P.S. ...

By Mahlia Lindquist

Readers who have been following the Rocky Mountain Miamian (RMM) from the beginning, this post is for you -- a quick  postscript to some of the 2014 RMM stories. 

The RMM blog started as a creative exercise to get my creative juices flowing for a simmering book idea (see Hardness, Testosterone and Bookcovers,) and my first post was  I’m Not Unemployed, I’m a Writer. Unfortunately, I have so much fun writing for the RMM blog that it has been more of a distraction than inspiration for the book.  Consequently, six months later all I can say is "I'm not unemployed, I'm a blogger, which doesn't have the same ring to it as "I'm a writer."  

With regard to the Pleasure and Perils of a Pink Pet,  Zoe decided that if a pink Willow was a good idea, a red, white and blue one with with a mohawk would be even better. Willow was not amused. 

The real pity was that between the freakish hairdo and Willow's now sullen demeanor, pedestrians no longer stopped to chat and admire him on our walks.  Our family new year's resolution is to resist any impulses to decorate our dog. He is adorable all on his own.

This is a photograph of me with a quasi-celebrity. It was published in Ocean Drive magazine and taken during the 100k charity ride, for which I was training when I wrote about Biking In Miami. The photo suggests I am happy, healthy, and perhaps even socialize with the rich and famous.

Nope. The photo actually demonstrates that the adage of a picture being worth 1000 words is complete hogwash.

At the moment of the photo, I was hating life and praying for the ride to end which, for me, it did in short order. Moments later I crashed and broke my collar bone in a spectacularly painful and humiliating fashion.

As for the quasi-celebrity, I am certain he would be unable to pick me out of a line up if asked to identify the person who almost died shortly after being photographed with him.

By the looks of news that came out after my Open Letter to A-Rod, he has not changed his ways, nor has he made amends to my niece. The A-Rod letter is by far the most read of all of my posts, which I initially attributed the celebrity name in the title. So, to attract more readers, I put Oprah's name in the title of a later post. However, it was not nearly as popular as the A-Rod letter. It seems that most  people prefer to read about a rich baseball player who one commentator said has "been shamed into silence, relegated to cowering behind lawyers and liars"  over a rich superhero of a woman committed to making the planet a better place.

The creator of the famous Hot Crazy Matrix A Man's Guide to Women wrote to say that he is glad I enjoyed his YouTube presentation. He did not mention my describing him as a troll who has to pay for sex, so I assume there were no hard feelings and he appreciated my Hot and Crazy, It's in Our DNA essay. At least, I hope so.

The My Backpack is Butch post is officially obsolete. Zoe has deigned to use the Patagonia backpack for school, so I guess it's no longer butch. Or maybe the backpack is butch, and butch is cool. Or, maybe she's using it because her old one is ripped and I refuse to buy another one. Or, maybe she is exercising the prerogative of all 17 year olds to be utterly irrational.

I would like to acknowledge Zoe for being an awesome sport.  She previews my posts that poke fun at her and has given each one the okay. She even posed for this photo with the now acceptable backpack.  Her sense of humor and self-deprecating nature are two of the zillions of qualities that make her an exceptional person.

Exhibit A

In response to Miami, My Crazy B*tch, a few Boulder friends were skeptical that some women actually want bigger butts. Accordingly, I offer  Exhibit "A," a "butt plumping system," for sale in Miami retail establishments.  I really don't make this stuff up.





This blog has had the unfortunate effect of highlighting that I don’t have an actual job. Two of my more practical and highest earning friends asked what, if I make no money from blogging, is the point? To that, I say, in the 6 months since I started the RMM blog, it has had a total of around 5000 page views.  It takes 100,000 views per day to earn $100,000 per year blogging. I've had 26 so far today, so with just 99, 974 more views, I will be in the money.

Thank-you to everyone who has provided positive comments, “likes,” and shares for my 2014 Rocky Mountain Miamian (RMM) efforts. With your continuing support I will reach the goal of 100,000 views before my 80th birthday, which would be a great way to say  Happy Birthday To Me.

A super special thanks to readers who haven't had anything nice to say but heeded their mother's advice and chose not to say anything at all. 

