A unplanned suprise. San Juan Pena mountain 4 hours, 900m

I can honestly say that I was not too upset to find the Perenaos Mountains with lack of snow. Well..there was enough snow to make it absolutely beautiful; but not enough to justify paying 100 euros for a lift ticket and snow board rental for manufactured snow.
We had a back up plan…. bicycles- mountains-switchbacks-13^th century churches-and road side snack breaks on a bicycle ride. On borrowed heavy steal mountain bikes with flat peddles, no suspension, and the biggest seat that my rear has felt in a long time; we left Amador’s village later in the afternoon than we planned.

We head to “make sport” or ride, not necessarily up a mountain, but in this land you really have no choice. The Perenaos mountains boarders France, surprisingly the foliage in this region feels like the Appalachian Mountains in the south US.

Still green even in January, a light dusting of snow melts to make the roads slippery and the green of the land shimmer. Streams and rivers are flowing with snowmelt from the mountains above.

It is just cold enough that I wear gloves; yet warm enough that I do not need a jacket as we start our 900 meter climb up to the top of San Juan Pena mountain. The Spanish sun shines and brings a light pink color to my pale cheeks. After 45 minutes of climbing, we approach the most amazing monastery in the rock. San Juan Pena monastery makes for a wonderful place to rest and get another history lesson.

13^th century, I cannot even comprehend how old this is. Constructed in traditional Romanic style, it is far different from the Moorish architecture that is common in the lands situated just south.

We are in the land of Aragon, the region just left of Catalonia, the region where Ruben now lives; has a different language, the people speak with an escalating infection of tone at the end of phrases, and in the past was home to the Catholics, Jews, and Arabic people. You see the influence of these cultures when you begin to look; even the food is different. I hear stories of Ruben as a child, visiting Amador in the village; this land is where he found his love of the mountains.

As we approach another monastery, after another 45 minutes of climbing, we decide to chance running out of light so we can continue to the top.

I find myself on beautiful roads that overlook the most amazing horizon. I look down to see the monastery that we just passed.

It looks so small and gives me prospective, just how much we have climbed on our bicycles. We continue to climb until the road stops. Having mountain bikes, we can continue up to the very top as we find a dirt trail that lines the ridge

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We only have a brief moment to catch our breaths and turn 360 degrees to see all the mountains before we must return and head down the mountain because we are running out of sunlight. Four hours, and 900 meters of climbing, we return back to the village a little score, cold, and tired as the sun sets…and it was a perfect day.

Amore,

All possibilities....Montserratt and Santa Cicillia Spain

Rose marry bushes- Imagine looking out to this. Perfectly formed rock formations in the distance are rich brown in contrast to the blue of the sky.
Climbers can be seen in the distance dangling-gripping like insects on a massive form.. El Ferro, rock on the sunny south face of Montserratt in Spain was my playground that afternoon and we walk to reach the rock.......

As usual Ruben and I were chatting about all kinds of stuff as he patiently continued my climbing lesson that had begun 8 months ago. I was trying to explain the American reality TV show “The Amazing Race”. Teams of friends or lovers race around the world to reach the goal of winning one million dollars. Cameras are there, so we Americans can sit on our couches and watch the dynamics of relationships and maybe get a little culture in. None of you, well besides Ruben’s family and friends, have seen our dynamic when we are together; which I think would make great television. Our language barrier, how we relate, solve problems is pure comedy at times, and in this… we manage to get along perfectly. After much confusion about the concept of this type of American prime time entertainment, I finally jokingly communicate effectively to Ruben how fun it would be to do this show. He looks at me, in all seriousness and says, “I do not like television”. I said, “yes I know, but to win a million dollars to travel and see the world…would be worth it”. “I do not need money…and besides we can sell cheese for money, he said with a big grin”. (I laugh because his comment follows a conversation we had earlier in a Milan grocery store in Italy. I was filling the grocery basket with good cheese to bring home to you..I mean the cheese from Italian sheep, goats and cows…..the same cheese that you would pay 5 or 6 times more in the American store. I converted the euro to dollar and shared with Ruben about the vast difference in price.)

After our conversation I had a brief moment where I thought about this..the thought of exploiting yourself to get rich fast. A few days later, I had another brief moment where I though about “our tendency” to get things done fast.

