R.I.P. Chelsea Chittenden Beavers

I was pregnant, tired, completely war torn and waiting tables as a second job; saving money for the eventual birth of my son. Chelsea was young, beautiful, and people were drawn to her like she had magnets in her heart. She came to work at the restaurant with her dear friend. They did everything together, and they both enjoyed confiding in me during our shifts after they'd been on some adventure together.

I was years their senior, and I think, they felt that anything they did, could never be as bad as some of my stories, and I never judged, so they told me another, and another. She never knew it, but she saved her best friend's job many times, as she ran circles around nearly everyone at work. They kept the lesser skilled, lesser dedicated friend around knowing full well that if she left, Chelsea would likely leave too.

She was dedicated, hard working, fun and beautiful.

One day, her best friend disappeared and I saw a different side of the bubbling, happy, beautiful blonde haired girl. Chelsea cried standing in the well as we both waited for drinks. She recounted their last conversation, their last argument, her friend not answering her phone.

She was shattered. Heartbroken. Alone.

Eventually, she'd pick up the pieces, make new friends, and I never heard what happened to the friend. After T was born the updates from Chelsea weren't as frequent. I'd still see her and ask to sit in her section whenever I went to that restaurant, but the day to day stories fell by the way side.

We both grew, moved on. But that same smile, charisma, charm; those caring questions, they never left.

And today, when I came to work, and made my way through my Monday morning email and Facebook rituals, I learned that Chelsea died. Since I'd last seen her, she'd gone from blonde to brunette, fallen in love, gotten married and was carrying her first child. A blood clot in her brain took her silently, and robbed her husband and her family in a quick instant of so many of their dreams.

She was due to have her first baby in October.

There are really no words to describe how unfair this is. How heartbroken her husband, family and closest girlfriends friends have to be for having lost this tiny bundle of energetic love; their first child, grandchild, her stalwart devotion. I also sit here with little else on my mind but the intrinsic knowledge that people do not recover from this type of loss.

They do not move on. They survive, maybe. But they are never, ever the same. They are not unlike anyone who came in this bright woman's shining path.

Forever changed. Forever better.

And yet...

Shattered.
Heartbroken.
Alone.

My Peeps

I just asked T if he knew what Peeps were, as I contemplated the food for a forthcoming social gathering/experiment.

His response:

"Yeah mama, like Pedro and Ryan are my peeps?"

Racing Season IS Here...And So Is SNOW!?!?

Racing season is upon us folks, and while we've done plenty of bragging about our 70 degree cloudless days, it will surely snow again, and for good measure, why not this weekend....because after all,this is Iowa.

How about this weekend?

That's right, the forecast calls for rain mixed with snow and ice for our big debut Sunday. It will be interesting to see how my bike works on steep descents with no brakes. But those are mere details. I am trying my best to focus on the positive; moreso than freezing my ass off, crashing or finishing DFL. Racing season means spending more time with these lovely ladies, and suffering along side them:

It means earning your post ride beers, in places like this:And most importantly, it means connecting with beautiful people like Gayle (below), more often than the typical once-a-year-at-Ragbrai. If there was ever a woman I met on a bike who is my sister from another mother, it is Gayle. I cannot wait to give her a big 'ole hug this weekend, swap some stories, introduce our children and share a couple beers. Together on bikes we are the perfect combination of "Sag-a-ga-wee-a" and overachiever. We are even more dangerous, however, when we are thinking about biking, but not biking.

Team Outing

The cycling crew got together at Jethro's last night and T came along to meet the team. He was on his best behavior and walked out fairly enamored by my teammates.

His words: "such a nice group of people mom, you should really feel great about that."

Jethro's is my new fave place: comes complete with waiters who make you laugh until you cry, an eclectic mix of clientele, the tastiest ribs ever, mouth watering brisket, damned good cornbread, gooey garlic mashed potatoes, a healthy beer selection, and EVERY SINGLE NCAA GAME televised.

Yes, we are in the Midwest, it is March Madness, and I could not be happier about the gluttony.

