Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, the blog that is afraid that no sooner than we have fallen in love with it, summer is about to leave us. The aspen leaves are not quite as dark green as they were two weeks ago. Frost has tinged the meadows with brown. Last week, a few nights when I took Andy outside to do his business in the pre-dawn gray, my bare feet left tracks in the ice on the deck. The signs are subtle, but they add up- fall is not yet in the air, but it will be very soon. Never mind that the last two days broke 80 degrees, which is sweltering up here, so close to the sun, never mind that weekend campers and tents line the sides of every logging road this weekend...we still know. It will be what it will be. Ski passes go on sale soon, labor day to be exact, and Christy Sports is hosting their massive tent sale this weekend, selling last year's skis, coats, snowpants, snowshoes. Bike shops are having sales, and not ordering any more merchandise. There's not a size medium pair of bike shorts left in the county.

B has been searching Auto Trader lately, trying to find a deal on a vehicle for me to drive this winter. My poor little jeep just gets smaller every year, especially now that a nearly grown golden retriever has to find a place to sleep amongst all the supplies that I haul around. He systematically shreds anything that will tear- toilet paper, sponges, paper towels, paperwork. If I had more cargo space, i could put those things inside tubs and he could not get to them. Plus, I must also haul around skis, snowboard, and cross country skis. The four square feet of cargo space in the Jeep just couldn't keep up anymore. And the tires are shot on the Jeep, worn too slick to help me stop in the ice and snow. So I was not too surprised when he called me on Wednesday, having located a really (and I do mean really) cheap Subaru Outback. We made a flying trip down to Denver, where after an hour of negotiating an even cheaper price, due to a few obvious issues, we wrote a check out of a bank account that is feeling the effects of the slow season rather acutely, and drove home a 2000 light green and tan wagon. We got back to the county, I raced home, changed into my bike shorts, grabbed an apple, threw my bike on the jeep, and broke the speed limit to Breckenridge, wondering if I was making a big mistake. Let me explain.

All summer, I hve been making excuses about why I should not race. First, I didn't realize when it was until after it was over. Then, it was that the race was all on singletrack, and I was so slow I would hold up the whole show. Then I made up my mind to just go for it, pre-rode the course, and had that stupid crash. Nix that one, the next one and the next one. Then, the race was so much uphill I still wasnt sure I could do it. Which brought me to last Wednesday, the last race of the season. It was only a six mile race, up Peak 8, then down Peak 9 at Breck. I copied down the directions and after a few wrong turns and one enormous climb to the wrong place, I had ridden to the top. I got turned around coming down, so I had no idea what the downhill was like, and felt like I was riding so slowly I could just see all the other racers flying past me. I had no intention of actually doing the race until driving home from Denver, when I got so annoyed at my chicken self, at my self doubt, at the fact that I would never know unless I tried but I didnt have the guts to try. And that did it. Nobody, not even me, can accuse me of not having the guts to try. I stomped on the accelerator, and 5:15 found me in a line at the starting gate, looking uphill at the steep, loose gravel hill I was about to grind up, mouth dry, hands shaking, heart pounding.

900 vertical feet later, I caught the leader, and 39 minutes later, flew across the finish line with her riding one second behind me. Now I am sitting here feeling a sense of loss, all the races I could have done this summer. I would have done fine. Sure, I coughed and hacked half the next day, and I was only in the beginners class, but still. I could have had a lot of fun racing this summer. As soon as I had settled into my pace and relaxed, I realized I was having fun. I just feel a little idiotic about all the lame excuses I made about why I should not do it. And I was very pleasantly surprised- for having a last name that nobody knows how to pronounce, apparently there are other people with the surname in the county, and they apparently even pronounce it the same way I do, even though there are several possible variations. I was not the only one with my last name on the podium that night, and they totally pronounced it right. Having my name pronounced right makes me want to stick around.

B and i are trying to decide what we are going to do this week. It is slow, the several-week calm before the storm. September has filled up for us, between a labor day crowd in the county, Marci's vacation, then our vacation. We must stay in the county, tethered to the phones, for most of the month. We will also be busy getting ready for the winter season. Which leaves until Labor Day if we want to get out of the county and go do something. I caught B researching hikes in the Maroon Bells Wilderness today. We may make a quick trip to Kansas to do a little more house maintenance, since we are really hoping to sell it, and sell it soon.

I worked this morning, did two cleans and one inspection, and because I got started early and hustled, I was done by 1:30. I came home, left Andy in the neighbor's yard, ate a peanut butter sandwich, and sat down with my computer for a bit to unwind and procrastinate going on a bike ride. At 3:00, I finally got off my behind and onto my bike. 10 miles and a deep, wide stream crossing later, I was on top of West Ridge, at 11,o33 feet. Nine downhill miles after that, I coasted into our yard, Andy in tow, both of us tired, thirsty and hungry- him from 3 hours of romping with his best friend, me from biking for 3 hours in 82 degrees. I know my flatlander friends are thinking if only they could experience 82 degrees...but it felt really, really stifling. Either I have acclimated to cooler temps, or 82 degrees is just hotter when the sun is so intense and the wind is not blowing. I guzzled 16 ounces of gatorade, had a bunch of corn chips, fed and watered Andy, then Bobby wanted to go on a ride, so Andy and I humored him and took him on a 4 mile ride. And now, fish tacos made for B, but the mess still spread out in the kitchen, I sit here in a stinky jersey, still in my bike clothes, in need of a shower. My eyelids are a bit heavy, and I have miles to cover yet before we sleep. So, 'til next time.