Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, where every day that we are alive, healthy, and ambulatory is a good day.

This is what I have been telling myself all week, whenever it gets a little stressful around here. I was reminded of this fact by a fellow Diva, and felt a bit ashamed as I reflected on it while I drove home after the ride- she was right, of course. Why do we ever say the words "worst day ever", or "you won't believe the day I've had", when we are still here, still breathing clean air, still have the ability to get out and enjoy ourselves, are well fed, and, best of all, we have these amazing, heathy bodies that are strong and not confined to a house or a chair or a bed. Yes, being a vegetable is my all-time worst fear. Death, I can handle. When one believes in things such as higher powers and new beginnings, death becomes an adventure. But as long as we are here, in this life, in this current adventure, it's ridiculous to complain about circumstances. What are we, the princess and the pea?

I don't mean to sound as though I am on a soapbox. It's just been the subject of recent ruminations. And with precise timing, in the middle of these ruminations and constant, positive comment that I have been feeding myself, comes the ultimate test of positive. Yup, cancer rears it's ugly head again in our family. This time it is not my mom hearing the news and her heart breaking for her parent, it is my mom holding her own diagnosis. Details we know not, only that the Lump of last year, the one that was supposedly not a threat, is now most definitely threatening. But on that front, nobody is panicking, because panic is not only pointless, not only does it create an environment in which unhealthy cells do happy dances and are fruitful and multiply, but we simply do not know enough yet to be able to panic. And besides, I grew up under her roof, so I am privy to the knowledge, based on just about every experience from my childhood, that my mom will kick cancer in it's butt. She may not look it, but she's not exactly frail. She's a gorgeous, strong woman with a vulnerable side, but luckily, the affected ta-ta is not on that side. So prayers. Prayers and love and support. She has been the go-to, the shoulder, the personal fan club for so many of us, and it's her turn. Because what is a little cancer to a seriously determined tough broad?

It has been a heck of a week up here in the Summit. A big exciting week for our boss's daughter, who is getting married this weekend up here, but for our boss's staff, namely, us...a heck of a week. Especially yesterday, the day that all the guests arrived. They are staying in our condos, of course, which meant that all condos had to be ready, redied within an inch of their lives, lest something should go wrong and a wedding guest should have a bad experience and have it color their relationship with the father of the bride. I'm only half joking. I can understand the pressure he is under to have the whole affair go smoothly, and if a guest has a less than wonderful experience after traveling from various corners of the world to attend this event, well, I would be stressed out, too. I am stressed out, too. I have spit-polished and scrubbed and washed windows and fluffed pillows and folded so many hand towels and washcloths into little fan-folded baskets and bows that when I come home, I sit surrounded by the clutter and have no desire to fix it. Then I get out my new bike and go for a ride with a girlfriend or two and forget my day and once again, all is right and well and the tension drains out of my shoulders like someone pulled the plug, and two miles in, I am happy again, and chattering and laughing and hopping over obstacles with new energy.

Okay, yes, new bike. I suppose I must. I'd rather not. I feel a little dirty, like I have been calling the kettle black without ever realizing I am a pot. Like everything I rant about from my soapbox just went out the window when I saw this bike. I sold out. But, oh, it's soooo good, says the addict...addicted to a sport. Can't live without a ride once a day. Mood is affected when not riding. Alienates friends and family in favor of a ride. In debt to support habit. Drives a car with 250,000 miles on it that cost less than the bike on top of it. If the shoe fits...

I suppose it is a proveable fact that a mountain bike can actually be an addictive substance. After all, substances change our state of mind. Whether it's THC affecting neurotransmitters (oh, don't look so shocked. I live in the dispensary capitol of Colorado), alcohol depressing our central nervous systems, or hard pedaling leading to a massive flooding of endorphins, when the effects wear off, we are left feeling like something is missing and wanting to get the feeling back (or so I'm told...).

So, as my friends tell me when the self-flagellation gets extreme, why am I so touchy about it? I am a mountain biker. It's what I do. It's what I'm about. I ride every day. I ride competitively. It's my thing. But still...I feel like one of THOSE people, those people I kinda hate because they have money and buy equipment to make up for their lack of skill. And I don't have money. I did have an envelope of cash, a few dollars a day for the last two years, but it stayed much thinner than I thought it would because I was always fixing the Stumpjumper. And I had a credit card, and to my shame, it got used. I have never made a purchase before that required several different methods of payment. It was the biggest purchase of my life. I try to justify it by saying it is the first big thing I have ever bought for myself, but I still can't stop thinking about starving orphans every time I swing a leg over the shiny, carbon-fiber top tube. Not even joking.

Apparently, my parents managed to instill in me a guilt complex, a treat-others-better-than-yourself thing. When I was eight, I gave away Melissa, my first-ever Barbie doll, an actual antique, on impulse because my little friend just looked so happy playing with her. In retrospect, I am pretty sure her parents were morally opposed to Barbie, even vintage Barbie, and she may not have survived long. I missed Melissa. Even after I had saved enough for another Barbie Doll and took a bag of change into the local Gibsons store and dumped it out at the cash register and asked for help from the cashier counting out the right amount for my new Barbie, I missed her. Not sure what valuable lesson I learned there, but the experience has stuck with me. But I digress...

