Peder for your rife!!!!

(only my family will understand the title of this blog post and well, my family is my primary audience so it works out)

Amy (who might be my pseudo life partner at this point) and I packed up our bikes and headed to the coast on Friday. The sun was shining, my belly was full from an early morning breakfast with a friend, I was on my second cup of coffee, and the car was toasty warm.



We decided it made sense to grocery shop before riding – riding is what we came to do so let’s get the business end of this deal out of the way. Little did we know, this dilly dallying was consuming precious hours of sunshine. And we managed to leave without the main ingredient, don’t worry, we had 3 six packs in our cart.

Don’t tell anyone, but we made three total trips to the grocery store in the span of errr, 5 hours. Amy returned after the third trip… “Kate, please don’t make me go back again.” Amy is so sweet, I felt bad that our poor planning had subjected her to the grocery store a total of 3 times. I only stepped inside once and was, well, sad.

Sad for two reasons, the offerings were limited, I wanted chipotle peppers in adobo sauce and available to me were 5 different types of canned jalapenos. And then sad that I was sad about the limited offerings. They were limited from my urbanite perspective but there was food on the shelves and it was edible and affordable. There were fresh vegetables. Can one really complain? Don’t drive yourself to a rural area and judge, who do you think you are? No swiss chard?

We hopped on our bikes. I don’t know if you know this but the seat, over a long period of time, is not your friend (if you know what I mean). There are ways around this, fancy pants with extra padding and well, lubricant. And there is just something so wrong about the lubricant on so so many levels but again, I can’t complain, it helps.

(you know when you were just little and you would sit on the beach and play in the surf and the lining of your bathing suit would fill up with sand? And then you were in a pickle. I can’t very well inconspicuously remove the sand but if I don’t remove the sand, I have a bulge in the crotch of my bathing suit. These situations TORMENTED me as a child. What. Am. I. Going. To. Do? Anyhoo, I think bike pants generate the same sensation. I am over sharing in this blog post, I know.)

Finally, lubed up and ready to go. We head down the coast with the goal of riding for two hours (we spent too much time at the grocery store). Refreshing – open road, no one with which to contend. No runners, no walkers, just the two of us and some intermittent vehicle traffic. We ride hard and decide we can get 30 miles in.

I was so busy riding that I didn’t notice the clouds roll in and the temperature drop. I think to myself… we are heading south but are we heading downhill too? Does my brain confuse going downhill with going south?! Then I conclude there is a fine line (balance) between absolute brilliance and sheer stupidity! I’m teetering.

We reach Shoalwater Casino, drink some water, eat some food and decide to head back. (I realize in this moment, as I pull my iphone out of my pocket, that contextually I might look absurd)

FYI, we were heading downhill (and south). So we clip back in, loop the gas station parking lot and head back north (uphill) and the wind rears its ugly head. Ok, yes, I know, I am on the coast. I thought of this in advance and chose to push the thought of a coastal “breeze” to the back of my mind.

It’s ok, it is beautiful, look at the waves, smell the air, it’s ok. Well it is NOT ok after 5 miles!! Determined. To. Get. Home. Must warm my feet. Slowly, gradually, I lose all feeling in my feet and my hands are tingling. Then the little pellet-like spits of rain arrive. It wasn’t showering, it wasn’t raining, it was intermittently spitting on me, in my eyes to be exact.

I think to myself as I battle the wind both physically and psychologically. You know Kate, it could be worse, you could be paddling. You could be in a canoe. You could be in a kayak. There could be a current. You would have to rely on your upper body and your upper body would surely fail you but your legs, your legs will come through and feeling your feet, well, that’s just a luxury!

And then I think of the lake, paddering for my rife and the lake is a happy place. I’m standing on the Sykes dock with my Mom and someone else. My brother is in the water taxi (our yellow canoe) and a storm blows in. Big, enormous blobs of rain start to fall around us, the wind shifts direction and kicks up, the evening thunderstorm has arrived. My brother, who is a young one at this point, probably on the cusp of adolescence, finds himself struggling to steer the canoe under these new conditions. What do we do? We stand on the dock, doubled over in laughter as he spins around in circles, only a mere 15 feet away from the dock, unable to get back, soaked.

This makes me happy, peder, peder, peder. Then I remember the afternoon on the boat house dock with my Mom and Valerie, Meg and I entrenched in our astrology phase of life, analyzing everyone around us.

This makes me happy, peder, peder, peder. Then I remember the meteor shower, my family, Meg, Andy and I on the dock. Meg and I have decided to refer to my Dad as hamburger and deny all others their shooting star sightings. I saw one… no you didn’t! Ha ha! Absolutely intolerable in our tween years.

The spitting rain reminds me of the time we left Andy asleep on the dock in the rain. And then Brad’s infamous blunder in a heated moment. My mom having just demolished his army in the game of risk, Brad is left thoroughly defeated (not only does my Mom beat you… every time… she shit talks while she does it).

Oh the wind, well this isn’t as bad as the night Buff and I decided to paddle up the lake to the Seeds in a blustery storm (note: storm = no moon = no illumination). The only reason we took the canoe is because I (the younger, wiser, cautious one) decided that taking the sail boat in a storm wouldn’t be so bright (albeit so much more efficient). Buff, so many arguably inappropriate decisions leading to the best memories. There was the time we went sailing at 4am with a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Do you really need to be able to see the shoreline?

How many more miles? 5. WHAT? How can that be? THIS is a REAL batter. Finally we make it back, stop at the grocery store (2nd time) and finally make it home. Amy thrusts chocolate milk into my hand, recovery drink. I gingerly remove my shoes and tuck my toes between the cushions on the couch.

Um, you are still wearing your helmet. Uh, of course I am, I have bigger concerns right now. MY FEET! But obviously we will take a picture. And let’s take a picture that will provide my Dad endless entertainment. I can hear him in my head and decide it would go nicely with a childhood picture that 30 years later, remains a gem. No one ever accused me of being photogenic!