Biking and Waking Up in Miami

By Mahlia Lindquist

My vision of living in Miami again did not include bicycling.  Biking was for the Boulder phase of my life. With miles of stunning vistas, designated bike lanes, and mostly civilized drivers, Boulder is a biker’s paradise.  Miami, land of traffic gridlock and roadrage, not so much.  While I like biking, I like living more. So, when I moved to Miami I put my bike in storage and planned to take up paddle boarding. Several months into life here, I have yet to paddle board or even go to the beach. Having declared that only someone with a death wish would bike in  Miami I have been, of course, riding several times per week. 

I started to question leaving my bike in Boulder when I noticed large groups of bikers cruising by my house. I had been skeptical about biking in a place where riders reveled in stories about the  “big climb” over the  75 foot high bridge to Key Biscayne. Now that I've been back in South Florida where the only relief from flat is the dump affectionately known as Mt. Trashmore, the Key Bridge started to seem positively majestic. It occurred to me that while I had dismissed riding in Miami in part because of its flat terrain, I had  never actually liked riding up hill. In fact, I sort of hated it. I was prone to whimper on steep rides, and went to great lengths to find the least hilly routes in Boulder. I decided I might actually enjoy riding in a city where a 75 feet climb is as tough as it gets.

So when I had the chance to do a charity bike ride for Best Buddies, I agreed.  While still tentative about starting to ride, the clincher was the perks:  handsome professional tour de france bikers as escorts, super cute designer biking outfits, a fancy gala, and a great cause.  I love perks. Unfortunately,  I was so blinded by visions of getting close up and personal with hot pro riders,  I failed to consider a few important details...

Like that the Best Buddy Ride is 60 miles and participants are expected to ride as part of a 50 person pelaton, at an  average speed of 19 miles MPH.  I had not been on a bike for  a year and back when I was riding I rarely cycled for more than 30 miles. In fact, I could only recall twice that I ever, in my entire life, went as far as 60 miles in one day. Then there was the peloton. Riding close to other bikers freaks me out, and so I have never actually ridden in a group. I also don’t ride in groups, or shall I say groups don't ride with me, because I am slow.  My average pace is far short of the 19 MPH required for the Best Buddies Ride. Oh yes, and I had no bike, no gear and 2 weeks to train. 

Details, details. There was no going back. As scared as I am of facing Miami traffic,  it’s the fear of  losing face that keeps me up at night. When it comes to carrots and sticks, I’m all about the stick, and in this case, visions of humiliation is a giant club. I got a loaner and determined to brave the Miami crazies every day to get into some semblance of shape.

It's now just a couple of days before the Best Buddies Miami Challenge, and I’m not ready. There’s only so much that one can do to shape up in two weeks.  However, I have ridden almost every day, not in a group and not for 60 miles, but with faster times than I ever rode in Boulder.  It may seem obvious, but I never knew that it is much easier to go 19 MPH at sea level than  at over 5k feet. Duh.

I have also learned that not all Miami drivers are aggressive. Many a Porche, Mercedes, Hummer, and Escalade, which dominate the roads here and have long been  objects of derision from my holier than thou self, have given me wide berth. For the purpose of this looking at the bright side musing, I won't dwell on my many brushes with death at the hands of rude and reckless drivers, but I will note that drivers of mini vans and hybrids were just as likely to run me off the road as the ones in more expensive gas guzzling cars. This surprised me.

I was also surprised to find the natural wonders of South Florida so close at hand. In a single ride from urban Miami to the Everglades, I went from mind-blowing traffic to mind-blowing beauty. Biking here over the past two weeks, I have seen schools of porpoise, huge iguanas, alligators, fish, countless exotic birds and lush tropical vegetation. Not far from the traffic and concrete jungle of Miami I enjoyed long rural roads, farms, and fruit stands.

None of it was new. After all, Miami is my home town. I grew up sailing in the bay, air boating among alligators,  eating fresh picked mangos, and wearing shorts in December. I just forgot.  I was so busy lamenting the loss of where I was, I forgot about where I am. It's kind of cool.