A day full of firsts

I had two good reasons not to commute by bike yesterday: scattered thunderstorms and a slow leak in my back tire.

But I did it anyway and am disproportionately proud of myself for it.

The light rain on my way to work wasn't much of a problem. I tossed everything that needed to stay dry into a clean cat-litter tub and congratulated myself on a first successful commute in the rain. (It's been a very lucky two months.)

The leak was a little bit more of an issue. It was slow enough that I knew I could pump the tire up right before leaving and arrive with plenty of pressure left.

After that, though, I'd need expert guidance on how to patch or replace the tube. Fortunately, my bike-mechanic boyfriend was only a block away.

It was the perfect opportunity for me to finally try doing it myself — we weren't on a trail with bugs swarming us, or in a hurry to get somewhere.

So after three years of owning a road bike, I did it, with Cory talking me through it and lending a hand (literally) at times, and I'm confident that I could do it by myself if need be.

Granted, it would take much longer and involve much more struggling. That's fine. It's preferable to being afraid to take a long ride by myself, to feeling powerless, to hoping a friendly expert happens to be nearby in case of a flat.

With that done, I was ready to ride home — and the rain was ready to begin again. This was no light drizzle; it was a steady stream that, by the end, stung my forearms and clouded my vision.

Honestly? It was kind of fun, especially because home was at the end of a 1.5-mile-ish ride. (Much more fun than being 10 miles away.)

It also might've been excellent training for tomorrow's Bacoon Ride, if the forecasts are right.

I need a change from this scenery

I've listed off the serious and facetious parts of West Des Moines running that I'll miss.

But don't worry; I'm not going to shed tears over this weekend's move. Besides my visual fatigue with the same roads and trails, here's what I'm looking forward to leaving behind:

5. The geese around my current apartment complex: I try to dodge their doo-doo along the sidewalks, within reason. In winter, with icy and snowy conditions, this becomes a real hazard.

Also, Doug's affirmative answer to my question of "do geese attack?" has reinforced my paranoia that they'll choose to herd ME off the sidewalk, instead of the other way around.

4. Construction all over: First it was the Jordan Creek Trail underneath Interstate 35. Then it was the Walnut Creek Trail under Interstate 235. Now it's the Jordan Creek Trail pretty much everywhere east of 60th Street, it seems.

Yes, I like safe and smooth infrastructure, but that doesn't mean I can't wish the trails could remain open when they're not being repaired.

3. That rough spot on the Jordan Creek Trail that I either had to detour around, or ride gingerly to avoid another pinch flat: After discovering two pinch flats either during or after a certain stretch along EP True Parkway, I reacted not by learning to change a flat tire, but by scouting out a detour that added miles and a crossing of EP True that didn't have a traffic light.

It's definitely one of the rougher spots on the trail, and compounding the issue is that the slope from sidewalk to street (of which there are several) isn't very smoothly done. I'd forgive lengthy construction closures if this were what was being fixed.

2. The 60^th Street hill(s) and Westown Parkway overpass: When your parents' house/your apartment sits close to several hills, you become a stronger runner without even trying — unless, of course, you're motivated enough and organized enough to drive to a flatter starting point consistently. (I am not.)

Here, I have a dramatic downhill to the north and south on 60th Street, meaning there's a dramatic uphill if I do an out-and-back those directions. Then, to the east, is the Westown Parkway overpass. (And yes, there are hills to the west, but just not of the demonic sort.)

I've definitely developed a strategy for these hills, and I don't deny the value of running hills, even if your race courses will all be perfectly flat. And I even recognize that, with my new apartment being close to the Sherman Hill neighborhood, I'm not escaping all elevation increases.

Still — good riddance to these particular inclines. Familiarity breeds contempt, in this case.

1. The traffic lights at the beginning/end of these hills. Funny how when I'm flying downhill, they turn red, but when I'm crawling uphill, they turn green as soon as I reach the top — leaving no excuse not related to my fitness to linger.

Recon missions

Bikewise, Monday turned out to be completely different than what I'd hoped for, but it still turned out to be a success.

Regina and I set out on the Great Western Trail with the intention of reaching Cumming and evaluating our physical state there (she was only a few days removed from a century ride). Instead, we made it about three miles from Waterworks Park before my back tire went flat.

At least we had nice weather for the walk of shame back ... and that gave us plenty of time to brew a plan to salvage our afternoon: investigate the horrific-sounding hill on the Des Moines-to-Knoxville day of RAGBRAI.

We're leisure riders, not competitive; we like our trails flat and our winds mild. But what scared us — and probably many other people — was that Des Moines planned to put ambulances at the bottom of this hill in clear anticipation of wipeouts.

From a few intersections away, we could see the incline, and the sign that warned of a blind curve and demanded that we reduce our speed. We crept up to the top, sailed down to the bottom and came to a unanimous verdict there: We will survive.

No doubt it's a steep hill, and neither of us looked forward to climbing it. Fortunately, it did look like the descent would be worth it, rather than the cruel joke of a death spiral after all the effort it took to scale this mountain.

Sometimes knowing makes things worse (vaccinations), but this time, knowing might make it a little bit better.

With that mission accomplished, the next stop was to the bike doctor: our friend Cory. It was the second time I'd sat up close to watch the tire-changing process, but the first time I'd begun thinking "maybe I can do this myself."

Cory and other bike-savvy friends assure us bike n00bs that they'll take care of our mechanical issues ... but still, next time I haven't spent all afternoon learning lessons and don't have time constraints, I ought to take him up on the offer to walk me through doing it myself.