Guilt is anger directed at ourselves*

Porn (not his real name), an eminent doctor of veterinary medicine (and a pretty good rugby winger), once said, “Animals do it and don’t think it wrong.”

When sleep escapes me in the night and fretting takes its place, I think about Porn’s words and wonder why every human activity holds the potential for thinking it was wrong, it wasn’t good enough — and finds a way to twist itself into feelings of guilt.

We all set ourselves up for guilt by setting standards. Some of them get codified: the Ten Commandments. Never tell a lie (not much leadership from the top on that one lately). Drive the speed limit and pay the tolls in Illinois (or they fine you $80). Do unto others . . .

We keep to ourselves other rules to live by, but they remain standards and expectations we think we should live up to as well as by. Write a blog post every day (not much leadership here on that one lately). Never a lender or a borrower be. Ride the Chilly Hilly.

There it is. The truth will out. All these words to admit I said I would ride the Chilly Hilly and got up this morning to a sky full of rain and snow and fell back into bed.

All day I have fretted over how I would live with this, how admit that I had not the mettle to pedal 33 miles through cold, wet air or brave the chili at the end of the ride.

Exercise is a wonderful thing. If you do it. Not so good if you said you would and then you don’t. That’s a perfect setup for guilt.

In the guilt department, you’d be better off being that 400-pound hacker who never had a notion to set himself in motion.

I applaud those who ventured out for the ride around Bainbridge Island today. And I promise to be faithful to all the other things I said I would do this year (STP, RAGBRAI, OATBRAN, cut back on carbs, RESIST and many other Madcap Schemes).

And I promise to perform penance suggested by a Catholic friend: A polar plunge next year on the day of the Chilly Hilly (all faiths welcome).

And now, before I get back to fretting over the really, really rotten things I have done and should be worried about, I come before you to confess – in words I never thought I would say:

I have become a fair-weather bike rider.

The utter shame.

*Peter McWilliams

Famed STP ride now part of bigger event

Despite claims that “nothing went wrong,” some riders had to scramble over railroad tracks.

The owner-operator of the STP and Beyond bike ride announced today that the famous Seattle to Portland ride was now a subsidiary of the longer ride.

“We are happy to incorporate the STP in our longer, more textured ride,” the announcement from the STP and Beyond organization said.

It went on to give a detailed review of this year’s ride, noting that with the smaller number of riders, individual attention can be paid to each participant.

“You can get lost in the 10,000 riders in the STP,” the announcement said. “Not so in the STP and Beyond.”

Fact checkers, despite overwork from the GOP convention, were quick to pounce on that statement, noting that riders on the first day of the ride became lost and had to carry their bikes across railroad tracks.

“Typical media, ignoring all the good things that happened and concentrating on a minor incident,” said one unidentified ride official. “If we had not sought out the Interurban Trail — not used on the STP — you would have accused us of plagiarizing the STP route. So screw you, media, we’ll say whatever serves our purpose. That seems to work for others.”

Despite getting lost in the Renton area, riders did make it to Emerald Downs in time for the first race, dinner with other participants and a night at an Auburn motel.

A rider at the STP halfway point in Centralia/

Day Two featured a 117-mile ride to Castle Rock in cooperation with the STP subsidiary organization. Accommodations at the fabulous 7 West Motel and dinner and breakfast at Peper’s 49er Restaurant. Who could ask for anything more?

On Day Three, riders finished the STP portion of the ride and were joined by an experienced SAG team (thank you, Wendy, Nancy and Kathy). At dinner that night at Nostrana, riders were regaled by Will, telling tales of downsizing, home sales and “positional reciprocating carnality,” an interesting concept that took little explanation.

Four riders
Four more bikers joined the ride on Monday. Here are three of them with an STP veteran.
Two more
And these two made six.

Day Four saw more riders joining the group as it left Portland and headed up the road to Mount Hood. The first three days covered 231 miles and this was a shorter ride at 53. It took the riders to the Resort at the Mountain in Welches, OR.

The STP and Beyond, of course, is known for more than  bike riding. Riders are expected to engage in other activities as well. Fancy meals and drink, get-acquainted hot tub sessions and ruthless croquet games.

