Killer Hill

I like to think that I do my “Sturdy Girl” cycling gear proud most days. Sunday I fear I proved myself unworthy of the jersey I was wearing. I did a nice little 30-mile ride that was mostly flat with some rolling hills and one “training” hill at the end. It was described as something like, “one of the steepest climbs you’ll find in Oregon” and I think there were adjectives such as “grueling” and “challenging” thrown in there as well. Being a cocky Sierra Mountains import I thought the wee little Willamette Valley with its little hills and dales couldn’t possibly throw in my path anything I couldn’t handle.

First I missed a turn – a miss that ended up adding another 12 or so miles to my ride. Then I must have not read extended ride description carefully enough. I knew there was a killer climb coming out of the small town of Laurelwood, but I was certain that it started after I turned off Laurelwood Rd onto Bald Peak Mt. Rd. So the extraordinarily sharp ascent on Laurelwood Rd that popped up suddenly as I rounded a corner came as a bit of a surprise.

I hit it a bit too hard and by the first slight leveling (still ascent, just not the sheer kind) I had to stop and wheeze and pant and gasp and blow for a number of minutes while silently praying that my heart wasn’t going to explode. The road continued along in a series of sharp climbs with occasional semi-breaks where the climb was more moderate. I tried to go at a doable pace and took a number of huffing, puffing, heart grasping pauses, but there were times when I didn’t know if I was going to be able to make the next pedal rotation. Finally I reached a point where I was barely mashing the pedals down, my legs felt like there were going to rip apart, and I had started to teeter because I was going so slow. I rounded a corner hoping for some slight reduction in the grade before me but found myself looking at a very long, unyielding slope. That was when I stopped and started walking my bike. I had been on the brink of vomiting a number of times by this point.

I could barely even stand at that point and was feeling slightly desperate. My car was on the other side of this mountain so I either had to go over it or backtrack 20 or so miles. I knew I couldn’t make it up the road in front of me but didn’t know if there was a more level spot where I could get back on the bike or if I would have to hike uphill pushing my bike for multiple miles. I considered hitch hiking.

In the end I pushed my bike for maybe 15 minutes before the road leveled (somewhat) and I was able to pause, regroup and remount. The remaining hill took me quite a while but was something in the realm of possible and in the end I made it up to the top of the mountain. The photo I took with my phone doesn't even come close to capturing the gorgeous day and how it reverberated throughout the valley. It was amazingly beautiful with panoramic views of the pastoral valleys and farmlands and waterways and mountains around. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t worth it.


Of note: After walking up hill – before getting back on the bike – I discovered mashed up road kill wedged in between my back break and rear tire. On the flats I had been thinking, “wow, it seems harder to ride than usual today.” I’d thought it was the wind or my just getting over being sick, or maybe my bike needed a tune-up. No, it was road kill acting like a perpetual break on my back wheel. It was thoroughly unrecognizable and I had to extract it with a thorny blackberry leaf. Not to fall back on this as a reason that I got my ass kicked by the mountain, but it definitely didn’t help.

Part of me wants to never ever have anything to do with that evil climb again. The more stubborn, competitive part of me wants to go back and kick its ass this time. I definitely need to do some training before I get to that point and it won’t happen until the memory of the unpleasantness had faded a little bit.

Long Time No Post

One might take my blogging silence for a failure to live up to my New Year’s resolution to write every day. And you would be more right than wrong – but not entirely right. I would, however, like to point out my wild success in living up to my other resolutions.

This Wayward Princess has been quite busy. After being in Portland for about a week I ended up with both my “real” job at Oregon Business Magazine (16 hours a week) and a temp job with a CPA’s office (29 hours a week.) Then there is also my commitment to doing the Chico Wildflower Century Ride April 22nd (a 100-mile bike ride) which takes me to the gym or on a road ride most days of the week. So I’m doing pretty well with those resolutions to get a job and do the century ride. Throw in the fact that I’m a vagrant, vagabond itinerant with no home of my own (I’ve been bouncing between house sitting gigs and staying with family) and it makes for a rather long, busy day with not much time for writing.

Most days I wake up at 5-something and leave for the gym around 6:15. I work from 8-12 at OBM, take an itty-bitty break and hop a bus to another part of time so I can work at the CPA’s from 1-7. I catch another bus at the end of that and get home around 7:30.

There isn’t really any time in my day to go the grocery store, do laundry, take care of bills or any of the other “must dos” in life let alone maintain the old blog. I am, however, writing occasionally. I get an official 15-minute break in the afternoons and try to write in my journal. Sometimes I have to return phone calls or deal with personal business, but even though I’ve not been writing daily I have been writing regularly. I’ve even been feeling the stirring of poetry inside me again. Spring time and challenging situations tend to do that to me. Take the current springing of spring and through in a serious lack of Christopher in my day to day and we’ve got the makings for all sorts of poetical stirrings.

It isn’t so bad though. It is more working hours than I really was looking for and the temp job is pretty mind numbing, but it pays well for a temp job, is only for five more weeks and keeps me busy so I don’t miss my Christopher too much. Or at least don’t have enough time to reflect on missing him. After nearly two years of not working much, sometimes not working at all, I think I can handle a few weeks of working too much. It helps to think of each hour I am working as being that much more that I can contribute to our slowly growing “house-fund” savings account. Almost makes the job exciting even.

And now for the totally random segment of our post:

There are these city workers downtown who are either security/police types or clean the streets, bus stops and other such public places. They are part of the “Safe & Clean” crew and have this title plastered all over their uniforms and just about every piece of equipment they have. One of the “Safe & Clean” fellows was washing the plexi-glass sides of a bus stop shelter and as he was doing a man with a dog walked by and the dog peed on the garbage bin that was serving as Mr. Safe & Clean’s container for his buckets, squeegees, sponges, cleaners, etc. I found the irony quite amusing.

I guess that is about all for now. Not very thrilling or exciting or informative, but hey, at least I posted so you don’t think I’ve slunk into the dark recesses of a sewer or anything. Oh, and here is a picture of me and my Christopher cooking at my brother's apartment the other weekend when he came up to Portland.