Cowalunga II

2003-08-27 at 9:45 a.m.

On the plus side, that means I'm getting to know Portland's bus system, and it's pretty kick ass. It's free downtown, so I can hop on and hop off if I, say, want to get to Andrew's work after I get off work.

...Oh, did I mention? I'm EMPLOYED!!! I have a job! I'm working part time at the PSU bookstore. I suppose I should mention it's the PSU PORTLAND STATE UNIVERSITY bookstore, since Penn State has TRADEMARKED PSU and threatened to SUE if PSU continued to put PSU on their sweatshirts, coffeemugs and folders. Sheesh. The politics of it all will never cease to amaze me. But I'm EMPLOYED I'M EMPLOYED I'M EMPLOYED!!!!

Which has also contributed to my lethargy with returning my bike to its together state.

Well, that, and riding my bike was the most painful thing EVER that second day of cowalunga.

I went and got a new seat from the bike pro, the second morning of the ride. I said that this one was CHAFING MY ASS OFF and if I didn't do something, I was going to BLEED.

"I'll put a new saddle on," he said, "but I should warn you that once you start chafing, nothing's going to feel good until you have a good three or four days to heal."

Boy howdy was he right.

By lunchtime, it was sheer grit and determination (and an unwillingness to admit to failure) that kept me peddling. Friends kept dropping back to ride with me which was wonderfully supportive, but at the same time made me feel guilty for keeping these super people back. At mile 36, we were talking about stopping for lunch, but Ned and Peter insisted that the best lunch spot was at mile 44. Fine.

At mile 40, we stopped to get directions. Four more miles to lunch.

The longest four miles of my life.

The only way I could tell the sweat from the tears was that the tears weren't as hot as the sweat.

So, yeah. We stopped for lunch at some little tex-mex type of place (in Wisconsin, this translates to BBQ sandwiches and fries). I limped in, headed straight for the bathroom. As I came out, my group of friends kind of turned to me and conversation died.

"How are you... doing?" asked Peter gently.

"I... I..." and I lost it. "I can't keep going. I have to stop. I'm bleeding and it hurts and..." Tears were streaming down my face.

"Kari!!! Then STOP! You IDIOT!!! Grab the Sag Van!!!" a babble of concerned voices responded. Every organized bike ride, pretty much, has a Sag Van (Sag Wagon, Sag Car, something) that follows behind the bikers in case of illness, accident, or injury. I had never grabbed on before, but I was never so grateful for one before either.

The decision to grab a Sag Van was hard--it's like having to drop a class that I was determined to pass, you know? But once I made the decision? It was like a 2-ton weight was lifted off my shoulders. It sucked that that was how I had to end the bike ride, but the pain, the PAIN, people. I had chafed myself raw AGAIN.

I will get back on my bike. I WILL. Just... not right now. And NOT with this *(*&(*&%$$$!!! saddle.

In the meantime, I have a job, I have a job, I have a JOB! and I'm studing for the PRAXIS II, a math test to get into the Graduate Teacher Education Program and PSU Portland State (heh), that covers all the math I've ever taken, so I'm a little, ahem, concerned. And very soon, I'll have work stories.

So, a couple people have asked me whether I'll keep this up, the diary. I think I will. It's been fun. And now that I don't have to admit my biking failure, I might be able to update more often.

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