Unphotographed, of course.  At least by me. 

Our seats, high in the bleachers, are good ones, but we've decided to get there earlier next time.  The front row is where the action is.    

Speaking of suicide seating... 

Ever been hoisted up a mast in a bosun's chair?

Well, now Popeye has.

Pie Man and Scout are preparing Sunny Skies for departure.  Popeye replaces a deck light, while Pie Man stands by near the winch. 

Just a few more chores and ready to go.

Even catamarans only have so much room.  You just can't take everything along - even if you do have brand new folding Dahon's.  Once Popeye is back on deck, we are instructed on our next chore.  Helping to clear Pie-Man's bar fridge of it's last few beers. 

Somehow, this onerous task is only half completed, when Pie Man's new doo comes under discussion.  It is a #1, in preparation for a month or two of cruising.  Before you know it, the clippers are out.  For Popeye, it's a whole new take on washing the gray away.

I put in the video.  Then edited it back out.  If anyone really wants to see, let me know.  But seriously.  Don't ask.  Unless you have a weird sense of humor.  (And a poor sense of fashion.)  Some things just seem funnier in the moment, you know?

Yesterday's storms doused the temps and made a quick 25 miles out the front door feel refreshing, even in late afternoon.  If I'd been on my road bike it might have been a little sketchy on Tropical Trail in the blustery west wind, but on Killer it was a breeze.

Yes, it stormed before I got back.

No problem.  Killer traction.   

Four or five miles north of Mathers Bridge, up toward the Pineda, I see Sunny Skies under full sail, way out in the channel, heading north, wearing a "for sale" sign on each rail.  She is the only vessel out there. 

Well done, Pie Man and Scout.  An on-time departure.  Finally underway for a late summer cruise of the Chesapeake, and eventually the boat show in Annapolis.

I'd say good luck in selling Sunny Skies at the boat show.  

But they'd know I don't mean it.


Postscript:  Here's the link to Scout's cruising blog.  I haven't spent much time in the Chesapeake, so I'm really looking forward to hearing all about it.  If you aren't a boat person, remember they've taken those brand new Dahon's, so I expect to see a few rides in the travel report as well. 

http://www.sunnyskyadventures.com/sunnyskiesblog/

Roughin' it. Tribal Challenge in Wickham Park

The biggest trouble with Xterra off road triathlons is that there just aren't enough of them. Not in Florida, anyway.  

For a long time, TriLady, Popeye, and I have tossed around this question. Where could we stake out an Xterra course in our own neck of the woods?

Where were there enough miles of mountain bike trails and a quarter mile swim in the same location?  Wickham Park?  Nah. The XTerra people would probably laugh if they saw it.

How would you ever get anyone to pay for a race in little ole, sandy, flat, Wickham Park?

By thinking outside the box, that's how.

By swimming contestants across both lakes.

With a run in between.

By staking out an eight mile cyclocross/mountain-bike combo course, without repeating an inch.

And making sure the ride goes over (almost) every available root, log, stump, and lump in the park.

By ending the bike with a Death Spiral.

And the run with a waterslide.

That's how.

The TribeNMotion website has results, videos, and tons of photos of the hundred or so contestants riding the death spiral or sliding to their run finish.

Here's my favorite video - the spiral of death featuring a few riders you may recognize.  http://contour.com/stories/spiral-of-death

Ride in and in and in. 

Turn.  Don't put your foot down! 

Ride out and out and out again.  

That’s Woody the Race Organizer in the mix, providing commentary and encouragement, from aboard his Pugsley.

Just look at all those photos.

And all those smiling faces.

Smiling, because they just splashed down after navigating 2 swims, 8 miles of biking - Wickham style, and a 3 mile sun-run.

Smiling, because the fun wasn't done.  Not yet.   

Just a few seconds beyond the official finish line, each of these happy athletes hands over a popsicle-stick place marker and heads to their third transition of the day. 

The team portions of the sport are up next. 

Eating.  And drinking.  With a hundred or so new best friends. 

Often, by the time I finish a race, the food is all gone.  Or if there is food, it's just junk.  This time, not only was there food left, but it was really good-for-you-refueling food.  What a great surprise to be handed a fresh-made-just-for-me sandwich from Tropical Smoothie.  Chicken salad, mmm. 

And then it's on to the very last, very important, transition of the day.  Over to the Bob's Bike Shop tap for liquid replenishment. 


But just in case no one believes this tribe of elated off-road junkies earned such an elaborate party just by riding little ole Wickham Park, I went back later and took a couple shots of the venue.

Poor old trails of Wickham Park.  Burned down, and ploughed up.  Then ploughed again.  There are some pretty rough sections, but plenty of nice ones too. 

2 ponds.  Swim-run-swim.

Did you practice your dismount?   

Oops.  Roots.

Off the bike to push, or pedaling past the pushers - neither choice was easy – especially when the pack hit the Root Loops.

No matter what kind of bike you had, stopping to lift it over a downed tree, or slogging through sand and heavy grass as fast as you can slog, is a darn good workout.

But thanks to expert trail volunteers, the last few miles of well marked, tight, twisty, shady singletrack was its own reward.

So here’s the deal. Put Tribal Challenge on the calendar for next year. We have.

Because we would have raced this crazy course without awards or food.

We would have raced without door prizes, tribal drums, or a live band.

Heck, this course was so much fun, we would have done it, even without the beer.


Just don’t tell Woody, OK?