fourth weekend

And finally we sit still at the end of the "fourth" weekend, our feet aching, our backs straining, our hands puffy and dry: I slather on some peppermint foot cream, pour a glass of South African Chardonnay and reflect on the events.





Glad to have ridden my bike in to work on Thursday, on account of the village resembling the site of a bake sale with 5 minutes to go and all the goodies 75% off..the hoardes have descended on us for the weekend, possibly the season. There appears to be an inverse relationship developing between the numbers in town and their ability to do it in a mannerly fashion: I swear it gets worse annually: so I loaded my backpack up with some mesclun, mustard and chocolate soymilk and headed for the hills. On arriving home, I switched my commuter CX bike out for the singlespeed and cruised the woods by the house for an hour, then headed into town for dinner with Matt and John. John, the woodsman from NH, had taken it upon himself to nourish the bare-ish patch of grass outside the house with some compost in April: and now in early July, the side of the busy road is thick with the bodies of some 50 or so tomato plants, who wintered happily in the compost heap, and now find themselves on the side of route 114, open to assault and theft from passers by. I vowed to defend the patch, and will come daily at lunch time to check.and munch.. on their status!





Friday (the fourth proper) saw us varnishing Aisling, our beautiful wee boat, getting a coat on before a planned late weekend launch. We are tardy this year, in part with D-lo getting his new company builing underway, but also with the major renovation on the whaler taking priority. Styling now, we will have two very shippy boats to mess about in, and it will be worth the late evenings and early mornings for the past weeks..A quick 90 minute MTB ride with D before heading into Sag Harbor for the main event of the day..participation in the village celebrations at the Whaler's church. This year, I was invited to be one of the readers of the declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights, as a fundraiser for the Walter Reed Fischer House and commemorating the life (and death) of Jordan Haerter, a local kid from Sag Harbor who died while serving in Iraq in April.





The celebration was wonderful, an ancient church, quiet and cool on this muggy day, the simple white wooden interior a possible reference to the interior of the whaling ships from the village's past. A collection of 15 of the villages sundry members, and a congregation of 100 or so from town. Beginning with some historical perspective before launching into the D. of I., I truly felt part and parcel of this little town on the other side of the Atlantic (where I have my other home). Some patriotic songs, (for which I am still scouring the pages for verses) while I feel a little unsettled, coming from a warring nation and growing up pained by its sufferings, I haven't quite reconciled myself to the fact that my adopted nation is steeped in blood and has still such a militaristic culture. I find myself singing, no, belting out the verses of "this land is your land", an old Woodie Guthrie folk song from ths 30's, and wishing that this was the national anthem, not a mention of god, or fighting, purely a celebration of the topography and physical beauty from coast to coast.





...This Land Is Your Land
This land is your land This land is my land

From California to the New York island;

From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters

This land was made for you and Me.



As I was walking that ribbon of highway,

I saw above me that endless skyway:

I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.


I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps

To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;

And all around me a voice was sounding:

This land was made for you and me.


When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,

And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,

As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:

This land was made for you and me.


In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;

As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking

Is this land made for you and me?


Nobody living can ever stop me,

As I go walking that freedom highway;

Nobody living can ever make me turn back

This land was made for you and me."



The reading of the Bill of Rights followed, with audience participation in the form of clapping between the serene comments, especially when referencing such current notions such as limitation of government intrusion into reading material, government seizing of property, government acting without the will of the populace. I deepened my understanding of how great and good ideas are universal and timeless, as relevant to the Irish struggle with Britain as the the American struggle that I was celebrating, as relevant today as we see our constitution eroded in the name of a game that is not the will of the people. As I join in the group readings, I wonder if the Bill of Rights was more well read, for example in the weekly paper: would we have even the 28% support for this administration..A jolly good read it was, and I look forward to re-reading it, to better familiarise myself with the great ideas and ideals of the old boys of this nation, and those espousing these ideas today, just imagine, freedom, justice, equality, pursuit of happiness... How radical!


