Spoked In the Eye

"Oh, you're going to get it..."

2010-11-24T07:13:00.000-08:00

Do you remember that feeling you used to get when you were a child and you knew you were going to be in trouble? Not just 'trouble' but life ending, seriously deep, capital T-trouble. At the time you were committing whichever atrocity it might have been you knew that if you got caught then that would be the end of you. The fundamentally ominous foreboding experienced at the words, “Wait until your father gets home,” or “Go to your room until I talk to your mother.” Only prisoners on death row dining on their last meals can relate to the sense of knowing terror awaiting the child caught with their hand in the cookie jar; awaiting the inevitable spanking, chewing out or interminable grounding to come.

Riding in today amidst the warmth of the rising sun, a cool 30 morning on this eve of Thanksgiving, I gave thanks. I gave the thanks of a cyclist, the thanks of a child, who knows he is about to be punished. I’m so thankful for all that I’ve been given…and while I’m at it…I’m really sorry too for a whole bunch of stuff and whatever…amen. On the north western horizon of the metro area stands a wall of seriously heavy dark clouds. The blizzard, arriving as promised to the northern and central front range. By nightfall our temperature may be 6 degrees. The winds might be blowing at 30mph. It also might be snowing…or raining frogs…or both, who knows? All I know is that I’ll be on a bike headed westbound at about 4:30pm…preparing to be spanked.

Swinging Back

2010-11-11T09:41:00.000-08:00

"I'm going to be swinging my arms like this, and if any part of you should happen to get in the way, that's YOUR problem!" - Bart Simpson

On July 3, 2010 Martin Joel Erzinger, a fund manager for Smith and Barney, ran into visiting New York cyclist Dr. Steven Milo with his Mercedes in Vail, CO. Rather than stopping like a responsible citizen, Erzinger drove home and called--wait for it--the Mercedes Benz body shop to come out and take a look at his wounded car. Meanwhile, Dr. Milo lay on the side of the road with a broken knee, shoulder, spine and brain damage. At least he was in a scenic place to bleed to death. In true salt in the gaping head wound fashion, the Vail District Attorney just announced that they're going to drop felony charges against Erzinger in favor of 2 misdemeanor traffic charges. If, like me, you're a math person then please allow me break it down for you math style otherwise your logic minded brain may struggle to digest this:

Nearly killing someone + Cowardice<=Broken Tail Light + Speeding

Brain damage and cowardice traded for a slap on the wrist because of the clout and power of Erzinger's employer and deep pocket local connections to the well heeled in Vail. Very well done indeed. Apparently big time money managers don't have to play by any of the rules: they can help muddle up Wall Street wrecking our economy and taking our bail out dollars and they can run you off the road and drive off without a second thought...that is unless their precious beemer is somehow tarnished. I for one am planning a career change. I wanna be one of these guys too...it seems so glamorous and thoughtless; like watching Jersey Shore in your underwear all day while eating caviar.

If you doubt me and think that I'm making up such a fanciful fairy tale of blatant stupidity, ignorance and favoritism, please feel free to check out the Vail Daily article. If you check out the link and are as 'mildly annoyed' as I was with the DA's disregard for our injustice system in favor of padding pockets and coddling his fellow rich neighbors, then sign the petition on this site asking that the felony charges not be dropped. Some are even calling for a boycott of the Vail TT stage of the upcoming Quiznos Pro Challenge race as a means of sending a message to the Vail fatcats and bike hating attorneys that this type of under-the-rug-sweeping is not to be tolerated. While I've been to Vail many times and have ridden there on several of those visits I have to say I'm on the fence with this strategy. Vail is a great place to ride both around town on their many paths as well as through the surrounding mountain side trails and mountain pass peak climbs. People in Vail (the real people in Vail not the fake cardboard ones cut out and placed in the windows of $2.5 million dollar vacation homes to make them look occupied in the 'off season') really love their bikes, skis and outdoor environs. They're not the type who'd support a bike bashing, car fixing, head wound causing, felony charge dropping attorney and his havoc causing money manager sidekick. I know from reading some of the forums and comment boards related to this story that the locals are pissed. I too share in their pissed-off-ed-ness.

But this tragedy brings up stark reminders of the other countless examples of the law siding with the driver and not the victim in these car vs. bike encounters, like the story of Kevin Flock who was killed by Aaron Stapleton a Virginia Army Recruiter. Stapleton got off completely with similar wrist slapping (only to be caught driving recklessly 30 days later after running through a fence)...oh yeah Flock, he's still dead at least according to Google. Under no other circumstances can a person do catastrophic and negligent physical harm to another person and face the prospect of easily getting off quite like running over a cyclist with your car...unless of course you're Dick Cheney and you shoot your hunting buddy in the face. As I've said before, our justice system somehow seems to sympathize with, or at least relate to, the trials and complications facing motorists; it 'understands' how such accidents can happen. Silly cyclists shouldn't be on the roads anyway, they're dangerous places what with all the reckless cars driving about on them. When a woman in a large SUV ran over an 11 year old girl riding her bike in her north metro neighborhood she got off because the girl was going the wrong way. It doesn't matter that the driver was on the phone and not paying attention: the stupid wrong way riding child apparently got what she deserved not 3 blocks from her home. What happened to the postal worker who killed Shahram Moghadamnia on 32nd 2.5 miles from my home? Not much from what I could find, and the family's case is bogged down in civil court (its been 2 years); that sounds like good old American justice doesn't it? We all understand, accidents can happen, and yet where's the responsibility for owning one's mistakes should the accident cause severe injury to the victim or be the result of negligence?

In Erzinger's case he didn't even stop. With all his money, clout, professional skills, he couldn't even stop to man up to his actions. Our money craven society worships Erzinger's business accumen, financial achievement, economic impact and monetary value, and holds him up as an exemplar of the great American capitalistic ideal and yet this guy's a coward and a loser...and in my opinion not worth the spit or piss it would take to put him out if he were on fire...ok so now I'm just ranting in quite a childish manner and to no real end. So to my starting point, a-la Bart Simpson, and in homage to the spirit of the great American, bullying, motorist public, I'm going to continue the childishness by swinging my arms wildly when walking around in public. If I happen to hit someone then it won't be my fault...cause everyone has now been duly warned. I'm swinging. I'm swinging with purpose but not intent and so come what may...Maybe when swinging I'll be distracted. Maybe I'll have an important meeting to go to, or I'll be late for coffee with Buffy and Bobo. Sure I might cause a black eye or two or some bruises...deal with it. You shouldn't be walking where I'm swinging anyway. That's essentially how it works right? Cyclist you've been warned: cycling is a dangerous and foolish activity to do around motorists. Cars are big and comfy and drivers are distracted and in a hurry and self important, so if you happen to get hit then its YOUR problem. Well, we'll see who hits who first.

Farewell Sunshine

2010-11-05T17:54:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I greeted the final rays of daylight savings light with the same knowing of one who knows their last days are nigh. To add insult to injury, the fleeting sunshine carried with it a warmth and comfort more akin to a May evening than an early November one. I concurred with Kate’s sentiment entirely, I could kept on riding as well. Instead, as I climbed the driveway after a long, meandering, detour filled, ride home tonight I turned and looked towards the growing shadows all around me and heading inside turned my back on one more summer. This is a bittersweet time of year. It marks the end of what is generally a hectic season of activity (riding or otherwise) and ushers in the season of long nights inside reflecting and relaxing. On the other hand it marks the onset of a 4 month stint of cold, dark rides home, the roadway illuminated solely by the passing lights of cars and the small lumen output of my CatEye headlight. There’s something isolating and saddening about riding home on a chilly 32 degree night in the dark. The prospect is not something to anticipate with enthusiasm or relish. I enjoy being seen clearly while riding. I enjoy seeing clearly while riding. I don’t exactly enjoy feeling my way dumbly in the dark. But there’s no use hoping against the inevitable; its time to ‘fall back’. So, popping the top off my festive, snowy bike bottle cap on my New Belgium Two Below, I toast the fading light of summer; all hope, warmth and memory saved within their diminishing glow. Here’s to another summer put to rest, and a fine one at that.

Golden Finale

2010-11-02T19:38:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday Kate and I trucked it out to Golden one last time for the final Golden Cruise ride of the 2010 season. The afternoon's cold winds and dropping mercury made the farewell even more bittersweet. A good sized crowd of costumed riders gathered at Woody's Pizza at 7:00 for a Halloween themed procession through the streets of Golden. There were witches, cowboys, ewoks, Star Wars speeder bikes, dead girl scouts, hippies and hipsters alike and even Chuck Norris made an appearance.

Kate...I mean Chuck at the Golden Cruise

Although it was really freaking cold, it was a great time and with everyone in a festive spirit, the atmosphere was lively despite the chill. For my costume I went as a farmer; straw hat, plaid shirt, jeans, boots and leather gloves. Otherwise an unassuming costume, but I made sure to bring my John Deere with me as well...what farmer doesn't have one right?

The Golden tally: 6 nights of cruising, 125 pieces of pizza scarfed (approximate figures), a few beers consumed, 1 striped alpaca beer cozy crafted, some ninja kickin', cruiser rollin', John Deere green cardboard wheel totin' cruiser fun. Until next year cruisers, see you in March!

Personal Space

2010-10-21T19:59:00.000-07:00

Let’s talk about a very touchy subject called: personal space. Outside the scope of certain friends and intimate relations it is generally considered rude in American culture to 'get up in one's grill' in the parlance of our times, or otherwise invade one's personal space. Even without direct contact, the sheer presence of one averse to the fundamental understandings of proximal relationships can make an otherwise normal occurrence very uncomfortable. The close talker, the casual shoulder toucher, the close passer, hand grabber, awkward chest looker...these are all creepy intrusions into the private sphere of personal space. Unless you're standing on a crowded bus, elevator or playing rugby people generally respect boundaries and try not to engage in too much unsolicited bumping, grinding, touching or encroaching.

So with such a well understood concept governing our interactions with strangers walking down the street or pushing our carts at the store, why then do we struggle to apply such courtesies to the road; its a mystery to me. Let's play a little Rorschach style game and try and figure this mystery out if we can.

What do you see here?

