For many years now I've suspected that we Americans might not not always be the good guys.  I couldn't help but notice that our government occasionally did things that were contrary to our stated beliefs.  I was still in elementary school when my mom told me about how Americans of Japanese descent were interred in prison camps during World War II, not just Issei (the first generation, immigrants) but Nisei, their children who were American citizens by birth.  And that was simply a natural progression of the practice of discriminating against Asians who had been barred from becoming naturalized citizens since 1911.  (It wasn't until 1952 that the law was changed.)  Clearly all men were not created equal in the eyes of white, Anglo Saxon, Protestant men, and women were not even considered to be men.  (Sorry, I can't help myself )

Even as a child, I was horrified at the thought of innocent people being swept away on a tide of fear, their lives disrupted, their possessions, lost to opportunistic neighbors.  In school we learned of the atrocities perpetuated by the Nazis in Europe and Africa but none of my friends had ever heard of prison camps for Americans of Japanese descent.  I'm not saying the two are even close to being the same but to the victims, the events bear a scary resemblance. 

So, why am I not surprised that now our government has persuaded the country to accept torture as an appropriate means to an end.  George W. Bush and his zealots have condoned acts of "harsh interrogation" that were considered war crimes after World War II.  What does surprise me is that the American public isn't outraged.   Why does life go on as if nothing is wrong when people are being held, tortured and even murdered without being charged with a crime.  Why isn't our God-fearing, moral majority standing up and demanding that we actually do what Jesus would do?  I used to believe that torture only happened in third world countries or under dictators like Saddam Hussein.  Are we so impotent now that we are forced to play dirty to win?   

This rant is out of character for me so I won't continue, besides, I'm a little concerned that the thought police will stumble upon this and come for me in the night.  (I'm only half kidding)

Good night and good luck.

I've been nursing a sore back all week after spading over some additional garden area in the back yard, last weekend.  It wakes me up around 3 A.M. and there just isn't any position that doesn't hurt fiercely.  The only thing that helps is a hot shower, massage and vigorous exercise.  So, there was nothing to be done but, you guessed it, go for a bike ride.

Guy rode up the driveway around nine, all warmed up from his two mile uphill ride from home.  Mike had our bikes all lubricated and ready to rock and roll.  Guy is always a hoot to ride with because he has a wonderful, droll sense of humor and he almost always wrecks.  I like to ride behind him for the best view of the rodeo.  He was in great form today.  We had hardly left the pavement when he let his front tire drift off the trail into some loose stuff on the edge and planted his wheel.  Bam! He was down before he even knew he was in trouble.  No, Geoff, I did not use him for traction. (That's a joke referring to my slightly ruthless nature when it comes to male riders who assume they can ride in front of me because I'm female.)

Oh, that reminds me of another story...I was racing the Amateur Cup series at Big Bear in the beginner class (my illustrious racing career consisted of three or four races).  The beginner women started after the beginner men but they both raced the same course.  The race course was ideally laid out with all the climbing at the beginning and a screamer downhill at the end.  After a few miles, I started catching and passing some of the slower men in the class ahead of me, which didn't go over all that well with some of them.  The downhill was hideously rocky, steep and loose and it was congested with beginner men.  I was carefully threading my way through the slower bikers, trying not wreck and lose position when one of the macho dudes I had humiliated on the climb caught up with me and started verbally harassing me.  When I refused to move off the narrow trail to let him pass he threatened to knock me off.  I quipped back "Go ahead and try, buddy.  Better riders than you have died trying."  I couldn't tell how serious he was but I was gratified to hear the voice of one of my beginner men friends behind him say, "Yeah, and I've seen her do it".  Well, it seemed funny at the time.

Anyway, Guy was unhurt and resumed the ride with no further mishap.  We hadn't decided exactly which route we were going to take, Upper Workout (a very steep climb) or Lower Workout (a pleasant climb) so I was grateful to see the guys make the turn onto Lower Workout when the decision had to be made.  Lower is a double track that follows the contours of the foothills with only a couple of steep sections.  There's one shortcut that plunges off the side of the road which is exciting but very short.  Guy followed Mike's lead over the edge without hesitation.  Later in the ride he commented the he experienced ball enlargement when he rode with Mike. 

I've been riding with Mike for so many years that I don't properly appreciate how good he is on a bike.  He makes riding the most technical, steep sections of trail look like child's play.  A byproduct of following him is that, because he makes it look so easy, one is inclined to try things that would otherwise make one get off and walk.  Most of the time it works.  When it doesn't, it's a learning experience.

