Blue Ridge Bike Challenge

I'm having a hard time deciding on a tone for this entry. Part of me feels compelled to write in a "this was hard, I can't believe I did it" voice. Another part of me feels led to take on a "this was so awesome you must add this trip to your bucket list" attitude. I have this strange mix of humility and pride about this thing. There were moments when I was terrified, exhausted, humiliated, and in pain. There were other moments when you could not wipe the smile off my face with a twenty-five pound eraser. It was just one of those trips: Two days, two bikes, four legs, 172 miles and over 15,000 feet of elevation gain and loss.

So I had this idea. I've been wanting to do something with my friend Rob Paynter, who is a pediatrician despite what his last name might imply. He works beside my wife at Forsyth Pediatrics. We have become friends over the last few years. He is a biker. And if you want to meet him in his element, it is best if you go there via pedals.

I like to bike. It's just I tend to partake in activities that require less gear. Everything bikish I own has been either given, borrowed, or stolen. I'm not kidding. Bike: Longterm Loan. Helmet: Borrowed. Glasses: Given (they're for carpentry). Shirt: Borrowed. Shorts: Stolen. Underwear: None (are you supposed to wear underwear?). Socks: Stolen. Shoes: Given. All the same, I gathered the pieces to look the part. I took this picture in the Lynn Cove Visitor Center bathroom. I looked so good I couldn't help it...ha!...not!

The point is I had this great/not-so-well-planned idea to bike a portion of the Blue Ridge Parkway with him. According to plan, Rob jumped at the idea. Immediately, I felt less secure.

I mean, I knew I would be out of my league, but as I started planning I began to realize that I might not be able to do it. I didn't fully realize (and truly did not comprehend until I did it) that the Blue Ridge Parkway is never flat.

It really isn't. I think in the 172 miles there were maybe two portions that were flat for more than a mile. I'm not kidding. You are going up or down the entire time. (And the downs go down so fast, it really feels like you are going up the entire time).

As the date got closer and closer, I got more nervous. One night, I decided to plot the route, just to get my head around it. I bought some graph paper and pulled out this Blue Ridge hiking book we happen to own, and I started placing dots everywhere there was a mile marker and elevation note. It was terrifying. Our portion of the route just went up, up, and up. In fact, the first 18 miles were only up. From Asheville (2,400 ft) to Mount Mitchell (5,700 ft) (the highest point east of the Mississippi). So getting my head around it wasn't helping.

So I decided to train. I had two weeks. That first week I woke up every day between 5:30 and 6:00 and rode. In seven days I put in 170 miles. That was pretty good, I thought. The most I did at once was 35. That was probably not good, I thought. What is good, I ask you? The next week I biked twice for fear of over doing it.

June 26, the logistics began. I drove to Cumberland Knob (our destination) with John "I'll take World History for 500, Alex" Clevenger. We dropped off my car. Drove back. Got Rob. Our friend Allison "My second home is a tent" Davis (who was going that way (to a lakehouse) anyway) took us to Asheville. (See before picture above) We stayed with Russell "Not related to the famous outdoorsman" and Priscilla "Used to be Nutt" Muir friday night. P-Nutt escorted us to the parkway. We unloaded (Ned, literally, in the woods). Said our good-byes. And Rob and I were off.

Uphill we went. This photo was taken at Craggy Gardens. We entered the cloud about 5,000 ft. We are about 5,600 ft at the taking of this picture. I am smiling. Two minutes later, we are careening down the mountain in less than 20 ft visibility on wet pavement. My hands were throbbing from squeezing the brakes so hard. I was not smiling.

Fortunately, once we got to Mount Mitchell, the clouds parted and it was sunny skies there on out. We flew. My smile was back. Rob had us clocked at over 45 mph at one point. He could have gone faster. I could not have gone slower. (I tried; it felt safer to fly.) The downhill was short-enjoyed. Before I knew it we were slogging it up another behemoth. It was one after another after another after another all day.

The crux of day one was between mile marker 324 and 321 (mile 60 into our trip). It was three miles and 1,400 feet of elevation to Chestoa View. It slaughtered me. We took this picture at the point I made us stop to take a break.
We took another break about 1 mile later. No view this time. I just couldn't go any further. I really couldn't. I was too tired to even unclip my left foot, which is why I fell, got this cut you see here. Pretty sweet, huh. I was going about -1 mph when I got it. Ha!

