The Quest of the Unholy Mountain

I think I wrote not too long ago that Winter is a great time to shoot low light landscapes and such because the sun rises late and sets early.  Well, that's all well and good if the weather is agreeable.

Somehow I don't think the specs are necessary here.

Believe it or not you're looking at a big arena that can seat several thousand people.  Last Sunday we headed to Heidelberg, not to see the world's largest wine barrel, visit the castle ruins, or walk through the shopping district.  We intended to climb the "Holy Mountain" (Heilingenberg) and photograph some rather curious sights.  Instead, we climbed Heilingenberg, into a snowy fog, got lost a couple times (once again due to a lack of proper signage) and saw just a shadow of what we intended to see.  The first place was the above arena.  Truth be told, I was hoping there'd be snow or fog, but this was a little more than I was thinking.  This arena has a sinister past, and some gloomy atmospherics would fit it nicely.  It was built in 1935.  That date is probably a clue to who had it built.

Joseph Goebbels, Hitler's minister of propaganda, came up with the idea of building 1,000 of these arenas for the purpose of holding Nazi propaganda plays, presentations, and films.  These arenas were called Thingstatte or Thingplatz, in a typical Nazi attempt to tie into a fanciful Germanic past.  "Things" were actually Medieval Norse (Scandinavian) and Germanic gatherings of free men held to settle clan issues and make group decisions.  They are a very rudimentary basis for today's parliaments.  As usual, the Nazis perverted German culture heritage, in this case twisting a gathering of free people with equal voices into a tool for cultural brainwashing.  The movement wasn't a priority for Hitler, so the Thingstatte above Heidelberg turned out to be one of only 45 that were actually constructed.  This one housed 20,000 participants on its opening day, when Goebbels himself oversaw the ceremony.  After the war, the arena was abandoned for the most part.  Today it is sometimes used for concerts and open air movies.  But, mostly it sits as an empty and moss draped curiosity.  It is a popular spot to explore on Sundays, even if it is covered in ice and shrouded in a thick fog.

Fujifilm X-E2 ISO 1600 30mm f/4 1/250  

Fujifilm X-E2 ISO 1600 18mm f/11 1/60

The other site I was hoping to photograph were the ruins of the church of the Michaelkloster, a 11th century monastery.  The church incorporates the ruins of a Roman temple to Mercury.  The mountain is covered in archaeological sites; this is one of most important.  But...

iPhone 5s

Well, we climbed the Holy Mountain as fast as possible despite the lack of signs in the super thick mist and finally arrived at St. Michael's Cloister to find an actual useful sign which conveyed a great deal of information (don't sell things here, don't set things on fire, don't come in when the gate is shut, respect the premises, the authorities will track you down if you do any of this stuff...).  However, what it did not say was that it won't be open even when the sign says it should be.  While tourists can haul themselves up here through snow, ice, and fog, the person responsible for making sure people don't sell stuff or light stuff on fire couldn't be bothered.

Thankfully, the hut at the top of the mountain was open so we could grab a drink and thaw out.  That was that.  No pictures of ruins, just pictures of mist over a barely recognizable, uh, thing.  Ok, Winter, you're tough.

We did grab this shot of the Alte Brucke on our way to dinner.

Fujifilm X-E2 ISO 200 46mm f/10 15secs, soft focus filter

 Somehow over the course of all this I managed to tweak the index and middle finger of my right hand.  Being a righty, this causes me a bit of a problem in just about everything, but most definitely for holding or operating a camera.  So, I'm out of commission until things heal up.  Perhaps I'll do a little indoor work this week.  Perhaps.

Paris in December

When I sat down last week to write this post it was the morning after the Charlie Hebdo attacks.  I had "write about Paris" at the top of Thursday's to-do list since Monday.  But, in the wake of the tragedy, I found myself staring at a blinking cursor for over an hour, completely incapable of finding anything to say.  Writing about photographing Paris seemed inappropriate or insensitive, I'm not sure.  I closed out Blogger and decided to come back later.  So, here I am back the following week still not 100% sure about this post, and troubled in my spirit.

