Just got in shape

It was Monday. I was pacing Adelaide from behind (um..) during a brutal set of 4×20 minute intervals and I had Simon & Garfunkel’s The Only Living Boy In New York stuck in my head for hours, only I’d replaced the words with ‘The only US Pro in Boulder.’

Half of the time we’re gone but we don’t know where and we don’t know where.

This wasn’t one of those times, Simon. And I can easily tell you where I wasn’t: Chattanooga, TN for the US Pro national championships. And I won’t be at the Parx Casino Philly Classic, Tour de Saguenay, or Tour de Beauce either–the biggest month of racing of the year and our team is missing it all for no good reason. To add to the embarrassment and disappointment, our names are even on the start lists. Classic being listed as DNF when you’re sitting at home throttling pillows and cursing violently into an empty room. Depression, LOL.

My legs have decided to come around at last. My mind and body are strong once again. But instead of vying for the stars and stripes, which I’ve been dreaming about pretty much every single damn day since September, I was stuck in crummy old smelly old, stupid old Boulder, riding the high mountains with friends by day and eating at barbecues by night. It was an alright time I guess. Actually, last weekend was one of the best I’ve had in quite some time. While watching the US pro championships on the computer wasn’t the way I hoped I’d experience it, I was in a good place nonetheless. I had bigger fish to fry anyways. Well, not really. But I did have training rides to crush!

Since all I’ve been doing is training, that’s what I’ll write about today. But first I have some good news and some bad news. I’ll start with the good news: the good news is there’s no bad news. Now, onto the matter at hand:

Let’s see, where did we leave things after my last blog post? Ah yes, on one of the many cliff hangers of my life’s story. It was mid-week, I’d just come off a successful Superior Morgul, and I was on the verge of finally feeling normal and good on the bike again. I smartly rested Wednesday after my day of manual labor. My hamstrings were the worst off in terms of damaged body parts, likely from doing physically exerting things that didn’t require pedaling.

Thursday was my breakthrough, the day I’d been waiting and praying for since I got back to Boulder in April. I went out for a set of VO2 intervals and wheezed and whimpered out my second best set ever. A huge relief. I ran into Matt Cooke as I descended Old Stage after the last interval and soon, instead of tapping out a few extra hours of easy tempo and zone 2, I found myself glued to his wheel heading up Linden, staring intently at his rear hub while he did an effort to open up for Nationals. Five minutes at his pace was all I could take, then blew sky high.

It was a week full of riding buddies. After cruising a bit more with Matt I met up with Stephen H and Nick T for more climbing on Sunshine and Flag. All this human interaction! And there was even more to come. If only I liked humans.

Adelaide and I had a friend, Travis Furman, staying with us for the weekend. We’d met in Tucson this winter and he also happens to be the teammate of a certain Mike-L SencenBoss. Travis drove out from Oklabraska or somewhere flat and boring filled with corn, so I was excited to blow his mind with some mountains. He, me, Adelaide, and a group of Horizon Organic thugs including Ross and Jackson’s roommate, set off the next morning from Spruce Confessions, a Catholic-themed coffee shop that paints sinful images in your latte foam to scare you into repentance.

We climbed, flatted a tire, climbed Deer Trail at the top of Lee Hill, descended, and flatted another tire. I ended up riding mostly by myself that day because I can’t stand riding with a bunch of people who keep getting flat tires, even though it was me who got the flat. I ventured to the end of Flagstaff, searching for the secret, magical road that leads to Magnolia. I never found it, or if I did I wasn’t sure I was on it, so I backtracked and did the Gross reservoir to Coal Creek route instead. That night we had two barbecues to hit, so getting home at a reasonable hour was necessary. I would be drunk when the first sip of beer hit my lips.


Image taken without permission from Travis’ blog.

Sunday. We met Jackson, Nick, Fabio, and Nate at the other Spruce Confections downtown. Adelaide split off to get a head start up Flagstaff as we waited 13 hours for Kit to show up, then we went up Flagstaff, Gross Reservoir, Gap road, Golden Gate park, Peak to Peak, Nederland, down Canyon, then up Sunshine. The weather held, as did our legs, for the most part. A brief moment of torrential rain sent us scrambling off the road for the shelter of the trees, but aside from that the day was incredibly pleasant. Lots of elevation, the lovely smell of pines, dirt roads, and very few cars. It’s my absolute favorite loop to do and the riding buddies proved to be good enough company as well.

