Nice Day For It!

An old screenprinting project. 

The Adjustment

I'm still truckin'! I'm already a full TWO WEEKS past the date of when I packed it in last year.


I've been riding in the snow, in the sleet in the sub-zero wind... it's been quite an adjustment, but I feel like maybe winter's already thrown everything at us that we usually get in the wintertime, and if I've come this far, I might as well go all the way.

But yeah. Man. What an adjustment.

It's because I was raised, riding in a car, driving everywhere we went. It's because the childhood stationwagon warmed up for fifteen minutes before anyone got into it. It's because, being cold means you're going to get sick. God forbid you get cold...

This is why riding my bike in the wintertime is such an adjustment. This is why it's such an adjustment for anyone. As a human being and being raised in a culture that values its comfort so much, riding a bike in the wintertime is downright unAmerican.

I'm getting used to the layers and have been trying out different variations of layers of gloves. I use the fleece Bike Winter balaclava on cold days, and the super-space-age balaclava on very cold days. I've been experimenting with different kinds of socks, and as it turns out, one good pair of thick wooly socks beats the pants offa three layers of cotton socks. Go figure.

I love, love, LOVE my thigh-high legwarmers. We found them last year at H&M, and I haven't been out there yet this year to see if they've come back, but they were $5 a pair. Ridiculously cheap and thick and knit and they're really helping me out.

And I've found that I like my arms to be a little cold, but I want my trunk to be very warm. I like my back and my shoulders and my chest to be all nice and toasty, but if I was bundled like that all over, I'd be way too warm. So I purposely dress so that my arms from wrist to shoulder catch just the slightest chill. I think it regulates my temperature well.

I've had a couple skids. Nothing that's put me on the ground or anything, but just a couple little slips, and then I catch myself and carry on. It's so important to stay calm when riding in slick conditions. When your brain knows the physics of the situation, but your reflex is to do something completely different... try to let go and let your brain.

Clothes for Cold Commuting

Yesterday, I had a 17mph headwind. The official temperature was 16 degrees outside, the windchill was 6, and I was riding headlong into that.

I was sleepy, grumpy and whining to David in the morning as we were both getting ready to ride off to work. He told me about the weather and I told him that I was sick and tired of the chilly NW winds in the morning. He told me that if they were coming from the other direction, then it would mean it's getting warmer... but in Chicago, during the first week in December, it's all downhill from here.

Here's What I Wore:

Over the knee cotton socks, two pairs

Fluffy, stretchy, microfiber crew socks (Three pairs of socks, total!)

Moon boots (My favorite pink ones!)

Cotton, capri-length, stretchy leggings

Long jeans tucked into boots

Knee length cotton/lycra skirt

Bra

Camisole top

Long sleeve ribbed shirt

Awesome orange knit wool hoodie (Very warm!)

Synthetic-fill puffy vest (Yellow for visibility!)

Ski gloves

Ski goggles

Scarf

Earwarmers

Fleece balaclava (courtesy of BikeWinter.org!)

Oh yeah, and underwear.

This sounds like a lot of stuff, but if I were to go out in this and stand around, I would get cold. Consider that my arms have only a layer of ribbed cotton shirt and knit wool hoodie. When it feels like 6 degrees out, I'd want to be wearing more. But when riding my bike, warming up, this is perfect.

Also, please note that I was wearing a skirt. I'm headed to work, and this is part of my work outfit. The jeans are not, the orange hoodie is not... a lot is not. But I was already wearing most of my work clothes.

What my work outfit was, was the boots, the socks, the leggings, the bra, the underwear, the camisole and an extra knit hoodie stashed in my bag, one I didn't sweat in and possibly stink all up. I keep a plain, black pair of mary janes under my desk for days that my outfit would clash with whatever boots I'm wearing.

I used to bring all new clothes. All new socks, separate pants; I would stash my skirt in my bag. I wouldn't really attempt to integrate my work clothes with my riding clothes at all, but I would curse the inconvenience of changing. I don't wear a special sport bra. I don't wear special riding pants. If I sweat, I'll dry off. If my deodorant is good, I won't stink. It's really not a big deal.

People think it has to be a huge production, with a shower and fresh underwear and all, but it really doesn't. And with this setup I've got going on, all I have to do when I get to work, is take off my gear, jeans, vest, fluffy socks, hoodie, long-sleeved shirt... and put on the fresh jacket. I can do all this in the coat room. I'm never once naked or "indecent."

