Jumping Uncle Paul

My retirement plan

Today wore us out

Some frozen ruts practice, then some "dog" sledding.

it hasn't snowed yet

Someone "manned" up and suggested a mountain bike ride on Saturday. After one busted - and fixed - derailleur cable (always carry a leatherman), one lost ride "leader", one bonked college freshman, and 25 miles of singletrack, we finally wander out of the woods. I had to call the boss twice to re-evaluate when I'd arrive home. The day ended with a potluck at the aforementioned ride "leader's" house (with a didgeridoo concert at the Monkey's request). Not a bad way to spend a nice fall day.

Feeling bad for abandoning the family all day yesterday, I bailed on the 'cross racing thing and went for a bike ride with the Monkey instead. We stopped at the park to play soccer, but he only lasted 5 minutes before saying he wanted to ride his bike some more. No complaints from his dad. He suffered one minor crash but immediately jumped back on and kept rolling.

There's something wrong with me

Some days I think it would be nice to have a little camera embedded in my eyeballs so I can play back my experiences later. Mostly I'd use this to avoid repeating the same stupid mistakes over and over. Apparently, my brain can't recall stupidity, so despite repeated statements (in the immediate aftermath) that I really don't need to do that again, I inevitably end up doing it again.

Tonight, for example, when I was riding 30 mph uphill with hundreds of little raindrops hovering in front of me, as I pedaled at 140rpm because I was on my singlespeed 'cross bike, I might have thought that the return trip could be somewhat difficult. In the future then, when it's raining and there's a 30+ mph wind out of the West (with gusts to 50 mph), I could replay that moment, remember how insanely cool that part of the ride was, and not have to experience the rest of the ride.

The rest of the ride being when I turned around and was riding back down the hill, except now the rain drops aren't hovering peacefully in front of me, but instead are pelting my face at 30+ mph as I pedal at maybe 20rpm. And of course, I'd have video of that too. And that video would probably suck, because you wouldn't be able to see anything except my wet glasses and occasionally the pavement 2 feet in front of my wheel. Unfortunately, there wouldn't be a soundtrack, because even though my i-Pod was up somewhere past 11, the wind was too loud for me to hear anything.

Besides the utility of the video eyeball, I also thought about railroad rights of way tonight. Primarily how they often make big cuts into hill sides that seem like they would provide some protection from the elements, but instead serve as massive wind tunnels that magnify the already quite absurd effect of the seriously unnecessary wind gusts.

While I am prone to exaggeration on occasion, tonight is not one of those occasions. Below is the wind advisory issued by the National Weather Service at 5:05pm this evening, about 15 minutes before I left on my ride (but which I didn't bother to read):

A COLD FRONT WILL CONTINUE TO SAG THROUGH THE INLAND NORTHWEST THIS EVENING... RESULTING IN WINDY CONDITIONS. SOUTHWEST WINDS OF 25 TO 35 MPH ARE EXPECTED WITH LOCAL GUSTS APPROACHING 45 MPH. THESE WINDS WILL IMPACT MUCH OF THE PALOUSE AS WELL AS THE FOOTHILLS OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS.

Nationals practice

It was mid-40s and pouring rain today, so I figured it was a perfect day for a 3-hour ride. It wasn't quite cold enough to really prepare me for nationals, so I forgot my rear fender and didn't wear enough clothes. I'm still hungry, 8 hours after getting home.

If you know where you are, but where you are is about 5 miles southwest (as the crow flies; 10 miles by road) of where you thought you were going to be, does that count as being lost? If you have to draw a map in the dirt to figure out how the hell you got there and which way you should turn to get not there, and the map helps you figure it out, does that make you more or less lost?

The roads here don't make much sense. Rather than following water courses or ridgelines, they just wander in and out of the hills. Those hills are old wind-blown dunes, and were formed according to the whims of a 10,000 year wind. When it's raining and you can't see the mountains, it's a bit hard to know where you're going and where you've been. Of course, had I remembered to turn on my brain, I would have noticed that I was riding further into the hills rather than gradually finding the trees and mountains where I thought I was headed.

But now I know where that road goes.

Tell it to the judge...

Would you buy this?: He was running back to the computer after turning off the TV because I said he could watch a video of the "crazy bike race," then he tripped and hit his face on the drawer handle.

Sounds a bit too contrived to me. Especially if anyone paid attention to the "helping mom with the recycling" explanation the last time.

Cheese curds and 'cross

(photo credit to the goat's wife)

Went back to Wisco to take care of a few things. Got beat by a FIB the first day. Rectified that the second day.

And finished up that school thing too.

Fall rides

I told my Boss this weekend that I don't think I'm the type of guy that can be fast on my bike while he has a job. I really can't be fast at 'cross. I hate the trainer, I'm not good at motivating myself when I'm tired, I drink too much beer.

But I forgot how much I like riding at night.

I headed out tonight on the newly completed bike path. It now extends about 10 miles up to the neighboring town (it was missing a bridge and had a mile long gap of bad rocks in the middle). It's the perfect length for long intervals, and with one very short exception, a very consistent grade. No one was out there but me, a few deer, an owl, and a retired couple out riding around with their flashing lights. I felt pretty good, the power numbers were higher than expected, there was a beautiful sunset, and I was home by 6:30 to eat tacos with the Monkey.

