Sunday Night Haiku

cold air on my skin
summer heat is just a dream
winter must be near

Goodbye Abbey

We lost our dog yesterday.  No, that’s not true.  We didn’t lose her, she died.  Dead, done, over, finished.  And I am heartbroken.  This morning when I let the other dogs in the house, first Carlos, then Ed, I waited for her.  Just for a moment, but long enough to break my heart all over again.  We’ve had her for 12 years, and she was part of the routine of our lives.  There were 3, now there are 2.

          The thing is, I have always felt a little guilty about grieving for my pets when they die.  Sure, it’s a loss, and I do love them, but in the end, she was just a dog.  Just a dog.  I think about what that means.  She was part of our family, but not like a child.  I know people who have lost children, and I by no means would compare this to that.  I am sad now, but I will get over it, unlike the mother that will grieve, and I mean really grieve, for that child that she lost 30 years ago.  Yet, there is still this loss to deal with.  But what have I lost?

            It is said that dog is man's best friend, but for me, that’s not really true.  My wife is my best friend.  It is also said that dogs love us unconditionally, but I'm not sure that I believe that.  They depend on us, and they need us.  We are their pack, their family, but is it truly love?  I don’t know.  So what is this emptiness that I feel?  What did she mean to me?  What have all my dogs meant to me?

            Over the years, I have struggled off and on with depression.  Like so many others, I have experienced loneliness, hopelessness, isolation, the full gambit.  And through those times, there is usually someone that I can turn to; my wife, a friend, a doctor, God.  Usually.  But sometimes, when the isolation is too great, the only one who I can feel has been my dog.  Who else ALWAYS has the time to greet me when I walk in the door?  Who else is ALWAYS happy to see me.  Who else is ALWAYS available for a hug, and who else will ALWAYS let me lie down next to them, arrange them the way I want them, and let me bury my face in their furry neck and cry?

           I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I like to think so.  In fact, sometimes I think that if there aren’t dogs in heaven, I don’t want to go there.  Maybe we won’t need them there.  Maybe heaven is so fulfilling, we won’t need our dogs.  But, I think that dogs are one of God’s gifts to us.  He knows how hard life is, and He knows that we all need a little bit of fur to hold onto.  So my vision, what I see when I think of heaven, is all of us staring up into the brilliant face of God…and at His feet, napping, snoring, licking themselves, are his dogs.  Our dogs.

Sunday Night Haiku

the world was so big
that I got lost in my head
don't come look for me

Sunday Night Haiku

in the early spring
the crow returns to the yard
he must hate the snow

Dream Fulfilled?

So, anyhow, I spent last week in a hut in the Canadian Rockies, backcountry skiing. This was a trip that I have spent the last 12 years building the skills needed to be a part of, and now that I have done it, I am faced with that age old question, was it worth it? Was it worth the years that I have spent running, riding, hiking and skiing to build the strength and conditioning needed for a week climbing in the mountains? Was it worth the pain, frustration, time and money spent to develop the skiing skills to ski in the backcountry? Was it worth the time that I have spent in courses, reading books, spending powder days training instead of having fun skiing, so that I could learn the avalanche safety and snow skills needed, the 1st aid skills needed to make me a valuable team member, the mountain skills needed for even being in the backcountry, and the leadership skills needed anytime that you place yourself in a situation as remote and unpredictable as the winter backcountry? Was it worth the mental anguish that I always put my crazy self through, constantly questioning my motives, my skills, my conditioning, the time spent, the money spent, etc., etc., etc.?



Oh Hell Yeah! It was an amazing week. We had beautiful weather, great snow, amazing food, and good company. We fell into a routine, nay, almost a ballet, by the second day. At 6a.m. every morning, John would hop out of bed and head down for the cook hut to start breakfast. Aaron, who had been waiting for half an hour for someone to get up, would head down and fire up the stove. At 6:15, Eric's alarm would sound. At 6:30, Eric would get up and go start the coffee. Then, knowing that the cook hut was warm, breakfast was cooking, and the coffee was ready, I would crawl out of bed, put on my base layer for the day, and head down. Paul would follow shortly.


After breakfast was eaten and the dishes and chores were done, we would start getting ready for skiing. Lunches had to be packed, blisters covered, gear that had been hanging over the stove to dry had to be repacked, and, the worst part, boots had to be donned. By 9 o'clock, we were hiking. The hikes were long and beautiful. We had sunshine the first few days, so we were able to go above treeline. Once the weather changed, we stayed closer to home and skied the trees. Not a bad way to spend a week, and definitely worth the cost, not only in terms of the money, but in the effort it takes to be able to enjoy the backcountry.