There are three cities that I adore, love so much they almost seem a part of the family in some way.  I'm not from them, and I haven't lived in them.  But, when we visit them, being there always brings us joy, a joy you can't help but mention, one that causes a smile to be plastered rather stupidly on one's face for the extent of the visit.  Most cities have the opposite effect.  In fact, I would happily exchange a weekend in a city for one in the mountains 9 out of 10 times.  But, New York City, Ghent, and Paris are special and will draw us back again and again.  Paris, well, it stands above the other two.  It may be cliche to say Paris is my favorite city, but honestly I don't care.  It's magic.  If you go, you'll get it.  If you don't get it, then you didn't do it right.  There's more to it than its architecture, history, shopping (if you're into that), food, and cultural spots.  It's all that and more.  There's a soul, a feeling of depth, memory, and insight coming from its very stones.  I'm not sure if I will ever be able to put my finger on it, so the only solution is to keep going back and get to know the place a little better each time.

Our most recent trip to Paris was the last week of December.  We popped over on the train, rented a loft apartment for four days, and spent the majority of the trip walking The Dog's feet off all over the city from Trocadero to Sorbonne from the 2nd Arrondissement to Chaillot and back (because he refused to ride the Metro).  It was clear and cold for the entire trip, so we bundled up in long underwear, fleeces, parkas, hats, and mittens and strode the streets undeterred though bulkier than preferred.  It was a trip designed just for a little exploring with The Dog, cafe loitering, and some photography thrown in.  It has been a long time since we went just the two of us, so finally I felt comfortable to tote along the tripod and try my hand at those big wide night shots I'd yet to capture on previous trips.  Granted, it was mighty cold and uncomfortable when the sun wasn't around, but I'd gladly go through it again to have the privilege of capturing more of this glorious city in the low light.

I love experimenting with night photography, arriving well before sunrise or sunset to get set up and watch the light change across the landscape.  Depending on where, sometimes it's an opportunity to chat with another photographer.  In Paris, being among many in one spot is a given.  The downside is that it takes a little more planning than just walking around taking photos of whatever catches the eye.  The good "blue hour" light is only around for a short while, so I had to choose one location each evening that would be my priority.  It's a hard decision in the most photogenic city in the world.

For this trip I carried the Canon 600D fitted with the EF-S 10-22mm f/3.5-4.5 USM and the Fujifilm X-E2.  I used my Lowepro Slingshot to carry my tripod through the day since going back to the apartment three times a day wasn't convenient (without using the Metro) nor easy (the apartment was a 6th floor walkup accessed by one of the most ridiculous staircases I have ever encountered outside a castle tower).  More on how this kit worked out at the end of the post.

I'm not a morning person, and I'm even less inclined to get up when it's 20F and I have to climb down a bazillion stairs.  Plus, this was vacation and vacation means relaxing.  But, this is Paris and sleeping instead of shooting before sunrise must be some kind of sin.  We were staying pretty close to Les Invalides so the first early morning session was there.  We walked all around the massive complex, before choosing to shoot the rear of building where Napoleon's tomb is housed.

Canon 600D 10mm f/13 .6s

Because we had The Dog with us we couldn't get into the inner courtyard, which was less than ideal.  However, this position did result in Paris' most famous landmark making a cameo.  While the focal point is certainly Napoleon's tomb, the lines of the stone walls tend to lead the eye over to the Eiffel Tower.  While it wasn't what I was originally going for, it's an interesting result I suppose.  Travel photography is teaching me to work with the situation I'm in and to make the best of it.  Sometimes I can't get where I really want to be, or I can only to discover there's a giant tarp over the building, or it's just too darn crowded.  I'm learning to compromise, experiment, and to always have a Plan B.

Another morning we walked over to Trocadero to shoot the Eiffel Tower (because you have to).  Everyone, their mothers, and pet monkeys were up on the Esplande du Trocadero waiting for the sunrise, so we opted for down below near the fountain (which was off for the winter).  I liked the angle from that level better anyway because it's in front of all the scaffolding currently draped all over the area.  There was only one other photographer down there and so we had a lovely private spot to watch the changing colors of the morning dance behind the Eiffel Tower.  I didn't want just a silhouette of the tower so the final edit is a blend of multiple exposures, hence the repeated jet streams- another result I wasn't planning on but kinda like.  Oh, and that other photographer was in the dead center of the shot, but he was wearing all black and didn't move a muscle the whole time, bless him.  I even have a hard time finding him.

Canon 600D 12mm f/10 1/50

After the sun came up each day, I stowed the Canon in the bag and switched exclusively to the X-E2.  I found myself shooting in black and white almost the entire time.  Paris lends itself so well to monochrome that it felt like the natural choice, especially with the harsh light of clear December days.

Fujifilm X-E2 24mm f/7.1 1/1000

Pont Alexandre III is one of my favorite things to gawk at in Paris.  I'm pretty sure I could spend a good portion of a day just taking its picture.  No matter how many times I walk over it, take a boat under it, or glimpse it from afar I think, "Man, that's a beautiful bridge."  It's an extravagant piece of architecture and I absolutely adore the thing.
 