Screen shot 2014-05-30 at 8.39.13 AM

The route.

Monday. I rode “easy” with Adelaide as it was designated a rest day and I’d accumulated 26.5 hours of hard miles the previous week. But since she was doing 20 minute intervals, with me as a reversed motor pacer (sitting on her wheel yelling at her), it might have been a bit too much to consider it rest. I had to earn my burgers at the Creek Festival afterwards though. And I don’t mean earning the calories, I mean earning Adelaide’s time to come with me and get extra samples for me. There are granola bars, yogurt, sparkling juices, chocolate and other flavored “protein” milk drinks, etc, but the Morning Star stand is the best and most important sample stand to hit. And we hit it HARD. They give you 3/4ths of a burger each time you go through, and since they’re all gluten-high and Adelaide is gluten-free, I get all her burgers. We went through twice each, with me coming away with three full garden burgers. Day=success. Week=success. Life=Success. I would have opted for a third time through but we had another barbecue to attend later that evening and I’m trying to drop 1 or 40 kilos.

Tuesday. More VO2 intervals with climbing afterwards. Travis took off for home, dreaming of moving to Boulder and living the good life for the rest of his days like the rest of us here.

Wednesday. I finally cracked. I set off to do 6×1 minute intervals but ended up cruising around town at 100 watts instead. It was warm and sunny and felt like summer. I’m still jobless so appreciating “nothing” days is high up on my priorities. Adelaide and I met up that afternoon to cruise around town on the bikes, stroll through the farmers market, and read on a bench in the sun.

Thursday. I resisted the Siren of Jackson, who’d tempted me in riding BIG instead of resting like I was supposed to. I stifled the urge and told Jackson to shove his luring songs of big rides where the sun don’t shine. I needed recovery! Instead, I rode with Rhae and sat on while she did intervals. I seem to be doing a lot of “resting” while sitting on the wheels of people doing intervals. I believe this gives me the fruits of their labor without the unpleasant damage to my own legs.

That finally brings us to today. More VO2. Gotta get up to speed again for the crits this weekend. More accurately, ‘gotta get worn down and tired for the crits this weekend.’ I kid. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. This time for real. I’m heading to North Star, formerly Nature Valley Grand Prix, with Horizon in two weeks. I have very high hopes. And I do believe the shit we’ll kick out of the other bike racers will be stained with blood and drenched in their tears. Too much? Never.

Superior Morgul 2014

Bear with me” because this is going to be a long post.


Okay, now that I’ve spent the better part of the day doing THAT, let’s continue.

I guest rode for Horizon Organic/Einstein Bros last weekend and first thing’s first, THANK YOU! I had an absolute blast racing for you guys.

Chris Winn
Jake Duering
Brad Bingham
Jackson “Old Man” Long
Fabio Calabria
Mac “Charles” Cassin
Emerson Oronte
Kit Recca

Nick Traggis (Manager)
Clayton Feldman (Broken rider from Gila crash)
Josh Yeaton (Broken rider from Gila crash)
Brad Bingham (Likes crits but not hilly road races)
Charlie Suthard (Sougnier)
Brent Apgar of Sync Chiropractic

I’m getting off to a late start on this post not due to idleness, but because last week while racing I realized two things: A) I’m beyond broke and 2) I’m weak. Weak like a broken dandelion in a garden, dangling its currently wilting, but once brightly colored, flowery head in shame.

To compensate for #1, I picked up a landscaping job yesterday. It was in Longmont, which is a LONG way from Boulder. The ride up there and back, as well as the almost 9 hours of landscaping with my shirt off getting a nice deep red sun tan, proved to be too much. It was supposed to be a recovery day after all. I’ve hence forth decided that if I’m going to continue being a serious bike racer, manual labor has to wait. For those who manage to do both, wow.

To compensate for #B, I rode for a little over 5 hours in them thar mountains the day after Superior Mogul. This also helps explain why I’m so currently wrecked after yesterday’s weed-picking, mulch-hauling, hedge-trimming, and rock carrying day of real man work. And real lady work, too. (One of my fellow laborers yesterday was a lady. We should stop describing human beings’ worth based on gender.)

