Dogs of Phuket

Leading up to our holidays, whenever I mentioned that we were taking our bikes, I got raised eyebrows and "You're mad!" or something to that effect as a reply. People, who had been here before, lounged into horror stories of chaotic traffic, frightening busy roads and a distinct lack of recognisable road rules. I would be 'road kill' within minutes, I was told. Reading the official information about Thailand's traffic just seemed to confirm their assessment.

And they were absolutely right but far from the truth.

What we found is chaotic traffic with a distinct lack of recognisable road rules and frightening busy roads, but sometimes, the chaos appears organised and there are quieter roads, too, but there is also a distinct lack of horns beeped in anger, there is a very recognisable courtesy and awareness of all road users and I feel safer here than riding on some of Brisbane's busy roads. I mean, man, even the dogs of Phuket sleep in the middle of a busy road with no care in the world.

But when the dogs don't sleep than they easily become the greatest worry of a cyclist and nobody mentioned that to me before.

What people also should have warned me about is the gradient of Phuket's roads. I never thought that a 9% gradient could feel like it levelled out and that at 23% gradient I'm not too proud to walk. I would have brought my 27 or even a 29 tooth cog if I had known.

It’s all good training for AMR and not for one second do I regret having brought the bike. How else would I take in the smells of Thailand's villages, exchange a friendly smile and hello with people on the back of pick-up trucks as they tuk tuk pass, waive to elephants on the side of the road or watch AMR chase away the dogs of Phuket with a squirt of lukewarm water from his bottle, the same water that would land seconds later over my head and back as I struggle to the top of the next climb in the humidity of Thailand?

What do flax seeds and soy protein have in common?

They both contain phytoestrogen.

So what?

I'm usually having a protein drink (whey powder mixed into rice or almond milk) after an intense training or gym session. We usually buy it loose at Mrs Flannery's. A few weeks ago Alberto bought soy instead of whey protein. Same same, we thought! Well, not quite!

Soy protein contains phytoestrogens, which are estrogen hormone-like chemicals found in plants that mimic female hormones in the body. It's good for you if you are going through menopause. But it also increases thyroid function and, hence, it's not good for me. And it may not be good for you either! No conclusive research was done, yet, what exactly it does in anybody's body and it is recommended that you don't consume it in large amounts.

I told Heather, my Personal Trainer, about it and a few days later she called to tell me that she read about flax seeds also having phytoestrogen. I checked my muesli. Phew! Only Linseed in there! Doh! Flax seeds and linseed - same, same.

With all this recent focus on gluten and inflammation I also checked the gluten free bread options in the supermarket. They are pricey, ranging between $4 and $5, and all contain either iodised salt, which I can't have because of the Hashimoto's thyroiditis, or soy or linseeds. I have found one gluten-free bread without any of the above and it was very yummy, made by Sol, but it was $7 a loaf.

So I googled gluten-free bread recipes and managed to find one that had no 'banned substances' and I tried it and viola! Gluten-free bread for under $4.

The devil's in the detail.

Get educated about your food. For athletes, the difference between winning and loosing can be seconds and nutrition can be the key.

Trail number seven

Wildflower honey
Like dusty mountain bike trails,
Soothe symptoms of flu.

After coughing and sneezing my way through this week I wasn't going to let a viral infection get in the way of the highly anticipated ride with John. I already missed out last week. He was going to show me his backyard, trails in the Bunyaville State Forest. Only later, back home researching trail maps, I learnt of their fancyful names. Psycho. Kokoda. Carnage. The ride did not disappoint.

I was probably overcautious and walked a few more sections than I needed to walk but - hey - I loved the feeling of adrenalin induced heart rate spikes caused by unexpected rocks or roots poking out of the trail. I always missed a beat and then pedalled like mad and - phew - always made it over without stacking it - sometimes only just.

And there was that moment where I looked down into the deeper than anticipated wash-out behind a root and when my front wheel plunged into deep air where I anticipated dusty trail and my arse flew instinctively behind my saddle, almost touching the rear wheel to counter balance the weight, I landed the bike safely and wondered how that just happened.

Trail number seven (I should have known earlier that it was also called "Steps") was mine... until my confidence waned and I walked the rest.

Now I can't wait to also explore Nutcracker and Wayne's World and all the other trails ... but this will have to wait till after our holiday.

A bike for every occasion

Sunday afternoon. The girl next door kept screaming at her sister: "Take your stupid bike!" Repeatedly. Insistently. Increasing volume and pitch with every shout.

I don't know what was upsetting her about the bike. The sun was shining. The air was warm. A lawn mower somewhere. I was sitting at my desk, looking out the window, craving a ride.

The mountain bike didn't play with me yesterday. The gears kept slipping under load. I also forgot how to ride uphill without being clipped into my pedals. Mum had ridden the bike a few years ago. The last time Toby rode it with platform pedals when he was much younger. The clipless pedals are somewhere in a box in the garage. There are hundreds of boxes in the garage. All carefully labelled. None saying: mountain bike pedals.

