I ask you...

Is there anything better than the squeal of glee, the sound of hurried footsteps, the peals of laughter emitted in a moment of unbridled joy as your toddler leaps into your arms, shouting , "MOMMYYYYYY!!!!" And proceeds to hug you, legs and arms wrapped so tightly around your body you could let go (but you wouldn't) and she'd still be holding on like a baby chimpanzee?

No. There is not.

But on par with that is when your nine-year old cracks what seems like an offhand joke and you laugh, earnestly even, and his whole demeanor lights up as he is now two feet taller, because your laugh was the goal in the first place.

Equally on par is when your prepubescent, tweleve-year old lets you kiss him goodnight, and he actually kisses you back, AND hugs you. A real hug, too-- an abrazo, as my dad would say.

Ain't life grand?

ADVENTURE

ad·ven·ture
Pronunciation: &d-'ven-ch&r
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English aventure, from Old French, from (assumed) Vulgar Latin adventura, from Latin adventus, past participle of advenire to arrive, from ad- + venire to come -- more at COME
1 a : an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks b : the encountering of risks
2 : an exciting or remarkable experience
3 : an enterprise involving financial risk

Riding a bike has freed my inner spirit and created a longing for ADVENTURE. For the ignorant among us, the word ADVENTURE must be pronounced with a wide-eyed, breathy hush and must always be written in capital letters.

In accordance with the freeing of my inner spirit, and building of said longing, I hurredly subscribed to National Geographic ADVENTURE magazine and now, I want to go EVERYWHERE and do EVERYTHING. In that order.

This month's issue was a little more limited than usual, narrowing it's scope a pinch to bring its readers "The Best of ADVENTURE." It's a list of people who have done things so flipping amazing, it makes one giddy in anticipation. River surfing in Australia? Read about it. Want to get lost? Be sure to skim the how-to guide to survivng nine days in the backcountry first. And if you don't know who Ed Viesturs is, it's time you did. Free spirits, check it out. Boring desk jockeys, check it out. The rest of you, give it a glance.

Next stop: Summer 2006, PERU........

Back at it...

What a fabulous holiday week.

I'm older. (Turned 36 last Thursday. Shhh. I don't need to talk about it.)
I'm fatter. (Ate aforementioned six pounds of meat, combined with so much starch my insides are stuck together.)
I made it through Disneyland without ever once hearing the song, It's a Small World, after all. (Apologies to those who just got that stuck in their heads. Here-- let me help remove it: Merry Christmas, from Payless...)
Dinseyland was a superior holiday vacation, flat out. I'm an old-school Disneyland fan, which is to say, I still think Pirates of the Carribean and the Haunted Mansion rock the house. (I'm also incredibly susceptible to nausea, so that pretty much explains my favoritism.) The 50th anniversary of the park found the Haunted Mansion taken over by Jack Skellington of The Nightmare Before Christmas fame. Simply put: GREATEST THEME RIDE EVER. (And if you don't agree, I will fight you.)

And though we stayed mostly in Disneyland itself, we did pop over to California Adventures for a look-see. For those not familiar with it, think STATE OF CALIFORNIA sans the whole central part of the state. California's got vineyards, white water, that bridge up north, Santa Cruz, burritos and the film industry. Other than that, California is a whole buncha nothing.

Reflecting that whole buncha nothing, the park itself was surprisingly devoid of visitors. (Everybody was crammed over across the way, waiting two hours to hit Splash Mountain.) Taking advantage of this, we waited 20 minutes to thoroughly enjoy the park's biggest rollercoaster, California Screamin'. (Apparently there are no gerunds in California either).

Overall, the vacation was superb. The boys voted Space Mountain the clear "ride winner" in Disneyland, followed by The Matterhorn, Buzz Lightyear Space Adventure and The Haunted Mansion (which I think they voted for simply because I like it so much). California Adventures was fun, but had its own short list of best rides. There, the Twighlight Zone Tower of Terror topped totally. (Aliteration. Yay.)
But now the vacation has ended. No more chocolate-dipped, frozen bananas, no more $3 bottles of water. Back to the road.

