Thursday, October 3, 2013
It Just Got Really Real
http://www.bikepacking.net/forum/index.php/topic,6102.new.html#new
Re: TOUR DIVIDE 2014« Reply #27 on: October 02, 2013, 09:55:50 PM »
My heart will not give up on my dream of the Triple Crown in 2014. I sit here with a list a mile long of the the things and money I need to complete this absolutely epic undertaking and, to be honest, it is staggering. I am overwhelmed thinking of the planning and logistics but a geater force drives me to know what every moment on this journey will feel like. The pain, blood, tears, laughter, exhaustion will stay with me my entire life. Thus, fear has no part in my journey. Rather, my innate and intense passion, a rabid lust for adventure and a notion of the sweet taste of feedom on two wheels propels me into action.
I'm in.
*reaches for bottle of red pills*
GULP!
NOW..... let's see how deep this Rabbit Hole goes...
Monday, September 16, 2013
All Three in 2014
Yeah. It's going to happen. I am going to attempt to be the first female to finish the Triple Crown of bikepacking in 2014.
Focus.
Prepare.
I have no idea at this point how I am going to pull this off financially. I need sponsors. I need those of you who read this and are inspired by any of my passion and tales of my adventures, struggles and triumphs and want to help in any way to reach out to me.
God, that was hard/humbling to write. But it is a reality. Months off work to make a run at this dream is next to impossible to swing. Notice the phrase "next to" in the previous sentence.
Because this is going to happen.
Unsure? Yep.
Out of my safety/comfort zone? Quite a ways.
Do my hands shake and my stomach knot up thinking about the financial logistics? Everyday.
Am I afraid? Hell no.
The excitement and anticipation of living a dream I have imagined for two years now trumps all fear. Fear not of the journey itself, but fear of the journey to the journey. An undertaking like this is beyond huge in anyone's world.
The word written in the picture above means more to me today than ever before.
Focus.
Prepare.
I have no idea at this point how I am going to pull this off financially. I need sponsors. I need those of you who read this and are inspired by any of my passion and tales of my adventures, struggles and triumphs and want to help in any way to reach out to me.
God, that was hard/humbling to write. But it is a reality. Months off work to make a run at this dream is next to impossible to swing. Notice the phrase "next to" in the previous sentence.
Because this is going to happen.
Unsure? Yep.
Out of my safety/comfort zone? Quite a ways.
Do my hands shake and my stomach knot up thinking about the financial logistics? Everyday.
Am I afraid? Hell no.
The excitement and anticipation of living a dream I have imagined for two years now trumps all fear. Fear not of the journey itself, but fear of the journey to the journey. An undertaking like this is beyond huge in anyone's world.
The word written in the picture above means more to me today than ever before.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Days Go By
I recently rejoined the "race." The race of robots in steel coffins.
Sigh.
After 2 years and 8 months of not having my name on a vehicle title or a car loan, I now have a car. What kind? Ummmmmm, I would have to walk outside a and take a look. I know it is black and small. Big enough for my lab to have a comfortable ride. Can haul my bikes. Gets 42.5 mpg average. And I have to pay for it every month.
Sigh.
It makes me think of one of my all-time favorite Keith Urban songs and the lyrics that grasp me by the soul everytime I replay it:
I'm changing lanes
I'm talking on the phone
I'm drivin' way too fast
And the interstate's jammed with
Gunners like me afraid of coming in last
But somewhere in the race we run
We're coming undone
I'm talking on the phone
I'm drivin' way too fast
And the interstate's jammed with
Gunners like me afraid of coming in last
But somewhere in the race we run
We're coming undone
Days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind as the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
'Cause days go by
I can feel 'em flying
Like a hand out the window in the wind as the cars go by
It's all we've been given
So you better start livin' right now
'Cause days go by
Probably the most poignant phrase is "somewhere in the race we run, we're coming undone." Chief culprit of the undoing?
Fear. Fear of "coming in last." Fear of slowing down, fear of weakening, failing, falling. But mostly fear of feeling.
Why? Take it from the master, when I let myself feel, the absurdity of this "race we run" slaps me in the face. I concede (finally) the race is a way of life, no matter what the job. But during the race, instead of running with fear, I finally opened my stupid eyes to a better way. It took me this past winter in Aurora (one of the most depressing times in my entire life) to see it. My feelings and emotions were locked away and I was just trying to get through one miserable day after another. I feared a lot of things, doubted myself, doubted my abilities, feared listening to my heart, feared I had made too many mistakes, lived in constant confusion and unertainty and felt myself "coming undone."