Saturday: 2 and 1/2 hours on the SSPD, alone: (Dennis is varnishing coat #2), I work on turns, particularly my right turns, the not-so -vanilla side.. and minimizing the braking. Definitely a good tactic, taking corners only as fast as I can handle the bike, the terrain, the balance: getting better at this stuff, I only dab once in 25 miles or so.
FIREWORKS:sponsored by Sag Harbor Yacht club: need I say more? This event gets bigger every year: we rode into town then went out in the harbor to watch the spectacle.

30 minutes of beautiful, gaudy, startling sparklers, then the most amazing finale, with a 30 second sinister militaristic component.. phew.. I am sure it was in memory of the young Haerter boy...very impressive, very moving sight..

Sunday, group ride, out east by Amagansett: 3.5 hours, the legs are nearly ridden off me but the hours working on the technical stuff pay off; On the return ride, I have more energy, better climbs, sharper corners, smoother descents. No crashes, oh except when I broke a chain on a nasty climb. Bang, straight into the stem as my chain exploded into the woods, as I hit a root while climbing hard at hour #2. D to the rescue with a new masterlink,nd we are underway in less than 5 minutes. What a hero. I resolve to learn to carry these things, looking ahead to the PA (100 mile MTB) race with a new, non-Wipperman chain. Lessons in life.


La Superica for dinner, belly bomb.. walk the vilage, hang time with Julie and Rick Laspesa from Rotations bike shop, home to write this, then to crash. G'nite, good weekend. Aisling will hit the water this week, and our summer evenings will begin..

totally bummed about work

Ok, today was the last day before the new Medicare provisions go into effect. In their infinite wisdom, our elected officials have, through their inaction, been unable to pass a bill extending continued physical therapy benefits beyind 18 visits annaully, to Medicare patients,.. oh as well as giving us a 10.6 % pay cut.. with another 5.6 % cut to come in January. Jolly. So tomorrow, my patients will either cancel, decide not to go food shopping, or just cross their fingers and pull out the credit card. I am totally bummed looking through the schedule, seeing a full half of todays list of patients are Medicare recipents, the majority of whom are juggling with the cost of driving to PT, never mind having to pay out of pocket for it..

As the 4th of July comes up, and there is a faint hope that the bill will be reeviewed upon the return of the Senate and House after the holiday, I wrote a happy holidays letter to our local rag: and just in case thy don't publish it, I am printing it here, in cyberspace, with maybe a few passers-by to glance through it. If you are the child of a loved parent, or if you are afraid of growing old in this country, pass it on. I moved to this country 12+ years ago, invested my heart and soul in it, and here I am, a few days before we all go out to wave flags, go sailing, eat macaroni from a paper plate, fill our eyes with tears thinking patriotic thoughts, while our older, injured parents and neighbors are worrying about the cost of their next physical therapy visit and how much medication / gas / food / heating oil (insert your own ________ ) can cut out in order to make it. I am totally bummed, not only because these people have welcomed me as their own child in this community, this country, but because this is a sure sign of the things to come, an ecology in peculiar imbalance where our elders are as we speak, being nudged out onto the creaking icefloes. A strange time, as I plan to take the stage in our local church, as an invited member of our broad tribe in Sag Harbor, as a still dripping wet citizen of this country, to read the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights (how ironic) with a flag in one sweaty hand and a desperate sinking feeling in my belly.

(to the editor @ the easthampton star)

Dear David,
I am writing to your paper, and to address my adopted community for assistance, both for my profession, but primarily for themselves. As many of your readers have passed through the doors of my business, and literally through my hands, I have had the pleasure of being able to assist many in this town to resume their physical capabilities and return to a full, functional life.