You really just have to be creative, and remember that tights ARE layers, and your underwear WILL dry. Winter riding to work, and just riding to work in general, isn't half as icky as many people think. If you are dressed just right, snug as a bug in subzero weather, the bulletproof feeling is exhilarating and well worth the effort.

Scared Straight

First, I just want to say, are they seriously paying over 3 dollars a gallon for gasoline? My god, really? 


I just drove more this past week than I have in months, back and forth to the suburbs for one reason or another and I have learned that people around here are paying upwards from 3 dollars a gallon, in the cheap areas, for gas.


Yes, sometimes there's the need for a good, reliable motor vehicle. I recognize this, but there's a thin line between responsible use and abuse. And when it gets to be that gas is costing that much, there's the question about who's abusing who.


When you're lost in the haze of an addiction, whatever it is, there isn't much anyone can say to you to get you past your perceived need. Whatever it happens to be, it has a hold on you. It has convinced you that there is no way you could function day to day without it. 


My mother, who lives almost a thousand miles away, went to the hospital earlier this week because she took some cold medicine (no, not the speedy kind) and her heart rate spiked to 170 BPM. They kept her for almost two days. I beg my mother to take better care of herself, but her dysfunctional relationships with food and exercise have been a lifelong battle. A hurdle like that is hard to get over. She gets stress fractures from every day activities. She has high blood pressure and is borderline diabetic. If I was as unhappy a person as she is, I would get panic attacks, too. 


So, I called my mother in the hospital and we spoke, and she told me that I'd better call my father, because he'd been in the hospital that (first) day too. Also, his heart.  


It's almost storybook. 


So I drove out the next day to visit him. My father, I'm convinced, has a death wish. They wanted to keep him for observation, but he left because he has a dog to feed. I used to beg him to take care of himself, but he has proven over and over that he's just not willing to try. A couple simple changes in his lifestyle and so much could turn right around. 


But he doesn't. And he won't take the medications to make him better. And he won't make the changes that will improve the quality of his life. He just doesn't want to. 


I'm not posting this here to cry about it (that's what LiveJournal is for), but the point I'm trying to make is, this is what happens. Both of my parents are obese to the point that they would hurt themselves if they tried to exercise. That's gotta be a pretty scary corner to paint oneself into. 


I have to say here that it's been a pretty depressing few days, but it's also been inspiring. For a long time now, watching my parents deteriorate has been morbidly inspiring. Watching my mother go on one crash diet after another, watching the scale, beating herself up, making a career out of sitting on her ass, collecting diagnoses which are mainly attributed to her obesity, has been inspiring. Watching my father, sitting in his recliner, watching cable TV, eating ice cream, cookies, potato chips and stocking up on 2-liters of sugary sodas, has been inspiring. 


I really wish that they wouldn't go out that way, but I know that I won't. I want to be a spunky, energetic 50-70 year old. I want to be a spunky, energetic 90 year old. 


I am so grateful that I have found joy in riding a bicycle. That I have escaped the hereditary and societal addictions to cars, television and the general notion that one must eventually settle down and become sedentary. I am so proud to be a bicycle commuter. I am proud of my life that keeps me up and running. I'm more glad than frustrated that sometimes I find it difficult to relax and be alone. I'm out riding my bike to work. I'm out riding my bike with people I love. I'm riding my bike, miles away, in order to meet people to go on bike rides. I'm eating more fruit and nuts and home-cooked meals than I used to over half my life ago when I was a child and my family was whole. I'm worried when I get fast-food pangs, and I'm conscious of my meat consumption. 


I don't look down my nose at them, and I don't look down my nose at anyone else who has become sedentary and have "let themselves go." I remember what was like to care about how fat I was, but never once care about how fit I was. 


I eat sugar. I eat meat. I smoke. I drink. I'm still overweight, but I am more fit and more happy today than I think I have ever have been. That might just be proof of how out of shape I was before, being that I'm not in awesome shape, but I'm on the right path. I just keep getting better. Tangibly and intangibly, I just keep getting better. 


I owe it to the people I love. I owe it to my parents, for scaring me straight. I owe it to my husband (my ex and my friend) for getting me to Chicago where the bike culture is fun and thriving. I owe it to my lovers, for getting and keeping me on a bike, and I owe it to my friends who keep inspiring me to do new things and proving to me that cycling isn't owned by the stuffed-shirt, suburbanite "weekend warriors" and the jerky hipster snobs. 


I love my life. I think I'll keep it. 