Rob was a great sport. I'm sure at any moment, at every moment, he could have smoked me. At least gotten frustrated for the pace I was making us take. I asked Rob later that evening (we had taken a taxi (my idea) into Blowing Rock for dinner) if he had gotten tired at any point. He said, "No." That made me feel a ton better.

As we sat down to Mellow Mushroom, I dubbed him "Oak Legs." I dubbed my own "Weeping Willows." We talked, laughed, even cried as we ate about the equivalent of our body weights in beer and pizza. We walked home. I went to bed. It was 8:30 pm.

The next day was more of the same. Up, down, Up, down, Up....But it wasn't as difficult and not as surprising. Only 77 miles and 5,000 something feet of elevation gain. (I can't believe I just wrote only.) We took this shot as we left Ashe County. The thing about the Blue ridge Parkway is it's so stinking beautiful. And combining the beauty with difficulty was downright magical. I'm having a hard time putting it into words. I guess, when it's hard, you just appreciate the beauty more. At the same time, I was also aware of how much I was missing - the sweat being in my eyes, my heart squeezing the insides of my chest cavity, my lungs burning - I'm sure I rode right on by things, if I knew they were there, I would have wanted to stop and see. There was also the knowledge that starting hurt so bad after stopping. And I was hurting already.

All in all it was an incredible two days, even for an infrequent biker like me. A trip I will never forget. One that I will most definitely do again. What do you say? Blue Ridge 2010...you in? Check out our new logo, inspired by my greasy weeping willows!

(No matter how hard I try, I always seem to get grease on me. This perfect chain print was not done on purpose and occurred two seconds after we arrived at Cumberland Knob.)

Be Careful What You Ask For

My office is on the second floor of the Forsyth County Young Life house. It is a huge gift, and the price is right. And hopefully for them (and me) the investment will pay off with a large donation as my novels rise the New York Times Bestseller List. 

Until that day, I try to show my appreciation in little ways: replenish the coffee supply, carry the recycling to the alley, replace the toilet paper... Likely, office administrator Sallie Harrison was expecting nothing when she asked if I would be "entertainment" for her quarterly meeting of local volunteer coordinators (PRAVA - I think it is an acronym). That of course is where she went wrong. She should have learned by now, but one must never give Ned the opportunity to stand up in front of a group of people unless one really wants Ned to stand up in front of a group of people.

A week later, I show up in the middle of the meeting as "Fez", the Argenswaillen party-starter. (Sallie is the one in the chef hat.)

 

Chez Fil-a

New friend and Chik-fil-a franchise owner, Raphael McCloud, put on a daddy daughter date at his restaurant on Knollwood in Thruway Shopping Center. I called earlier in the week to make reservations. A-Ro wore this shell ensemble; I put on my violin tie (once my only tie!). We entered hand-in-hand, were greeted by the cow (which shot A-Ro up into my arms!), and were ushered first to have our picture taken then to have a seat.

Linen table clothes. Rose petals. A harpist in the background. (We're in a Chik-fil-a!) A server came to take our drink orders. Milk and a lemonade. She returned for our orders. Kids meal and a #1. I t A-Ro told the story about the time I hit a golf ball at a perfect ninety-degree angle straight into a pasture and hit a cow on the tail. (I embellished a bit. There was no cow, but it was into a pasture at a perfect ninety degrees!). I also told her about my first birdie. A par 3. I had skulled my tee shot about 30 yards and worm-burned my second shot straight into the cup from about 100 yards out (no embellishment needed). She told me the story about this dried-up worm she found on the driveway. "I touched it. It was dead," she said. She told me her favorite color was dark pink. I said one of my favorites was the shade of her eyes. "Brown?" she asked. "Just like your eyes," I said. She batted them and blushed. I had never seen her do that before.

We ate our meals. A-Ro ate a sickening amount of waffle fries. The waitress brought out a sampling of desserts to choose from. A-Ro picked cheesecake with chocolate drizzle. (We're at a Chik-fil-a!). It came out in a to-go box, but we ate it in the store. They handed A-Ro a card and a carnation, me the bill for 10 bucks. It was then that I realized I had forgotten my wallet.

Nothing like dining and dashing on a first date...!