Fujifilm X-E2 32mm f/9 1/400

This shot is, of course, a pretty famous view.  You'll see it on countless postcards and posters.  Despite it not being "unique," it's a classic example of good composition and I had to take it, kinda like every art student has to do a still life with some fruit at some point.  I did very little editing on this as the contrast and details were captured nicely in JPEG, JPEG, with the Fuji.  I only felt the desire to add a bit of a vignette and slap the watermark on.  Have I mentioned how much I love my X-E2?

Fujifilm X-E2 55mm f/5.6 1/500

I took this walking back from taking the Eiffel Tower shot.  When the forecast called for morning fog, I had hoped for a thick, luxurious blanket over the city.  It didn't happen, but a little clung to the trees in the park below the tower.  There was something about the scene of the park in the early morning with its maintenance tractors, mud, and garbage collectors that caught my attention.  It's a side of one the most popular tourists destinations most people don't get to see.  In a few minutes buses would unload their cargo and the area would be covered in selfie taking tourists, but for this time it was just another park on a cold winter morning.

Fujifilm X-E2 10mm f/2.8 1/125

One of the terrible things about shooting anywhere in the winter is that it's crazy cold in the morning, but one of the great things about shooting in Paris in the winter is that a warm cafe and a Chocolat Chaud are never far away.  We spent a lot of time cafe hopping that week trying to get feeling back in our fingers. 

When the sun started to head down again, we headed to the spot chosen for "Blue Hour."  The first one was Notre Dame des Paris, from below on the banks of Seine.  I had taken pictures of the famous cathedral down here before, but I've always hankered to get an evening shot when the lights were on.  

Canon 600D 10mm f/13 10s

We had quite a bit of time here while I watched the light, and I'd like take the opportunity to formally apologize to my husband and The Dog for having them sit in the wind tunnel so long.  But, I really did appreciate their company as I think it kept those creepy drunk guys at bay.  Despite the cold, I'd say this is one of the more enjoyable sessions we had.  Except for those drunk guys and one other photographer who came and went quickly, we had the place to ourselves.  I love walking along the Seine and this scene captures the mood of that experience.  Paris at night is truly something special.

Canon 600D 12mm f/13 10s

On the way back to our apartment for the night we paused at Les Deux Magots.  I do love a good Parisian cafe, and this one is a venerable establishment.  I can just imagine Monsieur Hemingway in there arguing with some unlucky soul about bullfighting technique or something.  Oh, I should mention that while our apartment's access was torture for an asthmatic, it did have quite the rewarding view at sunrise...

Fujifilm X-E2 30mm f/13 1/30

And sunset.

Fujifilm X-E2 25mm f/6.5 1/100, vibrant film simulation

My other priority "blue hour" spot was the Louvre courtyard.  It's another well know location, and a particular favorite for night photography.  There was a massive tourist presence and quite a few of us with tripods trying to get the shot without getting in each other's.  The after hours crowd in this part of Paris was pretty insane because of the nearby Christmas market on the Champs-Elysees.  It was here that I was particularly thankful to have The Dog with us as he prevented a very oblivious individual from crashing into me and my tripod.  The kid may have wet himself in fear, but I have found a new appreciation for our mean old dog.  Setting up at the Louvre was also compounded by the Museum's stupid, in my opinion, idea to set up a hideous red trailer in the courtyard.  Apparently it's going to be yet another Museum store, but I don't get the point and its location is absolutely inappropriate.  Say goodbye to any panoramic shots or, for that matter, views from the opposite side of the courtyard.  Not really a fan of the red squiggle in the pyramid either, but that's just me.  It's a beautiful location and I'm thankful to have had the opportunity to capture it, despite the difficulties.

Of course, I took quite a bit more shots on the trip and the rest of them are up on my Flickr and I've been posting a few to Instagram and Twenty20 as well.

