Posts
This Momentary Marriage
16 years ago
Monday, June 30, 2008
Short Again
I guess I should also add that I but my hair off last Thursday. I've been debating back and forth for a long time, changing my resolve every month or so. Finally, the decision felt made for me. The room I'm staying in right now is above the garage, and gets amazingly warm. It was too hot to sleep the other night, even with the fans on me, so I jumped in the shower really quickly just to get wet. I put my hair up in a bun right afterwards, which resulted in an instant headache from the weight (we're talking a couple of pounds here). I decided then and there that the hair was going. I took off over 12 inches, but I'm happy. It's off my back, and now I'll be able to just throw on my motorcycle helmet and go--no more worrying about braiding or suffering the consequences.
License to Ride
I successfully completed a 14 motorcycle course this weekend. It was wonderful. We spent four hours in a classroom on Friday night, followed by five hours on bikes both Saturday and Sunday. The instructors were wonderful, and I can honestly say that I will feel so much better on my own bike after this. If anyone ever considers getting a motorcycle--take the safety course. They provide the bikes, and can teach you even if you've never sat on a motorcycle before in your life. The class was only ten people, and they started with the absolute basics, then worked up to more difficult skills. Aside from a ridiculous sunglasses-shaped sunburn that I now have, it was a great weekend.
As a sidenote, the helmets that my dad and I bought online ended up being back-ordered, so we had to borrow helmets. I'll have to include a picture of my "gremlin" helmet.
As a sidenote, the helmets that my dad and I bought online ended up being back-ordered, so we had to borrow helmets. I'll have to include a picture of my "gremlin" helmet.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Committment
Today I donned my new biking shoes for the second time, locked them in to my new clips, and rode down to meet my dad at the end of his work day. As soon as the weather gets nice, my father puts away his truck keys and gets out his bike. So, when gumption strikes me, I pedal down there to meet him and we ride home together.
The trip down is rather exhilarating on the whole. It starts off ordinarily enough; I leave the driveway and roll down the dirt road to the main thoroughfare--the Gunflint Trail, which is a 50 mile road that dead-ends at a Canadian Lake. Then I take a right and head down a short stretch to the big curve that veers left. From there, it's a short upward pedal to the top of a small rise. Once I crest that rise, the pedaling is done for about the next 5 minutes. As soon as I edge over that small summit, it is two miles of winding and curving down the side of a very old mountain ridge.
The ride down is amazingly beautiful. On the right, the ridge climbs higher as I speed downward, its slope covered in green aspen leaves that quake in the wind. On the left I can see the lake, and the endless sky stretching above it. I love Lake Superior. It is so vast that you can't see the other side, and some days, the water and the sky are the same color so that you really cannot tell where one ends and the other begins. The lake is beautiful and terrible, enchanting and haunting all at the same time. It reminds me of God. The water is peaceful and comforting, and so necessary to life. But it is also untamable, and not to be taken for granted. No matter how man tries, he will ultimately find that he is at the mercy of the lake, and not the other way around. When I look out over that lake, I am reminded of how truly small I am.
As the ridge seams with town, I take a sharp right and head away from the lake a bit. Another ten minutes and I've reached the US Forest Service building. I chit chat with the ladies at the front desk--they're eager to catch up on my life--and finally stroll back to my dad's office. He's not expecting me, and that makes the ride home all the nicer. He finishes up his work, and in another 15 or 20 minutes, we head back out the door.
The first few minutes of the ride are flat enough, but as we begin our ascent, I am thankful for the quick puffs I took from my dad's inhaler before we left the office. We zig-zag our way through town, riding one block up, then two blocks right, another two blocks up, then another right... until finally we intersect the Gunflint Trail again. It is now that the real battle begins. It is now, as we tackle the first and steepest part of the climb, that I am made painfully aware of how out-of-shape I really am. My lungs start to burn as they begin their rhythmic heaving; my legs commence their protesting as I rise up into the standing position to get more power. Only a little further... Only a little further...
