Mountain bikes, attic cleaning, and a whole lot of dirt.
It turns out that cleaning an attic is really not all that different from mountain biking, especially if your attic is tiny, hot, and has a ladder trapdoor. Like mountain biking, it’s a little dangerous, really sweaty, kind of painful, bruise and muscle-pain inducing, and as it turns out, it’s really really dirty.
I should explain. Last week in a moment of insanity, I told my parents that I would get their house in order. Don’t get me wrong, it looks lovely inside. It’s just that the garage, 2 sheds and attic are stuffed to the gills with… well, stuff. There’s a reason I didn’t know we had 2 boats until the weekend. The problem is that my grandparents all passed away within 3 years of each other, and we moved into my dad’s parents’ house after they passed. We also inherited a lot of stuff from my mom’s parent’s house. Unfortunately, this meant that in the craziness of moving, much of it got stored away where it could fit, and much of it was junk to begin with. But fresh with grief and wanting to preserve memories, none of it could be parted with.
While we still miss them very much, it was certainly well beyond time to get some of the stuff moved out. Pictures and sentimental stuff? Great. Knickknacks like ceramic squirrels (note the plural) though… junk.
So I spent my morning from 6am until noon in between the attic, garage and dump pile I started, and man, it was tough! As I’m writing this, I feel as tired as I did last time I rode a century. Turns out organization is a full contact sport, which I learned after being bowled over (literally) by a giant bag of bed linens.
I realize this is similar to my morning yesterday, which I spent with Mark, my close friend/mentor/teammate on the mountain bike trails at Six Mile. I fell a few times, but generally, I’m getting faster. To the point where Mark is talking about changes we need to make to my Jamis off-the-rack mountain bike to make it better! Now that, my friends, is progress.
I’ll get into the mountain biking a bit more in my next The Girl With The Cowbell Tattoo column on Cyclocross Magazine, but I don’t want to spoil it too much. Besides, I currently have 6 bags of clothing ready to head off to a Salvation Army. Yet somehow, I still have no closet space!