Despite the increasing stresses of annually diminishing reimbursements from the insurance industry, combined with the rising cost of doing business for everyone, my partners and I at Manual + Sports Physical Therapy (MSPT) have been able to continue to provide quality care to many locals and visitors alike. However, with this weeks decision in congress to cut payments to doctors by 10.6% beginning July 1st, and for a future cut in January 2009 of a further 5.6%, our business, and our ability to provide continuing care for our Medicare patients, is in jeopardy.
Our schedule of payments (as PT’s in out-patient non-hospital based clinics) from Medicare is directly liked to the physician pay scale, and thus our physical therapy reimbursements will also be severely cut, beginning this week. Patients receiving Medicare-covered physical therapy will be limited to a maximum of $1810 per annum, which works out to about 18 to 20 visits, per annum. Worse still, linked with this bill HR6331, is the cut to an exemptions process for the more impaired patients, who prior to this bill passing, had been able to qualify for an exemption; for example, someone who might have a knee replacement, and also suffers from a rotator cuff tear, or someone who has had balance difficulties and co-existing knee and back arthritis, an elder who has chronic back pain and also has hand arthritis... To anyone who has had ever seen their parents age, none of these conditions are surprising, but anyone can figure out that few of these complex conditions are manageable with a 6 week coverage of physical therapy. All patients will now be subject to the cap of $1810, regardless of the complexity of their condition. Following this 18 visit maximum, which many of my Medicare patients have already met, these elderly will have to self-pay, or be discharged. Some will be able to manage in a home setting or a local gym with an exercise program, most will not. The majority of our Medicare patients continue to need the skilled delivery of physical therapy care beyond the arbitrary cap, and would continue to benefit from that continued care.
I therefore urge your readers, this week, to call their members of congress and senators, and urge their support for the passage of HR6331. They will resume work following the July 4th recess, on July 7th. There is a chance that pressure from the public, in an election year, will force the reinstatement of the exemptions process, and continue to facilitate the care that I and my staff have been able to offer across the east end, from our Southampton, Sag Harbor, East Hampton (East End Physical Therapy) and Montauk offices.
As an aside, I will be participating in the reading of the Declaration of Independence at the Whaler’s Church in Sag Harbor on July 4th.. This follows an invitation from the Deacon’s committee, who each year, gather a group of citizens to represent the diversity of the area in celebration of the past with an eye on the future. As a twelve year resident and a six year-citizen, I am honored and delighted to participate in this special event. As someone who cares deeply for this community’s older, injured physical therapy patients, as well as its weekend warriors and athletes, I will be privileged to take to the stage in this event. I hope your readers will attend, and be moved to look, not just back at the dappled, colorful past, but ahead towards a country that values the health and well being of its older citizens. Please make a call to your political representatives right after the glorious fourth.
Yours Sincerely,
Sinéad A. FitzGibbon, P.T., M.S.P.T.

more china news

oh this is a lazy one: I recently did an interview with Cailin Brophy from the Southampton press about the China Trip: here is the online version of the interview, the paper version will be in the stands next week!

http://www.27east.com/story_detail.cfm?cat=sports&id=151068

turkey trot

Saturday afternoon, 80+ degrees and sticky, I was fed up of planting the 100 ostrich ferns that I had had delivered, and decided to go for a run in the woods. Following the recent disappearance of the inch-worms, I felt I had only to contend with my wobbly legs and 5 million ticks, so I sprayed up (tick guard, made in Southampton, NY, all natural, no DEET), grabbed a bottle, strapped on a heart rate monitor, scribbled a note for Dennis, and left.