Finally, we are over the first big hurdle, and I sit back down, thankful for the bit of rest. We take a sharp left into the big bend that ultimately curves back around to the right, and I settle in for the long journey home. It is a slow and arduous trip, but as I pedal on with my head down, I remind myself that tomorrow it will be just a little bit easier. And in another 45 or so minutes I will stand, jelly-legged but triumphant, in my driveway. And I will have conquered the mountain once again.
The trip down is rather exhilarating on the whole. It starts off ordinarily enough; I leave the driveway and roll down the dirt road to the main thoroughfare--the Gunflint Trail, which is a 50 mile road that dead-ends at a Canadian Lake. Then I take a right and head down a short stretch to the big curve that veers left. From there, it's a short upward pedal to the top of a small rise. Once I crest that rise, the pedaling is done for about the next 5 minutes. As soon as I edge over that small summit, it is two miles of winding and curving down the side of a very old mountain ridge.
The ride down is amazingly beautiful. On the right, the ridge climbs higher as I speed downward, its slope covered in green aspen leaves that quake in the wind. On the left I can see the lake, and the endless sky stretching above it. I love Lake Superior. It is so vast that you can't see the other side, and some days, the water and the sky are the same color so that you really cannot tell where one ends and the other begins. The lake is beautiful and terrible, enchanting and haunting all at the same time. It reminds me of God. The water is peaceful and comforting, and so necessary to life. But it is also untamable, and not to be taken for granted. No matter how man tries, he will ultimately find that he is at the mercy of the lake, and not the other way around. When I look out over that lake, I am reminded of how truly small I am.
As the ridge seams with town, I take a sharp right and head away from the lake a bit. Another ten minutes and I've reached the US Forest Service building. I chit chat with the ladies at the front desk--they're eager to catch up on my life--and finally stroll back to my dad's office. He's not expecting me, and that makes the ride home all the nicer. He finishes up his work, and in another 15 or 20 minutes, we head back out the door.
The first few minutes of the ride are flat enough, but as we begin our ascent, I am thankful for the quick puffs I took from my dad's inhaler before we left the office. We zig-zag our way through town, riding one block up, then two blocks right, another two blocks up, then another right... until finally we intersect the Gunflint Trail again. It is now that the real battle begins. It is now, as we tackle the first and steepest part of the climb, that I am made painfully aware of how out-of-shape I really am. My lungs start to burn as they begin their rhythmic heaving; my legs commence their protesting as I rise up into the standing position to get more power. Only a little further... Only a little further...
Finally, we are over the first big hurdle, and I sit back down, thankful for the bit of rest. We take a sharp left into the big bend that ultimately curves back around to the right, and I settle in for the long journey home. It is a slow and arduous trip, but as I pedal on with my head down, I remind myself that tomorrow it will be just a little bit easier. And in another 45 or so minutes I will stand, jelly-legged but triumphant, in my driveway. And I will have conquered the mountain once again.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Volunteer Violas
These grow between the paver blocks in the sidewalk out front. They used to be just purple, but last year I introduced some different colors and cross-bred them. Now we have orange, yellow, light purple, and white as well. I like them a lot.
Starting Somewhere
I haven't yet decided exactly how much I will write here. I'm not sure I trust myself to keep from creating another freshman year xanga--posts with hidden messages, just hoping the right person will read it and pick up on what I'm trying to say. But I would like to share my pictures, and when I get to Japan, I think this will be my primary means of communication with the people I'd like to update but who I just don't have time to send personal emails to.
The weather here has finally cleared up, which means several things. One, we have internet again (we have to have a clear sky). Two, I can finally go take some pictures I've been wanting to capture. And three, I can finally try out my new bike shoes and clips. I'll be spending quite a lot of time with my dog, so I think he and I will have to go on an adventure today.
So, here's post number one.
The weather here has finally cleared up, which means several things. One, we have internet again (we have to have a clear sky). Two, I can finally go take some pictures I've been wanting to capture. And three, I can finally try out my new bike shoes and clips. I'll be spending quite a lot of time with my dog, so I think he and I will have to go on an adventure today.
So, here's post number one.
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