i like to walk at lunch with my ipod listening to podcasts then head to Andronicos -- Astronomicals -- grocery store for a little grocery grazing.

first up, to the right of the entrance is the bakery section which always has a couple of good offerings. i like to start off with a couple of chunks of olive bread, or walnut raisin, depending on what they're offering. then i head around the corner to the cookie section and their plate of cookie samples. i like the peanut butter cookies best.

in the produce section, i try some cherries, a nectarine slice. i pass on the cantaloupe. most unappealing. and i always use the toothpicks, though sometimes i spin them around and go for a second helping. is that wrong, i wonder?

sometimes i get looks.


next up, the deli section and a quick scan for their sammy samples. these are a little disappointing. i think the deli staff could be a tad more creative, perhaps egg salad one day, maybe a little salami -- enough with the eggplant pesto! and why must they announce these samples over the intercom bringing the hungry herds. i can find them without a public announcement, why can't they?

survival of the fittest, i say.

i nab a cornichon from the olive bar. sometimes two. but not often. the deli staff are protective of the olive bar, i notice. or maybe they are just staring into space between turkey sandwich making.

then there's the old ladies offering up samples of risotto, or tiny crackers with never enough humus on them, or hot wiener slices. cooking them right there all hot and straight out of the toaster oven. but the problem with the old ladies is that you have to act like you're interested in buying what they're offering which is a bit of an appetite killer. still if it's worth it, I give them the old i'm considering it up and down head nod while i chew and swallow and then make my way to the bulk bins.

so today after grazing while listening to my podcast which i tend to forget is playing so there's just this chatter going on in my head beside the normal chatter, i thought maybe i outta buy something, maybe veggies for dinner since if we go out and fine-dine one more time this week i'm going to be down to about $4.35 in my bank account.

we had salad last night so i thought gotta try something new. mix it up a little for the wife. so i search the magazine section for a good foody rag for a recipe. i found one of several closed check stands next to a long line of customers and layed down the magazine and had me a look. i flipped pages looking for something good. it was a little uncomfortable having to lean like that and the bag boys kept banging me with their carts. i thought a seat someplace would be nice -- you know to sit and have a really good read but they don't have chairs much in grocery stores. perhaps something i'll bring this up with the management.

anyhow, i looked through all the pages and found a good picture of asparagus and mushrooms. i considered -- i said considered -- tearing out the page, but then memorized the recipe instead.

i rounded up the veggies. Andronicos likes to misalign their price labels. somehow the price of regular old crummy white mushrooms ends up under the portabello basket. oops! so you have to beware. they're out to get you, i swear. or so the voices in my head say so. finally, i took my purchases to the register.

for a bag of asparagus, a handful of mushrooms and a can of tomato puree, they want $10.10.

a voice in my head said, screw that.

until lunch tomorrow, anyways.

testing, testing

this is a new post.

while the presenter and the organizer and the guy from the front row
fiddle with the projector,
a big woman in a small metal chair
by the exit
holds a slice of pizza
it hangs limp and sweaty
like a tired dog's tongue

the black olive
lodged on her chest
rides the wave of her contented
exhalations
i am pretty certain
she'll be the first to bolt
once the pizza's eaten.

and i
i am putting on my best show
of interest
loading up my paper pad balanced on my knees
with chunks of wisdom, sage cutlets
of technological insight
but the fan above is unimpressed,
it will not clap
just whirs,
shuffling the air, knocking
listless flies off course

i wish these chairs would screech
but they just emit a dull low rumble
and the beige carpet only sighs
when it's trodden on

i think of all that i have not done
and will never do
the hours wasted, the days torn
like the calendar beside the light switch
june ripped in half

as i
place big black bullets
beside a list of next month's
topics

the sun strolls in late
slides down the wall
and collapses
by the garbage can.

we had a lovely party at the track -- thank you!


and here's hoping Rick heals up quickly.






picture courtesy of linda's iphone and the MOMA.

i think i want to live up in nevada city.

the riding is fabulous, the temperature divine (at least last weekend)
and the swimming holes are spectacular.


the mocha fudge ice cream cone dipped in chocolate wasn't half bad either.


(pic by bunny)

there is no putty for this,
no nudge to change the shape of life.
there is only steel, hard iron
and grit to seal the hole.

but i've loved our days,
fruit falling at our feet,
poppies orange as the sun
to devour at our ease

we have been as light as cotton candy
as heavy as rum
walking in the sun with only our thoughts
skipping around us like children, peeking
through the cracks
to the ocean below

sand is hot and the ocean roars
stay, play, time is short
but the barker calls,
step up! step up!
and freedom is lost
in a ticket's ride.
oh but i've loved our days.

linda says she's putting all my annoyances in her mental garbage can. it's a trick our favorite therapist, Eike, taught her.

she thinks i don't listen, i don't pay attention.

that i don't wear my thinking cap enough.

on our ride last night in the beautiful balmy evening warmth as we were sailing down tunnel i said to linda, "i thought we were going to ride to Grizzly?"

she shouted, "it's filling up!"