I COULD be happier about my child's new food budget (and shoe budget and pants budget, which are posts for other days) which seems to be eating larger and larger portions of my paycheck as T's self-described "growing worm" ravages its way through his quickly-approaching-my-size-body. My kid orders his steaks medium rare, extra sides of sausage and bacon whenever possible, and now this...full racks of ribs.

At least he has taste. Enjoy the weekend. We'll be watching hoops and comparing brackets if you need us.

Tulsa Tales: Malcolm and Tim

When Malcolm and Tim showed up to ride with us, we thought they'd pull out a couple maps, send us in a particular direction, and go on their merry way.

Instead, these two strangers/friends dropped race entries, ditched their families, jobs, and spent three, long, and at times grueling days in the saddle with us. They cheered when we nailed a pace line, didn't seem to mind our bitching, were the first ones off their bikes when we had a mechanical, and especially quick with encouragement and gentle coaching. Their patience in explaining what was to come with each chunk of road was also invaluable, and I would guess, quite unlike riding with a bunch of dudes. They also took us out to dinner, opened their homes, introduced us to some of Tulsa's finest and even hauled us to a few bars.

On that last day our group split into two rides.

I followed the climbers for a hard left, despite all sorts of warning bells going off in my head, ass, and legs begging for a hard right. Within minutes we'd crested our first hill, settled into a false flat and a lively pace line. It was fast and I could barely hold on. Malcolm instructed me to hang in the back and suck up the love. I looked down, my spedometer read 31 mph. I held on. Then a break. I dropped. Pedaled hard up. Caught it. Then fell off the back again, and the rest of the group broke, then scampered up a 1.5 mile climb.

I have never wanted so badly to go all fetal and just die on my bike. I could not feel my hands or feet. My breath seemed to come from the top of my stomach, if you could even call my disgusting wheezes a breath. There was little I could do but drop it into an easier gear and spin. I am amazed, in hindsight that I stayed on my bike. It likely would have required too much effort to clip out. And so it went.

I pedaled.
Slowly.
Up.

I spun helplessly and steadily as the rest of the group scampered to the top, becoming smaller and smaller until I could not see them at all. I knew it was pointless and likely futile to try and catch them, but I also knew I needed to, eventually. My eyes watered over, my legs screamed, and I dry heaved off the side of my bike.

And then I noticed Malcolm. Slowly, drawing back. He waited until I'd caught my breath a bit, slid along beside me, took up my pace (read: damned SLOW) and started chatting. About Ragbrai. Des Moines. My son. His job. He did most of the talking. And then, gradually, when I was ready, he pulled me up that hill, and pushed me onto the back with the others. There were no words, just an occassional look over his shoulder to ensure I was still there. It was seamless. They never heard my heaves. He never said a word.

It is always on the bike that I feel the most vulnerable. It is also always on the bike that I feel strongest.

People like Malcolm and Tim, with whom you can bond in these moments of uncertainty, vulnerability, celebration and complete exhaustion, they make the adventure totally worthwhile.

It is no coincidence that I always seem to find these generous, wonderful souls...pedaling.

Tulsa Tales Con't.

Here we all are as we are boarded and ready to leave our swanky Tulsa digs.

THE RIDE(S):
200 miles.
3 days.
Lots and lots of climbing.
Hurray.

And yes, we are most certainly dressed in matching shirts. Tulsa Tough shirts.

Soon you will learn more.

Raymond

The full trip report forthcometh, in the meantime, meet Raymond. The day Keely and I met him he was being booted from the Tulsa YMCA. It was not clear how long he'd lived there, but he was looking this day, for a new home. One "complete with lots of silence, and Care Bears so I can align the zeros in my head, all in a row."

Raymond is a proud Korean Vet, in the process of writing his first book (about the homeless), where he hopes to pull together the common attributes of 1,000 of the colorful homeless folks he met during six years of self-induced homelessness along the east coast.

Raymond was also a self proclaimed "huge advocate" of reflectors and bike lights just like the ones he had on the planes he flew in Korea. We met him outside our Tulsa home one morning pre-ride. He stopped by again later that evening so we could see his (new/different than this) bike, all lit up, with a fancy 2x4 constructed trailer.

Raymond's motto, ask every person you see how they are doing.

When they respond and ask how HE'S doing, reply:

Oh, I'm getting older and uglier.

Aren't we all?