The way Amador, Ruben’s mother’s boyfriend, has lived part of his life is unfathomable to me. The first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I wish my mother could see this”. A stone house, in a mountain village,Santa Cicillia ,

nestled in the outskirts of the Perenaos Mountains in Northern Spain;
was something that could be showcased in any American Home decorating magazine.

As you walk down the narrow streets, you feel old cobble stones underneath your feet.. Stone walls support three stories of modern day homes or street level bakeries, fruit markets, or café’with apartments above. Solid wood doors weighing hundreds of pounds are fashioned with iron rods for support. Behind larger wood door openings, modern day automobiles can be found; however, in the past served as the place for farm animals.

As we approach the house of Amador, Ruben continues with telling me the history of his land, people, and family. To give me a little time perspective; he shares with me the French troops of Napoleon house their horses in the ground level of Amador’s house. Ruben approaches a wood stable door, jokingly uses the old iron door knocker to let Amador know we have arrived. As I am received with a smile and 2 kisses, one on each cheek, my eyes are drawn in-word to what I see. A stone cobble room, houses decorative antiques; even an old bicycle.

I can imagine the livestock living here, but this day it serves as the garage. I climb the wood stairs in a stairwell with lively colored paint. I enter into the most amazing kitchen, a Spanish kitchen, complete with pig leg.

Antique furniture and light fixtures are mixed with modern day appliances and bright paint colors. The living room and dining area also showcases the new and old. A grand stone fireplace is used to warm the house and cook the meat for dinner. I look up to see old wood beams that support the floor of four bedrooms, second living area, and garden roof top terrace. Tasteful art, antique ski equipment

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and every adorable nick-knack makes this house a home. Opera music, Amador’s favorite, plays as I continue to see each room-of each one of the four floors. The amazing craftsmanship of this house, the beauty of every detail becomes even more special when I learn that this home took over 20 years to build. No bank, no mortgage, no construction crew with a deadline, and no hired decorator. This man with his family paid for four stonewalls. All inside and above had to be rebuilt. Over 20 years from working in the mountains

taking money from each paycheck, favors from friends, presents from relatives made Armador his home. Little by little, each year something new-something built. First the roof, then the floors, lights, plumbing, walls, wood floors, hand made doors, and all in this house-not fast-not now-no instant-but in time, with patience, a masterpiece was formed.

I am taken back with this. The mentality one must have to live a patient life, not an instant life, not about what you have; but how you get there. Different way of life, maybe better for some, not possible for others; however this has opened my eyes to all possibilities nonetheless……

Amore,
Katelyn

Sesenta besicos, New Years Montserratt

Wow my new years....San Bennet, the church in the sky was to become our new year's headquarters-with a little preparation first.

I actually did nothing all day to help. By now I have told Ruben many times that I must work 30 hrs a week-6 hours a day on the computer if I am to visit him in Spain. So today like everyday he asks, “what do you make today, you need work this day?”, and so my response, “yes I should stay and work”. So today I stay in the apartment so I can get work done as he drives all over Barcelona running errands.

About 7pm he arrived with a handful of friends to make the initial climb by car 10K up the mountain where we will park and continue the trek about another hour by foot. I was handed a backpack and a speaker. I joke and say that I am the American pack mule. After about 2 minutes of confusion and translation errors...they finally get my joke. A speaker....hmmmmm. I recall no electricity the last time I made it to San Bennet.

When I arrive an hour later, all sweaty and completely worn out, I hear the hum of a generator that will power our new years celebration. I arrive to a dozen familiar faces and another dozen strangers’ faces. A 20-foot table with a couple of dozen chairs centers the room.

Old wine bottles with candles line the table to illuminate the room. The smell of something wonderful cooking in the kitchen makes me smile in the anticipation of a Spanish New Years feast. A wood-burning stove heats the church turned climbing refuge. I am instantly welcomed as I arrive. The speakers that I carry on my back are also welcomed. Ruben and a few of his friends put together our entertainment for the night. I am thinking to myself, thank goodness these guys mix cd’s and not records. I do not think I could be talked into carrying1 records up the mountain.