"where's the cap?" she asks. "always, always wear the cap."

reminds me of my conversation with a certain sanchez. we were discussing our habit of losing things, getting lost, etc that happens with a frequency that we're used to but others are not.

"i make mental notes," she said. "but i lose them."

i do too. i try not to. i think put the note there. remember the note is there. and while i'm thinking hard about where the note is, i lose my keys.

my mental notes read: the cell phone is under the bed, check you turned on the burner under the kettle, not the empty saucepan, if you leave that wheel behind the back of the truck like that, you're gonna drive over it.


"why's that woman waving at us?" i asked linda as we were backing out of the parking lot after watching a crit a few weeks ago. "she's awfully friendly."

cccrrunch!

"it's filling up!" -- linda and her garbage can. starting to wear on my nerves.

she says i'm not normal. and how does one defend one's normalcy? shouting, "i am normal!" just sounds crazy.

but what's normal? is linda's habit of saving every box, packaging container, plastic baggie normal? i don't think so.

"we might need it," she says of the box from her Giro helmet purchased in 1990 that i found stuffed in the back of the closet.

"for what?" i ask.

"for something," she says and takes the box and puts it back in the closet.

Normal?

i got dressed quickly this morning. i pulled on my fabulous orange pants that have traveled up and down the central valley and a white polo shirt with a Tour de France emblem. kinda dorky but the shirt is comfortable and, i think, goes with the orange pants.

i was walking to work, trying not to drive the one mile, wearing the back-pack that linda gave to me, when i caught a glance of myself in a window.

the back pack is from our trip to France. Big old Tour de France logo on it matching my shirt.

some kid seeing me might think who is this crazy old Tour de France lady?

but it was an accident, the TdF overload. a freakin accident. these things happen, we don't plan them. yeah from a distance they might look a little looney, but they are accidents!

"hey kid, it was just an accident!"

and that's my point: accidents happen. mental notes get lost. bike wheels get run over.

too much Tour de France shit gets worn.

we always go to sattley a day early and do our prep out on the course.

cows stared at us while we fidgeted with our tt bars. i have a new giro tt-helmet and i tried that on. we did our efforts. we stopped fifteen million times to tip our tt bars a little up, a little down.

it makes no difference. we are so not aero. but we try. we really do. still it's so nice out there.

i really love sattley. the blue skies, the green, green fields, the brown barns about to topple, the quiet, the wind.

last year we stayed in loyalton.

"the most depressing place on earth," linda likes to say of loyalton. we ordered a margarita the color of engine coolant at the loyalton inn last year. i remember the bartender patting the outside of the jug before making our drink. "sorry, a little warm," he said. and i remember the restaurant menu splattered with spaghetti sauce finger prints like a crime scene.

so this year we booked a room overlooking a river 15 miles up 49 from sattley in sierra city.

we got a beer and a glass of wine and sat out listening to the river. "i like this place," linda said several times, which made me happy. i liked it too. i especially liked leaving the glass door to our deck open at night until i began thinking about carey staynor who killed those three women on vacation a few years back.

so i was torn. i really liked listening to the sound of the river. but i was also rather fond of having my head attached to my body.i mentioned to linda that i'd seen a guy with a scraggly beard carrying a paper sack about the size of an ax enter the room next door to ours.

"i think you ought to shut the window now," linda said.

to take my mind off the ax murderer i tried to think positive thoughts about racing the tt the next day. i saw myself aero and fast. i broke the course down into segments.

once you get to the forested section, you'll be at mile four, only twenty miles to go. once you get to the slight rise after that, you'll be at eight miles. only sixteen more miles to go...

i went back to thinking about the murderer. more pleasant.

we survived the night and woke up with our heads intact. we ate breakfast at a cafe up the road.

"you all going on a hike?" the waitress asked.
"no there's a race in sattley."
"oh, how long?" she asked
"twenty-four miles,"
"oh, not so bad, then," she smiled.

and then we headed out onto the winding road, fifteen miles to sattley. it was lovely and calm and i thought how i might like to just have linda pull over and let me off with my bike so i could go for a nice ride instead of doing the tt when something caught my eye.

a lone Sidi shoe lying off the side of the road in the gravel.