Clearly it’s a sign that says “Bike Route”, but what could be meant by this? It might mean…that the designated roadway is--a route for bikes. This would then mean that bikes could be routed along it, which thusly could also mean that people could actually ride their bikes on this surface (and in fact are encouraged to do so.) So if you happen across such a bike propelled by such a person on such a surface designated with such signage, then you should perhaps do your best not to run them over and in missing them narrowly show your disgust at their very presence on the same plane of existance as you with your colorful hand gesturing.

So now, how about this one?

This is a trickier one, while both symbolic and declarative its not entirely specific. “Ahead” is a very vague term in the grander sense of the entire space time continuum. But unless you are Steven Hawking (or his clone), then this sign means that BIKES have a LANE...AHEAD....generally meaning right freakin' there. This would indeed be separate from the normal general use lanes of traffic commonly seen on either sides of the dashed yellow line.

As in this picture for example:

Now clearly the symbols and copious use of paint show us the exact distinction of spaces for use by bicycles (hint: it’s the one with the picture painted on the ground) and the other general use traffic lane (hint: the one without the picture of the bike on the ground). Now you might think that such a sophisticated species with unwritten social mores around personal space would appreciate the actual designation of separate physical spaces as outlined by these markings. And yet not everyone seems to get this. Take this example:

Clearly law is not enough if the business people of the law cannot seem to unravel and decipher its tangled intricacies. How can I expect the average Joe to know the difference? Clearly the half dozen or more Joe's on my ride home from work today really struggled with the concept about as much as the professional law enforcement types depicted above. Well I suppose that’s the crux of it. Taken as a whole, the Bike Route, Bike Lane, Bike Pictures and Solid White Painted Line SHOULD suffice it to say to the general motoring public: STAY OUT OF MY DAMNED PERSONAL SPACE and yet that seems to challenge some who see this congruence of pictures and paint and think: passing lane, turning lane, parking lane, u-turn lane, my lane. Well guess what, its actually MY LANE, so its my space when I’m occupying it. That means get your close talking, shoulder touching, close passing, hand grabbing, chest looking, bike lane driving ass out of it!

Orange Ride

2010-10-17T20:18:00.000-07:00

Today Bike Denver, and the Denver Broncos hosted the NFL's first bike to a game promotion. Called the Orange Ride, 4 large group rides left separate Denver area bars for a massive cruiser convergence at the afternoon's Bronco's Jets game. All told over 450 riders made the trip to Mile High Stadium for the pre-party and game. A stalwart crew of volunteers manned 3 shifts to organize the parking area, handle the crowd of eager bike riders and park bikes for the duration of the game. Kate and I made the trip down to volunteer on the first crew and had a great time. Hopefully the successful debut of this event encourages not only Denver, but other cities to support the concept. Seeing the gridlocked throng of cars attempting to file into narrow $30 a spot parking near the field, the close in comforts of an easy bike ride and secure parking at the threshold of the stadium makes biking to the game the clear winner. If there are other Orange Rides in the future, I'd definitely recommend them.

Kate's Puch cruiser prominently displayed at the Orange Ride.

Bike Parking at Invesco Field at Mile High.

Denver B Cycle

One of the first rides to arrive.

Packing them in at the bike corral.

This ref isn't holding anything back.

Bike tail-gating for the Orange Ride.

Denver Mayor and candidate for Governor, John Hickenlooper leads the last of the VIP bike rides.

An entire herd of B-Cycles in the corral.

Wonderful bikes...over 450 of them.

A willing designated driver for after the game.

Unfortunately the warm weather, clear skies, rally towels and bike powered fan base couldn't cheer the Broncos to victory this afternoon. At least it was a great day for a ride.

I'm a Person for Bikes...Are You?

2010-10-16T06:48:00.000-07:00

So I found my way to the People for Bikes website, an organization looking to build support for bike related needs at the national political level by collecting e-signatures for 1 million bicycle supporting individuals. Their major aim is to create demonstrative clout for lobbying local, state and federal legislators for enhanced funding and support for cycling related transportation projects. To accomplish this goal, essentially all they ask is that you sign their online pledge for support. They don't give many more specifics than that, but at face value it definitely is a worthwhile effort. Below is some pasted info from their website as well as a link. If you're feeling inclined to be 1 in a million, then complete their online pledge.

"Every day, millions of Americans like us ride for their health, for the environment, for their communities, and for the pure joy of bicycling. But until now, only a tiny fraction of riders have stood up to help improve bicycling in America.

Peopleforbikes.org is going to change all that. They're building a national movement with the clout and influence to get things done. That means promoting bike riding on an individual level, but also sending a unified message to our elected leaders, the media, and the public that bicycling should have their full support."

Check out their great new website to take a pledge for biking and learn how you can help:
http://www.peopleforbikes.org

A Case of the Dundies

2010-10-12T18:01:00.000-07:00

"Is that a wadded up pair of boxers in your pants or are you just happy to see me?" Oh no baby its boxers, and you know why??? --cause its Double-Undies Day (Dundies...that's my new word. You heard it here first, add it to your spell check its going to be big...I've been big on firsts lately...maybe its my lack of racing turning me competitive in other, far more mundane, exploits...)

Dundies occurs when its so miserably wet and soggy outside that you get soaked all the way to the core by the time you get to work such that you either end up going ‘sans-culottes’ or you have to cart around another pair of boxers, briefs, panties (or worse) with you. I can’t recall the last time it rained on a commute IN to work. The summer occasionally boasts rainy rides home, generally preferable to the 90+ heat, but the Dundy day is a rarely experienced joy most common to spring and fall. Today it rained, heavy, cold, fat drops my entire ride in to work. Despite my rain jacket and pants, by the time I got to the office I was more or less soaked to the core; the tops of the legs really get the brunt of the rain hence the penetrating sodden condition of one’s boxers. My shoes likely won’t dry out for another day. My socks were still wet and cold when I put them back on for the ride home. My gloves…ditto.

And yet don’t get me wrong: I’m not complaining. A Dundy ride is almost a badge of honor. Ben at work also road in today, so the camaraderie in the bike room this evening was extra heightened; the commiseration in the morning’s dreariness and discussion of best lube for post-rain rejuvenation being the hot topics of conversation. Plus a truly dreary, gray, rain-fest of a morning ride only portends more ominous and inhospitable conditions to come: I love it. Not that I’m a huge fan of winter commuting (especially come April when I’m fed up with it), but right now its novel, new, a sign of the changing of seasons; time to really get down to business. Soon it won’t just be commuting by bike, on some days it almost becomes an exercise in survival or at least coping with wet drawers. So get out the good lube, the Swiss Army knife, those extra boxers and other survival gear; winter’s on its way, time to get ready!

News Flash... and Random Aside

2010-10-07T19:03:00.000-07:00

Below is a link to what may very well be the best story about cycling of all stories about cycling ever written. Now some of you skeptics might be saying to yourselves, "Surely not. Think of Lance's comeback from cancer tour victories. Lemond's gloriously narrow TT win over Fignon. Any of the cannibal or badger's celebrated exploits in the heyday of cycling nicknames. Or better yet, more stories of Spanish riders testing positive for eating bad food and Saran Wrap." Well to those who would doubt I only suggest you follow the link and decide for yourselves. Perhaps I'm wrong...but I doubt it.

Greatest Bike Story Every Told

On an entirely unrelated note...to the greatest bike story ever told that is...I would assert that while Volvo may indeed make the safest vehicles on the planet, these feats of Swedish engineering perfection attract some of the unsafest of drivers. That's an opinion of course, I'm still doing my homework on the figures but I'd say I'm definitely on to something. If you need empirical evidence for your own then by all means get on a bike and ride around the Denver Highlands around rush hour...in the bike lane...preferably with children about (Those Volvo's are magnets for children, I saw a commercial on it once. And I almost saw some serious magnetic power this afternoon but not quite in the manner the makers of Volvo may have intended.) Apparently the 'safeness' feature of this guy's Volvo must have been an option he decided he didn't need; in favor of a better stereo, wood paneling, a talking map or something important like that. Maybe Volvo needs a disclaimer at the end of their ad with the taxes titles and fees gibberish. Something like, "Safety implied. Not standard for morons."

Fake Plastic Watering Can

2010-10-05T20:18:00.000-07:00

And a fake plastic IV bag, and fake plastic flowers for the Tour de France victor. I'll be the first to say I really will be glad that Andy Schleck has a tour victory to his name, however I would have preferred to see him win it outright. I never like to see professional cycling in the mainstream media as the main stream usually is the one carrying all the trash and filth and plastic 6 pack rings. Speaking of floating plastic...today the AP was kicking up a storm of 'things in Contador's blood' stories. In the near future if Contador eats asparagus and his pee smells weird the NYT will link it to doping. He's done for, mark my words. But did Contador dope? Did Armstrong? Is everyone in the ProTour peloton cheating the sport? Hell I'd have kept doping myself if I were still racing, but instead I prefer having the occasional beer and riding slowly to nowhere in particulars: its more amenable to my delicate system and beer either comes in aluminum or glass...no plastic.

Just when it seemed that the sport of cycling was resurrecting itself through the biological passport, increased controls, virtuous sermonizing of the 'highroaders' et al, we're back in the mire with a potential second Tour de France overturn in what is really a handful of years. Some will decry the integrity of the sport and insinuate that cycling represents one of the lower steps in the caste system of professional athletes: "They're all cheats!" some will argue. And these pessimists might be right, yet we've heard Olympic medalists admit to doping, we've seen major league sluggers carted before Congress to testify as to their use of steroids and we've got a full on investigation into Lance and the glory days of American cycling's past. It seems professional athletes will do just about anything to win, even if it means cheating or damaging their bodies. But doping aside there are other headlines which call into question the integrity of 'sport'; play and call stealing accusations, college athletic scandals, NFL players cited for violence off the field (against men, women and even dogs), adulterous sexual exploits of one pro golfer, etc, etc. Some unscrupulous characters are attracted to professional athletics.

But aren’t there unscrupulous characters everywhere? Certainly there are cheats in every arena. However I would suggest that what separates the industrial or political cheat from the athletic one is that whereas industry operates within certain parameters and guidelines, conduct wherein somewhat subject to the sentiment and mood of the people, games and sport have clear rules. If you know the rules then everyone can play the same game, and on some levels aspire to the same greatness as that of the professional: fair is fair. We then take the exemplars of sport and hold them up on a pedestal in a manner different than heads of business or other successful professionals. There is something to the achievements of an athlete that any lover of sport believes they can relate to; as we’ve all tried to the play the game and can therefore appreciate the magnitude of success for these rare, gifted individuals. So it’s a bitter taste to choke down the discovery of impropriety in our sport.