Maybe I can be sort of fast on the 'cross bike. If I stop flatting.

By the way, these rule. They're a bit spendy, but worth it. I almost didn't want to take them off when I got home.

In other news, I seem to have forgotten to mention that we added to the collection this summer. We've always thought that the Monkey was rather precocious: he crawled early, walked early, was running everywhere well before his first birthday, and generally was wearing us out early.

Our experience so far suggests that K2 is ahead of his brother. I'm not sure what we'll do if/when he's walking at 6 months.

(Granted, he is leaning against the couch, but he held it there happily for 2 or 3 minutes while we took about 10 photos. He finally got bored and just sat down, but he's not lacking leg strength.)

You lazy bastard

I was just informed that I'll lose my 'blogger' status after 3 months of inactivity. I'm not sure what the King of Denzer really knows about blogs, but it has been a bit too long. I have my reasons. It's hard to write about losing a bona fide (if obscure and relatively unwanted) national championship by 90 seconds. I could say we were the fastest, which we were, but that just sounds like whining. Next time we'll do some tube-changing practice sessions beforehand, although we'll probably have to do it after downing a fifth of Jack or something to better reflect actual race conditions.

But since I don't need to complain about what happened 3 months ago, I can complain about what's happened more recently. My 'cross season has been 4 races so far, maybe 3 hours of racing, and 18 hours of driving. I've broken several 6 year-long streaks. I've never flatted in a 'cross race before; this weekend I flatted three times in two days. I've never DNF'd before without a legitimate reason (like shattering some bones or something); I DNF'd Saturday. And I've never been lapped, until yesterday.

'Cross sucks. In the last 5 races I've done (of any type), I've had tire problems in every one, one of which cost us a nice new jersey. I'm hoping to get everything out of the way now.

Obviously, the Monkey didn't learn the pose in the 3rd photo by watching his dad.

Tour of the Big Holes -- Lies, damn lies, and the tales of "locals"

Rolled across the valley yesterday to see what was there. I suffered through 13 miles of headwinds only to find that the rumors of sweet singletrack were a bunch of lies. All I found were rutted ATV trails, old roads and mudbogs, and piles and piles of cow shit. Luckily I managed to avoid repeating anything, so I finished the loop, got out of the crap and back to the road after about 14 miles of suffering. I saw only one other poor soul (and two cows) who probably heard the same rumors I had.

Because I know most of my "loyal" readers only tune in because they enjoy reading about my suffering, I decided to take a few photos to appease their sadism. Enjoy.

Hills, drivers and industrial tourism

We decided to head over the hills yesterday to join the hordes in visiting the other side of the giant breasts. Driving over wouldn't have been enough for my overinflated self image, so I decided to ride. Riding the hill once wouldn't have been enough either, so I decided to ride back up the other side. I figure the only way to get better at climbing hills is to climb then. It hurt both directions.

One of me 'favorite' games while out riding is to guess the type of car by how close it passes by me. I can't really guess, since I immediately know, but it's still fun to compare expectations with reality. While struggling up the pass, I had big pickups pass close by, and other big pickups give me the entire lane. The SUVs of tourists from Texas, Tennessee, or wherever always seem to pass closer than necessary. Somehow both most and least surprising, one of the cars that passed closest to my ear was a Toyota Prius adorned with bike racks.

I rode down the Wyoming side twice. On the straight sections, I easily reach 50+ mph, and in the turns, I can roll faster than any of the cars (excepting probably the Lotus Elise that went by the other direction). It doesn't matter than any car hitting 50 mph must immediately burn up their brakes in the next turn, or that just ahead is a big truck pulling a boat, they still roll right up on my ass, pissed off that a guy on a bike has the indecency to ride right in the middle of the lane. Of course, I have the last laugh, as we soon reach the turns and I'm gone (or in a slightly more dangerous move, I pass the big truck on the shoulder. I probably won't do that again).

My elitism notwithstanding, I feel I should offer a public apology to all the drivers I slowed down yesterday. I know that I cost you 5 seconds that you could have spent waiting at the traffic light, in line to get into the Park, or driving around in circles at Jenny Lake hoping to find a parking spot. I shouldn't have been so inconsiderate.

Did I mention Jenny Lake? It's hard not to think of Mister Abbey as you drive around the parking lot looking for a parking spot (we only did one loop, what's the point of two?). I still don't have the self righteousness to park in the loading zone or fire lane like so many others, so we just moved on to the next place with it's similar view of the mountains, less traveled trails, and more monkey friendly lake.

Of course, it's not all roses in our industrial tourist experience. As we're chillin' at the lake, sticking our feet in the water, and watching the monkey throw rocks, we come across perhaps the two worst types of litter you could come across in a "wilderness" experience. First, right next to where we sit down we see a bunch of cigarette butts. I'm glad they were able to hike the mile or so up the trail to enjoy a smoke with their view of the Tetons. Then even better, the monkey picks up a "stick" to throw into the water. I see it and notice what looks like a string hanging off. Turns out it's a used (and thankfully thoroughly dried and exposed to the elements) feminine hygiene product. Some frantic hand-washing later and we're marginally comfortable that the monkey hasn't suffered any long-term side effects.

I'm reminded of Mark Twain (as might happen in virtually any situation): "I have no color prejudices nor caste prejudices nor creed prejudices. All I care to know is that a man is a human being, and that is enough for me; he can't be any worse."