Running from our house onto the newly cut section of the Blue trail, I marvelled at the sudden blossoming of the laurel, house height overnight it seemed, and my pace was stable but slow. I ran 8-or so minute miles enjoying the dramatic changes of the landscape from last week..Where the inch worms had eaten a hole in the canopy, the laurel thrived, exploding into lacy doily-like flowers for a spell. Heading 'round into Dry Gulch, the fescue grasses were deep green, tall and thick, the trail headed downhill and I gathered speed. Picking my way along the sandy singletrack, dodging the baby-head rocks, I was relaxing into the longer strides, not paying too much heed until I heard a squawk and a flap as I almost landed heel-strike on a baby wild-turkey, Mammy flapping off into the brush to my right, while baby, unharmed, ran to my left, under the ferns and disappeared. It took all of about 20 feet for Ma to regain her wherewithal, before turning a 180 degree U-ie, and heading straight for me..

Then it was my turn to squawk, dropping to 5:30 or so for the next 200 metres as I barrelled down the trail. The first thought in my head was of an NPR show from last winter, when some journalist was reporting about how these previously non-aggressive (waist-high) birds were now attacking humans.. My second thought referred to the previous week's mountain bike ride, when I deliberately chased one of these beasts down a trail, just for giggles, to see how fast they could run.. Well, with my fancy schmancy Gary Fisher Rig and its 38 x 19 single speed gear, this turkey outran me.. and those muscley legs were foremost in my mind as I pegged it up a hill, dodging laurel branches, hopping over fallen logs..

I listened for flapping, expecting blood and guts any second, then slowed to a jog when nothing came. Panting, I checked my watch. HR 175.. Jen (my coach, my buddy) would be delighted. I wondered how long I could have kept that up for.

Shelter Island 10k race next weekend. I think it is a road race. I hope so. I don't think my poor heart could stand the excitement of a repeat.

Maybe I should start trail running with more equipment..




(Pistol practice at Maidstone Gun club range this winter..)

back from the ranch

(a clump of joshua trees, prickly, painful)


Back from the ranch a.k.a "Xantusia" under the hospitable care of Mssrs. Dan Empfield and Mark Montgomery, I am now endowed with the title of certified F.I.S.T. (Fit Institute of Slow Twitch), have a thorn from a joshua tree embedded in my scalp and am jonesing for a dog with a rinkly face on the other side of the country..and it transpired thus..

Susan Roman, one of my trusty PTA's in our Sag Harbor office, had in March brought the course to my attention. Both of us being triathletes, one of us being a total gear head (hint.. not me), and both of us dealing professionally in physical therapy on a daily basis with our injured triathlete and cycling friends, we figured that this course would be a good match for our triathlete -therapist - 3rd decade athlete brains.

Long haul flight to Ontario CA, pleasant drive uphill to the deserts of the San Gabriel mountains and up a bumpy sandy driveway to Xantusia, the coupound of the Empfield and Montgomery duo. Greeted by several of the 8 (rescue /vagrant) dogs that live there, we quickly settled in, aided by a bike ride up the canyon (8% grade), a beer and an early night.

(dan on day one, before he was fed up of our questions)
Day one of the course began after a gruelling uphill ride into a neighboring canyon, stopping only to view the valley or snap a quick photo of the desert views. The first morning, after breakfast #2, was mostly an introduction into the FIST method and philosophy, observation of a triathlete fit process, and much discussion. Four of the course attendees were professional bike fitters from TREK, one of whom was, no joke, a rocket scientist, now in R+D for the Wisconsin company. Another, a yoga therapist from Portland who is a much lauded fitter, specializing in riders with injuries (low back pain, hip arthritis, chronic injuries, neck pain etc.) An olympic medalist from cycling track in the LA games rounded out the group, so needless to say, there was a lot of Q+A time. Comments about fitting, concerns about the details, the equipment, the technical specifications of all and sundry, the aerodynamics of helmets, the pressure testing of nether regions on saddles: all fair game during the couse, lunch and dinner. Rounding out the night was a visit by each of the dogs, in turn, for a scratch, a rub, a paw or a dribble. I fell in love with Punkin', a squishy faces boxer mix with chopped off ears and the most wonderful demeanor, whispering quietly to her, vowing to sneak her into my carry-on for the return to Sag Harbor. Monty must have read my mind, pouring another beer, warning me about how everyone loves Punkin' (and likely growelling in his head.. "don't even try it girlie")