Which brings me to:

Friday’s stage One time trial…I rode like a bitch man. I thought I was putting in a good effort at first as I rocketed downMarshall Rd. at 45 miles an hour, smashing my 56×11 to oblivion. Then I took a right turn like a rusty old kaboose onto Cherryvale Rd. and lost like two minutes in that one corner alone. No matter! There was only one more corner (two total for the race) and I currently had a nice little hill in front of me to tear to bits. I crested it and got as aero as I could for the next couple miles of false flat downhill.

The 18-ish-minute race ended with a climb up South Boulder road, which gets fairly steep at the top, and I went deep into anaerobic hell for the last couple hundred meters, which took five or 10 minutes. As I came to a stop at the top and lurched over my bars in gasping, ragged breaths, I figured I’d finished in the top 3…at worst. Probably 2nd. I doubted I was 1st since I’d lost sight of Jim Peterman of Rio, who’d been my 40 second man. This was all based on feel, since I had no power data or time based off anyone else to gauge myself.

I ended up 12th, completely and utterly spiritually, mentally, and reason-for-living crushed. I’d set my hopes so high that 12th, which wasn’t terrible, seemed like a death sentence. I’d rather have been kicked in the nuts 920 times by a peg-legged pirate than get 12th. Not only was I pissed about probably losing any chance at winning the overall, but what did this mean for Nationals? What does it mean???

As I rode home with Adelaide, I began to realize that miracles don’t often come true. Three weeks of training after being sick for 5 weeks isn’t enough to reach peak form. That made me feel a bit better. But not a lot better. I began doubting my chances at Chatanooga, which was just 10 days away at that point.

Stage Two Criterium

Pre race meeting in the parking lot:

Nick: “I want you guys to make the race hard, but most importantly we’re working to get Fabio prime points and set him up for a stage win and the leader’s jersey.”

This is what I and many of the other guys heard:

Nick: “I want you guys to make the race hard aksdfl ajsdlkfhasl dhfk jashdfjkhsdkjf hjdhdjhfj dhfjdhj dhasld kaop KILL CRUSH SMASH CURB STOMP ALL THOSE WHO OPPOSE wmeamw alskdufoieanlka l aksdl.”

That’s a bit of an exaggeration. We all knew the plan was to set Fabio up for the GC. He was 8th in the TT and had a good chance at placing well in the next two stages, so supporting him was definitely our top priority. But HOW we went about doing that didn’t go quite to plan. Instead of being calculating and methodical on which breaks went away and how we controlled the field, we basically just just went ape shit.

I got things going with an all-out first lap attack from the gun since the first omnium sprint points were on Lap Two, and Fabio suggested I just go hard right out of the gate. I gave it everything for a full lap, then peeled off to let Jake take over on the second lap. He took Fabio through for full points.

From there it’s hard for me to remember what exactly happened because I was pretty much in the red for the next 60 minutes. It’s a hard course with a hill and some technical corners, which makes things difficult wherever you are in the field. I’d gone way too hard on that first lap for where my fitness was/is, and was paying dearly for it. Last year I did the same thing (went balls deep on Lap One), but I recovered in like 2 seconds and went balls deep again for Lap Two. I pretty much did that until I got away in a three-man breakaway that won. This year was different. Not only was my normalized power 30 watts lower, but I suffered more this year than last as well.

Jake was riding very strongly, as was Brad, Mac, and Kit. I felt outgunned but did what I could.

We attacked throughout the race with multiple guys up the road in almost every move. At one point it was just Kit and Chris off on their own. Emerson and I sat on a bridge attempt but when our group made contact, the field was right behind. I went hard for half a lap to re-launch Kit, who spent another few laps off by himself.


Photo: Dean Warren

Nearing the bell lap, Emerson rocketed out of the field with two to go while Chris looked after Fabio near the front. With one to go it looked like Emerson might stick it, and he would. Meanwhile, I made one last effort to get to the front and take Chris and Fabio to the line. Unfortunately someone pushed Fabio towards the fence in the last corner, which caused a nasty crash behind him and separated him and Chris from my wheel. Luckily I looked behind with 300 meters to go and saw that they weren’t on me, so I sat up instead of giving Colt Peterson of Rio the perfect lead out. Emerson won solo and Fabio finished 4th. With the omnium sprint points and his stage placing, Fabio would don the leader’s jersey for the final road race stage on Sunday. Exciting times!