Old age and treachery, and a little bit of power

A few more motors showed up to the luxury practice crit last night. A bit more wind and a couple of guys with more under the hood than I can bring, and it became clear immediately that I was in for an hour of suffering. After two "easy" laps, three of us rolled off the front and stayed there for the next 50 minutes with the hammer down.

A quick side note about "easy" laps. Who do they think they are fooling? Why are these things always excuses to show what a bad ass you are by making your "easy" the equivalent of our anaerobic threshold? On the first "easy" lap, I'm sitting third wheel into the wind, in the perfect draft, and pushing 300+ watts just to hang on.

In any event, one of the guys I'm with is apparently a mountain biker. Stupid strong, but he takes weird lines in the corners, doesn't know how to pull off, and doesn't understand a cross wind. But he just generally pulls for extended periods at a time so I don't complain. The other guys is fairly strong too, but constantly tries weak attacks, and insists on blowing his nose and spitting while at the front. I quickly decide I'll pull through when they ask, but I'm not about to match the show of force. And I'm damn tired. So I sit in, try to avoid the snot rockets, and take my turn at the front as little as possible.

With two laps to go, we've picked up a few lapped riders, and a guy attacks. My reaction, like always, is to chase. Somehow my brain catches up to my legs and tells me to sit up in the headwind section. No one pulls around, but the guy doesn't get very far and it's clear we'll catch him in the sprint. On the next turn, I take a super tight line that no one can follow, and then move over and slot in 3rd wheel. I sit there until the final turn. The power house goes early and gaps the guy in front of me, so I'm about 20m back with 100m to go. Maybe because I feel bad, I gradually build up the sprint rather than jumping on it hard, which allows me to hit top speed right as everyone else is dying. With about 10m to go, I move by the power house at a fairly rapid pace and win by 2 or 3 bike lengths.

As much as the roadie crap can annoy me, that is a cool thing about racing on the road. I was only the 2nd or probably 3rd strongest guy there, but I won the sprint going away just by playing it a bit smarter.

Of course, at the mountain bike race next weekend, both of those guys will probably destroy me.

1 + 1 = 5,439

I just woke up and it's 10am. I haven't slept in that late in a long time. The rest of the family is still in bed. We do have something of an excuse...

I'm Voting Republican...

It would be stupid not to.

Anything else?

I rolled down below the 45 this weekend for the state road race, and realized why I like mountain biking.

First some guy decides he needs to be four feet to the right, except that I'm about two feet to the right. Somehow I stay up, but now my front wheel is out of true and hitting the brake. I open it up and hope it lasts, but it doesn't. So I head back to our wheel car, manned by a single guy in a sling, and manage the worst change ever before chasing back into the wind.

Then some 250lb punk kid that apparently knows more about cycling than I do tells me to "shut the f--k up." My sin? Telling him that if he wants someone to pull through, he has to pull off. We had a short discussion after that. Mostly me saying, "are you serious?" followed by him going off on me for a minute or so. By the time he's done and I say, "ok, have a nice race" we're about 50m off the back. I get on easily; he has a bit harder time.

Then we manage to force a split, and there are 5 of us with about a 2 or 3 minute gap. There's two guys on one team, but it looks like I'm the best combo of legs and brains, so I'm feeling pretty good about my chances. There's no way we're getting caught. So what do we do? We take the wrong turn on a slightly confusing corner and by the time we figure it out and get headed back the correct direction, we're a half mile behind the rest of the group. We catch back on pretty quickly and roll through the detritus, but now the lead group is 8 or 9, including the teammate of a guy that was in the original lead group, which means he probably hasn't seen the wind and hasn't worked in 20 miles. Oh yeah, the wind was blowing about 20mph, so it wasn't a Sunday stroll to force the split and keep it open.

With about 5k to go, I feel the first twinge of a cramp. It passes quickly, and I'm still rolling ok, so I try to ignore it. With 1k to go, we finally pick up the pace. I mark the first move at 500m, and then mark the second. With 200m to go, I start to move around him. He actually looks over, sees me, and swerves three feet to the right. I hold him off with my arm, manage to stay out of the gravel, but lose a lot of momentum. Right as I start it up again, a guy goes hard up the left. I can't catch his wheel, and he takes first by a bike length or so. I take 2nd easily, well ahead of any of the guys in the first lead group. The guy that won was the teammate of our initial companion. Other than me, none of the first group were anywhere close.

Had we not gone off course, I probably would have walked away with the win by 20m.

Perhaps the most amusing, annoying, and in some ways simplifying aspect of the race was the guy that marked every single move. Every one. He would mark each move and then just sit on. I tried twice and we had big gaps, but he just sat on. I got a bit pissed once because he was obviously strong and we could have stayed away, but he'd just mark and sit. So I stopped doing anything. He was in the lead group with me, and he marked every move and I just followed. Then he was the guy that almost took me out in the sprint and ended up well back.

In any event, I shouldn't be too upset with 2nd. But I'm starting to wonder if I'm just not meant to be a roadie.

Sucking wheel...

It was a bad week for group rides.

But the frustrating thing about people who don't work, sit in, complain that they are barely hanging on, and then sprint around you at the finish is that the only thing to do is to drop them, kick their ass in the sprint, or otherwise just generally demonstrate that you are a superior bike rider. But you can't always do that, and complaining just makes you feel and look weak.

