Snow dog

              You mean I can go full speed on this straight trail?   Hell yeah!

Kona has been miss and hit on coming when called.  With a solid layer of snow and temperatures perfect for a thin-skinned greyhound, we decided to see if Kona would enjoy running on one of the dog-friendly trails in the Methow.  Lest we forget, Kona was born and raced in Florida.  His first experience with snow in November was not good. What would happen?

                 Where we going? I'm in. Where we going? I'm in. Where we going?

I had promised myself I would take Tux running on the winter trails, but it just never happened.  I felt grief for that and determined not to let it happen to Kona. I figured Tux would approve of taking his young nephew, Kona, in his place.

At the trailhead I readied the fat bike and then brought out Kona on a leash.  After giving him a treat and making sure he knew I had more, I unclipped his leash and we took off.  

I have taken him trail running a few times keeping him on a leash.  That follows a familiar pattern of him pulling like a sled dog the first mile or so and then me dragging him back home. He was a professional racer, now retired exactly one year to the day, but his races were only seventeen seconds long. He did exceed forty miles an hour on those races, but he has yet to figure out the endurance thing.

He sniffed some other dog's pee in the snow and then launched after me and passed at a full gallop. He loved that I could go fast as I clicked down the cassette flying along. The trail stretched out in front of us and he looked back as if to ask if he could just open up.  I cheered him on and he was so happy to run.  He greeted other dogs and ran with them a bit before continuing on his way.  This was heaven for him. 

We then stopped and I took off his coat as his running had generated plenty of heat.  In Florida they would take them in wading pools to cool them off after races.  Without his coat in the sunshine, bounding in full stride he looked like he was born for this life.  He was panting now and his muscles bulging. A skier with his own dog commented on how beautiful Kona was.  I agreed and he said it again, "He is just so beautiful. His markings, his muscles, his smile!"  Kona looked not just fit, but so happy.

We got Kona in the age of COVID and he loves dogs and people and having everyone and every dog keeping their distance was torture for this social creature.  Being able to greet people and dogs and run free was what this guy has been dreaming about for eight months. 

After less than two kilometers I stopped and told Kona we should start heading back. He looked further down the trail and only reluctantly turned west and followed me. His strides now were bouncy and he was slower as we headed towards the trailhead. The shadows now reached the trail and the distractions of urine and holes in the snow had a greater pull than they had on the way out.  My chain was on the other end of the cassette wrapped around the big cogs. 

I was now coaxing him along with treats and we were no longer passing skiers, but just holding our place among the groups heading back.  He was spent and it was an effort to just go faster than a walk. 

                             In the shadows of Virginia Ridge.  

As we neared the parking lot I clipped his leash back on. When we got to the car he jumped in and flopped down on his bed while I secured the bike.  The day could not have gone any better.  He kind of minded me. The treats gave him a reason to stay close and he played well with other dogs, which I fully expected. He didn't leave the trail chasing a bunny or other small mammal off in the woods. 

Pacing?  We will leave that to another day.

On the drive back we declared success and Kona asked if we could do it again soon.

            We stopped by Methow Trails and got him an annual pass.                                                              Yes Kona, we will do it again!

                        Then we went home and both enjoyed a fine dinner                                                             (Kibble for him, Pizza for Hottie and me)

                         This is what happy looks like a couple hours later.

2020 DONE!

2020 Started with such hope, only to expose our collective pettiness via tragedy. An inconvenience for Hottie and myself, yet a horror for others. I kept working.  We had no major surgeries for the first year in a while. 

We lost Tux. That hit me so hard I realized I actually have a heart. As a tribute to him, we welcomed his nephew, Kona, who has brought so much joy and love to our hearts. That was unexpected. 

Bike races and bike rides were cancelled.  Our Sunday "Coffee and Lies" rides took a five month hiatus. My son Tim and I were able to share the backpack trip of our collective dreams albeit with masks at the ready. 

An ideal remote work assignment allowed me not just to continue working, but to spend a majority of my time in my favorite place. So grateful.  I ironed two shirts in all of 2020.  What the hell?

Such a strange mix of good and bad news.  We were lucky, yet are so aware that many were destroyed by the Pandemic.  It would be offensive to celebrate. We are powerless to change the pandemic and how the powers that be handle it.  We can control how we treat those we see and this event has provided an opportunity to be the best we can be. We could all have done better.

For all the good and bad that we had in 2020, I am ready to move on and welcome 2021. Let's learn our lessons and move forward.