The men folk this year had their sore butts handed to them by the croquet team of Nancy and Kathy, who used teamwork and stra-tee-ger-ree to win every game.

Teamwork played a big part in Kathy and Nancy’s sweep of the games.
Reaction to another winning shot by Nancy and Kathy. (Photo by Wendy)

Media reports have pointed out what they choose to call another snafu on the bigger ride — something that never would have happened if riders had just stuck to the STP. Riders were promised cobbler as their dessert after dinner at Altitudes. That did not happen.

“This was totally out of our control,” the spokesperson said. “We are investigating why the cafe staff stashed the cobbler in the cooler and closed early. But again, this is nothing compared to what we bring to the bicycle riders of America. Besides, there’s no fruit cobbler on the STP.”

But one rider was especially upset about the cobbler cop-out.

“I remember the cobbler from 12 years ago on a ride through here,” she said. “I guess I’ll just have to come back in another 12 years.”

It was pointed out that she would be 81 years old then.

“So?” was her only response.

Last day of the ride had the bikers climbing up to Government Camp for a hearty breakfast before continuing on Highway 35 to Hood River.

It was there, on the deck of the Three Rivers Restaurant, that Jerry, a strong rider in tune with the flow of things, asked the group: “Is there any reason — outside of those that have to do with testosterone — why this ride should not end right here?”

MoonWith 58 miles ridden that day, a fine lunch in front of us, good friends around us  and a head wind blowing up the Columbia Gorge, no one could find a reason to keep riding. The bikes were packed into the truck and van, and off we went to the Skamania Lodge for hot tubs, moonlight and a good night’s sleep.

The next day, two riders went on to Multnomah Falls, but the rest of us packed up for the trip back to Seattle, happy in our accomplishment, five pounds heavier (speaking only for myself) and looking forward to next year’s STP and the Beyond.

With Mount Hood
From left: John B., Mount Hood and Mary Jo.



Why is retirement so hard to say?

Wendy and Jerry on the Emerald City Bike Ride on the new bridge over Lake Washington

When I put out my list of Mad Schemes to accomplish in 2016, I had not planned on so many of my potential Schemers to be as nutty about work as I have been. I seemed to have been dropped into a pool of people who say they are retired except for when they are working.

“I’m retiring but I’ll still be working two days a week.”

“I’m retired but I’ll still be on call.”

“I’m retired but I signed up to substitute.”

“I’m retired except for the seven weeks I have worked this year and whenever the paper calls on me to cover a horse race or do a book review.”

That last one is my hypocritical statement about my retirement. The last part of that confused view is usually followed by my excited statement of how after 50 plus years of work life I have found the perfect job for me: Getting paid to read books.

And like all my friends who have one foot in retirement and one foot still stuck in work, I mouth the same trite excuses:

“It’s not so bad if you love what you’re doing.”

“Besides, the money’s good.”

“I’d be bored if I just sat around the house.”

I’ve never said that last one. That’s what the Mad Schemes are for, to make sure that you’re not just sitting around the house. Which I was not doing on April 3, the day of the Emerald City Bike Ride.

Express lane
Riding on the I-5 express lanes

Sponsored by the Cascade Bike Club, the ride took thousands of pedal pushers onto the deck of the new Highway 520 bridge before it opened to motorized traffic. The ride continued onto the Interstate 5 express lanes to a food stop at the Hing Hay Park in Seattle’s International District. Then the ride introduced me to the I-90 Bike Trail. How did I miss that one?

Then back to the start at the University of Washington. About 20 miles with Jerry and Wendy, which was very enjoyable.

On Saturday, April 16, I was with Dr. Tim to do the Tulip Pedal out of La Conner, WA. But we stayed at his lake cabin the night before, and in the morning the sun had turned the lake into a big, beautiful jewel shining through the kitchen windows and Tim’s waffles were delicious with maple syrup. So the start was late and the end had to come soon to accommodate Tim’s 2 p.m. tee time. We dropped from the 40-some mile to the family ride and neither odometer came up with the mileage for that wienie ride. We probably didn’t even ride off the butter smeared on the morning waffles.

A great day, but also an early sign that my training for the Seattle to Portland ride was not on a path to make my sister proud. And she will be here soon for the STP and I’ll be lucky to stay in the same county with her. More on that later.