(I went back and paid)

Mugshot

Take a look at this mug. The ceramic one. I made that. I made it with my own hands.

This spring, I decided to begin research on a book that has been percolating my insides the last six months or so. It's a story about Clay. He's clay. The main character. He is made of clay. His name is, too. Clay. The main character's name is Clay. Which makes it both convenient and confusing at the same time.

So I decided to see what it was like to work with clay. I took a beginning pottery class at the Sawtooth Center here in Winston-Salem. The first thing I learned is that there was a lot to. Learn. There is a lot to learn. At least three-quarters of the class had been taking beginning pottery for years.

Our instructor, Po-Wen Liu, and I as it turned out had much in common. Not our wheelthrowing abilities. He is a master. I am and will likely remain a young grasshopper. But we both have two children. And when it comes to parenting them we are on even ground. Neither of us know what we are doing.

About four sessions in, Po-Wen asked me what I was doing there. It took me awhile to understand he wasn't talking about the mess I was making. He was wondering why I was taking pottery. Looking around at my fellow throwers, I guess it would make one wonder. Most were retired. The others, but one, had previous experience. The one was a student at North Carolina State who had taken a semester off and had time to spare. Then, there was me.

I thought about making something up, but I have been on this no lying kick lately, so I told him. "I want to write a book about clay, and I am planning on befriending you so you will want to help me write it." He said, "Ok."

He told me that a few years ago he was the consultant on the Newberry Medal winning book A Single Shard by Linda Sue Park. It had been a great experience for him, and he said he would be thrilled to have another. I said, "Ok."

How about that for serendipity?

We had our last class yesterday. I think I am going to take a second beginning class in the fall. Over the summer, Po-Wen and I are going to 'work out' at his studio in Greensboro.

The mug you see in the picture is my wife's Mother's Day present. I am so proud of it, it was hard to give it to her. Ha! But she loves it, too. She has been drinking her morning coffee out of it for a week now. The mug I made for myself should not be pictured. It is all handle, and it doesn't hold enough coffee. The handle isn't the problem. I don't mind handles being big. I just wish the rest of it was. I'm a big mug kind of guy. I don't like refills.

Wild and Wonderful Memorial Day

The Simpson Clan spent the Memorial Weekend on the outskirts of the metropolis of Hico, West Virginia. Can anyone say banjo music? Ha! Actually, the experience did more to debunk my horrid misconceptions of the state than anything. It truly is a beautiful place, chock full of world class climbing, biking, and rafting. We did the rafting. I wish I had photos. It was a blast! Please don't misinterpret the next few lines. But what really made the trip was that one of the boats in our pod capsized into a swirling vortex of terror! It was shrapnel in the water. I knew it was serious when our guide started to freak. Everyone survived, thank God. This one girl got slammed against this rock the locals call 'the vulture', but she fortunately popped out instead of under. She won't be shaving her legs for a few weeks. It was awesome! I sound like a sadist. I really am an awful person.

The rest of the weekend was not as violent. Minus one foray with a wasp, nothing near death occurred. It was yet another experience that proved my good judgment into marrying a Simpson. I truly married up. Lia is awesome. Lia's family is awesome. I am one lucky dude.

The Case of the Missing Prize Horse

The house was rocking. The mojitos were flowing. Mine that Bird was biding his time second from last. He/She/They, too, were biding their time. All seemed to be going as planned.

The setting: the Erickson Annual Kentucky Derby Party. The scene of the crime: the dining room table. Abbie Trollinger, artist and local second grader, had crafted an original pencil sketch "Brown Horse by Red Barn and Green Bushes" which was to serve as the grand prize.

No one suspected anything. The eighteen horses in front of Mine that Bird had not seen it coming, nor had anyone at the party. Of the fifty-one horse bets placed at the party, zero had picked 'the Bird'. In a split second decision, Ned, the party organizer, decided to award the grand prize to the person who had picked the second place horse. Four had actually done so, but Jake Jelnick, had Pioneer of the Nile by the fewest lengths. He was the winner.

It was time to award him his prize. But the prize was gone. Ned, at first, did not suspect foul play. He had a tendency toward misplacement. But after ten minutes of frantic searching, fellow revelers joining in the ransack, it was decided that the grand prize was officially missing. Jake Jelnick left empty-handed and broken-hearted.

