If the day you are born is your birthday, is the day you die your deathday?

Do we have a cake?

Do we count? First deathday, second deathday, etc.

What is the protocol?

I think most people, except for those who are really close, forget the actual date. When did Brett’s mom die? Neither of us could tell you. We got a card from hospice a year later, and that was our hint. I think the more traumatic, the more you acknowledge the day.

Let’s sign up for a gravel bike ride. It’s on August 2nd. Perfect. That will be the protocol.

Last summer, after my third grandchild was born, I started running again. A lot was going on when he was born, and I was not sleeping very well due to lack of physical activity. My days were spent with four-year old Olive before and after her brother was born with an emergency cesarean. I couldn’t hike or go biking, so I downloaded a running app and went back to running.

It’s been a minute.

In the past, running did not work out so well with migraines. Ever since I retired, my migraines are almost non-existent. I had been a runner when my kids were little. I could leave for 30 minutes while they watched “Reading Rainbow,” and they would never even know I’d been gone. Now, once again, I can leave, get my heart rate up, and the fact that I am gone barely even registers to everyone else.

The running felt good. I signed up for “Robert’s Run” in Hamilton. Hannah, Olive, and Henry signed up too. We met on Friday night for the packet pickup. It was already a party at the pickup. I was happy to expose Olive to this good energy that focused on moving. We all drove from the packet pick up back to my house and attached our race numbers onto our new shirts with safety pins. We sorted and traded all the swag in our bags. We ate a pasta meal, set out our clothes, and set our alarms for race day, August 2nd.

My phone rang before the alarm went off. It was almost 6 a.m. In a millisecond, I saw it was Heidi; she never calls, always texts, especially at 6 a.m. (Still in the millisecond) I answered the call, but did not speak. I immediately knew something was wrong. My first thought was something had happened to one of her dogs. (Millisecond is over). I don’t know what I said; I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “hello” or “Heidi Ho neighbor!” I think I said “what”.

“Scott is dead,” she managed to get out. “On my way…” and I hung up.

The multitasking that took place after I hung up was heroic. Sweatshirt on while walking; sweatpants on while walking. Brett is following me, trying to get information and wake up at the same time. I had no information, just one fact and one mission. No bra, no hat, no food, no tea, no teeth brushing, not even a morning pee. I hit the garage door open button. Hannah’s car was in the way. I hit the other button and jumped into the truck. Sped off as fast as I could, aware enough that this is a high-traffic time for the deer. I passed an ambulance going the other direction on Highway 93 and assumed they had Scott. There were two sheriff cars in the driveway. I ran inside. They directed me to the bedroom. Scott was not in the ambulance. He was on the floor with Heidi and their two dogs, waiting for the coroner. Deathday.

We signed up for a gravel bike race. Me. Heidi. August 2, 2026. We’ve been training for the past two and a half months.

Not together, hahahahhahaaa.

Ok. Sort of training together, but not really. We talk about it together. Sometimes we ride the same ride, and she gives me a 90-minute head start. We ride through the North Fork of Rye Creek ghetto together. I’ve mentioned in a previous blog that my goal is to beat Heidi to the finish line. I’m riding the 46-mile loop with 4100 feet of climbing. She is riding the 82-mile loop with over 6000 feet of climbing.

Things are coming together well. I’ve been indecisive about which bike to ride. The full-suspension mountain bike or the gravel bike (which is basically a road bike with wider tires). I’ve had them both tuned up, and I’ve added new pedals to the mountain bike. I added a new stem to the gravel bike. I removed the fenders and front rack from the gravel bike. And then……Jen emailed me and asked if I wanted to ride her hardtail. Sure. Why not? A hardtail is a mountain bike with only front suspension (no rear suspension).

This bike is so light. It has to be half the weight of both of my bikes. I rode it to the Deer Mountain Lookout, a 36-mile out-and-back ride. I shaved 25 minutes off my previous ride. You can totally lock out the front suspension on the climb and then unlock it for the downhill. The gearing is off, and the clip-in pedals are a different style than I’m used to (I’m using Jen’s shoes as well), and the saddle is very uncomfortable.

After the first ride on the light bike, I changed out the saddle. On the next ride, the gearing got wrecked up, I couldn’t release my shoes from the click in pedals, I was going uphill, came to a stop and fell over in the rocks. When I got home I changed the pedals and wore my own shoes. My whole right arm and leg are bruised. Brett tuned up the gearing and tightened the loose bottom bracket. I added air to the tires, lubed the chain and all is good.

My training over the last two and a half months have added up to 593 miles of biking and 50,839 feet of climbing. The weather changed a lot in that time frame. My last big ride, I was up at 4:30 a.m. and riding before 6:00 just to beat the heat. The smoke from neighboring states has rolled in making the air quality less than ideal. There are several local fire starts to keep an eye on as well. I won’t even know if the race is a go until 6:00 that morning when they check the air quality. If the air quality index is 150 or above, they will cancel the race entirely. The weather is supposed to drop twenty degrees on Sunday, the day of the race. The lightening that came through on Thursday night has started multiple unknown (at this time) fires. I could spend that day evacuating my house instead of racing my bicycle on dirt roads in the mountains.

My anxiety is high this time of year. My house is in the forest. There is a pump in the irrigation ditch that runs through our property. The pump is connected to fire hose that connects to a giant sprinkler. The camper is hooked up to the plow truck and ready to pull out at a moments notice. If we are evacuated, we’d still have a “home.”

There are no guarantees.

Two and a half months of training and there might not even be a bike race. Houses burn down. People die. You fall off your bike. This is what we call life. You adjust. Get back on your bike. Maybe you start a fun run and name it after your son who was hit by a car; “Robert’s Run”. Maybe you make a trail in the forest and name it after your son who was killed on a motorcycle ride; “The Ben White Trail”. Maybe after a night of no sleep you cancel all your clients for the day, ride your bike to the end of the road and text friends, thanking them for their support.

August 2, 2026, 5:26 a.m: My alarm went off at 5, no phone calls. It is 53 degrees at my house, the air quality index is 93. My water bottles are full. I’m hoping my pb&j fits in the pocket of my shirt otherwise I’ll eat it in the starting gate. The fires blew up yesterday in the 100 degree heat and high winds. The winds were relentless most of the night last night. We will see what life brings today. August 2nd.