And the real cynics might argue, "Well, what do we care?" And as jaded a question as that may be, its actually worth asking. What type of conduct do we expect of professional athletes? Are we really attracted to the integrity of the competition or the spectacle? While many might suggest that it is the integrity of sport and honest competition that attracts us to watch grown adults play children’s games, we cannot deny the degree to which sport has become a very lucrative spectacle. And to this extent perhaps we’ve essentially allowed the snake into Eden. Are we really naive enough to presume that the million (if not billion in some cases) dollar industries of professional athletics could be conducted 100% in the clear and above board? No longer is the bedrock of sport just the contest of one athlete or team against the other; there’s a lot of money underlying that contest. And while the NFL, PGA, MLB and UCI would like to uphold a standard of competition that promotes fair and honest sport, does the monetary aspect of professional sport make this all but impossible? Its one thing perhaps to enter an event where the winner takes the prize. It becomes quite different with team sports involving sponsorship deals, salaries, bonuses and expectations of victory far different than the simple enter and win athlete. Even in amateur athletics, as in the case of the Olympics, athletes drawn by the power of the sponsor’s dollar do some intriguing things. Once they get Lance maybe they’ll go after that sub-sandwich peddling swimmer guy; he can’t be natural either.

So Contador gets tossed out of cycling along with Floyd and Lance and the countless others who ‘cheated’ and played that game and lost it. Maybe while they’re at it they can drag down all of the other idols like George Hincapie, Jens Voigt, and Carlos Sastre. Then what? The reputations of all the heroes are marked by caveats. Schleck gets an asterisk title in a race he did not win, but now technically did. And then next year everyone will suspect him of cheating, or at least they’ll hold their breath and hope that he’s not all the while secretly ‘knowing‘ that he did should a test come back positive. Will we get to the point where we can no longer watch two racers climb a mountain and think that one is, if not both are, cheating? Will we soon be able to watch home runs fly out of baseball stadiums and records fall without that nagging thought in our head: was that real? Or will sport become like magic acts: we all know we’re being deceived yet we seem to go along with it for the sake of entertainment. That’s what we’re all paying for in the end isn’t it: the sponsor, the athlete the fan? We’re paying for entertainment and I suppose that’s indeed what we’re getting. “Are you not entertained?”

I stole that last quote from the movie Gladiator. I also stole the title of this post and theme for the first sentence from Radiohead. As a talent-less, hack writer I felt compelled to do so. I know it was wrong. I feel really bad about it. I will never do it again. You can have my Heisman and my Yellow Jersey if I ever get one.

"Meat loaf beat Loaf. I hate meat loaf."

2010-09-30T20:26:00.000-07:00

And to think that I thought my entirely asynchronous interests in bicycles and organic food would never align. Sure there were some connections, but the thread between Zipp wheel-sets and fish emulsion fed veggies is a tenuous one at best; that is until I got on VeloNews this morning.

The story on MSN of all places actually caught my eye before I even got a chance to get to VeloNews to read the real coverage of it: Tour de France champion Alberto Contador tested positive for a scant trace of clenbuterol. The lithe Spanish cycling virtuoso alleges the steroid found its way into his system via contaminated beef that his friends brought him while visiting him on one of the rest days during the tour. And indeed his Yellow Jersey, daily samples confirm that the steroid was not present (even at such microscopic amounts) until this point when it theoretically could have been ingested with his tasty burger or what have you. Head hunters, vigilantes and Lance supporters are clamoring for his ban from the sport, but I could really care less. The significance of such an announcement means so much more to me personally and professionally than anything that could happen to some brilliant bike racer I’ve never met. I’ve now discovered that my mission in life is to market hormone and steroid free meat and veggies as sponsors for continental ProTour cyclists. Finally cycling can resonate with something truly American: prime rib. Mark the time, note the location: this is MY idea.

Picture this: the new Schleck powered Luxembourg team sponsored by some high profile Euro-bank and…Cascadian Farms home of certified organic fruits, veggies and granola. No chemical sprays, poisons or CERA on those lovely leaves. Or how about the new power house: Garmin-Cervelo-USDA Certified Free Range Angus Beef…the team cars could be black and white spotted like a cow! The guy who runs alongside the TDF riders on massive hill climbs with his antler helmet could now be sponsored to wear ‘hook-em’ Texas Long Horn-horns. "Texas the land of beef"…some raised with chemicals like yucky Spanish meat that losers like AC ate (we don’t like losers)…but some is raised in the good, natural way off grass and pasture before the steer is shot with a bolt to the head like in No Country for Old Men. Cue son of Texas…that’s right, the big L.A. himself.

Rather than the gravely voice of Sam Elliot or some other such Hollywood Western namesake, Andy Schleck in his broken English could pitch “Beef…steroid, antibiotic and hormone free that is…its what’s for dinner.” Then he and O’Grady could switch over for Anheuser Busch and ‘pedal’ some of that as they clearly share a need for some good brew (not that AB is good brew per se but we’re talking market share here folks. And when the almighty dollar talks you better believe the cheap beer is flyin’.) This might be the big break that cycling needed; a crack into the meat and potato crowd of American consumers. And speaking of cracking breaks: “Need a little excitement?” Well snap into that Slim Jim says scar faced Jens Voigt and Christian Vandevelde…who lately in grand tours have looked more like snapped Slim Jims than anything. Maybe Hank Williams Junior could work on a new jingle for the Versus, “Are you ready for some time-trial? An early morning tape delayed time-trial…all my rowdy friends are coming over for fat-free low carb salads, whole grain rice, pasta and some freakin TIME TRIAL!!" (Cut to cheerleaders, cause nothing sells men in spandex like women in lingerie; cow walks across the screen led by none other than 4-time Fabian himself.) Holy shit, what NASCAR loving blue-blooded American wouldn’t tune in for that!?!

So AC passes into the mire and skepticism of his second modern-day doping scandal, but through Operacion Puerto-Meato-Oh-No and his plummet from grace he’s opened a great wide door for potential meat fed marketing to just walk right in one hoof at a time. I for one will be there to cash in on that great cow of opportunism and financial boon. I just hope its not tainted with something that gives me indigestion.

Golden Cruise September 2010

2010-09-29T19:02:00.000-07:00

Ill-equipped with my 'flashless' camera I wasn't properly outfitted to capture all of the sights of last night's cruise. The appallingly early onset of dusk and nightfall really shook me out of my denial that winter is indeed on the way. So I have only a few pictures from before the ride and none of the actual flannel-pant clad PJ processional; sorry. Regardless, it was yet again a great evening to be out in Golden riding a big fat tired bike. The route wound through the Clear Creek path area and around downtown avoiding many of the longer road stretches of previous rides either due to the practicality of navigating a couple hundred cruiser riders around Golden in the dark or due to pressure to keep the ride off the road (that's my bit of speculation and I was not alone in the rumor mongering amongst fellow cruisers last night.) In any case no one seemed to mind the change of scenery and everyone seemed to have a good time. As per usual the beer and pizza afterwards at Woody's tasted great and seemed to compliment the evening of hanging out and riding bikes perfectly. I still didn't win a free bike in the raffle but there's always next time I suppose. Speaking of next time, its going to the last ride and Halloween Costume themed, so if you've not made it out for one of these cruises October's final ride of the season might be a good place to start. Then you'll be all pumped up for April when they start back up again: all hail the summer cruise.

Choice curbside parking for Cruisers only

Note the welded tools on the top tube complete with shell casings.

When I think cruisers I often think New Belgium too.

Bike Tuesday

2010-09-28T16:21:00.000-07:00

A double stuffed Oreo of bike fun, the last Tuesday of the month is bus Tuesday and its Golden Cruise Tuesday as well…wholesome fun for the entire family. Bus Tuesday occurs the 4th Tuesday of the month where I get to hop on the bus with my bike and ride out to Golden for a recurring committee meeting. A couple months ago I was selected to serve on a committee for work. On some levels getting the nod to serve on a committee can be compared to getting into a car accident: it is bound to happen to just about everyone at some point and when it does you only pray that you’re able to stand up and walk away from it. So while I was ‘voluntold’ to be on this committee, the meetings have been effectively organized and astoundingly on-topic to the point of being productive (shocker for a committee I know), and the real plus has been the once monthly opportunity to flee my gray walled hole during the middle of the day.

Riding to work and traveling to a committee meeting can be a challenge by bike. In the past I’ve managed to only get the call to serve on committees within a mile or two from my office: easy bike to meeting range. A couple years ago I had the pleasure of serving on a group that convened out in Aurora. Fortunately they met early in the morning so I was able to get up and bike down to the main bus depot and hop the express out to the location. Getting back to work was an easy express ride to Denver. Faced with the proposition of an afternoon meeting in Golden I found myself again busing it once a month with my bike. While the commute via bike and bus takes about 15 min longer than driving, I find the time on the bus to generally be more productive work-wise than sitting in a car. I can get caught up on email, read docs or reports and actually prep for the upcoming meeting (which otherwise wouldn’t happen if I went straight from office-to drive-to meeting…there’s just no time for luxuries like effective preparation.)

Today I was able to check some email and get caught up from some lingering items outstanding from last week’s time out of the office, and I got to enjoy the company of some of my fellow bus travelers. Most of the afternoon’s conversation centered around a fellow with macular degeneration who talked at length about how he rides his bike downtown to Golden frequently much to the dismay of his wife who gives him a fair bit of grief about it. When pressed about his route he indicated that the roads are in fact smoother and more direct than the path, which got a chuckle out of everyone around him now listening to the conversation. “I usually take the road down, and then the path back he said,” which made perfect sense to me I suppose; as he had in fact already acknowledged his inability to effectively see either. He also told us a funny story about how he got a call indicating that he was qualified to win a scooter: he just had to answer a few questions. His response to the caller was “Well hopefully the first question isn’t: can you see to drive the thing!” This again got a pretty good laugh from the other riders. He got off at the same stop as I did and cane in hand made his way down the sidewalk. It goes to show how far one can get on sheer willpower and strength of character (if not a bit of stubbornness as well), even despite seemingly limiting obstacles. People all the time say, “Oh I’d probably be able to ride my bike but this and that and such and such.” Well this man could barely see and apparently had a nagging wife: that didn’t stop him!