Photo: Kathryn Winn

I went back to Nick’s for an excellent massage, dry needling, neck- and spine-cracking experience with team sponsor Brent Apgar of Sync Chiropractic.


Photo: Nick Traggis

The needles are in my lower back and the controls on the ‘lectricity are in my hands. The highest I could stand was level 3. I went to level 4 once just to see if I could and I think I pooed myself just a little. (I feel like everyone has seen this exact set of photos like nine times by now if you’ve read any of the Horizon blogs. It’s a consequence of being late on a race report. But thank you to everyone out there photographing this weekend. Many more awesome pictures can be found here at Dejan’s site Sportif Images).

Stage 3 Road Race:

Today marked the first time I had coffee in like three weeks. Regular coffee that is. I’d unknowingly been drinking decaf, had suffered poor quality sleep, blamed it on the coffee, so decided to stop drinking it until the race. Hashtag placebo effect.

Anyways, after two REAL cups of coffee Sunday morning, I was jacked and ready to go. My job for the day: set tempo and keep things in line for Fabio to take the stage and the overall. I was content with this. Very content, since I always relish a chance to ride hard on the front.

Lap one (or two?): Kit got away in the breakaway. He sat on since we had the jersey, making the race situation perfect for us. If they stuck it, Kit won the stage and the breakaway sucked up many of the stage placing points, increasing the chances of Fabio retaining the overall lead. If we brought it back by setting tempo all day, then hopefully Fabio could win the uphill sprint on the Wall. Jackson, Jake, and I went about keeping the break’s gap in check for the next couple laps. I felt good, and kept telling Emerson to chill out when he wanted to come take pulls. The finish suited him well and I wanted him as fresh on that last lap as possible. Chris and Fabio didn’t have much to do for those first four laps except enjoy the view of my ass.


Photo: Andrijan Smaic

By lap five we realized we should have just let the breakaway roll away since Kit would have likely won the stage and also taken the overall; he was the virtual leader on the road. We didn’t quite figure this out until it was too late. By now, the break was disintegrating and their gap was too low to hold off the chase. We got off the front and let Rio do the work, but at this point we’d blown it.

By the final and sixth lap when the break was caught, attacks started flying fast. I followed moves and pulled things together as best as I could. The field broke apart as Taylor Sheldon (Five-Hour) attacked with Chris sitting on his wheel. Emerson and I helped stitch it back up before the second to last turn around.

More attacks went on the rollers that followed. I was holding on for dear life at the back of the field, which was now down to 30, then very quickly, 20 riders. I went to the front as soon as I recovered then got shelled to the back when the more serious attacks started happening again. Fabio rocketed off the front with Sheldon as we approached 6K to go, so our team sat up once more and tried to control the front. I sat third wheel as Rio and Primal chased Fabio and Sheldon down with just a few kilometers to go. By now their chances didn’t look so great. Sheldon got dropped on the approach to the climb and came back in the field with 1K to go. Fabio would soon to be swallowed up too, but was making a valiant effort to stay clear until the very end.

My legs were dying at that point. Even more than I had expected. I stayed at the front with a few little surges, hoping to at least be of some use to Chris and Emerson, but once the first race-ending attack went with 400 meters, I was gapped off.  The steep part of the Wall is like 250-300 meters, and at that point I finally realized I had a flat tire, not just flat legs. I thought about getting off to walk or run the bike up the hill to the line, but decided that might be harder than just grunting it out on the flat tire. I came in 11th, flung myself over the bars in acidic agony and oxygen debt, wondering if we’d won and what I could have done if my tire hadn’t gone flat. I was pleased with how I raced and how my legs felt. After giving everything on the front all day and still getting 11th with the tire, my confidence finally took a much needed boost.


Photo: Andrijan Smaic

The bad news: Fabio finished 10th and we lost the leader’s jersey. The good news: Chris won the stage. For the third year in a row! Emerson also placed well with 4th and took 2nd overall, with Chris in 3rd overall. It was a bold move for Fabio to attack on that last half lap, and I, of course, approved of his effort. After all, it was pretty much the same thing I did last year in an attempt to win.

While we lost out on the primary goal: to win the GC, I feel like we came away with enough success (two stage wins and 2nd and 3rd GC) to give ourselves a modestly large pat on the back. Besides, it’s not polite to be greedy! Yeah right. Maybe as a child. In the adult world you take everything you can get while no one’s looking. Speaking of children, we lost the GC battle to a 16-year old. So there’s that. Congratulations to Gage Hecht, who we’ll most likely see in a grand tour or two within the next decade.