So just ride harder.

Is it summer yet?

Rolled up to Spokane on Tuesday and got abused in the rain and 45 degree weather at the Twilight Series. When almost the entire field is one team, and their two strongest riders get up the road on the first climb, the two solo guys with legs get to do all the work. I spend more time on the front at 400+ watts than I've ever done in my life, then find myself on the front leading into the field sprint. I try something new but don't get away and have only a back of the pack finish to show for my efforts.

On Wednesday for the mountain bike series, I hang on to the fast guy for a bit longer than last week, but then pop on a climb and see him ride away. I waste about a minute trying to fix a burped tire, and then finish about a minute down. Although I'm slightly slower on the second lap both this week and last week, I run faster second laps than the fast guy both times. Of course, he probably shuts it down after opening the 2-minute gap, but I'll tell myself he's still killing it.

And then last night we roll out in some gray weather and 50 degrees for the first 'Palouse fast ride' of the summer. Then it starts raining and the temp drops even more. By the first hill I'm freezing and need to warm up. Rather than ride away from everyone, the high school kid who never rides (according to his dad) latches onto my wheel as I roll by at 500 watts and proceeds to abuse me for the next 20 minutes or so. So now I'm cold and wet and getting my arse kicked by a kid who showed up for the ride in jeans and a t-shirt, and who had to borrow some clothes so he wouldn't freeze. And he's graduating today, so he's probably been spending the week staying up all night and drinking.

So I'm cold and wet, and now feeling old and slow. But I take the final sprint easily (after letting him pull the last mile, of course).

Yard work is bad for mountain biking

...or I'm just woefully out of shape.

I spent all day yesterday diggin' stuff, haulin' stuff, and generally trying to act manly to generate and rebuild some of my guy cred.

Then today I went mountain biking and generally flailed about for 3 hours. My forearms and shoulders were too beat up to even control the bike. I went down once, found myself wandering off the trail dozens of times, and almost introduced myself head on into a rather large tree at 20mph.

So since I'm not too good at the manly stuff, and trying to be good at it just makes me suck at what I'm almost good at, I guess I'll just have to give up rebuilding the guy cred and focus on being a leg shaving girlie man.

Wednesday night mountain biking

Last night I drove up to Spokane for their Wednesday night mountain bike race series. They had beer afterward, so it was obviously worth the trip. For an urban trail system, I was very impressed. We did two 9 mile loops, and it looks like there's a lot more out there, although some of it is currently under water. The terrain reminded me a lot of 9-mile up near Wausau, except that the trails were generally straighter and faster.

I had a lot of fun. My goal was to keep the fast guy in sight for the first lap. I almost made it, but then he checked out and I rode the rest of the race by myself. My second goal then became to ride the second lap as fast as the first. I'm not sure if I made it, but if not, I came within 20 seconds or so. I guess I forgot to mention they had timing chips and a clock at the finish. I'm not sure what they do with the times though, as I haven't found a website or anything.

The weirdest part about the night was that a few people recognized my name. I introduced myself to two guys, and both recognized it. One of them congratulated me on how well I did at Mt. Hood.

In any event, it was a great time. I just wish it weren't 90 minutes away.

evaP INW

It's a bit late in the year for the evaP, but I figured I could at least squeeze it in before the 'official' start of summer tomorrow. The forecast suggested a 40% chance of rain, so I was optimistic that I'd see some proper conditions. But instead, it was sunny and 70 degrees.

The only other potentially interested parties were out of town -- one at a bike race in Boise and the other buying a house in Montana -- so I rolled out solo (at least no one was roller skiing). It was probably for the best that I hit it alone, as it turned out to be a bit harder than anticipated. In fact, I was late for an appointment with the monkey and had to cut the ride short, missing 10 miles of gravel and a couple of significant hills.

4 hours, 55 miles, 15 miles of gravel, 11 miles of not roads (at a consistent, and annoying, 2.5% grade).

Amnesia

Last fall I took the 'cross bike out for a traverse of the mountain. The road is rutted, covered in softball sized rocks, too steep up for my gearing, too steep down for my brakes. I get lost. The corporate sponsor finds a map and (via my cell phone) guides me in an appropriate direction. Four hours of torture later I arrive home and tell my wife that I don't need to do that ever again.

So what did I do yesterday? (Luckily there was still too much snow, so I turned around and rocked the 'cross bike on some singletrack instead).

Last night we took the monkey down to the school to ride his new bike. He's getting it down pretty well, but he hasn't quite figured out how to turn, and eventually he cuts it too tight and goes down, scraping his hands and bonking his helmeted head on the pavement. Not quite 30 seconds later, with tears still in his eyes, he's jumping back on and rolling again.

I don't know how many times I've been on a ride, or in a race, and wanted to cry, or get off my bike and lay down, or just throw the thing off a cliff. Riding hard hurts. Racing hurts. And the only way to do it well is to force yourself to suffer for hours on end, day after day. It never gets easier. No other sport requires the same kind of self-induced brutality.

And no matter how much it hurts, or how much skin you abandon on the pavement, you roll out again. I've never quite figured out if I simply can't remember how much it hurt, or if I'm too stupid to learn.

I think the only thing that's similar, and both better and worse, is having kids.