"look someone's shoe," I said.
"oh wow. we should get it, it might belong to someone," linda said and pulled over.

i trotted down the road and i picked it up. i examined it. it looked strangely familiar -- my size, my color, speed play cleats.


"you know this shoe looks just like mine," i said once i got back in the car.
"check the back seat," linda said.

sure enough this was my shoe. i must have left it on the back ledge of the truck and it had flown off yesterday and had spent the night alone on the side of the road. and the other was missing.

oops. my bad.

so while linda estimated the shoe size of every possible NorCal Nevada District Time Trial 2008 entrant, I was pleasantly thinking -- whoohoo, no time trial for me!

when we got to the course, however, Marsha Kirschbaum had my other shoe. she'd found it lying out on the course where we'd warmed up. and when linda checked her iphone once we got into range there were several messages, all with the same urgent theme from Nancy:

we have your shoe. don't worry. we've found your shoe. call us. we have your shoe.

so, in case anyone was wondering -- it is possible to out laura laura.

a pic from last friday's hoedown at hellyer.
linda's familiar riding behind peter bohl's moto.

she says she likes to bump the rollers once or twice -- just to feel it, so it don't scare ya.

Ken Conley (http://kwc.org/cycling/)

Insanity has company, they are called teammates and they all show up to race Kern.

Lilly is so right.

i love my insane teammates. our 35+ group just keeps getting better and better. we will be back again next year. did i just write that? the other teams will see us and know they have their work cut out for themselves. if they were smart they would copy our style. they'd start getting sillier and insaner and funner and winninger -- like us.

we slayed the kern beast...no, i don't like that metaphor. bellas don't kill animals. what do bellas do? we tame the beast. we make the beast purr and roll over and then we put pretty shiny flair around its furry neck and say, can i get you a beer?

but it takes a team to soften up the beast and we each played our part.

we all let the beast roar and howl at the TT -- whatever beast. do your bad beasty thing. we'll see you in a bit.

lilly faced down the beast at Walker Basin. she attacked and attacked. chased after time bonuses which would help her and take away from the other teams. the pack was closing in after lilly and i moved over to andrea to suggest she might get ready for a counter attack.

"Andrea," I began...
"Yup," she said. and off she went.

oh we are so good.

and there was linda with the water bottle to cool riders down. getting up to the front on the hill sprint to help me get back on. shutting it down when we realized we weren't all there. and then in the last lap linda, sabine, and Andrea moved up the side as we approached the 1K mark. the field strung out and we had it.

the hill climb was key. last year we didn't know the course so we rode at the other teams' pace. but this year we knew we had to go from the gun if we were going to make the time we were down from the TT.

and so sue and I went. we looked back and the beast was chasing. we rotated taking pulls. and soon the beast was nowhere in sight. silly beast you have to be fast to catch us.

and you're so gonna look cute in flair.

on to Woody. we had a 34 second gap between first and 2nd. and a 1.43 (?) gap to third. our main objective was to hold the 34 seconds and secondarily to move Sue into second. the course this year suited us very well. since it started on the rollers followed by the steep downhill and then more flattish rollers. we kept watch on the Protech TT'ers and any moves by the Kalyra gals who had nothing to lose by going out and trying to get away on the descent and rollers -- which they tried! But no luck. And having the teammies there calmed me immensely because i always fear that section as i'm no tt'er and if the other teams worked together they might just possibly get away taking Janet with them and our 34 second lead.

Purrrr...pretty, pretty beast, pretty baby.

Linda and Andrea patrolled the descent and then on the rollers Sabine and linda set pace in the wind going up the hills. Linda worked so hard. resting and recovering. And sabine gave 110 % coming back for more and more...and more. Sue and I sat in. We knew our part was coming. I kept seeing Maryanne and Janet whispering and it made me edgy. But then I would see Sue with her game face on and I felt better and I just had to remember how we'd drilled it on the hill climb. And i couldn't help but notice that Janet was in a big, big gear and i wondered if she would be fresh for that steep finish.

and then linda and Andrea hit the rollers. Sue and I had discussed that we might go at this point and I really should have been ready for it, but when it happened it threw me into shock. I thought perhaps Linda and Andrea were going to be given a little freedom to fly, but Janet was going with everything. EVERYTHING. I waited for the initial acceleration to ease. but it kept going. Linda was like the energizer bunny. I wanted to shout "I'm getting dropped!" but of course I knew tactically this was like shoving raw meat under the beast.

so I did the only thing I could. "LINDA!" i shouted in that special loving married couple voice.

but then Andrea was going strong and Sue was jamming and Janet was covering EVERYTHING. aw jeeze.