Grapes ….I look down in my plastic cup to see grapes. If I counted-12 exactly. I look around and all have plastic cups gripped in their hands. We migrate around the radio that is playing celebration music in the anticipation of the Spanish New Years count down. I look over at Ruben and take a grape and begin to eat it. He yells no- and then grabs my hand, smiles and says, “No, you wait till midnight and then eat one grape at the sound of each bells”. “This is the tradition from the old Spanish king to wish good luck in the next year for grape harvest.” I am instantly pleased to find that I just unknowingly came across a total foreign custom.

(ya first new years wearing workout clothes, with no makeup and a shower)

No cork popping-champaign fizzing all over on the floor- maneuvering of the plastic puzzle champaign glasses-I am not fighting confetti-covering my ears due to the ear piercing horns and whistles-my breath is not taken away by a new years kiss……… I am frantically trying to shove 12 grapes in my mounth, I am hunched over with laughter and try not to choke on sweet Mediterranean grapes. I stand, slobber/grape juice is streaming down my cheek; as I resume my composure, I am attacked with grapes. I find my attack position and retaliate with the few grapes that remain in my cup because they did not make it in my mouth.

Sesenta besicos or 60 little kisses follow. One on each cheek. Two from each person. They make their rounds, kissing grape juice covered cheeks and wishing their friends a happy new year.

Spainsh like kisses and throwing food. My kind of place.

Feliz ano nuevo
Happy new years

Dos besicos,
Katelyn

Please, no more tenticles or eyeballs, Granada Spain

So ya.....the Spanish sun is perfect in the south. Granda, I arrived here by train this morning. I am tagging along with Ruben as he works. Now we are sitting outside about to have tapas and beer at a cafe in the town square. I do not even have a jacket on. As usual, I have no idea what is being said at the table. So I kinda tune everyone out and opt for people watching. There are two young Spanish men playing traditional flamingo songs. Kinda cool, like what u would imagine.

My wish is...no tapas with eye balls or tentacles. The last place we went...I was looking at my dinner watch me...I ate nothing. I must be a spoiled American that I wish someone would behead my food before they give it to me. As I write this the server puts the biggest plate of …ummmm..yep you guessed it. Eye balls and tentacles right in the center of the table.

I find myself in Spain again. I write as if it were an accident; no this was planned. Most of you have figured out that I have a fondness for Spain. The culture, food, roads, mountains, the sun, and well the people have won my heart. How could I not visit Rueben in Montserratt for the New Year? He made it sound so great. “The perfect Rock climbing in the Spanish sun on the south face”. “Snow boarding in the Spanish mountains where his mother’s boyfriend works. He even added…that he was getting a computer router for his apartment and a land line phone; so it would be perfect for my work. I must add that finding a $600 dollar round trip ticket was also a plus.

So, here I am sitting in Ruben’s apartment, he is away for the next couple of days working on the train.

This is the perfect opportunity for me to get alot of work done. I have my laptop, cellphone, a teleconference in 3 hours, the Spanish sun is shinning in through the window, the weekly village market has just finished, and I am about to take a 15 minute coffee break and run down to Café La Rocha that sits below Ruben’s apartment.
What a great new year.

Life Intensions-Mountain Bike Boot Camp, 2 days 80 miles, 8.5 hours,Pinhoti, Bear Creek. North Georgia

It is funny how a simple thing like a bicycle can teach me so much about life. My bicycle experiences remind me of life stories and sometimes I never realize it until I am on my bicycle. I take the time to stop….stop all that mindless thinking, planning, worrying and DOING… that consumes most. Hours peddling and spinning life out on the pavement, flying around trees; leaves only a blank mind canvas to begin the composition of my life music, I draft in my mind a melody that will harmonize all these awkward notes that get thrown at me.

Lately, I started to think about intensions; what this word means to me, how the word is used so loosely, how intensions as a concept has been defined in my past, and why I have just began to realize how important our life intensions are.

Intension… an action with a specific purpose in doing something- a end or goal is aimed at, or intended to be accomplish.

I intend to do a lot on my bicyle. Like this past week, I intended to do a mountain bike boot camp, ride single track with my friend Mark, scour the trails of Fort Mountain in Northern Georgia.

So happy to see me dear friend and have the opportunity to laugh, snort, snot, cuss, and partake in other non-lady like behaviors… all in two days as I rode with a handful of men that came to hurt and feel what endurance training was all about.