The wrong place to be

We just got the cheapo disposable camera photos back. Most aren't worth much, but I figured I should post my "finish line" photo from the final stage of Mt. Hood. In this riveting action sequence, I'm trying to get the destroyed buckle on my shoe to work with a multi-tool as an impatient doctor starts looking for her shears to cut the shoe off.

This might take a while

As she was scrubbing the gravel out of my road rash, the ER doc in the med tent tried to convince me that with the Tegaderm, my wounds would heal in 3 days. That hasn't been my experience, and judging by her 'skill' in applying bandages, it appeared that she usually passed that task off to someone else and didn't have much experience with how well it actually worked. Still, I was hopeful.

Well, it's been over 4 days, and I'm a long way from healed. The road rash has a long way to go, and my ankle still feels like someone smashed it with a hammer. I was able to ride for over 2 hours yesterday without too much trouble, but I couldn't twist my foot to get out of my pedal, which almost caused a minor problem at a stop light.

This photo is my ankle today at 6pm -- 4 days and 6 hours after the initial injury. My foot is usually about 2/3 that size, and that red thing isn't part of my normal wardrobe either.

Something isn't quite right...

Surviving the Hood

The last two days didn't go quite how I'd hoped. Yesterday's stage went well until about 5 miles to go, when I missed a split (i.e., I got dropped) and the two most dangerous guys behind me in the GC didn't. I ended up losing 2:27 and dropping into 3rd overall. It was a weird day. I was pretty depressed afterward, but I soon realized that but for losing the lead, I would have probably been happy with how the day went. And since I never expected to be in the lead, I shouldn't get too worried about losing the lead and dropping to "only" 3rd. Hell, before the race I debated posting a goal of top 5 here, but I was worried that was out of reach, so I didn't.

So I entered the crit today in 3rd, with a 2 second gap on 4th. My plan was to stay near the front, hope for a split, and maybe lap the field and pick up a minute or two. The pace was brutal, but the field never split and nothing got away. With about 15 minutes to go, I saw the kid in 2nd and realized that I'd stay in 3rd. But I was feeling pretty good and hoped to pull off another win. It was a good course for me, fairly technical with an uphill finish.

Except I never made it to the finish.

With about 5 laps to go, I entered the crazy, off camber hairpin in pretty good position, but two or three guys took it too wide and hit the hay bales. I'm not entirely sure what happened next, but I think the guys outside of me swerved to avoid them and knocked me down. The first guy to hit me kind of bounced me, then another guy must have hit him, because I went down pretty fast. I didn't hit too hard, but the rest of the field ran me over and ground me into the pavement. I carried my bike down to the pit and the official told me that free laps were over and that I was done. I said, 'please tell me that I get the pack time,' and he said yes and that I should probably head to the medical tent.

So I 'finished' my first stage race while sitting in the medical tent. But 3rd overall is much more than I ever expected, and other than the $1k or so of damage to my bike, I'm really happy with how the race went. I'll definitely do this again.

Now I've just got to hope someone steals my bike out of my car tonight.

Mt. Hood Day 2

I have no idea how today went, but it was a lot of fun. I never imagined a time trial would be fun, but it was a blast. It had a fair amount of climbing, but that just means it had a bunch of really fast downhill sections with some tight turns. And then there's the narrow, downhill tunnel that scares the hell out of you as you blast through it at 35mph.

I started last of the Cat 3s, with the same time as 2nd place and 11 seconds up on 3rd. I ended up catching 4 guys, including the 2nd place rider. Hopefully I was fast enough to hold onto the lead, but I won't be too upset if I didn't. It's already been a great race and I'm having a lot of fun.

Tomorrow is 75 miles with 7,000 feet of climbing. The last two miles of the stage climb up to Mt. Hood Meadows, with a grade that allegedly averages 10%. That's steep enough and long enough to yield some pretty big gaps, so that's where the race will happen. We just have to ride 73 miles first and climb several thousand feet before we get there.

Edit on yesterday's results.

I guess I can't count when I'm cracking. The group I was with had 12 guys in it, plus the guy off the front, so I would have been 14th in the Cat 2 race. But I was still fastest of the slower, and my name is at the bottom of the TT start list for today.

Mt. Hood Day 1

Today was a weird day. I had come up with 57 different reasons why I'd get destroyed. I had my "wow, that guy looks fast" skills cranked up to 11. The first time up the climb hurt like hell. The first time down the hill saw me off in the gravel at 35mph and sliding out on a decreasing radius turn.

Then the race got easier.

And by the time it got hard again, I was 1k from the finish and where I needed to be. I didn't achieve my pie in the sky goal of top three in the overall race with the Cat 2s (although I did finish top 10), but I played the final 200m fairly well and ended up fastest among the slower. Now I get a cool yellow jersey and can call the event a success after the first day.

But I guess I can't bitch about not being a climber anymore. At least I have tomorrow to teach me that I'm not a time trialist.

Bar ends and really great dirt

Since I'm now in the land of elevation change, and I ride a hard tail, I decided to try out some bar ends again. It didn't take too long to figure out that I don't like them. They're great for climbing, but I've grown too accustomed to wide bars to make it work. My hands were too close together and started to go numb. And, more importantly, they look funny. So that's $30 down the drain. Maybe the corporate sponsor will like them.