Farewell Tux

The Ambassador (snaggletooth)

We had to say farewell to Tux.  After being with us for ten years and two days, he finished his assignment. We were not ready to say goodbye, and only in hindsight did we realize that it was time, and he was ready to be done. 

Moonshine with Tux

At the cabin when I would take him out at night I never complained because I got to see the moon and stars.  In the morning, he was often ready to go before I was, yet every single time I thanked him for getting me out to see the sunrise and hear the owls hoot.

He was the first dog for Kyson and Cali and Russell and Sasha and Drew and a dozen other children. He was gentle and made fast fans of them all. He literally was a Greyhound Ambassador and spent time at pet stores letting children pet him. 

He was as black as night and in the dark the leash just disappeared and he was invisible. He would come up onto our deck at night and stand outside of the french doors waiting for us to see him.  In the dark, we often didn't see him. 

When we brought him home from the Greyhound halfway house he was young, fit and fast.  He was also scared of cars and stairs and bicycles.  Hottie spent countless hours teaching him and helping him become the best Tux. 

Bat ears in the snow

Tux had a crooked jaw and his teeth didn't match up which meant he had more problems with his teeth than most.  I brushed his teeth (with chicken flavored doggy toothpaste) and I am sure he knew it was a good thing. A good thing that he hated, but he let me do.  After his breakfast I would call him over and while he would come, he would not raise his head.  I would brush his teeth and more often than not he would offer me a warm belch before I was done.  Over the course of his life he had more than twenty of his forty four teeth pulled.  The vet who helped us say goodbye to him said he had the best looking teeth of any greyhound his age she had ever seen.  

Tux on a cloud in heaven, looking down on us....

Near the end he walked slower and his gait was stiff.  He would breath hard without much exertion.  He took the stairs one at a time and food became less exciting.  His kibble was supplemented with fish oil his whole life.  Then we added teeth cleaning "big chunks" and then bacon bits because otherwise he would not eat until I left for work and thus get out of getting his teeth brushed.  Then we added some prescription pills and added fiber.  All he needed was one of those pill boxes with the days of the week on them.  Still he seemed to be happy and since last fall he had good and bad days and we almost didn't see that the good days were getting fewer and fewer.

Tux and Bunny looking for treats

After he passed Hottie and I cried and cried. We felt guilty for not being able to do more, yet ultimately we knew he had enjoyed a great life.  The quiet hurt.  The empty spot where the dog beg had been looked barren. I felt I owed him a debt of gratitude.  He had been so exceptional to our grandchildren, so kind to so many and had exceeded everything we could have expected or asked of him.  I thought about building a monument, buying a statue, getting a tattoo, or trying to figure some way to honor his memory.  As the days passed the tears became fewer, yet the hole in our hearts still ached. On a ride up the Chewuch as I let my memories of him run free I asked what I could do to honor him. Just as Shoeless Joe Jackson uttered in the greatest movie of all time, "Field of Dreams" his words, "There are others you know?" came to me.   

Does the world still have dogs that need homes?  A quick check of the Woodinville Greyhound Pets Inc. website confirmed there were forty nine of his brothers and sisters looking for homes. We debated.  There would be poop, there would be messes on the carpet and who knows how a new dog would be with grandkids. The training and inconvenience would be a burden.  We talked and talked. 

As Alexander Rostov, the protagonist in "A Gentleman in Moscow" says in reflecting back on his life of privilege versus sacrifice, "It was the inconveniences that mattered most."

We spent time with Drake and Kona (then known as Buddy) and finally brought Kona home.  I almost cried that we had to leave Drake because he seemed to be such a good guy.  I was relieved to hear he went to a forever home a couple days later.   I cry a lot more these days.  That is good.

Kona's grandfather was Trent Lee and Trent Lee was Tux's father.  So Tux and Kona share some blood.  They also seem to share a sweet disposition. 

This is Kona.  

We were so grateful to have been able to share time with Tux.  The arc of his life from young fit specimen to old man was touching.  His first bicycle race was the Volunteer Park Criterium. He was so scared we took him back to the car.  A year later he could watch a cyclocross race with cowbells and screaming fans without blinking an eye. He was my running companion, Hottie's walking and photographing buddy and a hero to Sasha and Drew. He was always a little insecure yet he managed to be aloof at the same time.  He liked to peel back the covers on our bed when we were out of it and lay his furry body on the sheets. He would let Hottie know when it was dinner time and we will miss him every day.  We will honor him by taking care of his nephew Kona. 

Another Chismus Miracle

This is so fun.