An expectation was formed in my mind. I had visions of smooth single track winding up and down the blue ridge mountains, crossing reeks, spooking deer- blazing downhill and riding around trees.

This is what drove me to make the 5 hour drive and mentally prepaire for over 80 miles of mountain bike riding in two days. I soon found that I needed to shift my expectations and alter my intension of mountain bike riding on single track. Yes I was on a mountain bike, like I intended, but found myelf riding more on pavement, gravel roads, and even grass-not what I expected.

Attitude shift, Is what had to happen or I was going to have a miserable time. My focus shifted from what I was missing to what I had-what I was doing. I had Mark- right there besides me, the first man in a long time that is truly my friend.

I met Van, Mark's friend that an amazing man that I have a feeling will also beome a good friend.

I was able to hear the inspiring story of Mike, the ex-pro BMX racer, firefighter, owner of http://www.cartecaybikes.com/rides/trails.htm Cartecay Bike Shop, president of the local club, care taker of miles and miles of trails, bicycle frame designer, and one of the biggest bicycle advocates I have met in a long time. He put this event on for free, he made no money, he did it becuase he loves his bicycle and what this love brings-good friends-and good times.

And I cannot forget....

I had the opportunity to play in a fire truck...thanks to Mike's connections.

I was able to look up at the beautiful mountain streams as I rode gravel roads-not really possible all the time when you are on single track. I had the opportunity to be a guest at a beautiful mountain haven for mountain bikers with the best home cookin food (the best berry cobler ever}. Most Importantly, all this remineded me that in real life, off the bicycle, intensions and expectations come the same way.

We intend alot in life. Some intend more than others. Some float through life and others intend to live it -to its fullest. What matters if we try to take the chance to even intend- to intend a life boot camp. If we have to-be open to changing expecations, and not expecting “too” much of our selves and others. If we can only grasp the idea that even with having to change or alter our expectaions, we can still meet our intensions. This has been the biggest life lesson that I have learned and I hope my bicyle continues to remind me..when I forget it again.

Amore,

Katelyn

Life’s little hiccups Tour De Nantahala, North Carolina 45 miles 3.5 hours

I see a familiar sparkle in her eyes, brown beautiful eyes that smile as she looks at Romeo. Ahh Romeo, not an Italian lover, but an American man made machine of carbon fiber. It grows every time I see her, the passion, the excitement of possibilities where her bicycle can and will take her.

Debbie Sue, my fellow Ohio beauty queen, has her rag top down and ready for life, a new life and I feel honored she has invited me this day to join her on her first bike ride over 25 miles. We go to scale the beautiful mountains, North Carolina heaven.

The land of the Cherokee Indians, land of the mid-day rising sun, screams color this day. So bright; red, orange, yellow takes my breath away. Colors bleed together as we fly down the mountainside.

My Arms ache as I try to grip the handlebars with frozen hands because of the 34F degree morning and lack of the gorge-hidden sun. I forgot my pants and socks, wear arm warmers and a light windbreaker over my short sleeve jersey. I feel bad..really bad as I look over at Debbie Sue and she is trying to smile as her body shivers and maybe appears to convulse at times. A lean petite woman that has a far greater less percent of body fat then I do, needs more clothes then what she has on when it is 90% humidity, 34degrees, with no sun shine. She had exactly on what I told her to wear….. Calling me for my advise for what she should buy and wear for this ride….her first big ride on a bicycle-ever.

I am ashamed to tell you that all my 6 years education in exercise physiology, body temperature regulation, studies on hydration, years of cycling all over the world in all temperatures; did not aid in my decision to tell her that arm and leg warmers with gloves, and a thin hat with my medium weight vest would be just fine.

A hiccup

I remember looking down at my bicycle as I unpacked it in Ruben’s living room. I almost cried. My beautiful bike..the paint… blue….gone…missing…scratches…carbon fiber. Come to find the scratches extended well beyond that paint and made it into the carbon fiber, wreaking my machine, and basically becoming a death trap on wheels. A hiccup, my decision to pack my bicycle without the normal 3 inch foam surrounding the chain-ring facing away from the frame. I remember the very instant, recall telling myself saying it will be ok like this….. It was not and this is why for 6 weeks I have been a girl without her road bike and forced to replace a $1400 carbon frame with a stronger frame made of titanium.