But it wasn't a wasted day. Apparently it rained last night, leaving the trails slightly damp but not muddy. I'm not sure what kind of soil is up on the mountain, but today it was the stickiest I've ever ridden. I kept pushing harder and harder, and I couldn't get my front wheel to wash at all. In fact, my only 'mistakes' were when I hit it a bit too hard and overturned a couple of corners. It was a bit surprising to roll into a turn thinking I was going it bit faster than I probably should have, and then jump on it and turn too much. It was pretty cool. Even the King of Denzer would have ridden like a rock star.

And I figured out why I'm such a moron riding on logs. But I need to go back and see if I can repeat today's successes before I share that "secret."

Death Metal

I'd rather hear the SUV...

Wow! Let's do that again

That's the best phrase in cycling.

Spring is finally here. Eight hours on the bike over the weekend, sunburn, and some real singletrack.

After abusing myself on Saturday with 80+ miles (and over 5 hours, Mr. D.), with over 6,000 feet of climbing (allegedly), I sat in my rocking chair with a 'recovery drink' looking up at the mountain. There didn't seem to be much snow left up there.

Fast forward to Sunday morning and I've learned a few things. My new bike is an absolute blast on smooth, fast, winding singletrack. It's like switching from a big Caddy to a Lotus Elise.

And I love mountain biking. So let's do that again.

50 miles

Not quite 5 years ago, I had just quit my job and was using my time trying to mitigate 5 years of smoking and the 20 extra pounds I'd picked up along the way. I'd been riding my mountain bike again for a year or so (not too seriously), but had just purchased a road bike, which I had ridden 2 or 3 times. At some point around then, my brother and I were talking about riding, and he commented that a 50-mile ride was pretty hard. For some reason, I didn't really believe him, and decided I'd go ride 50 miles to prove that even a new rider could do it. (Of course, living now where he did then, I know that his "50-mile ride" was actually closer to 70 miles, without a flat spot on it, and with a 2,000 foot climb right in the middle. So I guess it was at least a little bit difficult.)

My corporate sponsor dropped my off on her way to work, and I had only one route home. They don't pave too many roads in Wyoming. Four hours later, after stopping to beg water from an elementary school and climbing the final 1,000 feet to my road, I see that I've only ridden 46 miles. I'm a stubborn bastard. I continue up the road for two miles, and then turn back into the wind and ride the longest two miles of my life. I think I was pushing 5 mph, bonked cold, not believing I'd ever make it home. I did, and immediately passed out for another 4 hours.

Five years and a few rides later, 50 miles is just another ride. Today was 52 miles and 2 hours, 40 minutes. It was windy. And there were even a few climbs. I stopped to get the mail at the end and then played basketball with my son.

The point is not that I'm a bad ass. I'm not. But we spend too much of our time worrying about who we are not, what we haven't done, who we wish we could be. We don't spend enough time looking back at where we've been. How far we've come. How interesting the path has been. We forget about the journey.

I entered a beginner mountain bike race in June 2003, and it took a lot of convincing to get me there. I didn't think I'd ever be good enough to upgrade to sport. Today I was talking to the King of Denzer, and when I told him I was thinking of downgrading, he told me that's b.s., I should be upgrading. And then, two 35-year-old men, with 3.5 kids and maybe 10 hours of sleep per night between us, spent 15 minutes figuring out if we could upgrade to something that's probably hard to upgrade to. And it didn't seem unreachable. Will it happen? Highly unlikely. But it didn't seem impossible.

And that change is the best part of the journey. Doing now what you wouldn't have done then. Believing something that seemed impossible then. And realizing that even if you don't get there, you've still had a lot of fun.

You get dropped in your first race. Then you don't. Then eventually you are at the front, even if just for a moment. It doesn't matter what race you are in, what it says on your license. There was a day when you were off the back before the first turn. That doesn't happen anymore.

The Death Stare

I know I'm not the first to write about this, but what the Hell is it about getting into a car that makes you act like other humans are merely disposable annoyances? Why is it ok to risk my life so you can get to church 15 seconds earlier? Why are you willing to spend $60k on a car, but don't support a municipal bond (just a few dollars a year) that would pay for a safer route to the local elementary school?

And why do drivers, when they screw up, cut you off, pull out in front of you, or almost kill you in any of the thousand ways they can, give you that look that says you don't even exist? Why do they look right through you? There it is, that blank stare that says, "your existence isn't worth delaying my trip to yoga/church/coffee/transcendental meditation for 10 seconds, because for all I know, you don't really exist."

Today it was my neighbor. On my cul de sac. Two doors down. She has four kids. We bought girl scout cookies from them. I helped jump start their car. Just yesterday I helped her daughter find her softball (and I had to get off my bike, in my road shoes, to do it). Her kids have bike races in front of my driveway. She came flying out of her driveway without looking, forcing me all the way over to the left side of the road and into the curb. Then she gave me the death stare. No smile. No 'oh my god, I'm sorry.' Nothing. Just looking right through me.

But there is good news. My trips to the chiropractor have been of some use.

A bike car?

In addition to free beer and brutal racing, this weekend had another benefit: I finally met another mountain biker in Moscow's massive cycling community. Joey is a really nice guy, stupid strong (on a rigid single speed), and the brains and creative genius behind an awesome movie called "bikecar." It's definitely worth checking out (see link below and at right).