And then we looked behind and Maryanne and the professor...i mean Sonia were coming up. Sue attacked. Janet covered. I attacked, Janet covered. So finally it was the five of us hitting the final hill. I marked Janet until the end though I was never certain if she was going to jump me create a gap and get the bonus finish points -- and possibly the overall GC.

But it was not to be. we had the beast feeding out of our hands. it rolled on its back. Lilly removed its beast's mask and we slung bella flair around its neck.

we will be back.

a magical weekend with the bellas and fellas.

"your shirt matches your mug," the kid at the coffee shop this morning noticed. she peered at the velo bella logo on my jacket as she pushed my velo bella coffee mug across the counter.

"it's a team," i said.

she nodded slowly, uninterestedly, probably imagining some lawn bowling team.

i bring toast to the coffee shop in the morning with a little bit of almond button on top. but i have to hide it because i feel bad for not buying their artery clogging scones and croissants. i take a bite out of my toast then wrap it back up in the paper towel and wait till it's clear before taking another bite. old lady behavior without a doubt. i'm not so fond of some of the counter help that work at this place. why is it so hard to smile? why is it so hard to say hello? i mean i'm pleasant when i come to the counter, or pleasant enough with my secret wad of toast tucked under my armpit.

the other morning someone mixed up the non-fat with the half and half jug. i knew something was terribly terribly wrong when my coffee turned a ugly grey color. coffee is like $1.70 a cup and is a big daily money drain so i was certainly not going to drink it. i went back to the gal with the evil blank stare and odd bleached hairdo. it was smashed flat to her head on the left side apparently from a deep, unmoving sleep on that side of her face and yet she'd clamped a hairpin over the flatness. i would have put the pin somewhere that might move, but anyhow.

i said "there's non-fat in the half and half." i pushed the grey liquid toward her. "see," i said. "i can't drink non-fat. i have to have half an --"

splat! she tipped it in the sink. "try the non-fat jug" she said. problem solved, except she never went over to the jugs to switch the evil non-fat with the half and half. and i was a little afraid of her and her hairstyle to suggest she might make the switch.

i sat down and unfolded my paper towel and took out my toast. it's very tasty. but it's sort of unsettling when i look at the almond butter jar that is almost empty to think i've eaten a whole jar of almond butter. so i crunched on my toast and all the while felt guilty for not warning others as they approached the jug section and tipped non-fat in their coffee. i was going to get up and warn the smoker guy who sits outside everyday and is friendly enough but then i recalled how he always spills sugar everywhere and never wipes it up.

so i sat there and watched him pour. watched him bring the the cup close to his eyes to examine it. yep, that there fouling up your coffee is non-fat messy smoker guy.

this is from the first Kern i ever did. I think it may already have been linda's fourth or fifth. this is from the randsburg stage. a very weird old cool ghost town in the middle of nowhere at the top of a long straight road up into the hills. we stayed in the cottage hotel. i recall that stage was miserably difficult with debbie allen pulling the two of us in the field through the wind until she'd had enough of us and rode off. then the other woman took off and i was alone in the mojave. just me and my drool thinking i will never do this race again. then linda appeared and we rode together. i was so freaking happy it was over. i remember seeing the finish line beneath my wheel and praising the almighty that it was done. seems it's always like that.

i received this photo in my inbox from linda.


now tell me, is this normal behavior?








now she wants me to push it down with this

i've been having crazy dreams lately. i'm in russia. i'm sitting on a hill in russia thinking, wow, russia, i want to wander the streets and go to deli's. i told this to linda in the morning. how i was so excited to wander the streets of russia and find deli's. she said russia wasn't like that. russia was falling apart, she said. no deli's. but this was my dream and there would be deli's. last night i had this dream that i was in this wonderful building, a rambling old rickety place. i was looking out the window to rolling green hills covered in mist. i like those kind of hills. and i thought, this is where i want to be. i could live here. it's small, but i like it. and then i noticed there were Bellas in the place. they were chatting and sitting at the table in this cozy room. someone came in with an armful of food supplies and put them in the refrigerator. i liked that too -- food in the refrigerator. it was comfort food. macaroni and cheese. pop-tarts. i wandered down the hallway thinking this is the place i want to be. it had a harry potter feel to it. tall ceilings of carved dark wood. dimly lit with candles. in another room there was a fireplace. it was a bit messy with crumbling bricks but the fire glowed and was warm. i could sit in this room all day, i thought. and then i noticed in the corner all by himself was a man reading. i didn't know who he was, but i didn't mind him there because he was obviously enjoying the place too. i went back to the kitchen with the views of the hills. i think i told someone how much i liked the place. and they said it's for Bellas only. it's a bella place.