Happy Thanksgiving

Today Trevor, Harry and I set off on a Thanksgiving pilgrimage known only to a few, dedicated souls and maybe 30 million others: we're going to Disneland, baby!

I've heard the entire park is decorated for Christmas; I'm especially excited about the re-opening of Space Mountain and seeing my personal favorite, the Haunted Mansion, all decked out in Nightmare Before Christmas gear.

I'm also excited about our Thanksgiving meal-- we're hitting Medieval Times for a "Knight to remember" (*chortle*).

And so I leave off early this week, a posting shy, as I head into a mousetackular weekend. For those who don't know, tomorrow is my birthday. For those wishing to surprise me, my wishlist includes:
*World peace
*The start of the Presidential impeachment proceedings
and, barring those two items,
* MAKING MY WINDBREAKER CHALLENGE!

Please visit my AIDS/LifeCycle site, and feel free to make a tax-deductible donation!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Meat.

"Traci, you've just eaten six pounds of beef-- now what are you going to do??"

"I'M GOING TO DISNEYLAND!!!!"

Yesterday the available IM staff went to a company lunch at a new restaurant in town, "Claim Jumpers," in appreciation for the incredibly constant, challenging work that we do. While, personally, my biggest daily challenge is simply not pummeling non-IM Bee employees, the rest of the staff faces larger, more difficult challenges: not pummeling the customers, for example. Or our vendors. Or, at times, each other. (Okay, just not pummeling Julian. JOKE!)

In my in-depth investigation of an appropriate restaurant to attend, I asked a coworker if Claim Jumpers sells steak. It was clearly a moment of acute stupidity on my part. There are more remnants of dead animals in the lobby of this place than Jack-in-the-Box sells in a year. (And they sell dead-animal remnants like no other. Remember the 80s kangaroo scare?)

Vast menu. As a woman who's usually tormented by decisions, I was surprisingly quick to choose the rib eye. It was easy. The menu called it, "The most flavorful of all steaks." After a ringing endorsement like that, how can you not order it? What I want to know is, who decided this? Was there a panel? Were they sitting there, dressed in starched, white, lab coats, adroitly ranking various cuts of meat? (Who can guess the word of the day?)

As promised, the rib eye was quite tasty, and as a bonus, VAST. It was an immensely, humongously VAST cut of meat, in point of fact, which I have plans to finish for breakfast. (WASTE NOT WANT NOT!) But disirregardless, as my friend Sara says, of the vastness of my selection... my coworker ordered (to the raised eyebrows of the lanky waiter) the Ore Cart (not the "Org Chart," as I had first presumed).

The Ore Cart includes: Beef ribs, baby back ribs, and half a chicken. That, my friends, is one VAST, HUGE pile-o-meat. I almost felt awkward sitting next to it, were it not for my extreme awe. (Coworker's name and image have been removed.)

Fully loaded Ore Cart.
My coworker ate it all.

Empty Ore Cart.

WHAT, you may be asking, does this have to do with training for the LifeCycle ride? Three short words: protein is good.

That's really all I have to say.

Oprah responded!!!

Oh, yeah-- I'm a badarse. The Queen of Daytime Talkshows responded:

"Dear Traci,

Thank you for your e-mail! Your message is important to us. Unfortunately, due to the volume of e-mail messages we receive every day, we cannot guarantee that you'll receive a personal response. Feel free to check out our Frequently Asked Questions for additional help. http://www.oprah.com/tows/program/tows_prog_main.jhtml

Thanks again for writing to us!

Sincerely,
The Oprah.com Staff
www.oprah.com"

Okay, technically it wasn't Oprah, but her staff... technically, it wasn't her staff, but a server-generated autoresponder. But I bet that's more than any of you ever got! (Unless you also wrote to the show, in which case you got this same exact response.) And some of you had the temerity to laugh at my fan mail... FOOLS!

Okay-- I'm making a bet: Oprah reads my note. I win, you make a contribution to my cause. I lose, you make a contribution to my cause. It's win-win for everybody!! Any takers??