Then the sun came out and I realized that days DO go by. It IS all we are given.
And, dammit, I best start LIVING again.
And when I live without fearing and substitute it for feeling, I can run the race without coming undone. I can run the race aware, alive, motivated, strong and content. The way I ride a bike or a horse.
I can finally see that it is far more courageous, brave and strong (there's that word again) to allow myself to be vulnerable, unafraid and bold than it is to hold back, be ubercautious and in my case, suffer silently and let the unfeeling, benign routine of the race rot away my soul.
So take 'em by the hand
They're yours and mine
Take 'em by the hand
And live your life
Take 'em by the hand
Don't let 'em all fly by
They're yours and mine
Take 'em by the hand
And live your life
Take 'em by the hand
Don't let 'em all fly by
I leave you with some pictures to some places that the new motorized steel coffin has taken me this month:
More later.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
If You Read One Thing Today
Let it be this.
Write it on a piece of paper, put it in your backpack and read it again and again in places like this:
Write it on a piece of paper, put it in your backpack and read it again and again in places like this:
 |
| "Life is not afraid or shy of baring its soul--that, my dear friend, is you. Let life enrapture and captivate you" |
Friday, July 12, 2013
An Evolution of Femininity
I once was asked to draw a picture of how I saw the essence of femininity. It was shortly after my divorce, a painful time to which I responded with superwoman-caliber "strength." I fortified the walls, forged through the stress, charged through the disappointment and the sadness with a headstrong, trust no one, hellbent-to-make-my-own-way style of attitude. Thus, it was no wonder I scribbled out this on the sheet of paper in front of me:
Pillars.
Pillars of strength.
This, to me, was the essence of femininity. Women whom I respected and admired exemplified strength, self-reliance and were all very capable of virtually anything. This was beautiful and feminine to me. All the normal social constructs-- image, clothes, nails, hair fell under the catergory of superficial rather than feminine.
The pillar image pulled me through the entire decade of my roaring 20's. I needed to know that I, alone, could do whatever I set my mind to accomplish and I really was a pillar. No one was getting inside. And, for the most part, I was ok with it on the surface because I fit my own notion of femininity--strong, self-reliant and capable.
Then, around age 28 or 29, I began to identify, acknowledge and understand something that had always been present within this pillar. I call it my fire. Why? It fits my best notion of a life force I cannot see or touch. I can only feel it, be aware of it and strive to find the best times to harness or unleash it.
It is my fire for life. And, oddly enough, it is twice as strong as any pillar. This fire has crumbled the rock-hard, cold surface of the pillar and revealed a new essence of femininity in my mind.
Now, it is a softer picture that I want to draw. One involving the image of flight, of freedom, of simplicity--an image of the beauty of nature and the strength (ha, that notion hasn't changed) I draw merely from the complete awareness and bliss of existing.
I know that it is a strength that will endure long after the pillars crumble...
So when I saw this picture, I felt a jolt in my soul. I can't draw my way out of a paper bag. Unfortunately, I have no aristic ability to transmit or convey what I sense and feel. I could, however, write an extensive post on the places I have been on my feet and on my bike that take me right here in my mind.
Soaring. Free. Wild. Alive. Aware. Present. Strong. Feminine. Jill.
Pillars.
Pillars of strength.
This, to me, was the essence of femininity. Women whom I respected and admired exemplified strength, self-reliance and were all very capable of virtually anything. This was beautiful and feminine to me. All the normal social constructs-- image, clothes, nails, hair fell under the catergory of superficial rather than feminine.
The pillar image pulled me through the entire decade of my roaring 20's. I needed to know that I, alone, could do whatever I set my mind to accomplish and I really was a pillar. No one was getting inside. And, for the most part, I was ok with it on the surface because I fit my own notion of femininity--strong, self-reliant and capable.
Then, around age 28 or 29, I began to identify, acknowledge and understand something that had always been present within this pillar. I call it my fire. Why? It fits my best notion of a life force I cannot see or touch. I can only feel it, be aware of it and strive to find the best times to harness or unleash it.
It is my fire for life. And, oddly enough, it is twice as strong as any pillar. This fire has crumbled the rock-hard, cold surface of the pillar and revealed a new essence of femininity in my mind.
