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. 

Respect the mountains

No; snow gophers didn't make it all lumpy

A few recent experiences have reminded me that failing to respect the mountains can be a dangerous mistake.   In recent weeks, with spring in full attack mode, I have ventured into the mountains many times on bike and on foot. The sunny tranquil world of the mountain valley can easily betray the potential harshness lurking in the higher mountains. 

Three times in April I left the sunny valley and climbed up only to find dark skies, cold wind and spitting, unforecasted light snow.  Snow being far less of a risk than rain. 

Miles and miles from a paved road, sweating and feeling the climb in my legs I look around. Seeing the dark skies, hearing the frozen hail bouncing off my helmet, and feeling to cold wind cut into me, I thought, "This could get ugly."  

My life was never at risk, but the prospect of the day turning into a very uncomfortable death march was a real possibility.  

On one of the rides near the start I passed two men sitting in the sun wearing T-shirts and drinking beer.  After nearly three hours of riding punctuated by frequent glances at the grey sky and spitting hail I returned glad to be back where it was warm.  Those same two guys were still in the sun, still in T-shirts, blissfully unaware of the journey I had undertaken while they took their repose.  The mountains don't play fair and they often override the weather forecasts. 

Hottie, bundled up for a chilly descent.

Even a drive up a canyon for a short hike with our new companion Kona revealed threatening skies and temperatures that chilled our excitement. 

Lack of focus reveals focus

Simple pleasures 

With COVID-19 putting everyone’s season on hold, April was not the typical training month I usually enjoy. Instead of gearing up for Goldendale and subsequent events, I just went riding.  I am normally a periodized training plan kind of guy and lacking any firm objectives I am just riding.  I am also hiking and running and taking walks purely for the pleasure of it.  

Without having to force each run or ride into a spot in my grand training plan I find I am much more in the moment during my rides, runs, hikes and strolls.  I am not a fan of the shut down and I am even less of a fan of the slower than I think it needs to be return to a new normal, yet I am finding some happiness in not being so damn focused.  It has allowed me to focus on what is fun. 

Changing topics

Pancakes if I want them.

This is my blog, so rather than break the rules, I just change them.  I have babbled on, with seemingly endless self-indulgence, about all flavors of biking and so this transition may come as a total surprise.  Oh well.

Buckle up Evo fans.  You're going to be reading about some backpacking in the months to come.

A few years back when mortality slapped me in the face and I was forced to contemplate (and luckily avoid) lifestyle restrictions the activity that I most feared losing was backpacking.  I was shocked.  To put this in perspective, I had not been backpacking in ten years.  I still can't explain it, but I did go on a trip with my son the following summer and our plan is to go again this August.

Only reluctantly have I acknowledged that I am in my "Someday" phase of life and before too long that window will close and be replaced by regrets.  A few years back Hottie and I were riding and we joined a guy who was setting out to ride from Seattle to the east coast.  His wife had told him, "You better go now, you will soon be too old."  Welcome to my motivation.

I will share more details of that trip and why it is important to each of us as well as some background on how I got where I am.  

In the meantime, I will tease you with a few odd comments, think of these as scenes from our next episode(s). 

• It started with a down jacket that didn't quite fit.  
• Eighteen years from beginning to end.
• I was called back.
• Analog hiking
• It all worked 

Habits with Benefits

Eggs, Grits and Coffee.   I'm ready for anything.

As I age, the physical things get more difficult.  It happens so slowly, I really don’t notice.  Because I have been in competitive athletics for over fifty years, I’m used to training and being sore. The principle of putting effort into the bank now so it is there when you need it later, has become so ingrained in my head that I don’t even think to complain, even to myself.

I have grown to embrace the hard stuff and because I know it pays off later, I willingly accept it.  What is bizarre is that the hard work has created a Pavlovian response such that I actually enjoy the hard work. If asked, I would be glad do to the hard work even if I knew the fitness would never come.  Yeah, I’m afflicted.  The hard work has become a habit.

As the work gets harder and I even enjoy the hard work, I regularly forget that sooner or later the fitness comes.  With all these years of knowledge and the pattern of results coming after the hard work, it is stunning that I am actually surprised when it happens.

This year, like last year, it happened on a ride that was on a tight schedule.  The original plan was to go for a two or three hour ride, but a work meeting ran late and then later, so I had just over an hour. 

The first sensation is that my pedal stroke is smooth.  Instead of a push, push, push, left, right, left, it is just spin, spin, spin.  Then I ramp up the power and instead of the power starting to fade after ten or so seconds, it just keeps coming.   Then when I continue a longer push, my body doesn’t fight it. 

I watch my heart rate climb and instead of my body sending out alarms, it says, “Hells yeah.” “Hmmm,” I think to myself, “I can hold this for a while.”  I find myself surprised that the payoff has finally come.  I have learned that I don’t get to predict when the fitness comes, but when it does, I know it.

Embrace the grind

Coffee

I'll catch up later.  So much good.  So much sad. 

Yesterday I left for a bike ride that was supposed to be 2.5-3 hours.  The idea was to ride down to Carlton and back.  There was a strong wind blowing north to south and I was flying on the first part of the journey. 

I knew the return would be hard, but that was okay.  As I let the tailwind blow me south I spun and enjoyed the long awaited sunshine.  

When I turned around my pace slowed and my heart rate climbed. For reasons I can't figure out, there were yellow marmots off on both sides of the road scurrying around as if they had just been let out of school.  It provided a welcome distraction as I fought the headwind. 

I've been down this quiet road dozens of times and there are still things to see for the first time.  As my mind wandered my pace would slow and I had to concentrate to maintain a decent level of effort.  

I recalled hearing about a gravel race in horrid conditions where the winner finished with an average power output of 330 watts for five hours and an average speed of sixteen miles and hour. With that thought swirling in my head, I didn't feel so bad pushing into the headwind. 

As I climbed the hill approaching home, my legs felt the nearly three hours of riding in them. That was okay.  I love the process. I love the long miles, the sore quads, the sun on my back. In this time when people go to extreme lengths to avoid being uncomfortable, I embrace it.  I grow from it and it keeps me young.  At least, that is what I tell myself. 

Do we need all this fancy stuff?

You like these fancy bike gimmicks?

Today as our crew rode in a steady Seattle drizzle we were totally comfortable.  I remarked to McWoodie, "What did we do before we had Gabba's?"   

The migration from 23mm tires to 25's then tubeless 25's then tubeless 28's may seem like a change in fashion, but the superior traction means safety and as members of the AARP demographic, safety matters.  

Our clothing, which again one could argue is nothing but fashion, keeps us warm and dry in conditions that make most people want to stay inside and drink coffee.  Looking at pictures from ten years ago, I recall cold, wet, Sunday morning rides that left me cold for three days. 

Hydraulic brakes and bigger gear ratios may seem like iterative improvements, but the difference is stunning.  I have sold bikes because I decided to replace them with disc brake bikes.  

For those who scoff at these advances, they can ride their lugged frame bikes with vintage brakes wearing soggy wool and leather.  They can do what all cults do and preach that their way is the only way and everyone else are fools.  I am sure the added suffering will build their character.  That is a good thing. Riding slow bikes when cold and wet requires a lot of character. 

I traded my character in on a new bike with hydraulic discs, a compact crank and Di2.