Open letter to Oprah

The following is a letter I sent to Oprah Winfrey, after reading of her recent interview of Bono on her show. I figure, what the hell.
Best case scenario: I make my windbreaker goal. Worst case scenario: I've made her obnoxious-fan list.
_______

"Dear Oprah:

Chutzpah: noun.
Yiddish khutspe, from Late Hebrew huspAh: supreme self-confidence: NERVE, GALL

I am a 35-year old mother of 3, and I have recently embarked upon what I hope will be one of the greatest journeys of my lifetime. The short story: Curing AIDS.

The long story: When I first heard about the disease back in the 80s, I was more concerned about bang-height than the AIDS crisis. The 90s were all about securing gainful employment. When I woke up at some point in the new millennium, it was to learn that the disease was not only still around, but flourishing.

I'm not a chemist. I know nothing of medicine. I cannot solve this problem with my brain. HOWEVER, on my “List of Cans”-- I can yap like there's no tomorrow; I can build Web pages; and I can ride a bike.

So that's what I'm doing. And that's why I'm writing. I am taking part in the 2005 AIDS/LifeCycle ride. As part of the process, I need to raise $2,500. I'm asking for your help.

See, I was reading that you are a known advocate of AIDS research. In fact, I read on your site that you and Bono had a little tête-à-tête about this very thing. (If you have his e-mail address, I'd greatly appreciate you forwarding this. I'm sure he's dying to hear from me.) The way I see it, we all want to make the world a better place, and we are all doing it the best way we know how. Yours: dedicating your time and a television program to address the issue. Mine: taking my hard-earned vacation time, spending it not with my family but on the road, on a bike, raising $2,500.00 and riding 585 miles from San Francisco to LA.

Blatant pandering: please go to http://www.aidslifecycle.org/1656 to donate to the cause, or simply visit my blog, at http://swimrunride.blogspot.com for more info on my training and this ride. I'm only $200 away from my windbreaker goal! Thanks much, O. Happy holidays."

Want cheese with that whine?

In a few hours I will be sitting in a darkened theatre, watching one of my favorite novels come to life... or attempting to watch, anyway, if I don't zonk out in the opening credits.

As previously noted, I have a cold. And not just any kind of cold, but the WORST COLD KNOWN TO HUMANKIND. (Almost.) And these germs, these salacioius, ridiculous, evil, bastard germs-- DESPITE buzzing around a room full of equally-heinously stressed-out human beings-- chose to breed in MY nasal cavity.

My head is stuffy. My teeth are sore. I'm chilled but I'm not feverish. I have the lazy, flat affect of someone who's smoked 6 bags of marijuana and, on good sneezes, I display the incontinence previously known only by pregnant women and octogenarians. My nose is so drippy I cannot even smell my baby girl's soiled diapers.

The only joy I get from such misery is knowing that in an hour and a half I will be standing outside in 40-degree weather, waiting in a line full of freaks, geeks and preteens, dreaming of the moment I can sit comfortably in a popcorn-strewn environment and infect the entire crowded theatre.

Gawd, it's true: misery does, indeed, love company.

It's a dangerous job

I was in a meeting yesterday morning with my new division. All the department managers (READ: seven men, five of whom are bald or balding, and me, la sola chiquitita) were there, discussing the goings-on of the previous press run. (NOTE: Usually the VP's female right-arm is there, but this day she was not.)

Let it be said that I am a listener in this group. Those who know me even in the most cursory sense, know I'm a yapper and can take upwards of ten minutes to say, "hello." In this meeting, I am largely (and surprisingly) silent, unless I really and truly have anything of slight interest to report. Which, so far, is rare.

The meeting often centers on problems or issues. This ensures I remain doubly silent. Complaining about how slow our online pubishing system is or how a feed didn't go through is akin to whining over a paper cut to someone who just got their leg lopped off. Nothing we do in the Web room even compares to the real (or perceived) dangers these guys and their crews face nightly.