Now, it is a softer picture that I want to draw. One involving the image of flight, of freedom, of simplicity--an image of the beauty of nature and the strength (ha, that notion hasn't changed) I draw merely from the complete awareness and bliss of existing.
I know that it is a strength that will endure long after the pillars crumble...
So when I saw this picture, I felt a jolt in my soul. I can't draw my way out of a paper bag. Unfortunately, I have no aristic ability to transmit or convey what I sense and feel. I could, however, write an extensive post on the places I have been on my feet and on my bike that take me right here in my mind.
Soaring. Free. Wild. Alive. Aware. Present. Strong. Feminine. Jill.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Turtles
My second full week at the polo farm was filled with long hours and a lot of learning. It consisted of figuring out the game of polo and the fastest and most efficient way to have eight horses ready to play in an hour. I met more students, players and boarding clients and hired on a young girl who is helping exercise the horses a couple days per week. She rides better than 95% of anyone I have seen and has no fear. She is very polite, hardworking and intelligent and possesses a quiet, calm, gentle but assertive confidence with the horses. Coupled with simple, genuine love for the horse, she reminds me a lot of myself at that age. I can put her on any horse and know she will get the job done. Pretty awesome for someone who can't even drive themselves to work yet!
Tuesday and Wednesday brought some brutal winds and hot temperatures to ride in. Imagine riding straight into a hot blow dryer blasting air at about 25-33 mph for 5 solid hours. Wednesday brought in an eeire, smoky haze from the Black Forest fire that started the night before just south of us.
At first, the horses wanted to charge into the wind. They all felt good after having Monday off and a few wanted to race each other. By Thursday, however, the wind and the smoke had taken its toll not only on me, but on them as well. The hard-chargers were even on cruise control and settled into a nice easy gallop. Fighting the wind had worn them down a bit and saved my arms pulling back the ones being ponied.
Just to keep it a bit interesting, I stuck my Garmin Edge 500 (the GPS unit mounted on the handlebars of my bike) in my pocket and decided to get some horse numbers on Strava. Click on the link and scope out average, max speeds (remember this is just a slow exercise ride) and the 97 degree average temperature. This particular ride was on my favorite bay mare, Mochatika. Straight from Argentina, this horse is one of the top polo horses, but I can't help but wonder what she could do in the rodeo arena. Getting paid to ride horses like this does not suck!
Friday was the highlight of the week as I was able to take a young horse and help the neighbor (a life-long friend of my boss) move cattle. Too many years (probably 3 or 4) had passed since I had done this. I borrowed a western saddle (because mine was STOLEN this past fall out of a friend's house!!!) and spent the day searching for cattle in draws, along creek banks and in watering holes. My horse, Keke, is an unmade polo horse, she needs some work, had never seen a cow and had never been ridden in a western saddle before, but many miles up hills and across big meadows at a long trot, medium gallop or a good run made for wet saddle blankets at the end of the day. She did very well and I am excited to keep working with her.
Riding across wide-open meadows has always given me a euphoric feeling of freedom and awareness of the present moment. On the ride Friday, after cresting a small hill at a good speed, leaning back and letting the horse lope down the other side, I came upon a small watering hole for the cows. Surrounded by a four-foot wide, sandy beach, I pulled up on the reins as I noticed the sand was alive with movement. What the....? I moved closer and to my complete amazement I watched no less than 150 small, greenish turtles scurry into the water and swim towards the center of the water hole. In all my time spent in nature either on two wheels or four hooves, I had never seen anything like it. Especially in the middle of a grazing area in a cow-trodden, sandy, muddy watering hole.
I stopped for a minute to watch the kamikaze movement of all the little turtles, silent and mesmerized by nature's brilliance right before my eyes....
No camera, but none needed for this one. It is stored deep in my heart with all the other life pictures a tangible photo would merely pollute. To my grave I will take this and so many crystal-clear "memory images" of my life.....
I believe I grow and heal on days like Friday. Genuine happiness, contentment and joy fill my heart and stay with me. The sounds of the horse breathing, the grass in the wind, the terrain beneath me, the vast landscape, the wind against my face and the natural movements and rhythm of horse and rider are intoxicating. Nothing I can purchase will ever come close. Only a mountain bike and remote single track can mimic this trance-like experience. I thank God for this part of life and the images I am blessed enough to find, stow away in my soul and cherish forever.