Oh, that reminds me of another story.  This one is about Guy.

Sometimes when I reflect on my life, it seems so mundane.  How can I be so content with a routine that's so utterly devoid of any excitement?  Why would anyone fill her days with such trivia? 

Yesterday, Uncle Ted stopped by to visit Mom.  I couldn't resist plopping down to join the conversation which meandered from one topic to the next so seamlessly that nobody noticed the passage of time.  At one point the subject of famous people who have no actual claim to fame came up.  Paris Hilton and Britney Spears came to mind and Ted mused about why such seemingly mindless women would bear children.  I speculated that materialistic people think of children as objects to acquire that reflect positively on them, noting that our possessions are a reflection of our personality.  Ted pondered the idea for a moment and then agreed that he felt that way about his things.  I was dumbfounded. 

For those of you who haven't met my uncle, let me describe him to you.  He's a quietly sociable fellow with a keen wit.  His home is modest (tiny), furnished with a motley assortment of cast offs.  He has acres of garages which house vehicles of every description except "smartly polished" (see my sister's latest blog).  He hasn't bought anything new since about 1980 (this is only a slight exageration), which brings us to his prized possession.  He confessed to deriving a sense of well-being from driving his formerly-tomato-red, vintage Camaro.  To my mind this car is a faded, rattle-trap and seriously dangerous to boot, but he sees it as a symbol of power and he revels in how it handles.  What a classic example of one man's trash being another's treasure. 

Ted's been suffering some ill effects from his chemo therapy.  His sense of taste is dulled and distorted and he has no appetite.  When he doesn't eat he gets tired very quickly and when he can't work, he gets depressed.  So, donning my apron, I whipped up a batch of my famous Mayan Mystery cookies.  (In case you're interested, I'll include the recipe at the end.)  To stimulate the appetite, we administered an old herbal remedy, which also has a side effect of lifting the spirits.  It didn't seem right to eat cookies for breakfast so first we had scrambled eggs with feta cheese, hash browned potatoes and honey, wheat-berry toast (not home-made) with home-made (not my home) plum preserves.  Testimony to my culinary skills or the herbal remedy, there wasn't a crumb left when we moved on to the cookies and milk. 

Lest you think my life consists entirely of lazing about, eating and chatting, I eventually got around to cleaning the kitchen and mowing the lawns, tasks made even more pleasant by the residual effects of the herbal remedy.  Hmmm, maybe I've figured out why I enjoy my simple life.

Here's the cookie recipe:

MAYAN MYSTERY COOKIES

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup sugar               Cream these together

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour                           
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon finely (and freshly) ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
3/4 cup cocoa                                      Sift these together

Combine the dry ingredients with butter mixture then mix in

1 large egg 
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

You will also need 1 package of semisweet chocolate morsels.                                           

Chill dough for at least an hour then, using your hands, roll the dough into balls about the size of a big walnut and tuck about 5 chocolate morsels into each one.  Put some sugar in a bowl or plate and roll the balls in the sugar to cover lightly.  Place balls on a non-stick cookie sheet.

 Bake at 350 for eight minutes.  Don't overbake; the cookies should be delicate and soft in the center.  Let them cool on the baking sheet or they will fall apart when you try to move them.  They don't keep very well so eat as many as you can while they're still warm.  They will be edible for a couple of days if you keep them in an airtight container but they lose the delicate crunchy outside.  Got milk?

I was so excited to get my new computer, I just couldn't wait to get it set up.   It was not to be.  I worked all afternoon trying to get it to connect to my wireless DSL to no avail.  So, until Nick, my computer dude, can come over to check it out, I'm on the laptop. 

The laptop took offense at something someone sent me and shut itself down with dire warnings about serious errors.  It took several attempts to get it to restart but eventually it did start.  It went through the same routine today so if I go incommunicado, you will know why. 

The scorching summer heat has finally abated and, even though the "storm" never materialized here, we did get enough of a drizzle to settle the dust.  Time to hit the trail.

Off to an inauspicious start, I had a flat tire, a memento of the Wildwood Canyon ride.  No big surprise though, as I had pulled several bull thorns (or goat heads as some call them) out of the tire when I noticed them on the way home last week.  Mike had patched the tube but evidently missed one of the slower leaks.  I started about 15 minutes ahead of Mike because he climbs faster than I do which worked out perfectly.  He caught me about a mile from the top of the climb by which time he was happy to travel at my speed.  I use the term "speed" loosely here as I was suffering plenty from trying to stay ahead of him as long as possible and due to the fact that some motorcyclists had brutalized the trail. 