(ooh the downhill makes the climbs worth it..)
Day 2, another early morning ride in yet another canyon , with another gruelling climb, this time with the yoga fitter, who also happens to be a billy goat. Between gasps and splutters, I gave mono-syllabic answers to Michael the billy-goat about questions we had in reference to the fit progess, and how, as health care professionals, we could modify.. and dare I say (!) improve the process. Near the mountain top, I paused to chceck out a coyote (who looks JUST like the cartoon version, all skinny and ribs with pointy ears etc), take a photo.. actually glad for a rest, then continue on to the summit. We came back to the ranch, flying downhill, snarfed breakfast #2, and took up class again, complete with 4 or 5 of the dogs. This day wsa all hands on, or rather, fingers and thumbs.. as we fine tuned our measurement methods, becoming more skilled and confident with each practice. The methodology is interesting, if imprecise, but the outcome is great, smart and helpful. The client goes through the fitting process and on completion, has a set of measurements in a "universal bike language" that can be then applied to EVERY available frame on the market, to get the optimal fit.


(click on play to see me fit at a most aggressive 81 degrees.. and COMFY I might add!)


We did more networking, more comparison measurements, more philosophising about the application of the fit to mere humans (as opposed to the Ironman professional athletes that Dan is used to working with) and then had more beer at the end of the evening, watching the sunset spectacularly from the elevated viewing deck. (valley view from Monty's house)

Rising early but not so bright the next morning, I skipped the group trail run and gathered my thoughts.
How could I apply this in my PT practice? Quite easily actually, having 60 patients a day in the office increases the liklihood that we can get more people happier on their bikes.
Would I have a target market group for this application? Absolutely. Eastern Long island is chock full with weekend warriors, tri-heads and injured patients looking to return to cycling, or take it up as an alternative to pounding the pavement.
Could we improve on the product/ process? Completely. With our evaluation, assessment and analytical skills of PT and yoga combined, we can address the positional and functional issues that prevent optimization of position, and improve tolerance of non-inured athletes to aggressive positioning. This by a system of prescriptive exercises, not unlike what we apply in our PT office lives, coaching bodies to increase the liklihood of sustaining these positions, and activities, for the long haul.

Next blog: problems with the process, how S+S can improve it, and plans to take over the world.. well, not really, just plans to set up a comprehensive medical bike fitting service. Oh yea, and the thorn..dingbat walked straight into a joshua tree while discussing saddle design and women's saddle sores with the rocket scientist from TREK.

(sinead fitting stephanie after dinner)

how I learned to stop cycling and hate ATV's

As a cyclist, a runner and a member of East Hampton Trails Preservation Society, I represent Team HOPS (yes, will MTB for beer) and East End trail runners, some 200 EH town residents, many of whom, if not most, are registered voters.

I live in thewoods, just outside the village, and my partner and I have cut trails from our front door, into the woods to join the myriad trails in the area. Dennis and I recently donated a section of our property to East Hampton town to facilitate the growth of the trail system, and make it possible to hike uninterrupted from the Merchant’s path / Barcelona neck area to Division Street in Sag Harbor. We regularly ride and run these trails, three to four or more times weekly, sometimes together time permitting, often I run and ride alone. Frequently we note the new damage to the trails from dirt bikes, and mentally make notes of any trails leading into nearby driveways. Occasionally, we photograph these trails, sending the photos of the damage to town hall, indignantly recording our experiences. I have never gotten a follow up call with reference to the damage, the photos or the solutions needed. When we encounter dirt bikes on the trails, we try to intercept them, advise them of their legality, or lack thereof, infrequently getting the message across. Always, we call the police to report the presence of the bikes, indicating their direction of travel, entry point etc.