Home at last from all my biking and busing in a professional sense, its time to load up the bikes for the monthly Golden Cruiser Ride. Tonight marks the second to last installment of this wonderful summer institution. The theme tonight apparently is PJ Party…which is not a theme I can really get behind. I don’t really P or J and I assure you that no one wants to see the alternative. So its shorts and a shirt tonight but for next month’s Halloween Costume Cruiser Ride we’ll be pulling out all the stops. Stay tuned for more on that front!

CO Trip: The Aftermath

2010-09-12T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well I'm home once again safe and sound. After some initial miscommunication with my pick up rendezvous, Kate found me out in the desert standing next to that Utah Line pillar. We drove back yesterday stopping in Palisade for lunch. When all is said and done my trip amounted to about 522 miles ridden in just under 41 hours spread over 9 days. Of course these are high level estimates, but should be pretty close. Either way you slice it that's a fair amount of work when you think about it.

So I'm cleaned up once again and well rested. Seven nights of sleeping on the ground, even with a nice Thermarest Pad tends to wear you down after a point. I got all my gear aired out and packed away; the nice thing about a bike trip is that there's not much gear to clean up and put away, so it took all of 15 min. I think Kate will still be finding Kebler mud on her panniers for some time. I'm not going to wash mine off, kind of like a badge of honor...or stupidity. My knees feel pretty good; glad to not be pedaling this morning. Its Sunday, the day of rest, and then back to the salt mines tomorrow. Fun times. Thanks to everyone for following along on my little journey. I'm glad to have been able to share it all with you. Keep checking in on the SpokedInTheEye blog from time to time for more exciting cycling updates or the usual griping and complaining about Denver motorists. Or check in with me at JasonEtc, also on blogspot--link to the right, for more of my rambling thoughts on all kinds of things.

Until next time...I'm thinking Montana...that should be fun...2-3 weeks...600-750 or so miles of wide open big sky country...maybe some bears...black flies...glaciers...prairie...cool mountain microbrews...man that could be cool...

Day 9: CO Monument to Utah Line

2010-09-11T18:15:00.000-07:00

Miles traveled: 27.6
Ride Time: 1:36
Avg Speed: 17mph

The Utah and Colorado border along highway 6 lies out in the middle of nowhere marked only by a stone pillar and a cattle guard. The pillar, in true American fashion, has been vandalized by spray paint and shotgun shells. Little is sacred for us these days. But to me this past week has been somewhat of a sacred event, an exploration of physical, mental and emotional limits. No I didn’t climb Everest, and no I didn’t ride across the country, but I did venture out in a spirit of discovery and find new places, meet new people and learn a bit more about myself and my home state.

One gains an intimate appreciation for the landscape traveling by bike. When not racing by at 75mph on an interstate one can appreciate both the largeness and smallness of our more remote places. While many of the little communities along my route are in decline if not outright extinguished, there is a life to these places and a history still vivid in the structures and faces that call them home. I think we take these small places for granted in our rush to convenience and ease, sealing ourselves up inside our small, perfect neighborhoods. A hard scrabble folk still make their living from the land in our country and others, closely tied to this existence, support them by running and maintaining stores and restaurants, shops and services. These small communities are ones of a quaint interconnectedness. People who still say good morning and wave as they drive by, who know each other by name and have a general concern, if not direct dependency, on each other’s well being. There’s a lack of anonymity in these smaller communities, which makes it harder to hide as well as harder to avoid the interpersonal contact one has with everyone else in the town. That person you snub or cut off on the road may very well be the person teaching your child or ringing up your groceries. Its harder to just brush off the casual stranger as someone you will never meet again, and in that sense an accepting welcome greets those who would take the time to head out of their way and venture into these rural locales. For those who drop the pretense and sense of expectation, one can find a more rewarding destination in a small community than in some 5 star hotel or resort. And yet for all the smallness of the back corners of this state there are great vast expanses to behold as well.

The enormity of our great mountain ranges, the vastness of our plains really only sinks in when physically confronted by them. The landscape of Colorado is formidable and at times hostile, yet it offers a rich and diverse range of scenes and climates for everyone to explore. I started on the plains, traveled through great wide, dry hills to stony mountains cut by roaring streams. I climbed high peaks and saw the ferocity of the high plateaus and windswept valleys and have now descended down to red rock desert vistas and sweeping prairie of tumbleweed and junipers. I saw all these things and soaked them in over a single week of pedaling my bike.

I don’t know all that I have gained from this experience on a personal level. There is a tremendous amount of physical accomplishment and understanding at what all I can endure and persevere. But there’s also a point at which the noise and distraction in my head finally shut off and quieted itself. I don’t know at what point this occurred, perhaps when being baked by the sun on the plains near La Junta, or battered by the winds in canyons and valleys towards Gunnison or maybe it was the cold and wet of Kebler that wrung it out; in any case it eventually stopped. And this noise, this incessant chatter which continually provides the background track for my thoughts left in its absence a calmness. Last night sitting out under the stars in the cool wind of Colorado Monument my head and my thoughts were clear and simple. No anxiety for the future, no questioning of decisions in the past. Just a cool wind and wide open sky. I know that as soon as I delve back into the ‘real’ world of obligations, expectations, anticipations and stress my thoughts will again cloud over with self-conscious chatter and obsession; my compulsiveness fed by an unsettled state of being. And yet perhaps when this starts to happen I’ll think back to that night on the red rock with all on earth at that moment exposed and opened wide to the star filled heavens. And I will contemplate the lone serenity of that cool, desert night and I will remember. With the impressions of this trip so richly felt and intimately experienced, in truth I believe it will be difficult to forget.

My cyclist flag and manifesto to motorists.

Day 8: Hotchkiss to Grand Junction, Colorado National Monument

2010-09-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

Miles Traveled: 77.5
Ride Time: 6:24
Avg Speed: 12

Along the North Gunnison River valley the temperature plummeted last night. I woke to not only a heavy layer of condensation on everything, but to temperatures easily in the low 40’s. Needless to say I packed camp quickly and got on the road in a hurry to generate some heat. Once atop Roger’s Mesa the highway finishes its tour of small farms and orchards before dropping down almost instantaneously into the dry arid landscape of the western slope. Not even reminiscent of the eastern plains, this landscape more closely rivals the moon for its unnatural barrenness.

I came through Delta but didn’t stop, I kept moving, now northward, and again along HWY 50. A wind blew out of the north west making my progress a bit slower but I kept going over one rolling hill after another. Outside of Whitewater I came across a couple shooting documentary style footage of bike touring of all things. I’m not sure of the intended format or distribution method, however my beloved Surly makes a grand appearance in their footage as a deluxe touring rig. Scott and Dina (might be spelling that wrong) caught me a couple times along my route and actually stopped me in Grand Junction to introduce themselves and look at the bike more closely. As I left Grand Junction and made my way up through Redlands they bumped into me again and kindly gave me a bottle of water. It was sorely needed at that point in my ride, so many thanks to them for happening past. And who knows this trip might make me famous.

I stopped in Grand Junction for lunch and requisite daily updates to the blog from yesterday’s journey. It felt good to stop though I remained up in the air about where to go next. One option was to shoot for Highline State Park out by Loma, which would add nearly another 20-25 miles into the same headwind as the morning‘s ride, or try and head out towards Colorado National Monument and camp there. Again joyful headwind but a considerably shorter route, by about half, however including a hefty bit of climbing akin to Lookout at home: about 1100 feet of gain in 4 miles--ouch. As you all know my exploits on Lookout (recall the 12 days of Lookout…) I certainly wouldn’t back down from pillar to post style riding even if with 65 more pounds of gear than usual. After wandering down the Main Street area of Grand Junction, and topping off my tires at Brown’s Cycles on Main, I began heading west again. Without making much of a conscious decision about it I got onto Route 340 and pointed the Surly towards the Monument. In truth I could have bailed and kept on going to Fruita and out to Loma, but after checking with the national park guard about the availability of sites and water at the top decided to go ahead and do it. This was the right choice. I’m sure Highline is nice, but the Monument is AHA-SOME.

Balanced Rock, Colorado National Monument

The climb up wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I went slow, stopped to take some pictures and generally took it easy. My knees at this point don’t do hammer anymore…particularly on the hills…so easy was my destined speed by default. I got to the top and found one of the few remaining exterior sites (on the outside loop of the campground area) and pitched my tent still wet from the morning Gunnison dew in a wonderfully western slope sunny spot. I wandered around, first behind my campsite, which leads right to the cliff wall, and again around the campground to the Book Shelf Cliffs and overlook. The landscape of the monument reminded me of Moab…like a slice of Moab slick rock right in the middle of the grand valley. You could almost expect Wile E Coyote to come screaming by with a rocket car or something. I went up to the Visitor Center and watched a movie about the geology of the area. It amazes me how much people have been able to figure out about the landscape and unique features around us, especially given all of the natural phenomenon which conspired to create such forms and monoliths.

Looking down on the road coming up to the top of the mesa.

Tonight I ate cheesy noodle surprise…the surprise is that it tastes freaking AWFUL… Fortunately I still pocketed some snacks and Starbursts to help eradicate the lingering taste of foul. I sat out late to watch the stars….well as late as I could stand to be out in the wind and cold with the clothing I packed with me (pretty much everything on at once). The rangers at the visitor center think it will get down to at least 40 tonight if not colder…brrrr. At least I have good eastern exposure for when the sun pops over the Grand Mesa in the morning. Tomorrow I head down through Fruita and out along HWY6 to the border. Should be about 25-ish miles I think and then that will be the end of my journey. Seems very odd to have started a week ago and now finally be here, nearing the end. I’m sure I’ll have more cogent reflections on this whole experience in the morning. At this point I’m tired and still surprised to be here.

Camp Colorado Monument

On the edge, Colorado Monument

Day 7: Paonia to Hotchkiss

2010-09-10T13:04:00.000-07:00

Miles traveled: 12 Ride time: A while
Average speed: Slow

Today I took a break. In theory this trip constitutes ’vacation time.’ And not wanting to be one of those people who come back from a trip and exclaim, “I need a vacation from my vacation” I decided to take a day off from riding around. I still ended up riding around, when traveling by bicycle you don’t get much of an alternative unless you want to push your bike, but for my part I didn’t ride hard and I certainly didn’t ride a considerable distance.