It's understood that we are obligated to share our carefully crafted trails with hikers and equestrians.  Horses are hard on trails, especially where it's steep and rocky, as their hooves loosen rocks and dig up sand but at least they are fairly careful to stay on the trail.  Motorcycles on the other hand, have a wider foot print because they are traveling too fast to stay in the center of the path.  They churn up the soil making it difficult to pedal through the loose dirt and they mow down the foliage along the side of the trail.  Bicycles can travel a trail for years without significant widening but one clumsy motorcyclist can turn it into a freeway instantly.  Inevitably, the quads are sure to follow the two-wheeled motorized vehicles and then we no longer have single-track.  What a shame to see so many hours of labor, and trail building is very labor intensive, go down the drain so needlessly.  The worst of it is that the motorcyclist is probably not even aware of the damage he is causing.     

We stopped at the top to don our protective leg gear before starting the always exhilarating descent.  This particular trail starts with a great drop off a rocky embankment where you have to thread your way through a notch between two rocks and then drop down a ramp made up of a series of large fairly flat rocks before negotiating a quick turn at the bottom.  From there the trail twists and turns, drops into a drainage before shooting straight up an impossibly steep bank and so on.  It's not a difficult trail if you maintain sufficient speed but there is potential for catastrophic disaster if you screw up.  Whenever I linger before a downhill like this my mind starts to think of worst-case scenarios, like "I haven't ridden much lately, I'm pretty rusty.  What if I miss the line and go over the bars and break something?  I might never ride again! Agggh!!!  Just as I was thinking these counterproductive thoughts, Mike (who was the California State Series downhill champion in his age group several years in a row) said, "As poorly as I was riding on the climb, I'm almost afraid to go down this."  Now THAT'S just what I wanted to hear. 

Of course, as soon as we clipped into our pedals and pointed our wheels downhill, all trepidation evaporated and we were swept away with the pure joy of the poetry of the trail.  Swooping into the turns, carving each arc so perfectly that it flowed seamlessly into the next phrase.  Truly, the secret to downhill riding is to see the trail in a series of phrases.  Each turn, each obstacle has to be ridden with a thought toward the set up for the next one.  The first step in that process is to always look as far ahead as possible.  It's easy to get fixated on the obstacle immediately in your path but you need to look past it.  Your brain has already recorded sufficient data to negotiate that section of trail; you need not look at it further.

At the end of that section of trail we stopped to breathlessly exclaim how awesomely we had ridden it.  It was no time for modesty.  Our elation had to be shared without inhibition.  And then we were off again, the next section, not as steep and fast but even more technical.  Every muscle, arms, legs, back, hands, working together, following split-second commands from the brain without verbal thought.  How fortunate we are to have these wonderful bodies!

About two miles from home the wonderful bodies informed us that they were ready for more fuel.  Evidently, the French toast I'd made for breakfast was completely forgotten.  An empty stomach is easy to please so I whipped up some peanut butter, jelly and banana sandwiches on fresh, home-made, cracked-wheat bread.  Ummm, life is good. 

I just got word from Guy (you may remember him from a previous blog about singles) that he and his hair dresser are up for a ride on Thursday.  I have no idea what kind of ride the hair dresser will be up for but Guy suggests we go easy on her.  He allows that we may go "hardon" him which I won't touch with a ten inch pole.  (At least not in this forum) 

Have we ever been known to go hard on the new kid?  Well, except for that girl from Orange County who wrecked on the Freeway Hill (her own fault for assuming she could beat up on us geriatrics just because she was young and fit) and that white supremicist guy who told the awful jokes.  You really can't count the roadies who come out and hurt us on the uphill and then get left for the coyotes on the descent, because that's a matter of honor.   Really, Gloria meant no derision when she passed that guy on Lower Workout who was pushing his bike and asked "Are you okay?"  Perhaps we have been just a bit competitive in the past but we're a kinder, gentler group now. 

Speaking of kinder and gentler:  The weekly Wednesday Night Ride has been reincarnated.  It meets in Yucaipa near the Stanley Ranch Trail and it's a strictly social ride.  I haven't joined it yet but I'll let you know more about when I do. 