The Cycling Adventures of Coconut Head- by Ted Schredd

I recently bought The Cycling Adventures of Coconut Head: A North American Odyssey by Ted Schredd, just in time to be laid up sick (Sick! Sick! Sick!) for the weekend. Okay, okay, actually, I didn't buy it recently, I've had it for a few weeks and was bored into reading. I'm such a bad liar! That should not be taken as a reflection upon Mr. Schredd's writing, as I had not taken the book itself into account when I made the non-decision to read it. I'm just such a non-avid reader...

Whoa, words. Did I mention that I'm sick? I may or may not be a bit delirious. And/or drunk on hot cider and Jameson's.

TCACH is the story of Ted Schredd's dream to inspire the world to get out, ride a bike and have some good, clean, and often naked, fun while exploring alternate means of transportation. He called his 8,000 mile velomission, EnviroRide.

And yes, he did seem to have a blast much of the time, but he didn't sugar coat the times that he did not. He and his partner did experience times of bad weather, dehydration, anger, physical illness, disenchantment and heartbreak. As a matter of fact, he started his ride from Vancouver, B.C. with one female partner, and ended it with another.

His whimsical account of their ride is dotted all throughout the margins with his very own hand drawn cartoons of his interactions with his surroundings. From deforestation in Oregon, to the freeways of LA, to the fire anthills of Louisiana, to the banana-hating boat captains of Key West, to all the bike-friendly firehouses of the east coast.

As could be expected from a story that takes place over 8,000mi in just under 200 pages, it moves fast. He and his partner (Lisa at first, and then Dee) are in and out of cities in a matter of a couple of pages. Good visits, bad visits, scary hosts and angelic hosts. He runs into the most generous souls and most selfish monsters one might ever encounter. And throughout it all, his sense of humor shines through in the language he uses and pictures he doodles.

I've been doing a lot of reading of blogs, video blogs and whatnot about the cross-country and international tours of individuals and one new thing that I've taken away from this book has got to be my need for mosquito netting. One for my head and one for my person.

Also, I have a bit of fear of not having the extra other person around to push me on hard days. They were lucky to have each other around to kick their butts into gear in times of fatigue and physical pain.

I suppose I'll be depending quite a bit on my friends from afar cheering me on. In general, I'd call myself a lucky gal, being surrounded as I am by people who love me. I hope very much that their love for me will push them to push me and not to coax me home.

This is Ted Schredd's YouTube channel, chronicling the rest of his fun-seeking visits.

The Velorution Will Be Winterized!

FIRST! Here's some good winter riding advice at Bike Winter because it's getting colder and colder outside.

It's finally cold enough to have to cover my hands and ears and put away my Crocs. It's getting to be about that time that we start to think about the rougher weather ahead of us. The thrift store is becoming familiar with my face, as I've been stopping in looking for boots, gloves, jackets, long underwear and whatnot. My oversized messenger bag is getting chubbier by the day with all the extra layers I'm stowing in it, growing inversely proportionate to the temperature outside.

Last winter, I rode my bike well into December, but eventually became intimidated by the ice and the dark. The actual cold didn't have very much to do with it. I leave work at 6pm, and in the dead of the winter, 6pm is dark. A dark commute is dangerous. A slick commute is dangerous. Put them together and that's one dangerous bike ride. But I stay as visible as possible and remember that classic bit of sage advice typically reserved for small children: "They're as afraid of you as you are of them." Okay, some nights, it's more of a mantra... and okay, maybe it applies better to spiders. But I know after a couple years of bicycle commuting, I can say with confidence that it's the rare motorist that really wants to run you down. Not saying they don't exist... I'm just saying that most of them (if they see you) will meet you halfway whether they want to or not. All you have to do is be seen and your chances of survival increase significantly! Yay!

The really rough weather though, only applies to a very slight fraction of the days over the winter. Most days are a piece of cake. Where I live, they plow and salt the roads (eventually). After a while, the accumulation of salt will take care of any slight dusting of snow that most precipitation is over Chicago winters. Most days, it's only the cold and dark I have to contend with. Funny thing about buying winter accessories at the thrift store, the hideously bright items go last, and for cheap! I know that sometimes it's hard to leave the house looking like an 80's nightmare, but you have to ask yourself: what punishment in Fashion Hell is worth your fool neck here on earth?

About being cold... really all you have to be very concerned about are your fingers and toes. Don't go out in snowboots, winter gloves and your undies, but the most vulnerable part of you, by far will be all your digits. Make sure you are protecting them.