Today in the North Fork Valley the weather was gorgeous. The wind was really howling from the west, good thing I wasn’t riding, so it made for a blustery afternoon but all in all a nice change of pace from the rain. I took a back route into Hotchkiss which is a smaller town than Paonia situated along highway 92 and 133. Saying it is a smaller town is much like comparing microscopic to infinitesimal, at a point you’re splitting hairs. There is a City Market and a Family Dollar, I presume more fixtures of the proximity to highway, and thus highway travelers, but there aren’t really many other noteworthy establishments. I did go by The Creamery, which is a really well renovated milk creamery building turned local artist co-op. The gallery spans two large floors and boasts a pretty diverse collection of art from local and regional artists as well as kids who participate in the Art After School program. Quite the standout in what is otherwise a typical, small Colorado town like many that I’ve ridden through recently. What really stood out more than the ‘city center’ was the surrounding landscape of farms, orchards and gardens. The river valley spans a wide distance at this point between mesas on both the north and south sides. The resulting plains in between must be quite fertile and productive to support so much agriculture. While Paonia sat closer to the West Elk Wilderness and Mt. Lamborn the land around Hotchkiss is more open and expansive leading west towards Delta or south towards Crawford and the Black Canyon.

Looking east towrds Paonia and Mt. Lamborn

Apples, ripe for the pickin'

So I made my way to town, wandered around the sites to see in the city. I got my first flat, which is surprising given the miles traveled and crap ridden through in the past week. Other than those events I spent the majority of the afternoon in a park reading and loafing about the place. While capable of taking time to ‘do nothing’ I don’t frequently do it. Even this trip somewhat conspired against that agenda with its day to day itinerary of key mileage points and destinations. Yet it felt good to make time to simply let it pass by and be for a moment in the moment. While I’m sure my knees haven’t recovered enough to not scream at me yet again tomorrow when I get back on the bike I do feel refreshed and relaxed. My spot here tucked back behind the Delta County Fairgrounds towards the river is secluded enough to be quite peaceful given my proximity to the surrounding hub-bub of Hotchkiss. Which is really a round about way of saying this is a pretty quiet spot in an already quiet little town.

Tomorrow I leave the small town valley behind and head towards the ‘big city’ of Grand Junction drawing towards the end of my trip. It will be a pretty long day so hopefully the winds don’t return.

At camp in Hotchkiss

Day 6: Kebler Pass to Paonia

2010-09-08T16:53:00.000-07:00

Miles Traveled: 47 with some tooling around town dodging raindrops
Ride time: I don't really even know. It didn't take long
Avg Speed: 16 on the descent and now I'm just chillin' out.

Many thanks to Overgaard Bicycle Repair, John Eckert proprietor and bike doctor, for getting my Surly re-lubed, tuned and ready for more on the road adventure. Now you may be saying to yourself, “Golly gee Jason, why did you have to have the fine folks (really its just one guy but I like to be dramatic) at Overgaard Bicycle Repair work on your Surly Long Haul Trucker?” That is a fine, astute question and it definitely warrants the telling of the tale.

Dear readers recall last night I left the friendly and accommodating confines of Crested Butte to dine on freeze dried Mexican Spicy Chicken and Rice atop Kebler Pass. It was delicious like the apple in Eden, yummy, yummy and then it hits your tummy and you're blasted out of paradise and on your own. Ok it wasn't that bad, it was better than the Honey Chicken BBQ...in a bag. But I digress, you will note my harrowing stories of dodging construction implements, eating dust and breathing the grit of passing moto-tourists. If you caught all of the details of that story (posted earlier today as my Day 5 recap) you’ll remember that I went on a wonderful hike in the woods, saw some birds, could not photograph them because of the bad lighting of impending meteorological doom and made it back to camp just before it started raining.

So guess what happens to 24 miles of dirt/gravel National Forest road after an ENTIRE night of light to moderate rainfall? Well it goes straight to hell my friends, it goes straight to hell. Was I expecting such a fate? Well I must admit to you, or I’d be a liar, that I feared exactly such circumstance. It was such fear that drove me to concoct my back up plan of heading west through Sapinero and up to Hotchkiss on 92. It was a call best made from Gunnison and not Crested Butte, and as it was sunny and clear when I made the game day decision to head to Crested Butte, and sunny and even more clear (its higher up in elevation so I think it could actually be more clear) when I got there, I can't really second guess myself too much. But as I lollygagged and loafed around town clouds did indeed form on the horizon. They did look like rain clouds. And I did see them and knowingly ride up the hill anyway not really thinking that it would rain. Well my friends, I was wrong.

It actually rained pretty much all night and even all day today at various intervals and forms: mist, drops, big fat rain, and even rain that seems to come straight up from the ground...Gump. But it definitely rained last night and left the roads in a really sorry state for my descent down to the actual blacktop 24 miles below my camp. My Surly looked like it lost a pudding fight. I had mud on everything…the bike, my bags, my gears, my legs, my face…just about everything. So needless to say I arrived in Paonia early today in somewhat a sour disposition. I had to wash my bike at a car wash…not advised but I didn’t have a choice. I had to spray my bags, hang up my tent, dry my sleeping pad, clean mud out of my ears, try and get mud stink out of my clothing. Its been real swell. Needless to say after all my cleansing and rinsing my bike was sorely lacking in lubrication and had suffered much in terms of grime and grit that it sounded like angry hamsters from hell running around in large steel wheels kind of like something out of American Gladiator or Mad Max and the Thunderdome. Fortunately John was around and gladly took care of my bike with his tools of cleansitudeness and now the Surly sounds and shifts like the day I got it. He did as much for little to no payment and couldn’t even be gratuitized with beer. So this is my way of thanking him in terms of the good karma of cyberspace. If you are ever in or near Paonia and needing a bike anything, please stop by Overgaard Cycles on Box Elder Ave and pay John a visit. He’s good people.

So the long story short is I’m in Paonia. I’m caught up on my tale of woe and adventure and I’m feeling better about things…being both dry and clean. Paonia is a pretty cool little place. Small town, lots of gardens and fruit growing just about everywhere. Kind of an odd mix of old guard farmer/rancher and eclectic, young odd folk. I hope that the weather improves a bit so I can tool around and enjoy the scene in this town and Hotchkiss down the road.

That headbadge should say "S" for Surly. Instead it says "Brown" for covered in sh*t.

A traveling side show of sorts...note the unwrapped tent, it supposedly aides in drying...so my theory goes...didn't really work in practice like so many brilliant theories.

Day 5: Gunnison to Crested Butte to Kebler Pass

2010-09-08T13:04:00.000-07:00

Miles traveled: 28 to CB and another 7 to top of Kebler Pass
Ride time: 1:59 to CB and about :54 to Kebler
Average speed: 14.1

I got out of bed at 7:30, a comparatively late start for me. It took me a while to get my gear in order and carefully packed into the panniers. Today I found myself blessed with more leisure than I have thus far allowed. After talking with Amy and Caroline for a little while I left the hostel and rode towards Main Street in Gunnison: the road to Crested Butte. I found a helpful guy at a second hand outdoor gear store who let me use some chain lube; silencing the hamsters if but temporarily. I stopped back by The Bean for breakfast and blog updates. For the sake of diversity I probably should have gone somewhere else, but this repetition proved fortuitous for me. As I left the store and walked my bike north towards the street I passed another outdoor store and I suddenly realized that I could get another backpack meal for tonight’s camping near Crested Butte. I ate the ‘emergency’ meal I packed with me for dinner on Monarch so passing the store gave me an opportunity to replenish; Spicy Mexican Chicken and Rice is on the menu.

First I will say there was no wind. There might have been a bit of a tail wind at times, but really no wind or other atmospheric disturbance to speak of the entire ride up to Crested Butte. I enjoyed the reprieve immensely. Winding its way north along the river and through shallow canyons of rocky outcrops, the highway climbs gently towards the mountains. There are several large ranches along the route, each boasting a fresh cutting of hay now rolled into large round bales and stacked in massive piles in the fields. Caroline told me that the Gunnison area had experienced a wetter than average summer this year, the bounty of which clearly showed in the piles of hay, lushness of the grass and still green leaves on aspens and cottonwoods. The trees betray a faint hint of fall with a spattering of gold colored leaves. With the cool morning air and clear blue sky above it stands to be a rich season for aspen viewing in the Gunnison valley.

The Gunnison River valley looking towards Crested Butte

When I got to Crested Butte I quickly found the Visitor Center, changed clothes and sought the advice of the guy attending the office. He provided useful information about my intended route up Kebler Pass as well as advice on what to do in Crested Butte for 3 or 4 hours. He stopped short of suggesting mountain biking, given my obvious bike-ed-ness, but before I left did tell me where mountain bikes could be rented if I found myself interested. Apparently you don’t bike to Crested Butte, you come to Crested Butte (in the summer at least) to bike.

The main street in Crested Butte is home to many shops, eateries, bars and whatnot. There were people everywhere, and it was very difficult to discern local from tourist. Everyone seemed to know each other, and everyone was also very interested in talking. I don’t know if I’ve ever been to a friendlier place. In fact here are some general rules of thumb on Crested Butte-ers:

A Crested Butte-er can generally be seen riding a bicycle around town. They seem to prefer cruisers adorned with plastic flowers or other such decoration, though I imagine many of them also keep a spare MTB or three for different occasions.
Crested Butte-ers will generally say “hi” to you and make eye contact.
Crested Butte-ers apparently like bike tourists. Some have a bad sense of geography as one thought the Kansas border was “like 800 miles away or something.”
A Crested Butte-er likes its beer. They can be found drinking them quite early in the afternoon.
I have a feeling many Crested Butter-ers work two or three jobs to allow them to live in Crested Butte. Seems to go with the territory.
Crested Butte-ers will pass a cyclist on a dirt road very slowly and will generally wave. This goes for Subaru driving, mountain bike toting Butter-ers or ATV hauling, Republican bumper sticker toting ones.
Crested Butter-ers are friendly folks, two construction guys held up 4 other cars traveling Kebler Pass just to let one bike rider through. There’s a lot to be said for whatever’s in the water up here. If only there were enough to go around.