Now for some final thoughts.  For the most part the kit worked out pretty well.  Of course, carrying everything around for several days wasn't so great.  Normally, I would leave the tripod back at the apartment and wouldn't have carried the second body, but this was a unique situation.  What it taught me was that the Slingshot bag does not work for all day carry.  The tripod positioning is awkward and tends to bash the head into walls or tourists (who may or may not deserve it).  And, the wrap around fit it crazy hard on the back.  The experience has me set on getting a regular backpack with a vertical tripod mount for days when I'm carrying a lot with me for a long period of time.  I don't do that very often, but if it comes up again, I never want to use the Slingshot.  Another weak spot in the kit is my tripod.  Its an inexpensive model, not particularly sturdy, and I knew that when I bought it.  But, after several years it's starting to get sticky and uncooperative.  In the cold, the poor thing freezes up really tight and getting it to the proper position is a battle.  I think I'll be retiring it soon.  As for cameras, carrying two around was a bit overkill, but I haven't added any new Fujinon lens yet, so that's the way it's gotta be for a while.  Their stuff requires some fancy budgeting and I have a lot of things vying for top position on my wish list.  For the time being I'll continue to use my Canon with the wide-angle lens until I can add a superior (and smaller) Fujinon.  The more I use the X-E2 the more I desire to work exclusively with their X cameras and lenses.

Fujifilm X-E2 21mm f/5.6 1/500

Taking a camera around Paris is an overwhelming, exciting, and inspiring experience.  It's one of the first places we went after we moved to Europe in 2011, and it certainly can be credited with igniting a love for photography in me.  What better place in the world to pick up a camera?  We try to get back to this beautiful city at least once a year.  I have to admit it was jarring to return home and read about the terrible events of last week taking place not far from some of the areas we were exploring.  As I said, Paris almost feels like a family member, a really artsy, eccentric, gorgeous family member.  The events of the attacks and aftermath break my heart and anger me.  It's the most beautiful city in the world and this escalation of violence on its streets is an insult.  But, we'll go back.  We'll go back soon.  I have a lot more I'd like to photograph there.  There are places we haven't been yet and spots I haven't been able to capture quite right.  I hope to be on its streets again soon with all those other photography lovers, weaving through the crowds of tourists, and snapping away.  The only way I feel we can show our support and solidarity is to not let these barbaric acts keep us away from the City of Light.

New Theme

Since we're rapidly approaching the end of 2014 (gah!), I thought it was time to turn more focused attention to this blog.  Should I keep plugging away, call it done, or revitalize it somehow?  I've had a blog in one form or another for almost 5 years, so the thought of giving it up fully is not my first choice.  Continuing on in the same way, however, is unappealing.  Writing up posts on what we did over the weekend or how cycling is going is getting a bit boring to write and probably even more boring to read.  Being an expat is no longer a new experience.  We're closing out our third year over here and despite the fact we're still not 100% sure what is going on and I haven't learned much German, this experience feels pretty normal.  We don't know what home is anymore, but I think that's because we feel evenly split after our second relocation.  Being on the banks of the Main in Unterfranken feels just as comfortable as being on the Cuyahoga in Summit County.  Sometimes, more so.

Anyway, my blogs have always been about sharing new experiences, be it becoming a bike commuter in Akron, Ohio or moving across the Atlantic.  It only makes sense to continue this approach.  So, Relish will be changing just a bit for taking a more focused theme.

Right before we moved to Luxembourg, the only camera I had was the one in my iPhone.  We thought, "Hey, we should get a decent point and shoot camera before we go because we'll probably want to take some pictures."  So, we picked up a Canon Powershot.  It's a great little camera.  But, something about this continent flipped a switch in me.  The people, the architecture, the food, the cities, the cultures, and the incredible landscapes inspired me.  I took that camera everywhere and despite its great performance, I wanted to shoot beyond its capabilities.  After six months I had upgraded to my Canon 600D, shortly thereafter I began adding lenses to my kit, and "taking pictures" became "photography" to me.  Miraculously, some have taken a liking to my work and have been willing to purchase items from my Twenty20 gallery.

So, in future posts I'll be turning Relish into more of a photography focused blog.  I plan to give background on pictures in my galleries and narrate how my exploration of photography is going.  I have a lot to learn.  There is a lot I don't get or know about.  Most of what I've discovered so far have been by trial and error or by accident.  It's not the easiest activity to get into or keep up with, but it is a heck of a lot of fun to try.  And, well, I relish the experience.

Anyway, that's what's up.  Don't worry, there will still be bike stuff from time to time.

Fujifilm X-E2, XF 18-55mm ISO 800 f/4.5 1/500

Pedaling About

So, here we are, rolling down into the last half of July.  The Tour is in full swing and here in old Bavaria the temperatures are on the rise.  We're at 90F this afternoon so the shutters are pulled down, the fans are blowing at maximum velocity, and occasionally Cat 1, Cat 2, The Dog, and myself climb up to the top floor (there are 5 in this wacky house) where the floor air conditioner is and enjoy a civilized temperature for a few minutes.