So I had to abort the mission, the mountain bike mission. But it was on my mind the whole weekend, during the ride with AMR yesterday afternoon and during the ride with John this morning.

I'm craving to ride a different bike because I figure it doesn't feel like training when I ride something other than the Time.

I never got it when AMR used to say he doesn't want to ride his Cervelo on the Riverloop. A "Baum" for the coffee shop ride, a single speed for the commute, a mountain bike for off road fun, a time trial bike for suffering against the clock, a road bike for racing Crits and a different road bike for climbing and I can think of many more.

I get it now!

A bike for leisure riding, just for fun.

I'm craving a new bike, no two ... make it three.

And than I closed my notebook, grabbed the keys and went out. I had to get it out of my system. There were a hundred things on my To-Do list but nothing was more important.

I rode over to Bunya State Forest. It took forever to hit dirt. And then signs. Ugly signs that I didn't like much.

But I started to get a feel for the bike again and the gears were only slipping in the middle chain ring. The small and big ring were OK to ride. The brand new chain and cassette probably just need some minor adjustment after that service last week. Probably less adjustment than I need to riding a tank. That's how it felt.

And then I found some trails that got me excited and memories of past adventures with this bike came to mind. Epic rides in dense rain forest in the Atherton Tablelands, Mt Edith, the Douglas track, the weekends camping out at a friend's property in Ravenshoe, all those places in Far North Queensland, many years ago. I remembered how we got lost on those logging tracks for hours, the refreshing rain forest creeks, the steep climbs, the ripped shirts from Wait-A-While vines. It all came back to me but the sun was setting and I hadn't brought lights.

So I was heading home, strangely and utterly content and when I hit the road again I all of a sudden realised that I had tried to ride my mountain bike like I ride my road bike. No wonder I felt out of place. Every bike needs to be ridden differently and it needs a bike for every occasion!

Guilty of negligence

We turned the calendar page to September and - bang - summer arrived at lunch time today. Dee is right. It's like turning the switch. My Garmin showed 31.1C when I rolled up to the meeting point where John was already waiting. Sweat dripped from my nose ... and I had pondered whether to wear arm warmers! The house had been still cool in the morning and the wind had ripped the drying clothes of the line. I misread the signs.

After catching up on latest news that revolved mainly around our state of health or ill-health, which confirms that getting old inevitably means becoming the person I never wanted to be, our conversation turned to bikes and when John mentioned his mountain bike that was receiving some TLC at the Aspley Bike Hub I felt a pang of guilt, deep and soul-paining, caused by years of negligence. We made plans to explore some single track next weekend. What a great idea! If there just wouldn't have been that nagging feeling in my stomach.

So when I got home I opened the door to the garage and what I found was even sadder than expected.

There it was, perched in the corner, flat-tyred and rusty-chained.

Tomorrow my most neglected bike will get a full service and next weekend I will take it out to the local forest, because there are so many great things one can do when not training for Nationals. John had said it's good to have a plan b. Maybe, sometimes, plan b turns out to be even better and more enjoyable than plan a would have ever been.

This certainly appears to become true for our upcoming holiday. Plans are slowly taking shape but since AMR hasn't mention anything in his latest post, I'm not going to be the first to spill the beans...

Can obsession hinder athletic success?

Triple J's Hack was on the car radio and I was driving home from work, as one does, in slow late afternoon traffic, tired and absent minded. Then the words of the radio voice trickled into my daze and I started listening more attentively. A sports psychologist was explaining to the presenter how athletes who are too passionate and obsessed about their sport often don't achieve their best because they get so anxious and absorbed that they don't manage the necessary measured approach that is necessary to reach full potential.

They were talking about all-or-nothing personalities, people who live their lives on the edge, always pushing the limits.

I have been sitting on this topic for a few days now because I don't know which direction to take it. Sure, nerves before races have hindered my performance in the past, nervous energy tight up in tense shoulders, arms, legs, thoughts.

But! And there is a big BUT here: I would argue that only a healthy dose of obsession and passion can provide the drive to train week after week for a major race.

And then a really gigantic BUT entered my foggy mind (part of the fatigue-hell I'm going through at the moment so please excuse my absence):

What if I couldn't pour all my passion and obsession into the sport I love.

It's not as dramatic as it sounds and sure, a perfect weekend involves riding a bike, but if that's not possible then the next best thing is reading books about riding a bike.

... and planning future bike rides, preferably long ones, somewhere new, exciting, far away.

There is a holiday coming up at the end of September and plans have taken unexpected flavors and shapes. Destination? Can't tell just yet but it will involve bikes and different roads ... and a healthy dose of obsession for food.

So here is the big question to you: What do you do when you can't ride your bike as obsessively as you want?