When I was on the eastern plains and would tell people I was riding across Colorado they were quite impressed with the feat and seemingly couldn’t fathom the idea. In Gunnison or Crested Butte on the other hand the first question people would ask is “Are you riding across the Country?” In a hotbed of outdoor enthusiasts and adventurers my little trek barely raises the seismograph of awesomeness. Maybe if I fight off a bear or build a school for blind children or something it might make the charts. Nonetheless in Crested Butte people were very interested and excited about my trip. I got stopped on the street a couple times. I had some guy interrupt a conversation with a friend to ask me about my trip. Everyone wished me well and was full of helpful advice. I wandered around the town for a while, ate a really great sandwich for lunch (I foolishly forget the name of the place or I’d plug them here…natural bakery in CB) and stopped at the Oven for a beer on the patio. I soaked in the relaxed ambiance of the town as much as I could as it resonated greatly with the theme of my day. When the afternoon grew a bit long, and the clouds began to build, I decided to hit the road up Kebler Pass.

Jail turned theater in Crested Butte

The whiteboard next to the tinfoil covered bike reads, "We know you love our bikes, so do we. Please don't ride them." I was tempted.

Mt. Crested Butte, resort is on the backside

I wasn’t sure what to expect in planning this option for my route across the state but was quite glad I decided to do it. Although most of the road is dirt, the road really is well cared for and compacted enough to almost feel paved at times. I was warned by the fellow at the Visitor Center about the dust…which proved to be an accurate warning. He indicated that tourists and more importantly construction workers would be the worst: he was dead right in his foreshadowing of my ride. I was passed by a couple construction or commercial vehicles who must have thought it their mission to choke me to death with dust. I also got some rude passes by obvious out of towners. I could tell the Crested Butters, they would always slow WAY down and wave.

I got up to the top of the pass quickly. One guy told me that it would be about an hours trip he figured giving the heft of my rig: he was right. The road never really climbed steeply, aside from the first half mile, so I made great time, and as was suggested found a nice camp spot near the road just along the top of the pass. I set up camp quickly, changed clothes and went for a quick hike. At this point the clouds were thick and promising rain. I hiked around the remains of the Irwin mining cemetery up here near the top of the pass and saw a number of different birds. They seemed to be everywhere, but with the absence of light I couldn’t get any decent pictures of them. I turned around and headed back to camp just in time for the first drops to start falling. I’ve more or less been in my tent relaxing and reading ever since. Now that I’ve run out of ambient light I’ve turned on the pc and plan to end my night with this post. Good night. Its on to Paonia in the morning.

Top of Kebler Pass looking towards CB...ominous rain clouds.

Road down from Kebler Pass towards Paonia

Monument at Irwin Cemetary at the top of Kebler Pass

Day 4: Monarch to Gunnison

2010-09-07T08:50:00.000-07:00

Miles traveled: 54
Ride time: 5:14
Average speed: 9.48

When you spend several hours fighting a headwind with panniers acting as sandbags weighing you down, you can’t help but begin to think you brought too much stuff. That thought crossed my mind more than a dozen times over the course of the day yesterday. Why did I bring all this stuff? Why did I pack this, why that? Many of the things I second guessed yesterday as superfluous junk got called into action Sunday night. So while I might begrudge the weight I suppose it’s a necessary evil.

I went to bed early Sunday night and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Promptly at midnight I heard the tell tale tapping of heavy drops on nylon canvas: damn. As with the previous nights I didn’t put my rain cover on the tent. I also left all my bags out, whereas previously I stored them under a tent or picnic table. For a tired bike rider I moved pretty quickly to pull out the rain fly for the tent, assemble it and move all of my bags to its dry confines. I also got out the ‘superfluous’ tarp to cover my bike to keep its gears and chain dry; its already squeaking like a pet store worth of hamster wheels so I thought drier would be better. All that extra weight now called to duty, like the army reserves of miscellaneous gear. Shortly after I got everything properly stowed away the rain stopped…go figure. Thankfully (only thankfully because I like being right) it started raining again, this time with earnest, about 1:00am.

Despite my midnight revelries I was up promptly at 6:30. I wanted to be up and on the road to the top of Monarch before the Labor Day traffic crush started. I’m glad I made this decision, I enjoyed relatively free streets for my slow spinning and wobbling up to 11,000+ft. It took me 2 hours to go 10 miles up to the top of the pass, but I made it by god. I was thrilled when I reached the little parking lot at the top. I took some pictures, put on some more clothes and then started my descent. The first thing that hit me on the way down was the cold: bone chilling cold even with a jersey, arm warmers and jacket. The second thing was the wind: damned infernal wind. Despite the lack of physical comforts on my descent, I didn’t pedal once for 7 or 8 miles, with the exception of shifting my down-pedal leg for the turns. The Surly under duress handled the curves and steep grades with ease. I stopped briefly at Sargents to dance around in a circle for warmth and then set out on the road to Gunnison. It took 3 hours to cover 24-ish miles. I’d crest hills and have to stand up and sprint to keep the wind from shutting me down altogether.

When I finally got to Gunnison I came across a couple from Czechoslovakia who were riding from Denver to San Francisco. They were well outfitted with nice gear and lightweight aluminum bikes, but still were quite finished with the wind about as much as I was. I talked to them for a while about their trip, gear selection, weight of bikes etc. We then parted ways as they were heading onward out 50 west and I was planning on heading north to Crested Butte. They were the second group of bike tourists that I’ve seen. On Sunday heading up Bighorn Canyon to Salida I saw three riders heading the other direction. We exchanged quick hellos and that was it. The nice lady at the Gunnison Visitor’s Center gave me some information on national park camp grounds which were several miles away (no), the KOA out west past town (no thanks), and a hostel in town (bingo). I opted for a bed, warm shower and proximity to dinner.

The Wanderlust Hostel in Gunnison was quiet with no other guests, so I chose the dorm room option but ended up with the equivalent of a private room. The price was less than my cheesy Royal Gorge campsite, and while the scenery wasn’t quite as nice the comforts of home weren’t far away. The eclectic décor, hot showers, movie cabinet, wi-fi and stocked pantry made the Wanderlust an ideal destination for my halfway point. It was a great place to relax (sitting in the hammock in the yard) and recharge a bit. Amy, the owner of the hostel, and her mother Caroline run a really nice retreat for the weary traveler. I spent my afternoon in Gunnison lounging around, went out for pizza and a beer at Marios and then returned to a warm spot on the couch with Cole the dog as my attendee.

So now I’m in somewhat of a chill out mode of my trip. At 321-ish miles I’m more than halfway through and yet have a number of days to finish out my tour. My goal at the onset was to really push to get out to this part of the state and spend some time taking in the Gunnison area, Crested Butte and Paonia. At this point I don’t have to hurry and with the exception of one day (the push to Grand Junction) I shouldn’t have any day totaling more than 50 miles unless I get a wild hair. So as I finish this post, and sip my coffee, I’m contemplating all the options yet to come: wandering through Crested Butte, camping out near Kebbler Pass, perhaps a hike…its going to be a good week.

The long and winding road...looking back down the canyon.

The little pink signs in the background warn cyclists about parking their bikes on the walkway. As if that's the only thing to worry about at the top of a mountain pass...geesh.

Top of Monarch Pass and the Continental Divide!

GUNNISON

2010-09-06T14:50:00.000-07:00

So I'm at The Bean in Gunnison downing a turkey sandwich on some really tasty whole grain bread. I survived the climb over Monarch. It wasn't pretty but I did it. I withstood 3 hours of 8mph fighting against the high plains wind. It wasn't pretty but I did it. And now I'm glad to be here in Gunnison, off my bike and fed (at least temporarily). I'll write more about my reflections on the day's events, as well as post some pictures in another post. I got the post up from yesterday's travails so that will have to suffice for now. In the meantime I will say this about Gunnison. Its a small place but per capita, or per road mile, it must have more bike lanes than Portland. I can get behind that. Secondly, many places in Gunnison are closed on Monday. I don't know if I can get behind that exactly.

Tomorrow its on to Crested Butte.

Day 3: Royal Gorge to Monarch

2010-09-06T14:41:00.000-07:00

Distance Traveled: 62 miles

Ride Time: 6:17
Average Speed: 9.89 mph

At this moment I’m sitting next to a stream at the base of Monarch Pass. I am tired. My trepidation about what lies in store for me tomorrow on the slopes of the pass however has dissipated. It may be hard but I know I’ll get over it. I’m just in that frame of mind now after today’s effort. Today was supposed to be an easy day. A casual ride up the canyon to Salida, about 47 miles total; a piece of cake. In fact the day started out according to plan. From the camp ground high up near Royal Gorge the highway took a screaming 6% grade descent down to the Arkansas river. It was 2 miles of downhill. I loved every minute of it.

From there I pedaled up canyon following the river through some of the most scenic terrain of my trip. Bighorn Canyon winds along the roaring Arkansas as a channel of granite and conglomerate stones. It reminded me of the area around Buffalo Creek and Deckers; in fact it should have because I was heading through the same general region of the front range. I felt like an actual bike tourist for the first time in my trip. No agenda, no real purpose or mission just pedaling and taking in the scenery at my leisure. I found scenic places to take pictures. I read information signs. I epitomized aimlessness in all its glory. Still enjoying my trek, I stopped at Texas Creek, about 20 miles up road from where I started and had breakfast. From my table in the café I could see the trees outside begin to lean and shake in the wind. I looked away for a bit back towards my pancakes and coffee and then a cloud of dust blew down the canyon and caught my eye. I looked up and saw a small dervish of wind and dust spinning past.

Enjoying some pre-wind bike touring

For the next 32 miles I’d be plowing into some of the strongest winds I think I’ve ever ridden against. The bulk and heft of the bike with its 4 pannier sails on each side pushed and fought the wind with each surging gust. I couldn’t help myself but at times I just found myself yelling. Yelling at whom exactly I can’t say, but yelling and imploring the winds to cease. At times it was an effort to make 6 mph. At other times the winds would subside and I’d push hard to make up ground before the next blast hit. I started playing little games with myself, bartering breaks and stops at key mileage points. I passed Cotopaxi but stopped at the store in Howard to grab some cold water and a popsicle (one of my deals with myself.) The lady behind the counter commented on the wind and informed me that it is frequently blustery in the Bighorn. Why it was just the other day that “some guy came through on his way from Pueblo and said, ’I’ve fought a headwind since Pueblo. I can’t go anymore.’” Not wanting to be another one of those anecdotes I said my thanks and got moving again.