The cycling, however, is still going on.  Last weekend, we treated the bikes to a fieldtrip in Denmark to cycle around an island in the Baltic.  Let me tell you, Ærø may be a little place, but it packs quite a bit into it.  For cyclists it's one of those places that is just about perfect.  Despite it being Denmark, there are some decent hills.  Because it's Denmark, there's plenty of wind.  Because Ærø is special, there's plenty of coffee stops, good food, fantastic people, clear roads, big views, old churches, and even a craft brewery.  Oh, and there are cobbles.  Plenty of teeth jarring cobbles.  And, when you're done riding for the day, the sunsets can't be beat.

Empty roads and beautiful skies.

One of the quintessential windmills

Typical lane in Ærøskøbing, the oldest port town on the island.

House in Ærøskøbing

The amazing beer of Ærø

Great place to try your legs on some cobbles.

Island residents sell homemade items from their doorsteps and trust you to leave the money in the provided can.

No caption necessary.

But, that's going to be it for the traveling for a while.  For the rest of this fast moving summer we're focused on cycling closer to home.  The Rapha Womens 100 ride is, of course, this Sunday.  Once again, I will be joining other women all over the globe to ride 100km to support women's cycling.  While it'll just be my husband and I on our own since there aren't any organized rides in these parts, there are plenty of organized and supported rides around the world to join up with.  So, if you're up for doing 100km on Sunday, join us!

And, after that?  Well, the two of us are going to tackle something a little longer.  Over the next couple of months we'll be training to attempt our first century ride.  Without anything else going on, might as well give it a shot, right?  I'll let you know how it goes.  But, I have to admit I'm looking forward to the next couple of months just being about the bike.

The Mountains in Our Minds

The trail branched off from the main route just outside the town, and after getting through that gauntlet of a town it's at this point in the route (the one I call Crosswind Way), that I settle in for a short recovery before the said crosswinds kick in after the turn onto the road.  I never gave the trail a second thought.  Except where it intersects the Mainweg, you can't see it.  It disappears into a grove of short, thick trees and the shade of the overpass.  It looks like one of those little branches that appear all along the cycle routes for taking local traffic into the outskirts of neighborhoods.

But, I am bored.  It's not that Crosswind Way doesn't have it's rewarding scenery.  It does.  It passes through a deep valley cut by the Main, covered in vineyards.  There are some red stone ruins dotting hill tops, flat river barges, small towns, and sweet smelling woods.  But, after time, even things like that become old hat.  I am itching for a change of scene and a change of wind.  A glimpse at the map indicated this trail would lead me down another valley into the ominous sounding Odenwald.  Ominous sounding forests are just what I need.  So, at the last second as I head down the hill out that town, I lean right and turn under the overpass.  There is no wind, for a bit, but as I come out of the shelter of hedges and farm buildings on the other side of the highway, it hits me full in the face.  The cross winds of Crosswind Way are now a headwind, the constant headwind of the Main Valley.  I shift into a smaller ring and got into the drops.  I don't see many people, just the occasional retiree on an old upright, with a "morgen."  I come out of the rhythm for a nod and a smile.  I'm just out to explore, no need to retreat too far into my head and ignore the world.  I'm finding a new one, after all.  I pass through a nondescript town, with gravel based businesses lining it's outskirts.   Gravel mining is a thing in these parts.  Shortly after exiting the town streets, I hit my first stretch.  I shift into the next smaller ring, but keep my hands on the hoods.  The faster I ride over the gravel, the smoother the ride and the less chance of wiping out on a loose spot.  My eyes search for a clean line around the holes and squishy patches and my tires find it.  I'm not a huge fan of gravel, just because of what it can bring- punctures but, once I'm on it, I can't help but not enjoy the rush of attacking it at full speed.  I'm out of the town, long out, the road ends at a T; no indication of which way the next town is.  That's the way you go exploring on a bike in Germany.  Pick a town name on a sign and follow the rest of the signs there.  I pause for a moment and pull the map up on my phone.  I could take the road on my right, or see where this gravel takes me to my left.  A huge flat bed truck carrying half a dozen tractors rumbles past throwing dust on me from the road.  I turn left.