This winter / late spring, Dennis being particularly busy at work, I had been more often riding alone, around Buckskill loop, up Millers ground, when as on more than one occasion, I heard dirt bikes.
This time, I cut my loop short after Toyland and the S+M trail, turned west onto Townline road and approached the group. A white crew cab Chevy pick up truck was parked on the side of the dirt road, ¼ mile or so east of the intersection with the power lines, and a group of teenagers (old enough to drive by the way) were hanging out:3 of them tearing up the trailside, riding up and down the berm and embankments, and 3 or so others hanging by the truck. I rode my bike up to the 2 males, one female by the truck, and asked them in my most adult, calm voice, if they knew that it was not permitted to ride on the trails. I got little in return so I offered that if they felt they needed somewhere legal to ride, they should be lobbying town hall for a space, getting their parents involved and trying to come up with a place other than the local trails, which are neither suitable for dirtbikes nor legal. One of the bikers began circling closer, yelling at me and spraying “rooster tails” of sand and dirt as he made aggressively sharp turns within 1-2 feet from where I was standing. When he stopped for a moment, I invited him and his friends to a EHTPS (East Hampton Trails Preservation Society) meeting, to present their case for searching out a suitable piece of land for dirt bikes to use: “maybe” I offered, “the EHTPS group might support you if you are seen to be active in repairing trails and communicating with the town in a co-ordinated manner”. He continued to yell, this time, obscenities, and his friends began to counter with comments like “shut-up dude, she’s trying to be nice”.. to no avail. He continued to verbalize louder, more coarse comments, calling me an F****** lesbian, a F******* dyke, and ordering me to “go home and get some more p****” and the like.

Having grown up in an Irish household with two brothers several years older, and their punk friends, I have heard more than my fair share of coarse language. Never did I expect to have it hurled at me from a teenager, and certainly not while I was alone, cycling in the woods. I cautiously turned to go home, passing through the group as I made my way back to the trail, and fully expected something to come through the air at me, glad I was wearing my bike helmet, but annoyed that I didn’t have my phone. When I got home 5 minutes later, I called the police, and returned to the area with a furious Dennis, glad for their sake, that they had left the area. No follow up from the police after a report of verbal assault, nothing..
I know who these kids are; at least, I will recognize them if and when I see them again, in the woods or on the street. Will I to be certain to have my cell phone and camera as I go for a run or ride in the woods in future? Absolutely. Am I to have the EH and SH town police on speed dial? Absolutely. Should this be a normal activity for a single woman to have while running in broad daylight on town property? Absolutely not.

From my perspective, this ugly incident aside, it is a health and safety issue at hand. The use of trails by dirt bikes and cyclists is not mutually compatible. Motorized users cannot hear, see or react in a safe fashion to other, legal, users: this increases the likelihood of injuries, even fatalities. Since these are town owned (and managed) lands that are in question, the town is responsible for provision of safe passage to its residents. Anything less is a failing of the town to adequately safeguard against known dangers. There is a legal as well as a moral obligation to protect EH town citizens against the verbal and possibly, in the future, physical injury resultant from the continued illegal use of local trails by ATV / Dirt bike users.

I am presenting this letter, this post, as a part of an EHTPS committee presentation to the East Hampton town board, to challenge the town regarding the lack of police patrol, lack of accountability for those idiot scofflaws, lack of impounding a single ATV or dirtbike in 2007, and to publicize the growing concern amongst hikers and bikers regarding the total destruction of our habitat. Oh yes, and did I mention that as solo female runners and bikers, we may now be concerned for our safety??