Eventually I neared Salida and was immediately uplifted. I rode into the downtown area and stopped at an outdoor store to inquire about options for camping in town. “Well you can go to Big Bear, just a couple miles east of here on 50.” No, I informed him, east wouldn’t do. What about west? “Well there’s not much until you get to Monarch.” He showed me on the map where a couple campgrounds were, all located miles off of 50 about 10 miles west of town. At that point I don’t know what it was but I just got on my bike and started riding again. It was still relatively warm; still windy as ever. I stopped at a gas station to get water for my bottles, ate a bar and some fruit leathers and kept going. It was early enough in the afternoon (around 3:00) that I guess I just decided I could keep riding. My plan was to head up towards the pass and find a spot where I could. I packed some freeze dried food for just such an occasion and with a pit stop in Poncha Springs for water and some breakfast items I pointed the Surly uphill.

So at this point I’m down a small off shoot of 50, a gravel road that leads to an old hydro electric station, now just a reservoir for fishing and place where people have obviously camped before me. I think I’m about a half mile from Monarch itself, with about 7 miles or so to go of climbing before the pass. I’m ahead of the game for tomorrow and which is good because I’m banking on wind yet again on the plains before Gunnison. I guess I deal with that when I get there, but in any case I think I’ll manage.

Monarch campsite...despite appearances a happy camper

Day 2 Fowler to Royal Gorge

2010-09-05T07:26:00.000-07:00

Distance Traveled: 88 miles
Ride Time: 7:15
Average Speed: 12mph

Honey moon is over. I got Chuck Norris ninja kicked to my head piece today. Everything started out pretty well. I rolled out of Fowler around 8:00 and stopped at a restaurant on the west side of town for breakfast. The food tasted great and after a few minutes of scarfing I was full and ready to go. The road between Fowler and Pueblo rolls slightly before hitting a very long, high plateau. It reminded me of the stretch of highway between 93 and Indiana (HWY 73?) north of Arvada…but 15 miles long. I came across a section of highway which for all intents and purposes could have been two lanes but was only one. So while the motorized traffic dutifully kept to their side of the rumble strip, I could ramble onward with my own private lane. I didn’t understand exactly why they would do this until I came across this road sign.

Heading into Pueblo I got turned around a bit and lost my bearings. I found a coffee shop with advertised free Wi-Fi so I could update my blog and check on directions. Well the free Wi-Fi was hit or miss and required a manual setup of the network, and a password and a bunch of other hoops. After I got it configured it kicked me out, so I left thereafter a bit annoyed. I decided to head north and after a fortuitous series of random turns hit HWY 50 on the west side of town. I poached some Wi-Fi from a Starbucks and finished my post and checked the details on the next bit of highway. It didn’t look great but I felt good. I made it to a Safeway and stopped for lunch.

At this point the ride started to slide downhill (while beginning to climb up hills.) The temperature had to be near 90 with no shade to speak of for miles. At this point HWY 50 just rolls west towards the foothills in a series of long undulating humps. If that weren’t bad enough my good-fortune-tailwind from yesterday left me by the wayside. I slogged the 33-ish miles to Canon City into a nice front range wind. I was near 75 miles by the time I hit Canon City and exhausted from the heat (94 at this point according to a bank thermometer) and from battling the wind at a whopping 10mph. I missed the hours at the visitor center but checked in with a bike store and sporting goods store across the street. The friendly guy working the small shop told me that most of the camping in the area is about 7 miles up ‘the hill’ towards Royal Gorge. With few other options I stopped at the Safeway to stock up and again turned the Surly west. The road rolled gradually for the first couple miles before turning left and becoming a series of mile long ramps. At this point I was just spent. My legs seemed to go but my head was throbbing and my mouth was completely dry. I tried to drink but my water was warm and disgusting to me; the Gatorade was worse. I checked the odometer, 2.5 miles to go, stopped to choke down a gel and some piss warm drink and slogged onward yet again. When I came around a bend unbeknownst to me I was at the top of the ramps and faced a long descent into the Royal Gorge tourist area. My spirits immediately lifted.

Supposedly there were roads where one could tuck away and camp for free but I either didn’t see them or wasn’t in the frame of mind to. Instead it was touristy RV campgrounds and other kitsch. So when in Rome… I checked in to a cheesy, somewhat overpriced, campground (with really nice tent spots) and set my tent up quickly. Settled into camp I made a beeline to the shower and stood under the cold water for 15 minutes or so. Leaving the shower I again felt refreshed and optimistic. The folks camped around me, Tim and Sheila, and big Aaron from Texas are all really friendly. Having faced the last of my plains riding I now turn my sights towards the hills and high mountain valleys all the way to Delta. Tomorrow’s ride is short…really short in comparison to the last two days (a very welcome short day) as I wind up the canyon to Salida. From there it’s the day which weighs most heavily on my thoughts: Salida to Gunnison, 64 ish miles with the long, steep climb over Monarch Pass sandwiched in the middle for good measure. As much as the climb intimidates me I find it hard to think it will offer more of a challenge than the efforts of today. Tonight’s sleep is well earned.

A picture of a happy camper...well sort of

Looking South Towards Royal Gorge

Day 1: Kansas Colorado Border to Fowler

2010-09-04T11:28:00.000-07:00

Miles traveled: 117 (+3 miles of tooling around Fowler and such)
Ride Time: around 7:25 (I rode around Fowler for a bit and forgot to check the time)
Average speed: 15.25 (I guess, see above)

The crowd of morning “regulars” at J.R.’s in Holly barely noticed the couple walk into the store; guy dressed in a bike jersey wearing socks and sandals (very German of him) and his female counterpart dressed in a blue merino wool sweater and jeans smartly rolled to Capri length. A pair of thumbs couldn’t get more sore unless you hit them with a hammer. The morning’s conversation carried on; so-and-so got a new Guernsey someone was wrestling with a dry patch in his hay, another discussing his winter wheat which is already coming up. I imagine outsiders typically come in, make their purchases and then leave sleepy Holly, Colorado in their dust. The couple today however sat down in an empty booth, and it didn’t take long for one of the regulars, an older fellow in a camo ball cap and flannel shirt, who’s contribution to conversation earlier centered on dove hunting, inquired about the words on the young man’s jersey.

“Share the road? Don’t you get scared with all them cars on the road. I know how people drive.” And with that the thread of conversation for the regulars, conversant on topics pertaining to weather, agriculture, field sport and other rural affairs, turned instead to cycling. “If I were to want to ride more than the next block I’d have to get into shape. Round is a shape, but its not the kind that’s going to help me anywhere,” chimed a younger fellow who soon left to tend to other business. Another offered insight on distances, the man in the camouflage hat an anecdote about a new story about bikes. Apparently a high value bike relates well to the cost of a high value shotgun. No one entreated a dismissive remark. No one suggested cyclists should get off the road, or that cyclists don’t pay taxes. They were interested and welcoming.

When I told folks about my plans to ride across Colorado many offered missives about the eastern plains; about how flat it is, how boring it would be. Well I fancy myself of a pseudo agrarian at heart (or at least a wannabe) so the trip through farms, fields and rural landscapes was actually quite an enjoyable one for me. I’ve walked into what has to be several dozen eateries in the Denver area and probably could count on one hand the number of times anyone has struck up a conversation with me. Perhaps I give off an air of distance or aloofness…or perhaps there’s something to say about old-fashioned courtesy.

I certainly appreciated the slower pace of life, and driving, out here on the eastern plains. I could tell an out of state plate coming up behind me just based on the sound of the gunning engine (that excludes some of the local grain trucks…my idyllic pastoral scene really took a turn for the negative choking down the dust of passing grain harvest for miles.) On my way west today I met a number of very friendly and interesting individuals who stopped to chat about my ride. Everyone I spoke to about my trip wished me well and a safe journey. Its nice to have complete strangers be empathetic and concerned about your well being. I talked to some folks at the visitor center in Lamar, which is a beautifully restored train depot. I talked to a fellow and his daughter outside a convenience store in Las Animas. He too assured me he couldn’t ride even a block, and when I suggested practicing, he said he couldn’t practice either. But he was more than intrigued with my bike, the gear shift leavers on the bar ends, the number of speeds, the speedometer and my clipless pedals. I met a biker (motor that is) outside of another convenience store in La Junta. He was extremely interested in my plans, practically down to the mileage of each day. When traveling by bike one can’t help but be slow, especially when laden with over 50lbs of gear. So the going is slow. But it seems that many of the people I met today weren’t in a hurry either. They wanted to stop, take a moment from their day and spend it chatting with me. They were almost moving at bike speed too, even though not on bikes themselves.

Ok, shifting gears to some of the specifics of the day. We got up at 5:00 and quickly showered, loaded the car and got on the road for the 30 mile trek to the border. We stopped in Holly to eat and then were quickly on the state line and prepping for the ride. It was hard to see Kate and Bean leave both because I know I will miss them and that their departure signified the solitude in which I now find myself in on the road. I made pretty good time with a bit of headwind into Lamar. I stopped, fueled up, visited the visitor center and then was on the road and enjoying a nice cross to tail wind. I made much better time at this point and enjoyed the scenery more than the beginning. I felt really good until I got close to Las Animas. The heat was really on at this point and I was getting a bit fatigued and hungry. I stopped for lunch and fluids. This helped get me going again and I felt strong for a while in route to La Junta. About 8 miles out of La Junta the shoulder all but disappeared. This unnerved me and I pushed the pace to be done with it. Pushed to the point of exhaustion I rolled into La Junta and took another break. Now facing the 29 mile home stretch I got going. I did well but had to stop in the shade of some trees just outside Manzanola to cool down and hydrate. The last 9 miles to Fowler I was in ’the zone’. Not the stupendous, performance zone: the tired and beyond caring about much zone. The last 9 miles kind of flew by thankfully and my spirits lifted when I found the Fowler city limits and a Loaf and Jug to get ice water. I’m now camped in Fowler at kind of a crazy place. Its an RV campground with a tent area, run by a crazy old codger and his wife. Very nice folks but kind of in their own world…which includes two semi shaved Pekinese and a lot of old, disassembled farm implements. I got a cold shower (by choice) ate a hearty and very manly dinner (convenience store Dinty Moore) and then went over to the Fowler High School for some Friday night lights. I sat on the bench and cheered the good plays, texted Kate and watched the crowd root for the home team. I rooted for Fowler too, my temporary home for tonight. Starting to yawn I’m now back at camp, typing this update before hopefully what will be a nice, well deserved rest.

