The Mountain Biking (Almost) Disaster (RE-POST from 9/8/13)

Here is an oldie but a goodie from 2013. Enjoy! 

Last weekend, I crashed while mountain biking. Actually, because I am not a thrill-seeker and probably have no business biking on hilly surfaces, I really just fell over. But the fall gave me some gnarly-looking scratches that have elicited sympathy from adults and children alike.

My husband, Dan, and I loaded up the car Saturday morning for one last mountain biking trip before the end of the season.

Or as I put it, "This is the last time we will have any fun, ever!" (I get a little dramatic when summer comes to an end.)

I had to go to a quick rehearsal that afternoon before hitting the road, and as I was leaving the rehearsal I was sent away with several disconcerting comments.

"Be careful," "Don't hurt yourself," and "Don't break your leg."

I shook it off, knowing that most of what I do consists of riding under five miles an hour. I am not above 'bailing' (or jumping off my bike) if I feel too out of control.

Dan and I rode the first trail without any problem. It has a fairly steep incline, and I used to struggle with it when I first started biking. So when Dan offered to scope out a second, more technical trail for me, I said, "No need to scope! I think I can just do it!"

The truth is, I could do about two-thirds of the trail. I had to take it slow because the path was riddled with large tree roots and rocks. It wasn't until the rocky, root covered path started to climb and wind around that the adventure began.

On the easier part of the trail, I told Dan he could go on without me since, as I have already established, I am slow and very cautious.

"The tree roots and I are fine. You can keep going."

Then I hit a tree root while trying to maneuver a switchback on a steep uphill, lost my momentum, and fell into a tree on the left side of the trail. Again, I wasn't going that fast, so it was more like I leaned into the tree. But my balance was thrown, and I started to topple off the ridge.

Most of my faithful readers will recall my gut-wrenching fear of heights, and the two things about mountain biking that terrify me most are that a) I will lose control of my bike because I hate losing control, and I am a control freak and b) I will fall down a mountain.

I began to do "b."

Luckily, the underbrush on the side of the hill caught me, and I didn't fall very far.

"Dan!" I yelled.

I had almost caught up with him by this time, and he was able to hear me right away. He rushed over and pulled me (and my bike) out of the trees. I walked the rest of the trail.

As we pedaled down the gravel road back to our car, I started feeling something weird on my leg.

"Is there a bug biting my shin?" I asked Dan. "It feels really tight down there."

"I don't see anything, but I can't really see your shin right now."

Back at the car, this is what we found.

This picture does not do my injury justice. It looks much worse in person.

It was after this that I started hearing about the dangers of mountain biking. I never thought of my type of mountain biking as dangerous at all. Daring and dangerous don't exist in my lexicon.

But, nonetheless, a lot of people had stories of fractures, broken necks and backs, road rash, and trips to the emergency room. Some people insisted that they would rather their children dirt bike than mountain bike.

"I don't think I'm that aggressive on my bike," I replied, but in the back of my head I was reminded of the surprised look on our doctor's face when Dan and I told her we were mountain bikers, but we had never broken or sprained any bones.

The friends who had cautioned me when I left rehearsal said things like, "I thought we told you not to break a leg."

I am proud to say that I got right back on my bike and rode several other trails that weekend without mishap. I did get lost one day when Dan and I split up on a trail, but that is another story altogether.

I went back to school the Tuesday after Labor Day, and all of the kids and teachers at school were very concerned.

"What did you do to your leg?" and I told them the whole terrific story. I realized I was sounding quite adventurous.

"I thought your cat got you," said one kid.

"No, it was much cooler than that."

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Mrs. Duggan Looks Like . . .

As an elementary school teacher, my ego gets boosted everyday. I am constantly told how pretty I am, how young I look, or that I resemble some gorgeous celebrity or Disney character. I thought these compliments might become less frequent as I got older . . . say, when I turned forty. But I still find myself basking in praise everyday. I have learned to sit back and enjoy the ride because I know I would NEVER hear most of this stuff if I worked anywhere besides an elementary school.