Tuesday and Wednesday brought some brutal winds and hot temperatures to ride in. Imagine riding straight into a hot blow dryer blasting air at about 25-33 mph for 5 solid hours. Wednesday brought in an eeire, smoky haze from the Black Forest fire that started the night before just south of us.
 |
| A look at the fire just hours after it started |
At first, the horses wanted to charge into the wind. They all felt good after having Monday off and a few wanted to race each other. By Thursday, however, the wind and the smoke had taken its toll not only on me, but on them as well. The hard-chargers were even on cruise control and settled into a nice easy gallop. Fighting the wind had worn them down a bit and saved my arms pulling back the ones being ponied.
Just to keep it a bit interesting, I stuck my Garmin Edge 500 (the GPS unit mounted on the handlebars of my bike) in my pocket and decided to get some horse numbers on Strava. Click on the link and scope out average, max speeds (remember this is just a slow exercise ride) and the 97 degree average temperature. This particular ride was on my favorite bay mare, Mochatika. Straight from Argentina, this horse is one of the top polo horses, but I can't help but wonder what she could do in the rodeo arena. Getting paid to ride horses like this does not suck!
Friday was the highlight of the week as I was able to take a young horse and help the neighbor (a life-long friend of my boss) move cattle. Too many years (probably 3 or 4) had passed since I had done this. I borrowed a western saddle (because mine was STOLEN this past fall out of a friend's house!!!) and spent the day searching for cattle in draws, along creek banks and in watering holes. My horse, Keke, is an unmade polo horse, she needs some work, had never seen a cow and had never been ridden in a western saddle before, but many miles up hills and across big meadows at a long trot, medium gallop or a good run made for wet saddle blankets at the end of the day. She did very well and I am excited to keep working with her.
 |
| A blurry photo from my friend's phone as we were finishing up and riding back trying to stay ahead of the storm |
Riding across wide-open meadows has always given me a euphoric feeling of freedom and awareness of the present moment. On the ride Friday, after cresting a small hill at a good speed, leaning back and letting the horse lope down the other side, I came upon a small watering hole for the cows. Surrounded by a four-foot wide, sandy beach, I pulled up on the reins as I noticed the sand was alive with movement. What the....? I moved closer and to my complete amazement I watched no less than 150 small, greenish turtles scurry into the water and swim towards the center of the water hole. In all my time spent in nature either on two wheels or four hooves, I had never seen anything like it. Especially in the middle of a grazing area in a cow-trodden, sandy, muddy watering hole.
I stopped for a minute to watch the kamikaze movement of all the little turtles, silent and mesmerized by nature's brilliance right before my eyes....
No camera, but none needed for this one. It is stored deep in my heart with all the other life pictures a tangible photo would merely pollute. To my grave I will take this and so many crystal-clear "memory images" of my life.....
I believe I grow and heal on days like Friday. Genuine happiness, contentment and joy fill my heart and stay with me. The sounds of the horse breathing, the grass in the wind, the terrain beneath me, the vast landscape, the wind against my face and the natural movements and rhythm of horse and rider are intoxicating. Nothing I can purchase will ever come close. Only a mountain bike and remote single track can mimic this trance-like experience. I thank God for this part of life and the images I am blessed enough to find, stow away in my soul and cherish forever.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Sounds
The low-pitched nicker of horses in the early morning can be equated with the sound of snow crunching beneath fat tires or the indescribable pitch made by rubber tires on singletrack.
How?
These sounds make my world right. I don't need to try or struggle or force anything. Its as if I experience a glitch in the matrix and I get a fleeting look down the proverbial rabbit hole. I do nothing but experience the forceful, intoxicating energy of just being....
They make time pause for a second all my awareness and genuine gratitude come flooding into my soul. I literally "feel" my presence somehow coming into harmony with all the world around me. I can't explain it with words, or logic, or truthfully, emotion. I just know that these sounds erase all worry, stress, doubt, failure, fear and frustration. I can replay the exact tone of each in my mind at any given moment--so I smile and I cherish that I AM ALIVE.