The bike. So, my bike was in the shop. Again. The gear ring wasn't going to be in for about ten days, and the chain would not stay on the existing one. You would think I could just ride in the big or little ring, not the middle one, but you try tackling hills without middle gear. High is impossible, granny is too low to keep up the momentum. So while I waited, I was going to either ride badly at or miss the next divas ride and the fourth race of the series. So for the Divas ride, I called around to see if I could locate a demo for the day. It just so happened that Avalanche Sports in Breck had the bike for demo- not for sale- that I have been lusting over online for quite some time- a Santa Cruz Tallboy. My obsession was to the point that every time I sat down at my computer, I would automatically, almost subconciously type in "tallboy" and gaze at the bike, read reviews, go to the website and click on options, weight versus price, trying to find the lightest bike for the least money. Then I would wonder over to the website selling wheelsets and once again, price a set of super light wheels and hubs. Then back to reviews. Then back to the "Bike builder" on the Santa Cruz website. So I knew what to expect when I picked up the demo- a stiff frame, a lot of momentum, a tougher uphill but a smoother downhill. That night, I rode the demo at the Diva's ride and I loved it- I was cleaning obstacles I would have noticed had I been on my bike. The demo's 29 inch wheels, as opposed to the 26 inch wheels I was used to, rolled over rocks, ate miles of buttery trail without so much as a hiccup, surged forward when I stood on the pedals. It was heavy, though- heavier than I expected, and I was loving the ride, but thinking I might not be happy with it long term, I might find myself missing my light-weight Stumpjumper if I owned the bike.

I wheeled the demo into my local bike shop, where I am on first name basis by now, and asked if they could locate a compareable bike. Turns out, Tallboys are extremely hard to find, because they are only produced in carbon fiber, and they were underproduced. Out of the perhaps dozen bike shops that my LBS (local bike shop) is in partnership with, only one had a Tallboy- extra large. I went home and began calling bike shops all over Denver, and finally, after many "sorry, but we sold our last one's", got a lead. A gearhead in Littleton referred me to Golden Bike Shop in, of course, Golden. When I called, they said they actually had two, one the heavy stock bike identical to the one I had demo'd, and one a custom build, already sporting the lightweight wheels and hubs, the lightest components for the least money that all of their gearhead know-how could come up with to put on one little medium sized Tallboy frame. Long story short, we drove down to take a look, not to buy. By the time we got there, the heavy one had already flown off the shelf, and someone was considering putting a deposit down on the custom build. The price tag on it was a lot less than a bike that weighed the same, with a factory set-up. I rode it up and down the alley behind the store, and wondered if I could ever part with it, and in the meantime, B was getting the skinny on why these bikes are so hard to find. Finally, after we had drunk a beer, took turns riding it, and wondered how I could pay for it, he shrugged and asked if I wanted it. I looked at him like he was insane. "Of course, I want it! Just because I want it doesn't mean I'm gonna get it. That's life." And I turned to walk out of the door. He stopped me. We bargained. My ski pass for this year, gone. My skis, gone. My powder snowboard, gone. My Stumpjumper, gone. My time off, gone. And of course, my envelope of cash from the last two years, gone, which meant no more girls nights out, no more movies or margaritas, no more Cold Stone ice cream or birthday presents for girlfriends or impromptu donations to causes that tugged at my heartstrings, and no more race entries, since I now lacked the entry fees (other than the ones I am already paid up for). And we rolled a shiny, bright orange, custom-built Tallboy to the car, and my meal that night, while everyone else enjoyed salads and steaks and iced teas, was a $2.50 sweet potato and water. Ended up, B had to tip the waitress 40% because our bill was so cheap.

So that is your long story for the day. I know nobody cares, but I feel this compulsion to tell it, lest someone take a look at me, flying down the trail on my Tallboy, and think to themselves, "Boulder trust fund", or suppose that I am one of the entitled who takes such things for granted and who readily spends money on herself.

But, I've gotta say...I kept the Sandbagger in my sights for about 8 miles of the 11.75 mile race last night. I was completely wiped out, tasting that nasty, metallic taste in the back on my throat, my legs burned and my breath was ragged and loud and I was operating beyond my anaerobic threshold, which is not a good idea for endurance races, but I led the race for several miles. After that, the Sandbagger's expert-class endurance took over and she shot past me, and I didn't see her again. If nothing else, it was worth it to have her worried, since she almost never has a view that involves a competitor ahead of her. The course zig-zagged the hillside above the finish line, so I heard them announce her crossing the finish line, and about two and a half minutes later, I crossed it in second place. Now, I have ridden that hard on the Stumpjumper and could not break 5th place, so I may have to admit that, while I rode as hard as I could, my second place finish might have not been entirely the rider. It may have been the bike. I did find it ironic that at the top of the climb, just as I crested the hill and hit the downhill singletrack, I heard "Go, turn those big wheels! Ride that Tallboy!" And it struck me funny that now I was no longer me, I was the girl with the big wheels. What, no cheers for me? just my bike?

And now, off to work. Another big day, so that I can have another bike ride tonight. Life is good. It's another good day.