The gravel ends in a parking lot for a shooting club.  A quick scan of the lot reveals a break in the trees where there should be another road which will take me on to my chosen town.  I hope this isn't one of those shooting clubs with the target course in the woods.  I follow the path, just a dirt single track now, dip below the parking lot, around a patch of fist sized gravel, over a footbridge and onto another gravel road.  The gravel continues for another several kilometers before petering out and depositing me in another town.  I have no idea which one, but the sign says my destination is still quite a ways off.  With the pavement firmly beneath my tires, I breathe a sigh of relief from the gravel rattling, and kick into a more civilized pace.  A turn here, a turn there, a camp ground, a group of bird watchers, a farmer straight off of a postcard sitting in the bed of his truck with a pipe in his mouth and his dog at his side.  The countryside rolls by.  The hills rise around me, no vineyards, just dark trees- the Odenwald.  As I round a bend a large hill looms up in the distance, red walls crown its brow and a tower perches on the crest.  Another castle.  But, this one is new, so I let my eyes linger on it for a bit, before the hill twists out of sight.  After all this time, I still have a thing for castles.  They are huge monuments to this experience.  Reminders I'm not in Ohio anymore, reminders not to take that for granted.

After thirty or so kilometers, I've arrived at my destination, but I don't know it yet.  I'm expecting to roll out into a town center, paved in cobbles, with a church in the middle, and a bench next to the church.  That's the usual choice for a break to take a snack and refill the bottles if I need to.  I don't need to yet and the way to the quaint center is hidden around construction barriers and passing local traffic.  I decide to take the easy way through the congestion and head straight at the intersection.  I'll sort the way to the church bench after I get out of this cluster.  But, I don't.

It's not long before the road takes a severe uphill grade.  I'm basically committed at this point without making a u-turn.  I'm definitely leaving the town, almost as soon as I arrived in it, and I'm going up. A wooden, hand painted sign on the right of the road points up the hill I've unintentionally arrived on.  It says "Berg."  I glance up to the top of this hill; just the hint of red stone peaks through the trees.  The berg I saw from the valley below.

Sometimes the mind does weird things.  Things that are huge, things that terrify us, that intimidate, just stop being a big deal.  The butterfly feeling never hits.  We say, "I'm not afraid of you today."  We don't know why, we just aren't.

I don't make a u-turn.  I stop thinking about locating the town center.  I want to see this castle instead, and do so I have to climb this hill.  So, climb this hill I will.  I focus.  My head in its weird non-panicky state says, "Find the rhythm.  Speed isn't rhythm.  Just go up the hill.  Just go up.  If your speedometer is reading single digits, who cares?  You're going up this hill.  When you get up there, and you will, your life will never be the same."  And I find the rhythm, or it finds me.  I'm in the sun, full on my back.  I breathe through my mouth.  A bead of sweat runs down my left temple and falls on my shoulder.  Switchback.  I'm in the shade.  I took the turn tight on the inside as a red hatchback passes.  I hear the telltale grind of dropped chain.  I roll into a wide spot on the side of the road and sort it out.  I must have bumped the shifter when I stood up in the turn.  I click back in and keep going up.  Sorry, I'm not going to let the dropped chain dissuade me.  I'm going up this hill.  Switchback.  Sun.  The grade steepens.  I downshift and put my hands on the tops.  I hear the sound of laughing children coming fast behind me, and then they're on me.  In two firetrucks.  They barrel past, a small head pokes out a window and looks back, waving.  Sorry, kid, I'd wave back, but I'm kinda in the middle of something.  Switchback.  Shade and a break in the grade.  But, the road is positively pocked with holes.  This will probably hurt on the way down.  I leave it in the low gear and spin my legs out a bit, swig a bit from the bottle before the next increase hits a few meters ahead.  Ok, I should probably fill my bottle at some point.  There are no more switchbacks, just a steady increase in the grade.  Sun.  Shade.  Sun. Shade.  The sound of water somewhere.

Sun.  The trees are below me, just the castle sits above.  I run out of road and find the fire trucks at the same time.  Their passengers are running around the playground at the base of the fortress.  I pass between these random emergency vehicles and smoosh my front tire into a parking lot filled with loose pea gravel.  I'm going so slow at this point, it doesn't matter.  It's like landing on a feather bed.  My bike and I swim out and make our way to the near vertical cobbled road leading up through the castle gate.  The cobbles are set in such a way, basically stepped, so vehicles and shoes have something to grip, but there's no way I'd be getting a bike up that.  A sign nearby say's don't even try.  So, I unclip and walk, pushing the bike along the path next to me.  Another sign advertises a museum and the toiletten, aka. places to refill my bottles.  We climb through the first gate into a courtyard with a cannon.  We stop and turn around.