I will try not to get a big head.

"Mrs. Duggan, you look like . . ."

1. "You're nineteen." 
I'm pretty sure I looked more like this when I was nineteen.

2. "Belle."

Funny you should say that, young child. I was Belle once upon a time, probably before you were born.

3. "Snow White." 

I think this one has a lot to do with the fact that I sing bluebird songs all day long.

4. "Katy Perry." 
This has been a common one in recent years. My question is, which version?

OR

 

In all likelihood, it probably depends on how I have my hair cut as to whether I look more like Katy Perry . . .

or Snow White . . . 

 For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Dan Shows Up Late to Church

My husband, Dan, was late to church last week. Normally, that wouldn't be such a big deal, but last week was different. Last week, I was scheduled to sing a solo.

My sister-in-law and her mother were in town and came to our church that morning. In fact, they were early. I had told Dan he should get to church early too since my solo was scheduled for the beginning of the service.

My sister-in-law and her mother saved him a seat. They even prevented another attendee from sitting beside them, explaining they were waiting for someone.

The organ prelude ended, and the hour chimed. Still no Dan.

He is never late to church. The thought that something could be wrong tugged at the back of my mind, but I pushed it away as I came forward to sing.

I saw him slip in halfway through the solo, an aria from Handel's Messiah which, by the way, was less than two minutes in length.

Don't tell Dan, but I was more relieved that he was okay than upset that he walked in halfway through the solo.

Not wanting to let him off too easily, I gave Dan the I'm-watching-you sign after I returned to the choir loft. My sister-in-law thought I was glaring at her though and hastily gave me the thumbs up sign.

After the service was over, my sister-in-law texted my brother, telling him that Dan had shown up late.

"Uh oh . . . trouble in paradise," my brother responded, foreshadowing what was to come . . .

That afternoon, we tried to give him an out, coming up with a bunch of excuses.

"Was traffic was worse than usual?"

"No," he mumbled.

"Was it hard to find parking?"

He shook his head and changed the subject.

It was weird for him to be so vague. Usually, he would just tell us why.

"You're usually so punctual," I said after we had returned home that afternoon.

I paused.

"Except when you lose track of time doing computer stuff."

Silence.

"Were you playing a video game?!"

"Maybe . . ."

I texted my sister-in-law.

"DANIEL!" she texted back. "He was probably driving 80 miles per hour to church."

"I only ran a couple red lights," Dan replied.

"I thought about setting an alarm, but I didn't," he admitted later that day.

He also told me he grabbed the first parking space he saw and ran all the way to the sanctuary door.

He felt so guilty that he didn't even push back when I asked if I could blog about it. I think it's his version of penance.

I guess it is partly my fault. I buy Dan a new video game every time I have to abandon him for weeks at a time while rehearsing for a show. I suppose it was destined to come back and bite me.

Last Friday, I told Dan I needed to finish my blog post.

"That's fine. While you write, I can play Zelda!" he said.

"You might as well. It's about you playing Zelda anyway."

"Oh great."

"You lost your privilege to complain about this one!" I reminded him.

"I made it on time," he insisted.

"No you didn't."

"I heard most of it."

"That's not the same thing . . . "

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Just a Crazy Cat Story

So . . . here is a crazy cat story for you. I have plenty of crazy goose stories, but it has been a while since I have written about crazy cats.

I am fully aware that cats can be crazy. My brother has a cat that may or may not be possessed by demons.

When my nephew was two or so, he figured out it was fun to tease the cats with an abandon that ignored things like . . . say . . . demon possession.

"Let's chase Junior!" he would say, an attempt to enlist me in this dangerous game.

I will do about anything for that kid, but I will NOT chase Junior.

Junior is the type of cat that nestles up against you and makes you believe he wants to be petted. He even lets you pet him for a few minutes before turning all Spawn-of-Satan, hissing and baring his fangs at you.

All of this to say, I wasn't surprised when I came upon my own crazy cat experience.