i think this is the most fun i've had at madera ever. we got to do it all.
a little port tasting on friday.

chit-chatting on a pale blue blanket under almond trees on saturday.

a major, major clown sighting at dinner.

after-dinner port and chocolate (er, sorry about that lead) on a hotel comforter probably last cleaned in 1973.

searching for pigs on sunday and finding none.

getting locked out and looking for ex-cons to break in.

calling lilly's cell phone and getting the message that Laura is not available and hearing lilly say "that is because I am sitting right here."

finding infinite lilly logic in that.

i even got to do my bucking bronco interpretive dance upon the bike.

thank you Linda and Soni for instantly turning around to check on me and Pam Davis who I took out when my front wheel hit a pothole. Pam was very gracious and rode off (with one very firm butt cheek exposed) with linda and Soni but their races were over.

so sorry ladies.

other bellas raced on and did very, very well!

we went to L.A. this weekend and of course i left something behind. it seems i must lose one item a day. and that's a good day. i left behind the power supply for my work computer. i had no juice left in the machine and the computer store on campus wanted $75 for a new one.
no way jose! i'm getting linda's 96 year old stepmom, faye, off her easy chair and down to the post office tout suite.

she's 90 frickin six and still drives. she drove us to Baker's Square. she's got a pontiac or some such soul sister kind of car. it's in perfect condition except for the roof fabric that hangs in big bulging blisters above your head. there's not much room in the back seat with her walker and AARP mags. i read a very interesting article about michael j. fox during our drive to baker's square which we all fortunately survived considering she says she just aims between the yellow and white lines.

jeez, i hope she makes it to the post office okay.

we bought her dinner. fettucini something. looked okay to me. i wanted a sample but i feared faye might immobilize my hand with a fork if i poked at her plate like i did with linda's chinese chicken salad which was okay except she wanted crunchy chinese noodles and got rice. still it went well with the chilled cabernet and faye's foot abscess talk.

but i do like faye. she's got a good sense of humor and a great memory. but boy can she let 'em rip. not a little pufffft like my dear aunt margaret. no these are big nor'easter farts that blow from the bedroom, down the hallway and finally die out in the kitchen. the kind that woke me from my Jeopardy stupor on the couch.

earlier in the day faye told linda that she'd had a dream about her father. she saw him in the bowling alley, walking in with his bowling ball. and she started to cry in front of linda. we took her out to her favorite messican restaurant for a margarita and a wet burrito. we wanted a good top shelf and got a shot of grand marnier on the side which she didn't want and which we quickly drank. she didn't talk much through dinner and i felt maybe she was still a little sad.

"how's your dinner faye?"
"better than last night's."

she ate it all. we got ready to leave. i offered her a stack of napkins which she snapped up instantly. she stuffed them in her purse, then reached for the tortilla chips and lifted them by the wax paper and tipped them in her purse too. i just might love this lady.

i hope she sends my adapter soon.

we rounded up all the loose change in our place and exchanged it for bills. $120 smackers it was. linda poured it into a machine at the bank that does all the counting and sorting for FREE.

driving out of the bank parking lot, i was admiring the pretty blossoms drifting across the ground like a flurry of snowflakes, when i noticed something even prettier -- a twenty flapping in the wind.

get out! get it! i cried. look for more! look for more! i shouted. greed is not pretty.

i did an interval along a beautiful winding road and asked myself for twenty minutes why am i doing this? i thought it'd be much more fun just riding along admiring the beauty but the legs kept going do it! do it! intervals are not pretty. however, there is something i like about them. the finite pain. the sense of accomplishment.

the gnocchi with brown butter sauce and mushrooms as a reward.

i found linda further down the road with the iPhone -- when is she ever without that thing? she holds it inches from her nose at night, runs her fingertip up and down the screen. she reminds me of Tom Cruise in that movie where he moves screens back and forth in front of him like he's conducting. only it's just linda's one index finger that does all the moving. it moves very fast that little finger.

i'd like to drop it in the toilet. did I say that? why yes i did.

on we rode. we sprinted for county lines. we inhaled the scent of cut grass in the wind. she talked to me from two bike lengths ahead, as is her way. i can't hear you, I shouted but she didn't hear that either. she rambled on. farm trucks and Cadillacs roared past us.

life is so very pretty. aged manure, even if it's free, is not.

what a lovely surprise came in the mail today from Flandria!

cute little wrapped samples of her raw foods. tasty granola bars, kong cookies, a garlic pumpkin seed mix, crunchy crackers.

thank you!