All that emotion I expected to hit me at the start of the climb, finally arrives.  But, it's not the butterflies of fear, the choke of trepidation.  It's a lump in the throat.  It rises, and my eyes well up.  A big green landscape wraps itself around me and below me.  A big old castle stands behind me.  I got here on my bike, the whole way.  I climbed a hill, pretty darn big one, a category 4 actually, on my own because I wanted to.  Because I said I would.  Because I couldn't let this hill or any other scare me back down the road.  I climbed.  I climbed.  It went pretty good and here I am.

The mountains in my head had been defeated with that climb.  My life isn't the same.  After filling my bottles and having a quick snack, I headed home the way I came.  The descent down that hill was the most fun I can ever remember having on two wheels.  Descents are a reason to climb.  But, the climb itself is the real reason.  With every pedal stroke, we get higher, stronger in the body and in the head.  If this hill can be climbed so can others.  The road is wide is open now.  There is nothing to fear.

Don't believe me?  The next day I climbed two more hills just like it.

An Afternoon Stop at Rapha Cycle Club London

We were in London last weekend visiting some friends.  All that talk about London being cycling mad is true, by the way.  We had a free afternoon after flying in so we decided to head over to the London Rapha Club to see what they were all about.

At first, we weren't sure.  It seemed like a hipster cycling themed coffee shop with some Team Sky paraphernalia on display.  The windows were covered in Marco Pantani themed art (I'm currently reading about Pantani's life and I honestly don't understand the glorification) and there seemed to be way more staff than necessary.  The menu looked quite good though, there were Giro themed specials and the main menu had a nice variety of cycling friendly foods.  We were starved after traveling all morning so decided this was as good as any place for a late lunch.  We both opted for the toasted cheese sandwiches and sat back to enjoy them (really tasty) and watch that day's stage of the Giro.  As the stage progressed, the place started to change.  People began to file in and grab a seat and later on, some standing room.  There were a lot of hipsters, a lot.  But, a good portion of the crowd were legitimate cycling fans.  Then, in the last 10km of the stage, it got real.  Everything in the cafe ground to a halt.  The staff came around from the counter.  Everyone put their eyes on the race.  We all sat there together, hipsters, roadies, fans, old and young and watched the race in almost total silence, waiting with baited breath to see the end result.  It was pretty darn cool.

When it was over, some grabbed their bikes and headed out.  Some stuck around for one more cup.  Others browsed through the racks.  I don't know if the customers were into the race because of the cycling mania that has hit London or what, but listening to a lot of the staff, I could tell these people really care about cycling and the products they carry.  They took the time to talk to customers about everything from their bibs to their socks and what would work best for the individual.  They were friendly and helpful.  They were, despite what the price tags, the artsy Ridley Scott films, the Chris King espresso tampers, the "Gentlemens Races," and the African hair sheep leather suggest, down to earth and easy to talk to even though neither of us has tattoo sleeves nor does my husband sport an ironic beard.

As for the clothes?  We picked up a variety of products.  The verdict is still out on their performance, I'll let you know after they've been saddle tested for a while.  But, I can tell you they are the most comfortable, well fitting cycling clothes I've tried on.  It was as if someone came to my house, took my measurements, and made me a custom kit.  The jersey was snug where it needed to be, but not too snug.  The bibs were supportive, but comfy.  I was impressed right off the bat without even getting on the bike.  Now that we're back from our trip, I'm looking forward to putting this stuff through the paces.

I have to admit, I was pretty hesitant about Rapha.  They do have a bit of a snooty reputation; their marketing is rather pretentious.  Wearing their stuff could be kinda like high school, buying what the cool kids wear hoping to fit in.  But, I'd been in the market for a new kit for a while, tired of picking up another set of $30 shorts and a jersey that isn't comfortable and can't handle heavy miles.  I was tired of compromising to save some money, tired of things riding up, flapping in the breeze, and performing pretty miserably.  I narrowed it down to a couple of brands, with Rapha being one.  From there it came down to being able to get it.  Not everyone ships to Germany.  Even if they do, there's the question of whether or not it will actually get to us.  Fun fact, the German customs department has a thing with stuff shipped from the US.  Anything worth more than about $20 is held at an office somewhere for the recipient to pick up.  Once they get there to pick up their stuff, they have to provide a receipt of purchase and pay fees that sometimes exceed the original price of the item.  Then, of course, there is the likely chance the stuff is just held indefinitely or pocketed by a customs worker.  So, that took any brand from the States off the table (unless I was willing to wait to pick it up on the annual visit home).  That left me with European brands, all of which are only available online here.  You can buy anything online, but I always balk at buying clothes unless I know how they fit.  So, the visit to Rapha to handle the products, try them on, and get a feel for the company made a huge difference.  I decided to go with them for the time being.  I can promise you one thing, if I do become a fan of Rapha it will be based on its performance, not because it has fancy labels in the clothing, they outfit Tour de France winners, or because of their brooding ads.  We'll see how it goes.

