Snickers And Tall Trees
Some of you who have been paying too much attention to me for too long may have noticed a repeating pattern on this trip: lousy mornings moodwise, followed by decent or even great days of riding.
Having come to the realization that I've spent my entire life mistaking states of body for states of mind, I've set about identifying those substances which affect my physiology to the point that it upsets what is, apparently, my very sensitive mental equilibrium. It started with the big one (alcohol), followed by a confirmation that marijuana is as much of an anxiety-producing plant as it's ever been for me. Then, after waking up one morning in Port Orford with the thrum in my chest following a cheese and cracker meal the previous evening, I deduced that tyramine, a compound metabolized by MAO which is involved in noradrenaline displacement, was having a negative impact on my neurochemistry. It's found in fermented things like cheese, wine, beer, and certain cured meats. Thus: I have discovered that the beer and pepperoni pizza diet on which I subsisted while living in Queens several years ago was not only making me fat, it was in fact a devil's brew of bad things for my brain: alcohol, to reward the neural pathways for making me miserable with excessive fight-or-flight responses, in a form associated with high tyramine levels; pepperoni, also laden with tyramine; and cheese, with even more tyramine.
All of these things were, of course, among my favorite foodstuffs. I sought them out, again and again, unaware that what I was eating was having such a damaging effect on my neurochemistry and, thus, my mood.
All of which is prelude to telling you that today's ride was a very good one, and I think it might have had something to do with the Snickers bar I ate yesterday immediately after I stopped riding for the day.
This morning, I woke up with just the barest spurt of my usual "Waugh!" anxiety, and then...I was in a good mood. Unusual. So, I thought about what I did differently yesterday, and what I came up with was that candy bar, eaten within 15 minutes of getting off the trike, when my body was looking for sugars to stuff into my muscles. In other words, I gave it a blast of simple carbs during the crucial recovery period, and it may...I say may, because I'm just guessing...have affected my morning blood sugar levels.
It'd be great to have a blood glucose meter so I could compare those levels to my perceived mood, but all I've got on hand is good old-fashioned Natural Philosophy: try it, see what happens. So, today, I had another Snickers bar within that 15-minute window, and I'll see how I feel in the morning. I may have queered the experiment, though: I had another bar after dinner, and shortly thereafter I felt my mood shift in tandem with certain physical symptoms, one of which is a sort of "rushing" that I can actually hear in my ears. That passed, and my mood has elevated a bit, but the better experiment would have been to stick with just the one bar. And, for added verisimilitude, four Nutter Butter cookies, which were given to me by my campsite neighbors last night.
Still, I think I might be on to something here: if there is some quirk of my metabolism that causes my blood sugar to plummet while I sleep, and if there is a correlation between my blood sugar and my various tempestuous moods, than I may be able to devise a nutritional solution to my out of whack physiology which, in turn, will allow me to more effectively manage my psyche.
Of course, this could all be self-delusional bullshit, but I won't know until I try.
Today was a long 35 miles with one big climb and a few smaller ones, ending at Patrick's Point State Park, my first park in the California system. I didn't pick the nicest site for myself because some thoughtful day users had parked cars in the others, and I was too tired to go find their owners and make them move. But the site is good enough, and at $3 plus $1 for a private, coin-op shower, as good a value as the Oregon parks. Unfortunately, there aren't as many of these parks within my 35-mile daily range, so there will be more KOAs and RV parks on this leg. But that's fine, too. It's still camping, and it's better and cheaper than, say, grabbing a motel in some burnt-out Kentucky mining town.
The highlight of the day was an excursion off of 101 along the Newton B. Drury Parkway, which took me up an 800-foot climb and then on a long, eight-mile downhill through Prairie Creek Redwood State Park, where my tripod took the picture of me in front of a felled tree thicker than I am tall. In general, though, pictures really can't do the place justice. The trees are too tall and too numerous, the air too quiet and the undergrowth too rich for that. Similarly, the elk in the photos I took are indistinct brown splotches, not much like wildlife at all.
However, this wretched can of dented beans photographs just fine. There are two known bears in the park, and while there are food lockers at many of the sites, mine doesn't have one. The lowest branches are around forty feet up, and so I had to tie my fifty-foot length of new spiffy Dyneema bear line to my fifty-foot length of old and busted bear line. My usual method involves tying the line to the red food bag and then tossing it up and over the branch. The red food bag is a small stuff sack with breakfast items in it, like Top Ramen, and teabags. After my first attempt failed, I realized that more tries would powder my noodles. The tent stake rock (there's one in every campsite) was too heavy and would have doubtless landed on my head, killing me. So Bush's Secret Family Recipe was pressed into service, several times,and performed its task selflessly and well. My food bag now hangs in the dark some forty feet overhead, out of the reach of questing bears and 'coons. But I'll probably have to eat those beans for breakfast tomorrow, before the botulism gets a foothold.
Tomorrow is a rest day, because my cells are demanding it, and because I can hear surf, which usually means there's a beach of some sort nearby. Looming in the future: Leggett Hill. A 2,000 foot monstrosity in the middle of a 28-mile run to the coast. Probably not until Friday, but I feel like I need to start resting up for it now.
