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Posts Tagged ‘bike ‘n’ bitch’

I biked yesterday, a little further than I have since rib injuries Nos. 2 and 3. On my commuter bike and I think it was the most comfortable and strong I’ve felt on the damn thing yet.

On the ride, we passed 2 dead whole (as in not squashed-run over) squirrels overlapping berm and road. I almost ran over the first one, but Hubby, who was riding in front of me, gave me a heads up. Still, my reaction was quite slow and I almost, almost ran the soft fresh body of it over, right down its mammalian middle. I swerved slightly to the left and I think I clipped its little toenails.

This has been a banner year for road-kill squirrels. Every year it seems there are more than the last. When squirrels startle, you will note, they take to an erratic pattern because if another animal were giving chase, this would [theoretically] foil the predator into exhaustion from running in a zig-zag. Or did I just make that up? I don’t get it though. How does the prey not tire more quickly as well? I guess they run up trees faster than something large and large. And big and large.

Then there is the curve of pursuit, a diagram of which my kids had to draw into their Main Lesson books in 6th Grade when they were at their Waldorf school. I like the play on words pursuit of curves and I think about poeming that. Pursuit of curves, pursuit of curves….

Nancy Upton

I do not understand the curve of pursuit, as you might have guessed, considering my small brain capacity (probably like an Eastern gray squirrel’s) in spite of my appropriately curvy hip-to-waist ratio.

You can make all sorts of patterns out of pursuit curves. This is the humble triangle. When you are older, you might be ready for a pentagram. But not this day!

The very horrifying road kill of the day, to which I refer in the title of this post, had to do with gasp! several smashed red velvet cupcakes. So beautiful, so huge, so red, so smooshed flat inside of their frilly cupcake cups. They smelled good, too, a whiff of sugary love as I rode past, careful not to re-run them over as with the squirrel. I saw at least 4, a whole fancy-dinner-ful of them. What do you suppose the people did for dessert without their cupcakes? Now, my dear pets, you should look away if you are faint of heart, for here I post a photo of a smashed red velvet cupcake:

I myself have only tasted red velvet cupcakes twice. I am not a fan of cupcakes except for the ones Annie made for her 14th Birthday party last month. OH MY those were fine. Vanilla with vanilla buttercream. Out of this world!

We do take cupcakes quite seriously around here due to the aforementioned offspring’s passion for cupcake baking. Though that post featured some flower cupcakes, look at these:

They are meant to mimic lo mein or fried rice or something Chinese take-out-y. They did not taste too good, if I recall correctly. All of those toppings were made with candy, what kind I don’t remember, but gross stuff that no adults would ever normally eat. You can see the Rice Krispies, too. A clever design, I must admit.

When I was searching for an image of a gray squirrel, I found a stupid video of a squirrel and a penguin playing Dueling Banjos and it reminded me of a post a couple years back that Erin O’Brien did about that very song and the men in the movie Deliverance.

Without further ado (boy did this post end up in a different place than I had imagined it would!)

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Happy Mother’s Day to all women, even those of you who aren’t mothers. It is the way it is. For all of us.

How did my Mother’s Day begin?

At 3 am, I was waked to the sound of retching, cat retching. The cat had puked on the down quilt under which I slumbered. The dear.

This was a perfect reminder of what mothers do most of the other 364 days (and nights) of our lives.

So I did what mothers have always done, cleaned up puke. Did laundry. Felt my hungry, grumbling stomach. Yes, this is the reason motherhood makes you fat. When you wake in the middle of the night to the delightful sounds and smells of poop or puke or pee or crying (all of these belonging to someone else), you find after your arduous tasks that you are hungry. So you eat breakfast. In four hours, when you wake again, you will be hungry for your real breakfast and you will eat again. You will be tired. You will drink coffee, you will crave energy in the form of sugar and fat because you are sleep-deprived; you will eat some more. Love the fat. As Susun Weed says pack your bags for the long journey.