I was walking home from the neighborhood park after my morning run when I noticed a cat stalking something in the yard across from him. He made his way across the road and crouched behind a car. I figured there was a bird or squirrel in the tree in front of me.

Then I saw the cross-eyed cat from the house next door tucked into the corner of the yard, beside the fence. A gray cat rested in the grass under the tree.

The stalker cat made his move and darted out from behind the car at the two unsuspecting cats. The cross-eyed cat dashed under the fence, but the gray cat blocked the attack, and the two cats ended frozen in a stalemate, staring each other down.

I stopped walking, enthralled by the whole encounter and by how still both cats remained.

All of a sudden, the cats, bodies frozen, deliberately turned their heads to glare at me. Neither one moved but stayed united in staring me down.

They sat there in their ready-to-pounce position, first looking at me, then turning back to look at each other, then turning back to look at me, and on and on.

They glared back and forth at me several times before I got the hint and gave up. I wasn't going to witness a fun cat fight. I might even end up a victim of a double cat attack if I waited much longer.

I finished my walk home, only to find our neighbor's cat hanging out in our yard. This cat had become my weed-pulling buddy during the summer months.

"Hey," I said to the cat. "You're not crazy like your friends around the corner, are you?"

I was met again with a blank stare, this time from my weed-pulling buddy cat. After a few seconds of that, the cat crept over to the sprinkler valve to lap up the dripping water.

And that was the end of that.

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Total Eclipse of the Husband (RE-POST FROM 8/26/17)

Remember when this happened? Good times . . . 

Enjoy this re-post from last year. #RelivingTheEclipse
 

99.5% is not the same as total.

I learned that . . . from my engineer husband, Dan, who has been nerding out over the total solar eclipse for the past several months.

"It is literally the difference between night and day," he told me after listening to his Science Friday podcast.

"Or the difference between lightning bugs and lightning."

"That's a stupid analogy," I said. "I lived in the Midwest. Lightning bugs are just as awesome as lightning."

Boiseans experienced 99.5% of the eclipse, but several surrounding towns were in the line of totality, meaning you could view the full eclipse just twenty minutes to an hour away.

However, LOTS of people were predicted to descend upon those tiny, rural areas, and my husband, like many engineers, is an introvert who #HatesHumanInteraction.

Dan was stoked about the solar eclipse. He had been purchasing eclipse glasses for months. We had, like, twenty pairs, only two of which were approved.

Everyday leading up to the eclipse, he tried his special glasses on and looked at the sun. He would try them on in the bathroom and look at the florescent lights to make sure they were blocking out the lesser brightness correctly.

One afternoon, he came back into the house rubbing his eyes.

"I think I accidentally looked at the sun."

Then he saw on Facebook that Neil deGrasse Tyson was in Boise the night before the eclipse and sh%$ got real.

Dan spent much of the lead up to his eclipse celebration on his phone checking out traffic maps and the line of totality. He couldn't decide where to go. One day, he was definitely staying in Boise. The next day, he was going to drive to Rigby and stay at his parents' house. Then, he was going to Oregon or maybe Idaho City.

"I can just ride my bike to Emmett and bypass all the traffic."

"No," I said. "You're not riding your bike to Emmett."

He worried about visibility the night before and kept me updated each hour on how quickly the clouds were moving out of the valley.

Finally, late Saturday night, Dan found a camping spot for $35 online. He packed up our SUV and headed to Horseshoe Bend the next evening to sleep in his car on some farmer's land off the highway.

"Have fun!" I said as he drove away. "I hope this guy's not a serial killer!"

In case you were wondering, the farmer wasn't a serial killer, and Dan arrived safely. He did get some pretty cool photos on Monday, but he also had time to revel in the experience as his fellow scientists in the media had advised.

Traffic back from the eclipse: Not as bad as Dan thought it might be . . .

What did I do for the 99.5% eclipse in Boise?

I wore my NASA shirt and enjoyed it (a still fairly awe-inspiring event at 99.5%) with my school colleagues.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.