I have smiled silently to myself many times lately because my first week working on a polo horse farm has given me the opportunity to refresh my memory of the one sound I haven't heard in years--that soft nicker of a horse. It has also put me in a hot shower after a day of hard work watching an enormous amount of dirt roll off my skin and disappear down the drain. It has brought the life and the fire back into my eyes. It has put me on the back of millions of dollars worth of horses for five hours a day. It has put me in a tiny cottage with chickens running through the front yard and taught me a million new things about the sport of polo. These horses I ride everyday are phenomenal athletes and they make or break the players.
My job during games can be likened to the pit crew of a race car driver. First horse: feet cleaned, tail braided and up, polo wraps on, bell boots on, splint boots on, bridled, saddled, cinched up, warmed up and ready for the first chukka (polo term for quarter or period depending on how many played), hand horse and mallet to player. Repeat process with second horse. First chukka ends, take first horse, hand second horse to player. Strip first horse, cool out, bathe. Ready third horse....strip second horse. Ready fourth horse...strip third horse....repeat until done. All this happens really fast. Stripping polo wraps off all four legs reminds me of the guys you see in the pits changing tires. You don't think, its just go.
After the game is over, I make sure all the horses are stalled and watered. Then I get to observe and navigate my way through the polo social scene. It has been an interesting and insightful experience, to say the least, as all have been very welcoming, friendly and hospitable despite the fact that the median daily income of this crowd most likely exceeds my monthly income.
But, at the end of the day, when all the social hubub is complete and I walk back out to the barn and hear that soft nicker as I walk down the aisle tossing alfalfa into the feeders, the world becomes right again, the energy surges, time pauses and I smile at the fact that I am indeed, one very, very wealthy, young woman.
Now for the week in pictures:
Here's to a summer of living via two wheels and four hooves....
How?
These sounds make my world right. I don't need to try or struggle or force anything. Its as if I experience a glitch in the matrix and I get a fleeting look down the proverbial rabbit hole. I do nothing but experience the forceful, intoxicating energy of just being....
They make time pause for a second all my awareness and genuine gratitude come flooding into my soul. I literally "feel" my presence somehow coming into harmony with all the world around me. I can't explain it with words, or logic, or truthfully, emotion. I just know that these sounds erase all worry, stress, doubt, failure, fear and frustration. I can replay the exact tone of each in my mind at any given moment--so I smile and I cherish that I AM ALIVE.
I have smiled silently to myself many times lately because my first week working on a polo horse farm has given me the opportunity to refresh my memory of the one sound I haven't heard in years--that soft nicker of a horse. It has also put me in a hot shower after a day of hard work watching an enormous amount of dirt roll off my skin and disappear down the drain. It has brought the life and the fire back into my eyes. It has put me on the back of millions of dollars worth of horses for five hours a day. It has put me in a tiny cottage with chickens running through the front yard and taught me a million new things about the sport of polo. These horses I ride everyday are phenomenal athletes and they make or break the players.
My job during games can be likened to the pit crew of a race car driver. First horse: feet cleaned, tail braided and up, polo wraps on, bell boots on, splint boots on, bridled, saddled, cinched up, warmed up and ready for the first chukka (polo term for quarter or period depending on how many played), hand horse and mallet to player. Repeat process with second horse. First chukka ends, take first horse, hand second horse to player. Strip first horse, cool out, bathe. Ready third horse....strip second horse. Ready fourth horse...strip third horse....repeat until done. All this happens really fast. Stripping polo wraps off all four legs reminds me of the guys you see in the pits changing tires. You don't think, its just go.
After the game is over, I make sure all the horses are stalled and watered. Then I get to observe and navigate my way through the polo social scene. It has been an interesting and insightful experience, to say the least, as all have been very welcoming, friendly and hospitable despite the fact that the median daily income of this crowd most likely exceeds my monthly income.
But, at the end of the day, when all the social hubub is complete and I walk back out to the barn and hear that soft nicker as I walk down the aisle tossing alfalfa into the feeders, the world becomes right again, the energy surges, time pauses and I smile at the fact that I am indeed, one very, very wealthy, young woman.
Now for the week in pictures:
 |
| A really crappy picture of the love of my life, a thoroughbred mare named Mochatika. She is like my Superfly 100--god damn fast! |
 |
| What it looks like to have over $50,000 worth of horses in two hands... |
 |
| Learning the ropes (or more accurately, the "wraps")... |
 |
| Helping a student prior to the first lesson of the day... |
 |
| My cubicle.... |
 |
| The evening sky in Elizabeth.... |
Here's to a summer of living via two wheels and four hooves....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)