Yesterday, I had the honor of going on a nice bike ride with 2 of my gal pals. What did I learn anew? That every ride is a good ride. Yes, it goes hand-in-hand with there are no perfect conditions (though yesterday’s weather and lack of traffic means it came pretty close).

I was finally able to prevent my mid-traps from becoming excessively painful; they were only tight. I also had more of what I needed all around, cheer, stamina, upright torso, free neck, widening chest, freeing away to the knees, knees forward, tight in on my climbs, lots of good breath. But I was slightly dehydrated and still lacking protein because I got a headache and my legs shook once. Must eat eggs more often. Eggs=mothers. See how this all fits together?

I also had my first exposure to obtaining a biker’s tan. I have mixed feelings about it. Still, I am sure we all got a buttload of Vitamin D under the perfectly clear skies.

I realized yesterday that I am becoming much less of a biking bitch; I am slowly evolving into a BIKING CITIZEN. It’s hard to give up these well-earned parts of myself (it’s been about a month). I’m not convinced that I won’t need my bitchy in the near future, so I’m not swearing off of it yet.

Next tasks include harder faster longer and more hills. But I’m not attached. I’m easy, zen, cool, a unified whole, a non-end-gaining, non-doing-when-possible, bike chick; open to possibilities.

Here is what I posted last year for the Music Monday after Mother’s Day. It is the best lyric for women that I know.

Now I am going to paint my slutty toenails with a slutty color for Mother’s Day because I can. Fuck the debates and the cover of Time magazine. Own it, whatever it is, ladies. It’s our day, all 365 of them, year in and year out.

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I had my inaugural ride with the Elf Hill Bike Chicks on Thursday, only it was just 2 of us. 19 miles, flattish terrain. My fearless and patient leader, Sue, gave me some great tips, things that if I learned back in my 20s, I had mostly forgotten. I put some of these tricks to good use on my 45-minute ride this afternoon.

Today’s greatest lesson, one that has not yet embedded itself in my neural pathways: DO NOT OPEN YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU RIDE! Not to smile at other cyclists, not at the cheery sound of the red-winged blackbird who trills as you pass by; not because you think you are getting ever more tiny wrinkles at the juncture of your upper lip and philtrum when you wince and pucker your mouth shut. NO NO NO, you must zip it (I will be experimenting with ways to keep my lips relaxed in the process).

The little insect that made its way into your mouth and did not exit with your saliva projectile* and proceeded to grapple itself onto the right side of your tongue, with its minute grappling hooks, does not want to be inside your mouth any more than you want it there. I had to pull the little bugger off with my fingers. It was disturbing.

on its website, this image was listed as public domain; how wonderful is that?

I felt much happier on my ride today, so even though this is only the 2nd post in the series, I didn’t feel compelled to post someone giving the finger. The photo I chose, though perhaps less crass, is more unsettling, don’t you think?

*must master better spitting technique. never accomplished this in my 20s. Too girly? Not likely, because when I was a smoker, I did gain a proud habit of spitting. I CAN DO THIS! But I hate the word hocker. EWW!

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Yes, bike ‘n’ bitch was embedded in a previous post, but as I make my way back into the world of cycling, I feel the need to give an update on my progress. You know, for me. So I know. So I know I’m doing this and taking it seriously, in spite of my years away, in spite of my age, in spite of of of of.

When I do yoga, I am full of fierce power and strength and flexibility and balance and inner peace and spiritual connection to the void and the expanse, with nothing to prove to anyone; but with biking, it is obvious that a very aggressive part of me is looking for expression. I’m not a biking slut. I am not a biking whore. I am a biking bitch. I know that sounds silly. I hate blogs by women who call themselves bitches. I hate the overuse of the word biatch. This is all part of the reason, not yet fully understood by me, for my need to be a bitch around the issue of bicycling. At least for this moment.