Joey built the bikecar, and his brother and a couple of other guys piloted it around the Inland NW on a snowboarding road trip. They started in Moscow, and 866 miles later, ended up at Mt. Bachelor outside of Bend, Oregon.

www.bikecarmovie.com

Knowing the competition

The hardest part about entering a new race scene is figuring out where I fit in. In Wisconsin, I knew who I would race with, who would be up the road, and when I should be surprised. But now I have no idea if that guy riding away from me is the single speed world champ or the champion of the Baraboo Tuesday ride.

But god bless the internet. The guy who beat me on Sunday by 11 minutes is a former pro roadie who raced with Prime Alliance. Another guy in the race was the semi-pro national champion in both the XC and short track in 2006. And the guy who flatted early, then blew by me late, raced 'cross worlds as a junior (finishing 22nd, 2:45 back -- the year Walker Ferguson won the silver).

Edit: I shouldn't be so elitist. The guy who finished just ahead of me -- who is 45 years old -- just won his category at Sea Otter with the second fastest Expert time overall. He would have been 9th in the Semi-Pro and 44th in the Pro (out of 71 finishers) and just ahead of Ryan Trebon.

So at least it's a bit faster than the Tuesday ride in Baraboo, if not by much.

Rage in the Sage

This weekend we made the trip up to Ephrata, WA for the Rage in the Sage mountain bike 'festival'. First things first: it was a great little event. It's out in the middle of nowhere, and while the fields weren't huge, there were enough people there to be respectable. But more importantly, it was a blast. They had a fun short track Saturday evening, followed by a BBQ with free beer, and then a stupid hard XC race on Sunday morning (the Beezley Burn), followed by more free beer and tons of prizes (about $5k worth) for a raffle. It's absolutely worth doing if you're ever in the PNW in April.

The short track was as advertised -- a short track. It wound around a small park, including one stretch past a bunch of people fishing in the pond (at least two guys had encounters with back casts). It was about a 2.5 minute lap, and we raced for 30 minutes + 2 laps. About 25 guys line up for the Pro/Open/Expert category. I squeeze into a 2nd row start, but I appear to be the only one who realized that the course immediately turns left. I line up that way, and make it to 3rd wheel with relative ease. We enter a short section of singletrack and then head for the first 'obstacle' of the course -- a 180 degree turn around a tree.

I suppose I should mention at this point that I'm on my new GT, and this will be my first turn 'in anger' since I got it.

I hit a root and go down (in my defense, it was one of those nasty, slick, off camber roots that always seem to be at the apex of 180s around trees). I'm down so fast that I can't unclip first, so my foot is caught under the bike and I'm sitting there as most of the field goes by. By the time I'm rolling again, the lead seven guys are about 20 meters ahead, and that's the last time I'm in contact. Right behind me is the one other guy I know in the race (he's from Moscow), so we ride together until he fades a bit at the end. After 30 minutes, I'm about 30 seconds down on the second group, and the two leaders are now 20 seconds behind me and entering their final lap. There's no way I'll let them catch me, but the guy decides to pull me anyway. I don't take that too well, but we smooth things out later. Out of 25 guys, 18 are pulled and I end up 8th. Without my temporary idiocy, I might hang onto that second group, or I might not, so 8th is probably about right.

(photo from the short track)

We chill at the BBQ, drink some beer, chase frogs and a turtle at the pond for a bit (the monkey experiences his first 'wild' frog), and then head to our hotel for the night.

9am starts suck. I'm up at 6am trying to shove food in my mouth. I'm not a morning person. But I get enough food in, find some coffee, and get to the park where the race is at 7:45. There's not much to say about this race, except that it really hurt. There are 12 guys in the "pro" field. I hit the singletrack in 5th. One guy passes me, then two guys flat, then another guy passes me, then I suffer a lot, then one of the guys who flatted passes me, and 2.5 hours later, I finish in 6th.

I'm not sure I can describe how brutal this course was. There are some photos linked from the race website, but they don't show much of the rough stuff (for the XC race, I'm in photos 59, 88, 106, 124 and 180). There's a lot of new trail, and a lot of rocks, and a lot of braking bumps, and a lot more rocks (including sections that were all rock -- just thousands of softball sized pieces of basalt). I didn't think my back, arms, hands, or arse would survive. I didn't have my headband on tight enough, so it bounced down over my eyes (which you can see here). It was the roughest and longest XC race I've ever done.

But that said, I had a lot of fun and I raced much better than I expected. I was 11 minutes off the winner, about 5 minutes off third, and maybe 2 minutes back of 4th and 5th. Given the length of the race, I'm happy with those gaps. With some more consistent training, I think 3rd would have been reachable.

Oh yeah, the race paid out $2,000, divided among the top 5 for the combined short track and XC. I finished 6th overall, 2 minutes out of $100 (the winner took home $800).

I suppose I should say, although it was my first time on a hard tail in 16 years, and perhaps the worst course ever for that re-initiation, the bike performed wonderfully. It took a lap to get used to it, but then I started having a lot of fun. It handles wonderfully, and climbs and accelerates like no other mountain bike I've ridden. And although I got beat up pretty good, I didn't have to lay down for 30 minutes after the race, which has happened before on much smoother and shorter courses.

Awesome race. Good beer. And I got beat by a guy who is 45 years old, so I can't make excuses for another decade at least.