Sunday Night Haiku

hike for three hours
to slide for fifteen minutes
perfect equation

On the Couch

Last night I went to bed unsure of what I would do today. I set my alarm for 7, in case I decided to go into Coeur d'Alene and run the Hangover 5 miler road race, and I left my phone on my bed side table, in case anybody called to go skiing. I washed all my running and skiing gear, and went to bed, figuring that I would arise in the morning and see what the day might bring.

I woke up this morning at about 5, got up, turned my alarm clock off and went back to bed. I awoke again at around 8:30, and knew that there was no way I was going to get up to go run a race. I was just too sleepy. I woke up again at about 9:30, looked at my phone to make sure I had not missed a call, and then got up and made coffee and pancakes for G and myself.

To make a long story short, I spent the entire day on the couch. I read, I watched HGTV, football, a Twilight Zone Marathon, downloaded some free tunes from @#$%^&*, ate cheese and crackers, drank hot cocoa, watched it rain, watched the squirrels, watched the movie version of Horton Hears a Who (not bad, if you forget the fact that this is a beautiful story by Dr. Suess), called my sister, watched some more football, tormented the dogs, tormented G, spied on the neighbors, watched a little more football, and then went upstairs to go to bed.

All in all, not a bad way to start the new year.

Sunday Night Haiku

so cold on my toes
the hairs in my nose are froze
maybe one more run?

Blue Christmas

I missed the Blue Christmas service at church. I'm bummed, because that is my favorite service of the year. Not that I get all depressed during the holidays, at least no more than you can expect when you live where the sun sets at 10 til 4 in December, but I just like the somberness of the service, the walking and praying of the labyrinth, and the quiet contemplation that the evening brings. Christmas is a joyous occasion, as we wait once again for God to walk among us, and show us how to live a sane life, even when surrounded by insanity. But for those of us who live far from home and family, it is also a daily reminder of what we have left behind, and lost.

I love living in the inland northwest. I love the 4 seasons, all the outdoor pursuits that are available, and I love the people. I have made great friends, and I have a church family that I depend upon. I could never imagine moving back east. That is just not who I am anymore. It was however, the place of my childhood. 312 Evelyn street is where I spent so many of my Christmases. I can still feel the warm air from the heat vent that I would sit in front of, as my family sang Christmas carols on Christmas Eve. My mother would play the organ, all the kids would sing, and my Father would sit in his chair and smile, enjoying his one great accomplishment in life, his family.

Thursday night, Christmas Eve, G and I will go to the 7 o'clock service at church, then come home, and with much unasked for help from the heeler, we will open our Christmas presents. Then we will eat pizza rolls, drink hot chocolate, and watch "the Snowman." Christmas morning, I will go up and ski for a few hours with my buds, and then G and I will go over to Pastors house for an informal dinner of comfort food. That is our tradition, and I love it. I would not trade it for anything, except for maybe one more time hearing my Mother play her organ, and to see my dad's smile.

Sunday Night Haiku

If I'd not seen you
I would never know this pain
that has made me whole

Stuff

Well, I trust that no one is left to read this. Good. That means it's just you and me. I've not been on a bicycle since October, and have no plans to get back on until March 1. Pretty much just a date that I pulled out of my ass. Hopefully, my little problem will have gone away. If not, then I will be trying to sell a Kona mountain bike in order to raise money for a recumbent. What the hell, it's ski season anyways. Though I've not been skiing yet. There is a little matter of no snow.

Things around here have been kinda slow. The heeler and I are running 3 days a week, which, along with a couple of days a week on the elliptical at he gym, keeps me in pretty good hiking shape, I hope. Now we're just waiting for enough snow to get into the back country. The biggest news concerns G. Her back is going south pretty quick. She went to see a neurosurgeon, who basically said that she needed to see somebody about getting her scoliosis surgically repaired . We've been surfing the web, looking at different sights. Holy Crap, we're talking major surgery! They go in both anteriorly and posteriorly, break up the vertebrae, and then screw them all back together. The neurosurgeon wanted us to go to Seattle, but I think that our insurance may force us to stay in Spokane. We'll see. Holy crap...

It's been cold in North Idaho, but that's all right by me. I have gotten to really love this time of year. The sun is setting before 4 o'clock, so the evenings are long. G and I have been holing up and trying to figure things out. Plans have changed, but we are ok. I guess that's just how it is. Peace.

Sunday Night Haiku

stars like ice crystals
and a wind blows so cold it
freezes your laughter

Sunday Night Haiku

stripped of all I know
till there is nothing but me
God craves a good joke

Sunday Night Haiku

all day steel grey skies
and at times snow flakes falling
I love these winters

Starting Over

I've purposely not been here for awhile. My idea of writing a blog based on commuting by bicycle has hit a few snags; due to a, how do I put this delicately, fucked up prostate, I'm not even sure I am a cyclist anymore. Also, does the world, or the 3 people who read this, need another bike commuter blog. There are plenty of them out there. But I do want to write, and this seems to be a good outlet. If I think that there are a few people reading this, then I tend to feel some commitment, and there is less chance of me lying. Well, maybe not. Never let the facts interfere with a good story.