Today’s ride:

yes yes yes

today’s potholes and frequent lack of shoulder reminded me of the Julian Cope song No Hard Shoulder to Cry On, an excellent pun and particularly apropos considering that I spent much of last Saturday’s ride bitching and crying; also coming home to a house sans Hubby

today I was much more comfortable in the incredible wind coming off of the Hadley fields. I felt stronger and less afraid when it pushed me sideways along with it. Yes, fuck you, wind, you didn’t knock me over last week and you won’t today, ha ha!

what else? I am gaining confidence at intersections and on banking my turns without slowing myself down.

next challenge: to keep my shoulders relaxed enough that my mid-traps aren’t burning like the fires of hell mid-way through a short ride. Fuckin’ A!

Until further notice, I have also decided that I will feature someone giving the finger in each bike ‘n’ bitch post. This is probably the most famous one around and coincides quite nicely with the recent Johnny Cash fest in my car

P.S. I will not tell you a. whether I was tempted to flip someone off today while riding or b. whether I actually did flip someone off. Some things a gal needs to keep private until she is able to overcome the tendency to make manifest her inner bitch.

Yours truly, the bike ‘n’ bitch, twinklysparkles

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My wireless mouse is possessed (or maybe it just needs new batteries)

One of our credit cards is cursed by Satan (but they all are, really. who am I kidding?)

A friend told me once that poker is a man’s game, women can’t play it. He was a poet, but apparently not in his assessment of poker and gender. Then again, I can’t play poker.

Last night, I had no singing voice to speak of (that’s funny, don’t you think?)

maybe all of the batteries are tied up in vibrators

but probably not. and vibrators don’t really get tied up, not in the literal sense

Do electric razors work well? That’s all I remember my father ever using. He also shaved with powder. Is that unusual?

I still have a tin container of Pepsodent tooth powder. I loved the taste of Pepsodent when I was a kid. It tasted like Beeman’s gum.

I remember something on the Beeman’s package when I was a kid, something about it aiding digestion. Does anyone else remember this?

This is not a quiz.

OH OH OH I was going to announce something, but now I forget

I had a roommate in college who referred to orgasms as THE BIG “O”

I know that’s common parlance, but I never took to the phrase

editing my poems is hard

sometimes things that are hard are good and I suppose I can admit that editing is hard in a good way

I have never seen a movie with Mae West or WC Fields in it. Do you think in 60 years anyone will have?

I used to like this quote by Mae West: my right leg is Christmas, my left leg is New Year’s, why don’t you come up between the holidays and see me some time?

Not everything is about sex.

I got kind of excited when I clicked on the image for the google doodle yesterday, the one with the zipper. What did I think was gonna be under there anyway? What is wrong with me?

I flipped off somebody while I was riding my bike the other day. The driver hadn’t moved over on one of our cruddy Amherst-has-some-of-the-highest-taxes-in-Western-Mass roads which features abundant potholes and no shoulder and that was probably scarier than flipping him off. But I was crying and shaking anyway. I wonder when the last time before that was that I flipped someone off (besides joking)

I’ve had a rough week in some ways, in other ways not. I know I’m privileged, so it’s not that. Ups and downs, highs and lows, peaks and valleys, life and death

One of my favorite movies (in the top 125 maybe?) is called The Opposite of Sex, but I don’t think too many folks saw it. It’s not Herzog or anything, but it’s really good. It starred Christina Ricci when she was still zaftig and strange. The flick gets twinkly bonus points because it features a birth without a lot of bullshit medical crap. Like the Sean Penn movie Indian Runner. That one even shows the baby’s head crowning; it is a true, non-medicalized homebirth. Good stuff and you get to see Viggo Mortensen naked. He does not look very tall. He looks like he’s about 5′ 8″, but I don’t really know. When Viggo Mortensen is running around naked, you don’t really care about height any more.

Did you see Grizzly Man? You should. It was great.

The only card game I was ever good at was euchre. In high school and college. I have always thought that this means I am only good at a simpleton’s game.

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