After a couple of days of riding on snow and skate skiing I felt shot.  My hamstrings were sore, my back was sore.  My elbow was sore, my calf was still tight. I was sore all over.  I went to bed lamenting that age was catching up to me.  It had to happen sooner or later.  

I woke up and after breakfast Hottie and I rode fatbikes on perfect snow.  When we finished I was sweating and smiling.  I felt a lot better.  I snuck in an afternoon skate ski session.  I still felt great.  After some thought I realized I had throttled back a bunch because I was fighting a sinus infection for a couple weeks.   Life is great.  I'm just a whiner. 

Fast lady

Our Fondo has a bakery stop

Reloaded and ready for more

In 2014 I rode the Winthrop Fondo.  That year it was on the old course and the event was held in June.  It was hot, but the elevation kept the temperatures cool enough that only on the final climb up Lester road was it uncomfortable. In 2015 a handful of us did it and lived to tell the tail.  In 2016 many of us did it as a group and had a great, though predictably shattering, experience.

 El Jefe' in 2016

For 2017 we opted to assemble the same weekend as the Fondo, but instead did a five hour gravel ride as a group instead of seven to nine hours of hurt punctuated by cramps and cursing.

This is much better than killing ourselves.....

For 2018 we again chose the Fondito (little Fondo) option.  We still had a full day that left us spent, but the ride did not shorten our expected lifespan. 

McWoodie, Marcel and Einmotron came over on Friday morning and met at Cramps place.  They were all eating lunch when I arrived and before long we were in costume and racing along the trails on the valley floor. 

We had a rollicking good time that included single track with short steep climbs and winding ski trails that allowed for stinging accelerations and “look out ahead” cornering.   We hit some late summer duff and the resulting cloud totally obscured the heavily rutted trail.  Marcel went down and was lost in the cloud.  

Heading back to Mazama we were all down in the drops and drilling it as fast as the winding trail would allow.  I was fortunate to be able to anticipate the familiar twists and turns and felt bad for those who did not.  After our ride Cramps had to head back to the waiting perils of city life.

The next day The Punisher and Coz arrived and after some coffee and vittles were ready to partake in a heaping helping of gravel. 

Under grey skies we rolled out with food in our pockets and extra layers just in case the skies opened up.   We climbed Lester and then up and over to join Beaver Creek.  This was just the start of our riding and we topped off our bottles with some water we had cached for just this occasion.

Then the serious climbing started as we made our way toward Starvation Mountain.  Up road 4225, then up 4230.  The endless series of false summits would have broken our spirits if we didn’t have the beauty around us to remind us why we were here.   Then we reached the secret passage that took us to 4235.  Here we regrouped and put on more layers.  Instead of the day getting warmer as it had on Friday, it had gotten colder.  Soon we were climbing again as we now headed east. 

The views opened up to our right.  Bear Mountain and Loup Loup stood tall and green.  Beyond them, the Sawtooth range.  This was what made the ride worthwhile.  I knew there wasn’t much climbing left, and my eyes kept searching for the road to flatten out. 

After peaking out we zipped up and braced for the cold descent.  The descent was fast and loose. We hunted for better lines as the washboard bucked us around like we were riding jackhammers.  My hands were numb by the time we reached the pavement which didn’t last long.  

On the punchy lower slopes of Balky Hill my left adductor cramped.  “Oh good,” I said out loud to no one.  I stopped and Marcel passed me.  I had been carrying a small bottle of the product “Pickle Juice” which had been recommended by Fatty who has all kinds of cramping problems as a miracle drug. 

I swigged the two ounce jar and yes, it tasted like pickle juice.  I restarted and my left adductor seemed a bit better but less than a minute after swigging the juice my right adductor joined the party.  I soft pedaled for five more minutes then realized my legs felt okay now.  I ramped it up.  No cramps.  I really ramped it up.  No cramps.  I am a believer.

We arrived at our planned stop of the Cinnamon Twisp Bakery.  We ordered sandwiches and salty chips.  We were in good spirits with only one big climb remaining.  Someone asked if we were in town for the Fondo. We replied that we were doing our own Fondo.

After eating our fill we slowly remounted.  I had to take the short way back to let out Tux who had been alone in the cabin for too long.  The rest of the group went up the Twisp River Road and when they turned onto Little Bridge Road they were met by a member of the fire crew who told them they could not pass.  After some conversation and bonding sprinkled with an outpouring of charm the guardian discreetly waved on the men in black and orange.  They then climbed the winding gravel road to Thompson Ridge and then partook in the reward of descending Bluebird and Radar Creek and tempting fate along Patterson Lake only to cap off the day with a ripper down the Winthrop Trail.