Contact me if you want more details about either of the above rides. 

After such an active weekend it was deflating to come back to work where business is sooooo sloooow.  If you hear a hideous, metallic grating, that's me scraping the bottom of the barrel for something to do. 

I finished updating our employee hand book, which is actually something I enjoy because it entails writing.  It was hopelessly outdated, requiring hosiery for women (nobody has worn them all summer anyway) and ties for men (we haven't had a male employee since 1996). 

It's comfortable working in an all-women environment.  There's no sexual awareness, much less tension or harassment potential.  I can crawl around on all fours in a short skirt (which was expressly forbidden in the unrevised dress code) rearranging computer cables, without fear of titillating some poor soul whose wife hasn't given him more than a chaste peck in over a month or worse, grossing out some youngster.  Of course, the flip side to that coin is, there's no muscle in the office to help move heavy things other than my own puny 120 pounds of raw power. 

Speaking of raw power, Babs, Tues and I test drove a Toyota RAV4 Saturday, a sweet little SUV with lots of getupandgo.  Should be for the price!  Tues is encouraging her to upgrade because she wants to buy Barb's Honda and I'm pushing her because I want to buy an Aliner travel trailer which I don't want to pull with my Lexus.   

There's a video of this blog in my Video file.  Just click on "Videos" above and select Wildwood Canyon.

It was a spectacular day (clear and cool) but for various reasons, nobody but Geoff and I could ride.  Geoff's wife, Rita, is recovering from an injury to her foot so she graciously encouraged the two of us to go out exploring Wildwood Canyon Park without her.

Wildwood canyon has long been a favorite with Yucaipa equestrians but much of it was accessible only by crossing private property.  Recently a large area has been designated as a public park and access right of ways have been marked.  Motorized vehicles are prohibited but mountain bikes are tolerated.  Most of the trails were a bit loose and choppy from the horse traffic but still rideable. 

We encountered several equestrians along the way, all of them friendly, which is an indication that they haven't yet had any unpleasant encounters with bikes spooking their horses.  Hopefully, everyone will continue to show consideration so we don't wear out our welcome.  Poison Oak was the only hazard we encountered but fortunately, neither Geoff nor I are susceptible to its effects.

The trails were as varied as the terrain.  Smoothly graded dirt roads led to narrower tracks and eventually to highly entertaining single track trails that snaked up and down narrow canyons.  The single tracks were mostly too steep to climb but since there were more gradual trails on which to ascend, we happily saved them for the descent.

We ran out of energy long before we ran out of trail but there's always next week.

Okay, here's my first video made exclusively for this site.  (assuming I can figure out how to add it)

I rode to Mike's jobsite in Yucaipa and filmed this on the way.  Sure would have enjoyed some company.  Didn't see a single rider on the trail and it was a perfect day.

After a recent quarrel with my significant other, I clicked on a singles site, just to see what my options might be if things deteriorated at home.  Thinking of my ideal man, one of the first prerequisites was an interest in mountain biking.  As if this isn't exclusive enough, he also would be a cat lover (with no cats of his own), childless, and smart enough to write a self-description without spelling and grammar errors.

Suffice it to say, that after perusing the options, my curmudgeon didn't seem so bad.  Bachelor number one listed his qualities in bulleted form.  First on the list:  Good looking and intelligent.  Second on the list: Handsome.  Now I'm looking at the picture and thinking, "Okay, you're not bad but modesty is clearly not your strong suit and I'm questioning the intelligence thing." 

Then I came across a listing of a friend of mine.  This guy is a total keeper.  He's smart, funny, nice, sexy AND he rides mountain bikes!  But the poor man had a picture that made him look like a country bumpkin and the first thing he mentioned was his kids.  Honey, kids aren't a big selling point when it comes to dating. 

Bachelor number three is looking for someone who is "Biker friendly".  From the looks of his picture, he didn't mean mountain bikes.  Yikes, it's scary to think there are women out there who would respond to such an ad but I suppose there's a Jill for every Jack.

There was a plethora of fifty-something men (my age bracket) seeking women from 18 to 40.  It's funny to see old guys, whom I wouldn't dream of dating because they were so out of shape, who wouldn't date me because I'm too old.  Well, maybe "funny" is the wrong word. 

So, what is a single person to do?  If the good guys lack marketing skills and the icky guys are just obviously icky, how do you sort the wheat from the chaff?  As for me, I think I'll go for a bike ride and forgetaboutit.