Thanks for another great race, Without Limits!

Post Script:

After gauging my fitness this weekend I’ve decided to forgo racing the national championships in Chattanooga next week. I simply don’t have the fitness to contend for a top 10, and blowing 800 of my own bucks (that I don’t have) on a one day race doesn’t seem like the best plan. I’d be going without a team as well, so all in all it most likely would have been a huge waste of money and energy that could be put to better use here in Boulder, training hard for the next big one and searching for that elusive coffee shop job.


THings and STuff and JUnk

My cold was instantaneously cured upon touch down in Denver. The long flight left me tired and jet lagged, but the quest to find my long-lost legs couldn’t wait a minute once I got back home.

I rode for three hours the day after I got back from Sweden, slowly plodding my way up to Ward then Lee Hill. I felt okay actually, likely because I was going very, very slowly. The next day I rode over five hours with Liam and felt absolutely horrible. I could barely pedal above 280 watts as my congested lungs begged, not commanded, the thin mountain air to oxygenate my screaming, unfit legs. Riding at least that hard was a necessity too, since Liam and I chose to ride Sunshine to Peak to Peak, down through Nederland, then up Magnolia back to Nederland–an idiotically steep route considering how screwed up I was. But I recovered. And over the next few weeks I’ve continued punishing my weak legs at a demoralizing pace, 20% slower than what I can normally do.

Even 10 days can make a huge difference. I smashed myself pretty hard throughout the following week with some long rides, threshold work, and sauna time, and was feeling strong enough to tackle my first race since Redlands. It’s been a long time, I know.

I rode out with Lang and Liam and one of Liam’s friends to the Koppenberg course on Sunday. It was hot, dusty, and the race consisted of eight, 5.5-mile laps. While super short, the race was hard, with a long dirt section that included a short, mean little climb. Crosswinds would also play into things.

This isn’t a race report blog post, it’s more of an overall of what I’ve been up to report, so I won’t go into the details.

I was good enough to attack on the climbs and make the lead group, which was down to eight guys on the fifth lap. But I flatted and my day was done just like that. I got off the bike and began walking to the start/finish with my thumb out, since there was no wheel support. The race promoter, Lance, picked me up so thankfully my hitch hiking was short lived.

It was my first real effort in a long time, and my lungs and legs were smashed even though I only did five laps. Adelaide got third in her race, so after riding home we celebrated by hiking up the mountain behind our house and splitting a half bottle of wine.

Throughout the next week (last week) I trained even harder, racking up 25 hours with VO2 intervals every couple days. By Saturday I was still feeling okay, and went out on a big ride with Andrew Clemence, Carson Christian, Nate Brown, Chad Young, Jason Keifer, Tyler and Will Nabors, Nadiya Mitelman, and Adelaide, who’d been sick the past three days but made a good recovery Friday night with a heavy coma sleep.

Heading north out of town on a luke-warm, sunny morning we made our way by Carter Lake, where the Gebhardt Automotive Cycling Classic will take place again next year under a new race promoter (me, gulp), then went up Big Thompson to Estes Park. I’d never done this climb before. It’s a cool but busy road with steep gray cliffs and a high-spirited little river that, just this fall, tore the hell out of every poor house in the canyon. I spent most of my time looking off into the river gorge wondering what it had been like when the water was at its full rage.

Skip the next five paragraphs if you don’t want to hear a stupid, pointless rant.

For no reason whatsoever, a cop car bull-horned us to stay to the right, single file. We were already riding in the shoulder and we WERE single file. We had been for the last hour. The police officer did say it in the politest of ways though.

A mile later the cop car was parked on the side of the road and the police officer was standing behind it, signaling for us to pull off the road. To get you on the same page of my rapidly building furry, think about how you’d react to “law” enforcement interfering with you during one of these scenarios: do the police hassle you when you’re playing a game of pick up soccer? Do they hassle you when you’re out on a run? In the gym lifting weights? On a hike in the mountains? No. The only time you get unjustly harassed by the cops is when you’re black, when you’re at an Occupy rally, when you’re homeless, when you’re making a documentary about the immoral practices of an evil corporation, or when you’re riding a bike. Having a talking to or getting screamed at by a cop is bad enough, and has happened dozens of times to me over the last eight years. I’ve also had them buzz me as well as slam their brakes on in front of me during group rides, trying to cause a crash. As a cyclist, my general patience with police is very small and I never look to them for protection or to take an honest view from my perspective. I trust them to always take the side of the motorist, no matter what. There are exceptions, but I’ve never encountered these understanding police officers since they have never been the ones to pull my group over or yell at me.