I may have forgotten to mention that Dennis bought me a Marlin rifle for my birthday this month..with the objective of training to compete in winter biathlon in the 2009 season (skate skiing+marksmanship at anaerobic pace): however,if recent developments on the woods are left unmanaged, I may be forced into spring training on a local route..(Reed, are you up to doing a loop after work tomorrow?? :) )

China Girls: arrival in Hong Kong

So here we are: 15 hours later, no sleep despite the requisite glass or 2 of red wine, 8000 miles later, we land in Hong Kong, minus baggage. Cathay Pacific decided last minute to take on extra fuel instead of baggage, how novel.. but actually, in the light of the information that we were heading into a typhoon, we were happy to be temporarily seperated from our bags and bikes. We were met by Louis Shih, the owner of Champion System clothing http://www.champion-sys.com/ who was to become our translator, our baggage recovery man, our dinner negotiator, our source of clean undies while we waited for our baggage dellivery. Louis has a vision of the business and cycling worlds that intersects in such a way that has placed us 5 ladies on the other side of the world, getting to know each other as we stroll around our HK home dressed in his T-shirts. How bizzare. Somehow, he has arranged for us to stay at a YMCA type camp on the outskirts of the city, waterfront property on an inlet somewhat remniscent of Butlins / Mosney from my childhood.. At least, the vinyl covered bunks and paper thin mattresses were remniscent of Mosney, the air in HK being heavily laden with jasmine and orange blossom was nothing like the air in the farmfields of county Westmeath.. Louis loaded us with windvests, skinsuits, bib shorts, cycling jersies, socks galore, hats, raingear and all the "Pocari Sweat" (strange grapefruit scented Japanese product) electrolyte drinks we could shake a stick at. We pranced about the condo in our new Champion System bike kit, singing the praises of the YKK zippers, the italian chamois, the silky fabric, the non-vice-grip leg grippers, the beautiful naked lady on our bosoms and backsides! We introduce ourselves through cycling stories, shared teammates over the past years and began to settle into the company of the characters that we would live with for the best part of the next 2 weeks.

So here they are:

Sarah Tillotson, social work student, professional cyclist, arrives solo via 2 horrenduous plane rides from the mid-west, gladly adding her pro-cycling experience to our team: Normally riding for team Advil-Chapstick, we are delighted to have such a strong all-rounder and seasoned international cyclist with us in China. She seems calm, collected, witty and relaxed.. so far so good!

Kathryn Bertine, ESPN journalist, Triathlete, US and St. Kitts / Nevis citizen, joins our squad in her pursuit of a slot at the Bejing Olympics. Check out her journey, help her out with a title for her book!

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/eticket/story?page=olympianpart11

Kathryn arrives with her tri-all-3 bike case in tow: this thing is so huge, it looks like you should just throw a saddle over it and ride it to your destination. She is bubbly, full of beans after 36 hours travel, and immediately winds the group's tempo up a notch.

Jennifer Magur, R.N., emergency room nurse, Crit rider, ex-owner of Verge cycling clothing, short and strong looking, recovering from a couple of amazing years and back in the saddle racing for the first time in 18 months.. I am devastated, intrigued and inspired by her personal journey: there is definitely a book in this one, maybe even a screenplay.. Keep your eyes open for a story involving international illicit sex, Kielbasa, bike racing, love, hate, divorce, illness and dead transvestites..

Next up, Lucretia Cavan, head-hunter extraordinaire, sex-in-the-city-type of glamorous business woman from Manhattan, climber, road racing billygoat on the hills, high-heels no bother even on the beaches in Ireland in winter. Lucretia and I know each other from TEAmLipton, Aquafina and EAS: many fun miles on the road together: she is the one who called me in mid-February, signing me up for this adventure while I was choking with snot, coughing and sneezing with a chest / sinus / end-of-winter-infection having not been on my bike for a month or more. Thanks Lucretia!

And me: physical therapist, triathlete, mountain biker, cyclocross racer, roadie, sailor, jack of all trades...

Looks like a fun group: We yak it up for a few more hours in the sultry night air, finish swatting mozzies from our bloody shins, and slide into our respective bunks: it is now 40 hours since leaving Dennis in JFK, and I am still nowhere near sleepy..Lordy..