People ride in all kinds of footwear including, but not limited to: work boots, puffy moonboots, galoshes with several layers of socks inside, any kinda shoe with boot covers or even plastic grocery bags... This last option, although I've never done it myself, is apparantly highly effective in a pinch. Tie them on really good, of course, and tuck the hanging bits in to avoid getting them tangled in the various moving parts. I'm wearing my beloved, pink moon boots at the moment, but I tore an identical pair on my gnarly metal pedals before (a cautionary tale) and don't want these to go the same way. To that end, I've special ordered a pair of Bogs (I think I've mentioned before), and really, I'm rather excited to get 'em.

While at the thrift store, I have purchased gloves of varying thickness and sizes for my household. I intend to wear these in layers. I recently bought a nice, expensive pair of thick gloves that have worked very well for me so far. So well, actually, that whereever I ride, I show up with sweaty hands and soggy gloves. The gross part is when you get geared back up to go back the opposite direction, you have to put on sweaty gloves (ew). So, I plan on wearing layers of thin gloves (easily taken apart and dried separately), and removing them as I ride, according to warmth.

I had a very hard time convincing myself to ride in the cold. Still do, when it's morning and I'm freshly out of bed. I tend to get cagey and crabby in the wintertime. I hate the winter and hate being cold. I am NOT a winter person, and living as I do in the midwest, that's a handicap of sorts. You could never imagine unless you do it, how getting on a bike and getting moving- even if the wind is blowing and it's snowing buckets- will warm you up. It's true though that you will be cold for the first few minutes. But there's a solution.

I learned this from David, my cycling guru/mentor/sensai: Before you walk out the door, spend some time indoors with some or all of your gear on. Hat, gloves, boots, coat, balaclava, whathaveyou... and after about five minutes indoor with all your gear on, you will be grateful to get out into the cold. Because with all that on indoors, you are going to warm up fast! Maybe allow yourself that last five minutes to dawdle and finish your coffee. I've often found myself stepping out the door and immediately removing a layer or few that I'd thought I needed.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to what you want to do. No one but you can make you do it. Just believe me, it's not as bad as you think it's going to be (who am I trying to convince?).

The Prodigal Wallet

According to Merriam-Webster, the word Prodigal(n) can mean a couple things:

1: One who spends or gives lavishly and foolishly.

or

2: One who has returned after an absence.

My wallet is both of those things.

I don't lose my wallet very often, but I suppose I lose it more often than a lot of people do. Maybe once every 1.5 to 2 years. This year, though, I've lost it twice. Actually, twice within the last four months or so. One of those times was last night.

All of this would be a sadder story if the wallet didn't come back every time, but it does. When I say, "every time," let me tell you what I mean. Of the last five times I've lost my wallet, every time it has returned to me, with everything in it. I don't remember ever having lost my wallet and it just being gone forever. It's always come back with everything in it.

I once dropped it in a rest area in a whole 'nother state, and an elderly woman found it and shipped it back to me. One of the few, brief moments in my life that my state ID actually had my current address on it.

Once, I dropped it on the Capitol Square when I was living in Madison, WI. A week later, a police officer had tracked me down and was knocking on my door to give it back.

Once, I dropped my wallet on the sidewalk outside of a building downtownish and the security person in that building found it, brought it inside, called my credit card and had my credit card call me to come get it.

Once I left it at a greasy spoon after a night of drinking and dancing and was able to get it back from them. That one was especially stressful because I had someone else's Devo tickets in there too.

Most recently, I dropped it in the middle of the street. You can even tell it's been run over by the mangling of the little plastic keyring on its corner. I woke up this morning to a man blowing up my phone, calling me over and over, saying he has my wallet, he's in the neighborhood, and can I come get it.

Imagine me, if you will, waking up only 5 minutes before I usually leave the house, learning that I'd lost my wallet via anonymous text message, pulling on any clothes I can find to wear to work, while on the phone, frantically arranging to meet a stranger at a nearby fast food restaurant so I can grab my wallet from him on my way to work.  

I got there in probably a mere ten minutes from waking up. I was so wired by the urgency of the situation that I gave this stranger an enthusiastic hug, thanked him profusely and took off for work.

Everything was in there:

• Two credit cards
• Two debit cards
• Two CTA fare cards
• One dollar, cash
• A $250 check my mom had written that ANYONE could have cashed
• My ID
• A prescription card for my cat's cat food
• A bunch of bicycle-themed, hand-drawn stickers I'd made
• A receipt for a $90 purchase that I need to have with me when I go to pick up a pair of boots I'd special ordered from a shoe store and had paid for in full

This time, I didn't even have to suffer the anxiety of knowing that my wallet was lost and not knowing where to find it.