By ten that night, the masterpiece "Brown Horse by Red Barn and Green Bushes" was declared stolen.

Ned began compiling a suspect list.

Suspects #1 and #2: Jac Murfee and Nolan Kraft. Jac seen here impersonating a fireman. He and Nolan were witnessed admiring the sketch earlier that evening. Kraft was reported to have asked permission to "handle" the artwork. He said that he wanted to see the drawing in natural light. Permission had been granted. Under constant supervision, the two men (5 and 6) took the painting outside and returned the work unharmed.

Suspect #3: Sarah Kent Trollinger. Seen here manhandling a much larger, much older man, her innocent face should not fool you. She was the younger sister of the artist, painter of last year's grand prize. Her uproar over her older sister's art this year serving as grand prize had been well-observed. According to her mother, she had lately been a handful. Although no reveler saw her at the party, she had the capability and the motive.

Suspect #4: Lia Erickson. Wife to party organizer. Pictured earlier this year carrying, in her words, "something precious." A lifelong horse lover. She started collecting horse paintings over two decades ago. Having seen Ms. Abbie Trollinger's masterwork - her husband noted a "strange, eerie twinkle in her eye." What incriminates her even more, is that later that night, "Brown Horse by Red Barn and Green Bushes" was discovered hidden under her side of the bed! When confronted, she claimed she had no idea how the painting got there.

Mr. Jelnick, at long last, has received his prize. When asked if he intended to press charges, he said: "I'm just glad no one got hurt." The case of the missing prize horse, therefore, has been dropped, leaving the question of whodunit open for eternity.

West Forsyth

Last week I had the privilege of speaking to Mrs. Sarah Garcia's 10th graders at West Forsyth High School. They were a great audience: attentive, appreciative, and cooperative.

I will not assume to talk for them, but as for me, I had a blast. Mrs. Garcia even allowed me to teach a little bit! (She doesn't know me that well.)

So I taught some point of view. I defined it the way Atticus does to Scout: "'you never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view - ' ... ' - until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.'" So I had the class go into their backpacks or purses and pull out an item. Then, we wrote about life from the item's point of view. In the picture above I am giving the example I wrote the night before about life as my pen. After that, I let them go for it. Here is me checking out Tina's.

From my perusing I read a bunch of great starts. Some wrote as their pens, their gum, their calculators, one guy wrote as his running shoe, another as his skeleton key. It was great. Sarah sent me Paige Ehlers as her umbrella. It was fantasitc! Here is a photo of it. Click on it to read it.

Family Camp at Windy Gap

I thought I'd tell the story of this year's trip to Windy Gap Family Camp through photos. This first one was taken while waiting in line for the annual horsey ride. It was A-Ro's highlight from last year, and it has served as a good bribery tool ever since. This picture I think captures the moment well. Lia, hanging on but happy; Ned, baggy eyes, funked out hair; Anna Rose, tongue out in a nannie nannie boo boo I'm about to ride a horsey and no one's gonna stop me...

I love this shot. It was one of the 50 I took during Anna Rose's single loop around the corral. Several photos could have made the blog cut. She wore a smile the whole time. This one shows the simultaneous joy and full-on concentration though. That was what, for me, was most fun to watch.

Here's the perspective shot. A-Ro was on Gulliver: a cross between a Clydesdale and Woolly Mammoth. Anna's not the biggest of girls to begin with, but on the back of this mastodon, she was a shrimp!

This weekend wasn't all fun. I had a couple serious responsibilities...like leading music in an ice cream sundae outfit. Ha! Good times. Here's a photo of the band: Adam Sheppard (red M&M), Nate Allman (candy corn (off picture)), Jennifer Steele (green M&M and owner of the red, candy corn, sundae, and borrower of the banana), Jeff Hwang (in the banana), and me (owner of the green M&M). Got it?

This was my final photo of the weekend, taken seconds before slamming the tailgate shut and heading for home. I gave David one responsibility: to protect my cookie booty. Here he is, caught red handed. From his expression, I'm not sure, but by the look of it, neither the cookie nor the crime appeared to sit well.

See you next year, Gulliver!

Potty Time Excellent

You know your life has a hit a new low when the best thing going on is that you are potty training. Especially when you want to argue the point. Which is what I'd like to do. Because potty training has been awesome!