As for the Cycle Club London, it was pretty nifty to be in a place where people love cycling just as much as I do.  It would be pretty great if more places like that existed.

Making the Call

Cycling is a tough activity, don't let anyone tell you different.  It's tough for the professionals who compete on bikes and it's tough for people who ride them to work.  The only difference is the speed and the equipment.  The stakes are the same.

In a split second, everything can change.  We're out there on the road with nothing but what we have on our backs to protect us from the multi-ton metal boxes flying past or the spot of pavement that refuses to let a bike stay upright for no explicable reason.  Even when the situation is primed for cycling, things can still go wrong, terribly wrong.  There's the road, there's our bikes, there are the cars, there are other people, there animals, there's the weather, and there are other cyclists.  There are too many variables, even on a closed course, that will never permit cycling to be as safe and predictable as football.

All of us who tuned in to watch the US Pro Championships were heartbroken when Lucas Euser and Taylor Phinney went down hard while trying to avoid a race motorcycle during a tricky descent in the road race.  Euser was able to walk away from the accident.  Phinney, who won a stage of the Tour of California thanks to his descending skills and the US Pro Time Trial last Saturday, didn't get up.  He suffered a severe compound fracture to his left fibula and tibia.  That is a horrible injury, more than likely a season ending injury.  Thankfully, he's young so it is likely that he will come back from this, but it'll be a long road.  All it took was a second for disaster to strike.  It can strike someone who knows better than most how to handle a bike.  It can definitely strike the rest of us.  No matter how many hours we spend in the saddle and no matter how much practice we get, there's always the chance that something could happen.

But, we don't think about it too much.  We can't.  If we played out all the possible tragedies that could happen while riding, we wouldn't ride.  We'd go to a gym and ride a stationary instead.  We'd get in our cars and drive to work instead of loading our stuff in panniers and pedaling to the office. We wouldn't be cyclists.  But, we have to be smart about riding.  We need to push our limits, but we also need to know when to make the call.  Sometimes, it's wiser to sit a ride out than push on.  We need to know our bodies, what level we can take them to before we end up doing damage.  We need to know when the road situation isn't safe to ride.  There is a limit.  We have to make the call when it comes to our safety. The line is different for everyone, and no one else can make the decision for us.  It's a part of cycling.  Sometimes those lines change, like the more we descend the more comfortable we get with it.  Others stay firmly in place.  But, we know when we're pushing the envelope and when we can handle it.  No  Rapha ad, no editorial, no Twitter comment should determine how we approach our personal safety.  Lately, pro riders have been taking some flak for protesting the conditions in races.  It's easy to say, "You're a professional, suck it up."  But, we're not on the roads with them.  We really don't have the right to make the call.  No one has the right to make the call for the rest of us either.  We ride the roads, we know our bodies, we know our bikes.  We make the call.

Over the last month, my husband was out of town on business, a lot.  So, I dialed it back on the bike.  I popped it into the trainer and missed quite a bit of nice weather.  Being completely and utterly alone here adds a variable into the equation I don't really want to mess around with if something were to go wrong.  I played the conservative hand to mitigate some risks.  While I'm sorry I missed some potential good days out there on the bike, I'm not sorry I made the call.  It would be better to miss a sunny bike ride than end up in a nasty situation while the only person that would notice I was missing was six hours away.  I know that close calls are common on a clear, beautiful day when my husband is riding with me.  Heck, I barely missed creaming a woman who stepped out in the street, backwards, from behind a 5 foot tall hedge last weekend.  It was miracle we didn't connect!  If we had, it would have been nasty.  If I was alone it would have been worse.  If I was completely solo in Germany at the time that situation would haven been an even uglier business.  So, that's why I draw the line there.  I keep rides stationary or in short circuits if I'm solo in Deutschland.  Some may not agree with that decision, but sorry, it's not your call.

Cycling is tough.  We have a lot to take into account when we ride.  There's quite a bit we can control.  We can care for our bodies so they don't fail us out there.  We can keep our bikes in top shape to avoid debilitating mechanicals.  We can ride defensively and carefully.  But, there's a lot out there that's totally out of our hands.  We know that.  It's up to us to deal with it the best we can.  Only we know how.