Example: The transportation manager was there, reporting on an accident between two delivery guys. The press manager spoke of waste (excess papers, etc.), and how seriously and efficiently they try to manage it. And apparently, there has been an ongoing blue-ink issue, and they had to stop the presses and clean everything out. Huge head-sized globs of problematic blue ink. Yeah, touching that sounds real healthy. And then the VP of our division held up a twisted hunk of metal that broke off some kinda conveyor-type belt thing. (As you can see, I'm really catching on to the lingo.)

So THEN, the only person even more silent than I (if that is even possible)-- the guy that heads up the Ad Creation Design Center (yes, ACDC)-- is all quiet, and someone asks how he is feeling. Sick, he croaks. Head cold. (He didn't look all that fabulous, truth be told.) Then it was onto the next guy, who reported on the employee on disability who may end up having lost a digit on the job.

Well, I just want to say this. No, my people don't get into delivery accidents in the Web room, nor do they face the dangers of head-sized-glob-ink poisioning, nor do they have to dodge sharpened, metal objects flying off of immense machines.

But I do know this: that silent bastard somehow managed to give me his cold. I am a walking nightmare, I tell you. And my team just better beware.

So when I go into tomorrow's meeting, I'm going to jazz it up a bit: no, no, not a cold. Not bird flu. It's phosphor poisioning.

The good with the bad

If I were given the task of writing a dictionary of phraseology, and I had to define the term, "good feeling," I would say that it's when "your old-skinny pants become your new-fat pants."

Also, I would say it's when "your sitter tells you your daughter made her business in the big girl potty."

And of course, when "you set a goal and meet it. On time. With flair."

If I had to define the term "sucktacular," it would definitely begin with when "your dermatologist tells you yes, you have developed 'Adult Acne' and no, you can't choose to have it on your ass instead."

Or, when "your old-skinny/new-fat pants become your new-old-skinny/merely-just-roomy pants."

And, finally, "sucktacular" can be defined as when "your deadlines are not, in fact, met, and get pushed back because of poor customer service so unbelievably irritating you can't even commit the full detailed story to print without seething in rage and wanting to throttle people half a continent away who, frankly, could give a crap if your project launches on time or if their end of the bargain is met because hey-- they get freakin' paid anyway."

It's not that I had a bad day. Parts of it were good. It's not that I had a good day. Because parts of it were flippin' sucktacular. Tonight's amazing full moon is a reminder that life is about the waxing and waning of tides in our lives; sometimes life builds on the good, and there is an upswing. Other times, the bad waxes, and the good ebbs away. Occasionally, however, life achieves some form of balance, and is neither heavily handed one way or the other. It's simply well rounded and filled with both.

Greater dangers

Last week I complained about a sore rump. This I had considered to be one of the greater dangers of cycling. And while I still see it as a major issue, I'm getting the bigger picture.

I went on a double Millerton ride again this weekend. On Saturday, I did the loop from Friant, over the dam, past Millerton, down Auberry, and out Copper. On Sunday I did the whole thing again, but this time in reverse. Sunday was beautiful and along the way I met some very nice riders, and saw several single-female riders out there.

Although beautiful, Sunday was a ride full of trouble: a slow leaky tire (which I stopped to pump twice), chain issues, and a flat. Worse, I stopped at a Sherry's Road House there at the turn off toward Millerton, and used the Port-a-Potty. One of the most heinous experiences of my life. Let me just say, some people should just go easy on the granola.

I also met a lovely woman who was getting back into cycling after taking a few years off. She was with a pack of hard-core athletes, and after having some trouble with her cycling shoes (they were clips), left her pack to stop at the road house to fix them. We chatted a bit in the way that strangers do; I called my kids to make sure they were safe; and off I went.

Later that afternoon, at the cycling store (needed more inner tubes), I heard a terrible story of a lone-female cyclist who was hit by a car on Auberry Road. Her new Trek was totaled. The car that hit her was in bad shape, ending up in a ditch. Rumor had it she was still in the operating room at that point (4:15 Sunday afternoon), with a punctured lung.