Dear Mr. James Walletfinder, sir: you are an angel.

Dear Universe: I am a little creeped out, but endlessly appreciative of all the little ways you keep watching out for me.

Repertoire of Fun

I'm 29 years old and I've spent most of my life on a diet. After the 1st grade, my mother had pulled me out of grade school to home school me when I consistently came home crying because the other kids picked on me and called me fat (I wasn't). When Richard Simmons came out with Sweatin' to the Oldies and Deal-a-Meal in 1988 or so, my mom and I were doing it. That means I might've been about 8 when my mom and I were dieting together.

I eventually discovered that all the times I decided to diet because I wanted to be skinny or because I wanted to be sexy, I have failed. Wanting to be skinny just because other people told me I wasn't, I failed. Only the times when I was motivated by not wanting to die young, or wanting to be able to run, or wanting to be one of those sassy, spry little old ladies, only then was I able to make lasting changes and develop good habits.

Even more recently, and I'm going to put on my Captain Obvious cap for this one, I discovered, it's got to be fun or else I won't do it. Some people have discipline. I do not. The main reason I get up in the morning and ride my bike to work (besides that it's faster, cheaper and healthy) is because it's fun.

It's fun for me to ride it in the rain.
It's fun for me to ride it in the dark.
It's fun for me to ride it in the cold.
It's fun for me to ride it naked.
I would ride it in a box/with a fox...

And I have the hoop. I am building my repertoire of fun.

What's My Motivation Here?

I've been asked why I'd consider riding a bike across the country. I suppose it's important for me to investigate this question, because it's not all that obvious to everyone.

The answer is multifaceted. It has the obvious aspect of seeing the country and places I've never been. It has the dubiously attractive aspect of fleeing everything I know for weeks and months on end. It is reckless in the way that anyone would recognize, as I live hand to mouth with my chosen family as it is, and it would mean upheaval of almost everything and I would likely lose my very decent job. It is a dream that I fear I will fail at seeing through, despite the support of the people I love and my slow but steady collection of information on touring.

It's all I think about these days. If I'm not reading blogs and articles on bicycle touring, I'm scouring Craigslist for a good, cheap touring bike. I spend a lot of time wondering how much it'll cost to buy all I need without settling for crap gear.

The hooping aspiration isn't just for the love of hooping. It is, but it isn't. I'm also imagining my collapsible hoop bungeed to the back of my bike, at the ready to entertain. I want to be someone that other people want to meet, and maybe someone that people will want to take care of if it comes down to that. Like as if I were a stray, people will feed me if they want me to stick around. But like I said, it is also about my love for hooping and the beauty of the talent. My friend Annie is an excellent hoop dancer, has a fire hoop and performs for people who adore her for it.

I've always had a fair amount of envy for people who were able to just get up and leave. Not just able monetarily, but that it's an allowance in their life at all. That they can and that they do. Granted, this is going to take a lot of planning, budgeting and a lot of money that I know I won't have; also, it's not like I'm going to wander off into the Catskills and make a home of a hemlock stump, but still.

As a child, My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George resonated with me. Before reading that, I remember packing things up to take off to the forest preserve when I was probably younger than ten, planning on making my way in what I had perceived to be the wilderness. Later, I built lean-tos out of fallen limbs in the woods surrounding my family's cottage in northern Wisconsin. Related, but different; I remember at about eighteen years old, the first time I decided to go on a (car) road trip on my own to meet my online boyfriend in Ohio. I was driving, drunk with the exhilaration of being out, alone and doing my own thing.

So, the idea of striking out on my own to do something so significant appeals to me. It appeals to the core of who I am and who I've always been. The camping and surviving I'll need to do is something I feel like I've been hungry for all my life.
Just a few months ago, I had decided that I was going to actively try to have a baby. I was charting my fertility and the whole nine yards. Maybe all the baby talk is part of why I feel so desperately that I need to do something like my bike tour. Maybe I just need to get more done.

I love adventure. I collect experiences. I once participated in a research study in which I had to have four brain MRIs in a month, only in part because of the $400 I was paid for it. I just had never had an MRI before.

People treat me well for whichever reason. Maybe it's because I'm friendly. Maybe it's because I smile all the time. But it's true, people tend to treat me well more often than not. I don't rely on it, it just happens. This isn't an example of motivation to go, but maybe a reason I'm not so afraid to.