After showers there were heaping plates of salad, pesto bread and spaghetti to be devoured. 

We capped off the weekend with a Sunday ride up and around Sun Mountain.  A final lap of the descent down Radar Creek and the Winthrop Trail was the icing on the cake.  After showers the group packed up and left as the rains started.  You can hope for this kind of timing, but you should never expect it.

Sometimes you get lucky!

Hey everyone, meet Adam.  Our newest grandchild.  He is smiling at Hottie in the photo

Puppy dog eyes

Tux lives the life of Riley.  He has retired from the miserable life of a professional racer and now runs only for pleasure.  He chases squirrels in the yard, deer in the Methow or the waves on the beach. His most difficult decisions regard the location of his next nap.

He is adored by children and a worthy ambassador for Greyhounds.

I'm a climber not a crit dog!   (Note the lack of grey in his face)

His racing career was short and unremarkable.  We found his race results online and his first race result was, “Turned in gate.”  He went on to a series of mid-pack finishes in a handful of races. When he pulled a muscle they unceremoniously cut him from the team. 

No tailgating!

Shortly thereafter he left Florida on a truck in a crate with other prisoners. A week or so later he found himself in Washington at a Greyhound rescue shelter.  He wasn’t even two years old yet and life had been nothing but work. 

A year prior we had two happy greyhounds. We lost Zach after a brave fight and then Lily left us suddenly a couple weeks before Tux hit Washington.  We had talked about going dogless for a while but that turned out to be a pointless idea.  I confess I was the one who proclaimed (though seeking concurrence) that it was time to find a new family member.

We looked at a bunch of dogs but Tux seemed to need us more than the others and we liked him as well.  His snout curved to the left but he was so loving that he needed an anomaly to avoid perfection. He was jet black and is was scary how fast he was. His agility left me breathless. 

Although fully grown he had never seen or been through a dog door, had never climbed stairs or seen his food prepared. He had spent every night of his life in a cage. We put him on a leash and he was terrified by passing cars.  We took him to the Volunteer Park Criterium his and he was so scared by the bikes that we put him back in the car where he collapsed in relief. 

 A dog for all seasons

In those first days when I extended my hand to pat him on the head he recoiled and braced thinking I was about to hit him on the head. Aside from his race results I don’t know any of the hard facts about his time on the track, but it must have been terrible.

Hottie was an excellent teacher and Tux was a quick learner.  He has become a wonderful pup.  He is happy to ride in the car which happens a lot. He has great leash manners and loves people, including our grandchildren, and other dogs.  He seldom steal food off of tables or counters and is cautious.

With cats and squirrels he likes to play life or death tag and if Tux wins they lose.  He has gotten away from us and chased deer away and we have concluded that he is being territorial rather than predatory.

His misshapen jaw necessitated some dental surgery a few years ago and he lost some teeth.  His front teeth don’t match up and if you pull back his lips you would see a jack o’ lantern smile. When the teeth don’t get to work as designed bad things happen.

When we picked him up from the vet after that surgery he was clearly mad at us.  He looked at us like we had broken a promise or worse.  He carried that grudge for months.   I guess I was naive to think that he would appreciate that we had just spent hundreds of dollars on his teeth but that was not the case. After he healed up we started brushing his teeth to delay what the vet said was inevitable.  He hates it but submits with stoic dignity though he lets us know he does not enjoy it.

 I like my bed and so does Tux

For two years the vet applauded us for the job we were doing brushing his teeth.  Each year she told us he would keep his teeth for now, but we were only delaying the inevitable.

Though we’ve been brushing his condition had gotten worse over the last year and he was having trouble eating. His breath was bad and I suspect he knew something was coming.  He had been wincing when I brushed his teeth.  Time remains undefeated. 

The inevitable happened today and Tux lost eight teeth; five incisors and three molars. It had been scheduled for almost a month and we’ve been giving him “Sorry Tux” looks all of October.

I wanted to spread the resentment around so Hottie dropped him off for surgery and I picked him up afterwards.  When I saw him his expression was a combination of “Thank God you’re here get me the hell out of here,” and “How could you have forsaken me?”

We brought him home and he went straight to his dish and ate his softened food, went outside and peed then flopped down spent from the experience.  It was hard to tell if his eyes were expressing fear, pain or relief.  

 Puppy dog eyes.