A hiccup

Hiccups, this is what I call bad decisions- or just bad things all together. Hiccups, we all get em, have em. They come at the wrong time. Sometimes they hurt, hurt so bad that they make our stomach in knots and at times bring a little throw-up to our mouths. Sometimes they are a little unpleasant but still make us giggle. At times they only happen a few times in a row or can last for the feeling of eternity.

I think of this as I realize that we as humans give our selves a hard time about life’s hiccups. We expect other not to hiccup or not hiccup as much as ourselves. We do not forgive others and we do not forgive our self for what just happens naturally…

Hiccups are part of life, part of being human, part of have a digestive system. Without them we would not be human….

I just hope that my hiccups, like I hope all your hiccups, come less often, make me giggle, and allow meto be reminded, just how valuable and precious life is….

Amor,
Katelyn

Our Nations Capital. Rockville Maryland to and around Washington DC to Odenton Maryland 45 miles, too long to notice

I never thought I would actually hear anyone say this to me. “I would not ride your bike there..unless you want to get shot!” He actually said this, not laughing, or jokingly; but seriously.

Now usually, when someone tells me to not “go somewhere” on my bicycle it is because they think it is not interesting, too much traffic or too far in the country; not because I could actually be shot.

This day, as I pick up a rental road bike from a local shop in Maryland, a suburb of Washington DC; I decide to listen to the advise that was given from the young man that worked at the shop. My plans changed…now to formulate a new plan.

How was I going to ride to Washington DC, see the city, then to the nature preserve located North East of DC? Hmmm…Green way was the obvious answer.

Impressive actually, the city has greenways or bike paths linked from Maryland and Virginia to the City. Once arriving, the city has greenways along the Potomac,

passing our Nations monuments.

Within 5 minutes I decided that I do not like these bike paths of Washington and surrounding suburbs.

Everything with wheels and everybody was on the bike path. Kids with roller blades, moms pushing strollers, owners being dragged by their dogs, toddlers running out of control, tri cycles, big wheels, cruisers, mountain bikes, and road bikes. Like the city, this place was crowded.

Usually, when I ride my bike, a peace comes over me. It is hard to explain…. I feel control as I can push the pedals accelerating to speeds that would make most tense and ride their breaks. Forty-50 miles per hour at times, if I have gravity on my side; I still feel no hint of intimidation. I get lost in how my body feels as I cut through the air. How the breeze feels on my skin. If brisk air, I welcome goose bumps as the feeling is intensified as the hair on my arms and legs stand straight up. I can feel every bump and turn underneath my 20-pound machine that consists of some of the best materials available for cycling. I get lost in the moment, but then find my mind wandering to the future.

Today, none of this was possible-no feeling of controll. The only thing possible was to remain “on guard” at all times. This instinct, was followed by my bodies natural release of endorphins. I needed to react today. I was right to be prepared, as all of a sudden I was reacting to a cyclist coming straight towards me, she was blindly swerving around a group of walkers, and slammed right into me as I rode on the far right edge of the cycling path. I reacted correctly as I kept my line, placed my front tire right besides hers, kept my shoulders square, and fell over to the right on nice fluffy bushes that broke my fall. An obvious novice, with her brand new Treck T-mobile pink bike with matching helmet, glasses and shoes; she was maybe one hundred pounds. I actually felt sorry for her knowing that she just slammed into me; a woman that almost has 50 pounds on her, was taught combat cycling while training at the Olympic training center, was trained to tackle other women while playing rugby in college, and from practice has mastered the technique for slamming into trees and falling off her bicycle on pavement and down mountainsides alike. I instantly got up and kinda laughed and just looked at her laying on the ground. The first thing I thought, I said sarcastically was…. “Wow, I guess the road through the getto is safer then this”.

I did finally make it to the city, around the ghetto, at one point through the getto, through the nature reserve, and back on the metro as the night found me this day as I attempted and succeeded to see my Nation’s Capitol on a bicycle.

I must say, I do not have any part of me that would ever repeat this bicycle ride in the future, I will just stick to the country side.

Amore,Katelyn