Because people treat me well, I think I've been spoiled. I would welcome being wrong about the kindness of strangers as a learning opportunity. I would welcome the opportunity to solve my own problems all by myself in the middle of nowhere.

I'm afraid of having nothing interesting to say. When I'm old, I want to be able to tell stories that people would want to hear over and over.

The Way to Mundelein

Andrew had mentioned to me before that he'd like one day to ride to his parents' place in Mundelein, IL from his home in Chicago. He also mentioned that they were wanting for him to come and visit this past Sunday. In August, I rode my first century with David, and so I've been a little cocky. We decided to ride the 39mi there for the visit, and then ride the 39mi back. 

This is one of the many sculpture exhibits along the Skokie Northshore Channel Trail. I'm lucky enough to call a portion of this trail part of my daily commute.

We were surprised when he was researching our route, just how much of it was bike path. We spent VERY little time in any kind of traffic.

 Going under!

And going over!

Hmm... where'd the trail go!?

 We didn't meet any red-wing blackbirds, and it's too bad. They're some of my favorite birds.

Holy crap! Lambs Farm is a LONG way from home!

The path along Rt176 was gravelly. I remember driving down 176 when I used to drive and catching glimpses of cyclists on it here and there. As a driver back then, it had never occurred to me to ride on it, myself.

 TA-DAAAA! We made it!

On the way there, it took us 5 hours with the 12mph headwind, smoke breaks and general floundering.

On the way home, it took more like 4 hours... it seemed the wind was still somewhat against us, and we stopped for coffee and to eat. And it was COLD! 

The next day I was stiff in the knees and my shoulders were sore. Andrew had no complaints to speak of. 

A Picture

I am a self-proclaimed attention whore.

I adore being noticed as being a strange person, a whimsical character, even an idealistic fool. I am a knitter, a crocheter, a screenprinter and a cut-it-up-and-put-it-back-together-er. I'm learning to hula-hoop. I have left-leaning political views, but tend to drop out of advanced political conversation due to a critical lacking in ability to retain details such as names, faces, places and dates (it's a problem). I am a smoker and a high school dropout with a GED, boasting the highest score at that community college that year. I am punctual, calm and kind. I am a cat lover, a dog liker and unafraid of spiders and snakes... but house centipedes just ick me out. My favorite color is green.

I am a cyclist, a bicycle commuter, a masser and a marauder. I hope that next summer, I will be a bikepacker as well.

I am polyamorous, meaning that monogamy's not my thing. I don't feel like I need or even want that "one special someone," and feel like the sentiment is outdated. I believe that over the course of the years, most people cheat (I've been guilty) and that it doesn't have to be that way. With a little bit of extra added effort, honesty and communication, provided that their relationship is already healthy and stable, most people can take on an additional lover or few.

I live in a house I rent with my partner David, his wife and my good friend Karen, and their three kids, ages 9, 8 and 3. Also, one of my very best friends, a (monogamous) ex of mine, is living with us too at the moment. His name is D.

I eat mostly vegetarian these days, not out of choice, but because Karen is, and she does most of the cooking for everyone in the house. It's done wonders for my physique. Also, I love fruit and most days, especially Monday through Friday, it's what I eat for breakfast and lunch. I don't mind the recent decline of meaty meals in my life, but I'm a little sad that these days, as a result of the lack of meat, the occasional burger or steak can give me a tummy-ache. It's hard to be too sad, when Karen is such a fabulous cook. She also likes to ride her bike, is an active mom and an unschooler.

I mentioned that I like to ride, and that is largely David's doing. I started dating him the summer of '08, and by springtime I was a full-fledged bike commuter, inspired by his love of the activity. He rides almost 20 miles a day, commuting to work, going out and running errands... he's hardcore. David has a big smile for everyone he sees, bunny ears on his helmet, patches on the butt of his pants (from where his saddle has worn through) and a big ol' bushy beard on his face. He would pull over to help you fix your flat, totally unsolicited. He's an all-around, genuine sweetheart, that David.

My other boo is named Andrew, and he is also a cyclist. In fact, David and I met him last year at the World Naked Bike Ride here in Chicago. He's the organizer of the ride, though he generally skates the Naked Ride for the maneuverability it affords him while leading such an event. Andrew lives off-site, a 15 minute bike ride away. Andrew is a Break the Gridlock board member, a balloon-twisting pro, has a knack for body painting and a penchant for Star Trek.

I decided to start this blog as a creative outlet and a source of support for my goals. Right now, at the moment, these goals are to become a hooping adept and to tour on my bike cross-country next year.