It's an amazing thing to be out there; the beauty, the freedom of the ride-- getting so completely involved in nature while simultaneously being equally absorbed in personal thought while focussed on the challenge being faced-- all the while, cars zipping by at 70 miles per hour. You never forget that they are an intense danger. But even while you are completely keyed in, they just might not be and can still take you out.

I keep thinking of the lovely woman I met, and the other women I saw riding along the way,each facing the same challenges I was (and perhaps meeting them with more grace). I really hope they all made it back home safely.

Yumyumyumyumyum-- DELICIOSO!

Frankly, there are things I know in theory, like "math"(whatever) and "numbers" (gah), and things I know realistically, like "nutritional stuff." Not to brag or anything, but having a solid grasp of a training diet is kinda my gig.
I mean, on a daily basis people ask me really astute questions about my alimentary intake, hard-ball questions like, "What in the hell are you putting in your mouth?" and "Are you actually going to eat that?"

For those non-believers out there who have the gall to query my gastronomic practices, I'm just going to say that it is possible on some food pyramid SOMEWHERE, okay-- entirely possible that the Milky Way bar is at the apex. I will also add that it is possible-- nay, in this example, probable-- that this apex balances evenly atop healthy portions of Ruffles Potato Chips on one end (vegetable) and Hot Tamales on the other (fruit). Of course all this rests on a solid foundation of Trader Joes big Oatmeal-Raisin cookies.

End of discussion.

who are these people?

The joy of posting my ramblings can only be eclipsed by the sense of awe I feel reading the comments my readers make. Such brilliant, poignant notes as:

"Your blog is great If you have a paranormal issue, I'm sure you'd be interested in strange phenomenon There's lots of information about strange phenomenon."

Really touched my soul, that one did. I mean, the way he commented on my thoughts... Or, you know, this one:

"Howdy Traci,
I'm impressed with what you wrote here in your 'Tis better to give... post. I gave up my search for quicksilver rashguard information and wanted to hang out here on your blog - well done. I might make a blog like yours about quicksilver rashguard, but I wouldn't try to compete with you. You're doing a great job Traci. You got a great thing going... by friend."

Yes. Yes, been reading my fabulous blog, indeed. Because that steady rashguard competition I put out there is intense, by friend.

Besides the spammers, anybody else have anything constructive to say? Like, where I can find good bike parts cheap or what sport would be a particularly good cross-training regimen for a seven-day, 585-mile ride?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Bueller?

ouch...

The bike seat... it's cramping my style, both literally and figuratively. I understand that everyone develops sensitivities on the bike and, honestly, that Lance Armstrong developed testicular cancer comes as absolutely no surprise to me. They say that over time, with the riding, hot spots emerge-- places on the rumperoo that hurt or get irritated easily. I've been told not to worry about such things, as calluses develop over time and the pain ebbs.

Please for the love of GAWD I can handle almost anything, but there is no flippin' way I can abide the very thought of a callus there, on that pre-existing "hot spot." I like being a woman. I like being a woman most times because of that very spot. Hide it under a bush?! OH NO! I'm gunna let her shine!

Traci is on the market for a new bike seat, and padded shorts. Any advice is gladly welcomed.

Building the dream

When I first began talking to others about the AIDS/LifeCycle ride, my enthusiasm was fed by the enthusiasm of others. Virtually everyone I mentioned it to thought it was a great idea... or, at the very least, mildly entertaining. And even a few co-workers showed interest in hopping along for the ride.

I let my thoughts go wild. We could build a team! A team of Bee bikers, all travelling down life's big highway toward our happy goal, curing a horrible disease and wearing MATCHING JACKETS!

Immediately I had 4 people give me solid maybes. I was overjoyed. I decided to take the plunge and register. I began my training, my planning, and feeding my hopes.

Since then, 3 of the four have told me, ahhh--hmmm-- maybe next year. The fourth, my dearest girlfriend, was a strong maybe to begin with and won't know for certain for several months.

And so it is me. (It is I?) I am the one, the lonely rider preparing for a long journey into a new dawn... and off into the sunset.

HA! Suckers! You have no idea, the excitement that you're missing!