After 34 years...just kidding. I'm talking about Anna Rose. Last week was Potty Boot Camp. Booty Camp you could say. Our friends Tim and Lindsay took the plunge with us as well. See photo. That's Daisy. She rocks, I might add. And her parents have already stopped saving for her college tuition because she is a lock down NCAA Div 1 Scholarship Athlete.

Not so for A-Ro.

But she did master the potty. She's close. And as soon as I learn to upload video on this thing, I'll post her doing the potty dance. If you have not seen the video, please check it out.

http://www.dothepottydance.com/index.tbapp

my sister actually cut and pasted not so flattering photos of us and inserted them into this:

http://www.msn.americangreetings.com/ecards/view.pd?i=428037834&m=9826&rr=y&source=msne999

Pretty hilarious.

But back to Anna Rose. She went all week with only one accident! Unbelievable. She had two over the weekend at Windy Gap. Both were our (my) fault. Today she had the...well, let's just say, we had a messy morning. But, generally, the girl is rocking it. I never thought I'd enjoy so much the sound of liquid on plastic. Ha!

Spit Up Season

I write this as spit-up oozes down my neck. Don't get me wrong, I love the kid, but I'm definitely struggling through a major readjustment of priorities and expectations.

And so as of this morning, I've decided that by June if my two children are still breathing and if Lia and I have not gone certifiably insane, then I will consider this spring an achievement of monumental proportions. Anything else that manages to get done will be gravy.

All Night Long

Two weeks ago I slept with another woman all night long. The all night was the most amazing part. Because the woman was Anna Rose. We went camping down the basement. Lia, the rational one, decided to forego the sleeping bag for the bed. But A-Ro and I braved it.

To make things more interesting we had Mexican for dinner.

We decided to let Anna stay up a bit later than usual. Wake Forest happened to be playing that night. She likes watching basketball. We got to halftime. It wasn't looking pretty. The Deacs. They were not looking pretty. So A-Ro and I cashed in our chips. We read Harold and the Purple Crayon and an Oliver Jeffers book called Lost and Found then said our prayers and fell asleep. I did. A-Ro must have about the same time. Our heads were still touching the way they had been when we were reading books four hours earlier. I placed a blanket on her and managed to maneuver myself to comfortable. I woke up again around three in the morning. She was sleeping peacefully perpendicular to me. At five she woke up. I think it was crying David that did it actually. But she was wired. And I was not ready. So I took her upstairs, prepared her some milk, carried her back down to the tent and handed her Harold. I said, "Read yourself a book, I'm going to bed." Which is what I did. I drifted off to the turning of pages and Anna Rose's unique lilt whispering and the moon went with him. I woke up at 8:30 feeling refreshed. Anna Rose was sleeping perpendicular to me, her head on my rib. She woke up a few minutes later. I could hardly believe we had done it.

Operation next time: the backyard.

The Arnold

Yes, this is a woman. Her voice (a full octave lower than mine) may entice some to question the truth of my claim. But it is true. I think it is. Her name is Sheila - one of the bazillion jawdropping things/people I witnessed at my first ever Arnold Sports Festival last weekend.

"The Arnold" as people in Columbus, Ohio refer to it is an event like no other. This is from a press release: "Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jim Lorimer held the First Arnold Classic in 1989 as a one-day event. Today the Arnold Sports Festival is recognized as the largest multi-sport Festival in the nation and the greatest sports-fitness experience of a lifetime." Experience - yes that is the word. You just have to experience it.

Rich Simpson, Jeremy Logsdon, Todd Vishnauski, David Baker and I spent Saturday at the festival. We saw everything from the Squat Competition to the a World's Strongest Man event to Ping Pong (yes, even Ping Pong). The EXPO itself is worth the price of admission. The Sheila picture just doesn't do the woman justice. (By the way, take a look at the other people in the background. They're almost as jacked!) You have to experience her to believe it. And she was just one member of the eye-candy entourage plastered all over the 700 booth EXPO in the main floor. Oh, we also got to see Arnold.

I really don't have much more to add. You really should peruse the website. http://arnoldsportsfestival.com/

One thing is sure: I am going again though it may take awhile. As David Baker told me on the way to the convention center: "It took me five years to get over the last Arnold." Having attended, I now understand.