Straightening things out

My defective hip and dead leg finally convinced me to visit a chiropractor. I'm not quite sure what I think yet, although yesterday while casually big-ringing a 12% grade into a headwind, I looked down to see that I was spinning out 400+ watts without breaking a sweat.

Ok, maybe that's a mild exaggeration, but the leg did feel better yesterday.

I have determined that most people simply don't understand cyclists. While he was doing the x-rays, I asked three times if I should take my shoes off. He said no each time, then later told me that my x-rays showed a 2mm leg length discrepancy. Not a big deal he said.

First, I'm a guy that's been walking around for a year with a crooked pelvis, and for my whole life with a deformed vertebra in my lower back, and you're comfortable assuming my shoes are even? How hard is it to take shoes off? How do you know that I'm even standing straight?

Ok, whatever, it's just 2mm. It's a good thing cyclists never get into 'discussions' about the merits of 175mm versus 172.5mm crankarms. Or never spend 20 minutes trying to get the saddle height exactly right by adjusting it 1mm at a time.

We're not that anal.

I finally commented, somewhat casually, that when you pedal 90 times a minute for 5 hours at a time, small things can be fairly significant. I don't think he understood.

I feel different

I got home from work tonight to find a large box at my front door with "GT" marked on the side. I open it up to find a beautiful piece of black and silver carbon fiber. I'm not sure what to say. I'll start with a big "Thanks!" to the awesome people back in Madison (and wherever the secret society reaches).

So with my sincere apologies to the Burrito Eater (who would have been first had I gotten around to figuring this stuff out), the first link on my blog goes to GT.

The total tonnage of what you don't know...

Today's crit was about what I expected. Really hard. With no legs. The only crash bounced off my leg about half way through; apparently three guys tried to squeeze into a one person gap. The last lap ripped my legs off. I hit the final turn in 8th and finished 8th. No one came by me, I didn't get by anyone.

Then after the race, I wander over to see the results from yesterday. I figured I was around 40th, so I start at 50 and move up. I don't see my name until 21st. I was 2:12 off the winner, and 24 seconds off 3rd place. Not as bad as I thought, given the implosion that occurred with 1K to go. But it also lends some further fuel to the 'I wonder what would have happened' rehashing I've been doing since the race ended yesterday.

Then I look for the GC. Turns out I'm 14th, 8 seconds out of the top 10. Top 5 was my goal, but now I get to be annoyed for letting 8 seconds get away from me in the time trial and last minute of a 3.5 hour race.

But for a learning/training race, and my first stage race, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I rode myself into the ground, and I learned a few things. At Mt. Hood, there's not a chance in Hell I'm going up the road solo.

Stupid beats Strong

When you're stupid, it doesn't matter how strong you are. After the TT, I was sitting in 9th (out of 100 starters), about 51 seconds off the lead, but only 10 seconds out of third. Were I smart, I would have realized that there probably weren't 10 guys that could beat me up the finish hill, so I could probably defend the top 10 and likely move up if I just stayed in the pack and played it cool.

Of course, I didn't do that.

20 minutes into the 75 mile race, I decide to roll off alone. There are two guys up the road, and I figure I might be able to bridge. That doesn't happen, so I spend the next 40 minutes out in the 20mph winds by myself. I'm 2 minutes back of the leaders, and 1 minute ahead of the field. Finally, after 40 minutes, the field gets close, and two guys bridge, then two more. We're now in a tailwind section, so the draft sucks. I hang with them for 20 minutes or so, then realize I'm done. My plan is to ride steady and try to make it to the top of the big climb before the field catches me.

That doesn't happen either.

Two more guys bridge, and I stick with them. We spend another 40 minutes about 1 minute up on the field, before one guy has to take a leak. Although he rolls it, that's the end of our gap and the field catches us. The next 20 miles are stupid boring. No one works, and the guys up the road stay away. I try to eat and rest up for the final climb, but I don't have it. I hang with the group until about 1k to go, then every thing goes to hell and I'm going backward.

Three guys stayed out, and I've raced with and never lost to the guy that ended up 4th. Had I stayed with the field the entire race, 4th was totally reachable, but it would have annoyed me to no end to ride around in a big bunch at 150 watts for 3 hours and not do anything, so I'm happy with the day.

Now my legs hurt. I was off the front for more than half the race (about 38 miles), with nothing to show for it, except some self-righteous elitism. But I already had that.

UPDATE: One guy stayed away. We caught everyone else, so second place was up for grabs for the field.

Underbored...

I'm not good at any of my lives.

After working on a project most of the day, I realize I have to completely revise it.

I get home later than I want and rush to squeeze a ride in.

I look outside to see my wife and son playing in the back yard. Despite the pang of guilt I feel (and the realization that he's learning to throw like a girl), I head out for my ride.

30 minutes into my interval session, my bad-deskchair-posture induced/exacerbated leg injury tells me I should probably pack it in and head home.

I guess the benefit of failing at my last life is that I get home in time to play with my son before bath and bedtime. Luckily, my wife knows how to throw properly, so he hasn't been permanently scarred. Besides, his dad is a leg-shaving girlie man, so no one will expect anything of him anyway.

Wherever I can find it

It turns out that maybe you can buy speed. Took out my brother's TT bike last night. 30mph cross and headwinds, sleet, and a low rear tire; I was still over 1 minute faster than on the regular bike 20 minutes later -- at the same power output and with the same pissy attitude.

Now I get to justify working late by buying new stuff.