Sunday Night Haiku

cold that blows through me
brings a smile to my chapped lips
snow will soon be here

Life at GNH Studios

Man, I can't believe it's been 2 weeks since I last wrote. Sorry about that, but things have been kind of busy around here. G and I have been working hard trying to get her studio painted so that the carpet people could come. We're done with the painting, the carpet is in, and all the furniture is back in. Now, G just has to get all her stuff back in place. What a mess!


It was actually pretty fun painting. Those of you that know me, know that I am not real into home redecorating. I have always told G, that she could do anything that she wanted, as long as it could be done while I was out on a bike ride. That was fine with her, because she is a perfectionist, and I am not. In other words, she wants to do it right, and I just want to get it done, so that I can go ride my bike. Unfortunately, as her spine continues to degenerate, the option for her to do all the things hat she wants to do is just not there. So, there is no other choice but for me to be her laborer. And much to my surprise, I have really enjoyed it.

The only problem with working for G, is that she is an artist, so nothing can be simple (which translates to fewer bike rides), but since we were really trying to get her studio done, I had her convinced to tone things down. I took a Friday off, and we had the whole downstairs primed and painted, including the ceiling, by Monday morning. That meant the carpet people could get right on it. Then disaster; the carpet that G had picked was out of stock, and had to be ordered. That gave G 2 weeks to think about her studio. So, now there is a stripe around the top of the walls, that gives the room a sense of depth, or contrast, or something else artsy. Anyway, it does look good, and I was able to talk her out of the 4th color.

I have been riding a bit lately. I'm riding to work 3 times a week, and getting a longer ride on the road bike on Saturdays. The knee is feeling good, though my leg still wears out pretty quickly. I see Doctor on Tuesday. I'm really jonesing for a mountain bike ride.

Tonight, before you go to bed, read some of the FatCyclist blog. Then, tell your wife, husband, partner, companion, mother, brother, sister, father how much you love them and how much they mean to you. Then, go back to Fatty's blog and donate to Livestrong. Last, but not least, say a prayer; for Fatty, for Susan, for all who have lost and all who have suffered.

Poop of the Day

I don't know what kind of poop you see on your daily commute, but here in northern Idaho, it can be quite varied. Of course, riding on a multi-use bike path, dog poop is not at all unusual, especially behind the I-90 rest area at Huetter Road. I have no idea why someone would watch their dog take a crap on the trail, and then not bother to dispose of it. I guess they just figure that no one else in the world is going to come along that trail.

Horse poop is also not unusual. Horses are not allowed on the trail, but that seems to be more of a guideline than a rule, and good lord, horses take a lot of craps. There is nothing I like more than riding through a nice fresh pile of horse shit, and then having it fly off my tires for the next hundred yards. Thank God for fenders.

Last spring, as the snow melted off of the trail, there appeared quite a bit of moose poop. But even that didn't surprise me that much. The moose population in these parts is growing, and like most places, there habitat is being encroached on more and more. I can only hope that I don't ride upon a moose cow and calf out on the trail. They are big, and like most mothers, don't take a perceived threat to their child lightly.

Then, last week, as I was slowly climbing the last short hill of the day (Dr King, if you are reading this; There are no hills on my commute. I swear!), I happened to look down, right as I passed a small pile of poop. I didn't think too much of it at the time, it was just poop. Then, it occurred to me, there was something unusual about that poop, so I went back for another look. Sure enough, it was full of cherry pits. A small (I hope) black bear must have been gorging himself on one of the wild cherry trees that grows along the trail, and then just couldn't contain himself till he got back to the woods. Yep, bear crap:

One for Fatty

So maybe I overdid it a little this week. Last week was the week from hell at work, so all I did was my gym workouts. This week I wanted to push it a little more. I rode to work on Sunday, and then again on Monday. That probably wouldn't have been too much, except that I accidently got out of the saddle on a short climb Monday morning, and discovered I couldn't spin through the top of the pedal stroke. Of course, being the OCD (obsessive-compulsive-dude) that I am, I worried about it all day at work. On the ride home, I kept getting out of the saddle to try to repair my spin. Now, I know that Doctor told me not to push any big gears, but I think what he really meant is to not push any big gears unless you become obsessed with the fact that your pedal stroke is not as good as it once was and you really need to fix it immediately or your entire world may crumble around you. Or something like that. Anyway, my leg has been pretty tired since then, and my knee aches more than it did, but I'm sure it will be just fine. And I can stand on the pedals and spin through the whole pedal stroke.

On a more serious note, if you follow Fat Cyclist blog, you know that things are not going real good. Cancer is a horrible disease. If you want to help, click here.