'Tis better to give...

My AIDS/LIFECYCLE packet arrived in the mail yesterday, complete with t-shirt, bracelets and a booklet all about the race! (READ: fundraising strategies!)

For those who have given at the Fount of Traci (all 3 of you), thank you, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. For those who are still on the fence, unsure of how much to give or whether it is a better idea to give now, or to wait... let me simply state this:

If I raise $1,000 before December 31, I get a windbreaker. Got that?? An actual BREAKER of WIND. Uhm... I mean the jacket. I get a jacket. An AIDS/LIFECYCLE jacket! Do you know what that MEANS? I will OWN an ACTUAL jacket that MATCHES maybe HUNDREDS OF OTHERS!! It'll be like I'm part of a GANG or something!!!

Those who know me know it has been my lifelong ambition to own a matching jacket.... I envy those Teamsters like no other...

But if my story of personal desire is not enough to move your soul, or moreover, your wallets... take a look at these three, poor children.
Do you see their misery? Do you see how devastated they were when I told them I would be away from them for several days? Have you no pity for the little one without a body?

Please. Please give.

CORRECTION

Recently an ardent fan of mine (READ: coworker who read my blog this one time), stopped me in the halls of work to tell me how much he thoroughly enjoyed my prose (READ: mentioned he'd glanced at my blog). Amidst his praise was the phrase, "I didn't know you had such low self-esteem."

RRRRRRRrrrrrrrr (*sound of car breaks screeching here*) I was stunned.

I have been accused of a lot of things-- subpar intelligence, foul scentedness, obtaining a strong sense of fourth-grade humor-- but low self-esteem? Seriously-- ME?!?

Noting my stunned disbelief, he referenced my entry, "Doing this for real," wherein I lament the changes my body has undergone due to childbirth.

To wit:

"Where had my body gone? My beautiful body with it's toned, golden flesh? And who'd replaced it with this sagging lump of congealed pudding?"

Ahhhh, yes. That was *quite* a time of morbid discovery. I think every woman who has faced the ravages of pregnancy and childbirth can attest to the same feelings of ho-leeCRAP-ishness.

But, let it also be known that I no longer look at myself with the same sense of horror. Nowhere near it. In fact, it's the complete opposite now. I like me. I found my muscles, and I like buffing and polishing them when I can. I'll gladly admit I'm nowhere near supermodel thin but GAH! I never wanted to be!

And that's the bigger point: I'm exactly how I want to be. I gots me some muscles now. And they are strong-- strong like bull. AND I was right: when well-groomed, they are quite lovely.

Killer Road...

My rides this weekend (yes, read that, the plural-- RIDES) were pretty fanfreakintastic. First, because the weather was beyond exceptional. Sunny, cool but not too crisp, clear. Second, no headwind. 'Nuff said there. And third, I was out in nature, which was one of my requirements when I first decided to start this cycling business.

I rode the Millerton Loop both Saturday and Sunday, and did not feel like dying on Monday. This is a good sign. The Loop, which has previously been clocked at 30 miles (though the Google pedometer clocks at 29.46-- ARGH!), is hilly. The road winds its way past lakes, over a damn, through a patch of Eucalyptus trees, and is lined with smashed beer bottles, flower-laden gutter crosses and road kill.

For those used to driving such roads, you might never have given much thought to road kill. Let me be the first to tell you: it's stinky.

Last week's newly-killed racoon is this week's scented hair pancake. It's startling more than anything. I mean, there you are, riding along, enjoying the distant, prettier views when WHAM-- the stench of old death slaps you upside your nasal cavity. Glancing around, you see it there-- staring at you (or you know, not--as the case may be) lying on its back like Flat Stanley.

You hurry past, but it doesn't matter because the smell chases you for another 10 yards, easy.

You know, so other than THAT, the ride is really freakin' awesome.

SIDE NOTE: I've been told that the Google Pedometer didn't follow the curves exactly, and that the actual ridden distance is 30 miles. I'm taking it. I'd so much rather add a big six-oh to my riding log than a 58 point 92.