Anyways, I was so incredibly mad that the moment I came to a stop I got right to the root of my anger and asked why WE were being harassed for simply riding our bikes and trying to enjoy a nice sunny day. “We have a right to the road and we’re riding safely blah, blah, blah,” I can’t even remember what I said because I was so mad. Luckily Adelaide got a word in to shut me up for a half second so the police officer could explain herself. She was actually very polite and I do believe that she was just trying to help us be safe. It was still complete bullshit, of course.

“We’ve had a bunch of calls from motorists complaining about bikes taking up too much room.” Wait, what? Taking up too much room? Not the usual complaints about cyclists “acting rude,” when cars honk and buzz them, no complaints about bikes “riding recklessly” or “two abreast,” the later of course being completely legal. No, she’d had complaints from some lousy, worthless scumbag human beings about us taking up too much room and slowing down traffic. A motorist certainly wouldn’t complain to the cops about 10 slow-moving motor homes, which would stall traffic way more than a few bikes riding single file, taking up three feet of space on the shoulder of the road.

Unfortunately for society, the future of humans, and the health of our planet, the officer decided that the best thing to do was to pull US over instead of doing something real for our safety, like driving 100 meters in front of us for 10 minutes and ticketing all the cars that didn’t give the required three feet of passing space. We patiently let her talk and I bit my tongue and forced a smile since she was being polite. But the whole ordeal was such a load of bullshit that the flies are still buzzing around my poop-encrusted hair. I basically just stood still while a big old dump truck full of fresh manure backed up and unloaded all over me. Okay I’ve gone on enough of a rant about this. It wasn’t that big of a deal, the police officer really was one of the nicest I’ve encountered, and I didn’t even remember this happening until I started writing. Moving on:

We stayed mostly together up to Estes Park, regrouped, filled bottles, got food, and threw on warmer clothes at a café, then continued upwards. Some dark clouds were looming all around, and we began discussing the possibility of bailing down Highway 7 to Lyons instead of going to Ward. Snow was in the forecast.

The group broke up over the next few miles and four of us continued on to Ward, getting just a taste of snow the last few miles before making the turn down to home on Left Hand. When we got into Boulder I went back up Lee Hill for a little more climbing, then wrecked myself in the sauna for half an hour before calling it a day, which totaled 6.5 hours, 10,000 feet of elevation, and 122 miles. The pace had been chill and I felt fine at the end, better than I had at the start. I’m getting pumped for Nationals now that I finally have a hint of hope that I’ll be fit enough to have a good race. The Estes Park ride was a perfect way to cap off the hard week and it was a lot of fun riding with a new group of friends.

Now it’s Sunday and it’s snowing. Dumping actually. Last night it rained so hard that the power went out and the smoke detector started chirping. I angrily yanked it out of the ceiling and now it’s broken. Speaking of things that wake me up in the middle of the night, I hope this snowstorm kills the bird that lives above our window and screams super loudly at 4:00 O’clock every morning. Okay that’s a bit much. I’m not that cruel. But seriously, if that bird froze to death I wouldn’t lose sleep. Pun intended. Get it?


We did a ride a week ago up to Ward the day before the race. Adelaide, who hadn’t been training that much the past month, was slower than ever. The fact that she did so well in the race the following day, then was able to stay with us for most of the Estes Park ride was pretty amazing. Just shows how well the body remembers how to be fast. I’m hoping the same thing goes for me.

IMG_0090I re-named the gray horse on Lee HIll Bernard. Remmie just wasn’t doing it for me.

coffee shop ride

Adelaide, most of the office, and I did a SmartEtailing photo shoot on Tuesday morning. I was bribed into waking up early with free coffee and a Mexican lunch. Photo Courtesy of SmartEtailing, shot by Lisa Tharp.

photo 1

Adelaide on the Koppenberg podium.

photo 2This is her dad, Raymond, at the Butterfly Emporium. This is supposedly what butterflies look like before they go in their cocoons.