Day 1, ’The Long Day’, in the books.

At the border: The Grand Depart

A very welcome sign

Visitor's Center in Lamar, CO

Fowler at last

Fireworks at the Fowler HS football game

Cow Palace Here I Am

2010-09-02T21:14:00.000-07:00

The scene at the Cow Palace Best Western here in Lamar, CO is one of anticipation...and gear. For the second night in a row I've amassed my pile of gear and now stare at it contemplating all of the options, considerations and hopes that everything that needs to be here is finally here and not sitting at home on the dinning room table. I don't know if the magnitude of what lies before me has fully set in yet, but amidst my stack of stuff and an odd smelling hotel room its starting to hit me. Tomorrow I'm going to be dropped off in the middle of no where along the border of Colorado and Kansas and I'm going to ride west: wow. I guess I should get packing. Tomorrow I'll let you know how the massive 100+ mile day one goes...maybe the scene in Fowler will be different.

Chillin' at the Cow Palace, Kate, Bean and Bike

Solo Bike Colorado 2010

2010-08-30T19:59:00.000-07:00

With my bike adventure across Colorado coming up at the end of the week it seemed an appropriate time to get my plans in order for this little trek. I've bought myself 9 full days of riding with a combination of vacation days, holiday and a mandated furlough. So with plenty of time, I should be able to do this right...or at least as right as I'm able. I sat down with my Delorme's Colorado Gazetter, Google Maps and Map My Ride and figured out what route to take. The map below, which should link to a larger map, details the high level outline of my trip.

View Larger Map

I picked the route westward along highway 50 for a couple reasons. It is a relatively scenic route. It generally travels through towns and 'cities' at regular intervals, but shouldn't be too busy. I've driven it a couple times to know that it is not excessively busy during the week. It has a wide shoulder and is a quasi direct route across the state. My plan is to take 50 west, perhaps using some local bypass routes at convenient locations and then when I hit Gunnison make a decision about heading north to Crested Butte or west to Sapinero. I really want to head up through Paonia and Hotchkiss because it will be harvest season for the orchards and vineyards there which should make for a nice day of cruising around (plus I've never been out that way before and I have to see something new!) So my Crested Butte option, if I'm feeling saucy, will take me up over Kebbler pass; supposedly a very flat, passable dirt road. Or my escape plan is out to Sapinero and then up 92 near the Black Canyon. Probably still a tough jaunt but not like climbing another mountain pass.

Here's the tentative breakdown of the day by day:

Day	From	To	Mileage
1	E. Border	Fowler	~115
2	Fowler	Canon City	~73
3	Canon City	Salida	~58
4	Salida	Gunnison	~64
5	Gunnison	Hotchkiss	~70
6	Hotchkiss	Grand Junction	~60
7	Grand Junction	W Border	~30

With this plan I should have 2 days built in for resting, dodging bad weather or doing other things. This will also help buffer any of my ambition if I find that I'm biting off more mileage per day than I can handle. As you can tell, I front load the eastern part of the trip (the flat stuff) with some big mileage days. That helps me get through the less scenic parts of the trip, as well as maximize my freshness on the ride with the flats to cut into the big distance I have to cover. It all sounds very well planned out, but I assure you I'm only two steps away from making this stuff up as I go. Should be fun!

Rumors and Hearsay

2010-08-29T08:06:00.000-07:00

Spoked has definitely been offline for much of the summer. And with any hiatus or departure from the public eye, gossip begins to spread and rumors grow. So in the interest of rekindling my intimate relationship with all you wonderful bike loving, blog reading folk I thought I’d enter the confessional booth and say my Hail Mary’s and Hello Dolly‘s. I’ll try to address all of the speculation and rampant rumor mongering to cut off many of these ill-truths and falsehoods at the head.

Do you even still ride a bike any more? I heard you quit.
Well don’t believe everything that you hear. Of course I ride my bike…all the time. I still get around town on my trusty Surly and have racked up over 3,500 miles on it since Feb. (Don’t pay attention to that there odometer to the right just yet, I’ve not sorted it out.) I’ve enjoyed riding to work around the 2 dozen detours and construction projects which have made my commute an exercise in backtracking and circumlocution.

Well do you race? I heard you quit.
Well don’t believe everything that you hear….ok this one is more or less true. I did: I raced. I raced this season (like 4-5 times) and that was that. I don’t train. I don’t measure my food, weigh myself in the morning each day, and check my resting heart rate when I get up before I pee and then weigh myself again. I don’t name my days of the week: interval, hill repeat, recovery, active recovery, LSD, race-day. They’re back to Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday etc. I just couldn’t find the mojo to get it working for racing this year. While I miss hanging out with my team I don’t miss the second job…amateur bike racing. I now enjoy my bike and when I want to park it, I enjoy parking it.

Have you secretly been using your bike as a tool to invoke a communist, UN led revolution here in Colorado?
Sort of…that’s about all I’ll say. You can thank Dan Maes for ruining that one though: if it weren’t for that pesky kook-pot, tin-foil hat republican, and his dog too (reread that last bit and think about Scooby Doo…it makes this quasi true story much, much better.)

What happened to the Dick?
Well the Dick finally got caught. Alas I was not the one to catch him, but I did hear all about the tale and will be updating you all on that fantastic sea-yarn very shortly. It involves a harpoon, a stakeout, and the Wheatridge PO.

What about the trip across CO?
Oh yeah baby what about it? Its happenin’…next weekend. I’ve actually been training for this event over the past month or so with several preparation rides and other bouts of prolonged suffering on my heavy bike with bags full of heavy stuff. I’m heading out to the eastern border Thursday night and then I’m going to guide my Surly LHT westward to the CO border near Fruita. While I’m out there I might just mountain bike my Surly with all its pannier weight on some sweet Fruita single track…or I might just drink some wine and pass out instead. Who knows? I’m gearing up for this ride so I’ll be posting all my ride details, experiences and in’s and out’s on this here blog. Just stay posted.

Did Elin hit you with a golf club too when you told her all about Tiger?
No, she was pretty grateful to find out about her DB husband. I won’t see any of that cash though which is a bummer, I thought we had something real special…like a connection or something.

So what’s new in bikes?
Nothing. It is still a simple, gear driven, human propelled machine. It’s the most efficient method of human conveyance. I think they make them out of aluminum now though which is pretty cool.

Any funny commuter stories?
Well I was riding home from work the other day and I got passed by this racer, all kitted up for his weekday afternoon glory. He passed me at the light at Pierce heading up the hill before Wadsworth and then made a big acceleration up to the light. But he stalled! He kind of looked back and then down at his bike. His SRAM doubletap failed him and he dropped his heavy, sponsor laden chain like a CAT 4 amateur in a Pink Floyd jersey. I smoked him after that, laughing all the way to Paris…oh wait. Did that really happen? Now who’s spreading rumors?

Well I think that covers it for now. And you know what? I feel much better. Don’t you?

Golden Cruiser Ride (May)

2010-05-28T14:25:00.000-07:00

While in the course of my 12 days of Lookout I happened across the season’s first Golden Cruise on the last Tuesday in April. As I rode down 13th, kitted out for glory against my 4.5 miles of backyard mountainside I spied hundreds of hip young gunslingers mobbed outside Woody’s Pizza in a mess of music, people and cruiser bikes. That night when I returned home I marked the calendar for May 25th: Kate and I were definitely going. As sure as May flew by in a blur, yesterday found us on the last Tuesday of the month and in the midst of cruiser mayhem at the Golden Cruiser ride.

We rolled in to Golden a little after 6:00pm and took up residence with the growing mass of cruiser fanatics at Woody’s Pizza. Enjoying a cold, $3 New Belgium draft pint in the sun on the porch (a perk of the ride) we soaked in the line of vintage-actual and vintage-new cruisers on display in front of the restaurant. Woody’s, Golden Bike Shop and New Belgium Brewing put on the event the last Tuesday of every month from April through October. In talking to some of the veterans I discovered that last month’s cruise included nearly 200 riders. May’s iteration of the spectacle promised to include even more. Nearing the magical hour of 7:00 we got our instructions from one of the guys in the red “STAFF” t-shirts. The ride would commence when the music began at 7:15. Music? People began filing out of the restaurant and off the porch and made their way to their designated steed; Schwinns, Electras, customs, low-riders, mountain bikes, downhill machines and hipster fixed gears; you name it everyone was represented. I think Kate boasted the only Puch in the bunch which made her somewhat unique, attracting the covetous glance of many a cruiser fanatic.

Thor...God of Cruising

Sure enough the music (an IPOD hooked up to 4 bookshelf speakers on a bike trailer) began promptly at 7:15 and to pulsing techno rhythms the mass of bikes and riders set off down Washington St in Golden. The sight was really impressive to behold, my pictures will barely do it justice. The line of cyclists (300+ at some estimates) strung out the entire length of Washington as the slow moving beast of a ride moved north. I cannot capture the lighthearted, whimsical attitude of the group sufficiently enough in words to recreate even a fraction of the experience. Everyone rode freely and carelessly down the street. Every rider carried with them a smile--and many a homemade beer cozy of some kind. We saw a lovingly knitted beer cozy that clearly was crafted with the utmost in care and attention. I struck up conversations with a number of random folks: a cowboy, some hipsters, a guy on a 10” travel downhill bike, some old dude with a flower in his hair and more on his bike and, last but not least, 'Thor the God of Cruising.' Most had never done the ride before, but as I can attest as someone who also had never done the ride, this certainly wouldn’t be my last trip.

Regrouping Mid-Ride: Cruisers in the Park

In talking with some of the organizers of the event this clearly is the case for many who come out one time, only to become hooked on the event and return again with 10 of their closest friends. The ride’s quickly become somewhat of an underground, cult happening. What started as a few dozen riders now has grown to a serious horde of a group ride. With a 75+ rider increase at each ride, the pace according to some at which the ride has grown in recent time, the ride should easily crest 500 by mid-summer. And while the growth represents the vibrant health of Golden and West-Denver’s biking scene, its not without growing pains. At the end of the ride while the mob was safe again within the salubrious confines of Woody’s Pizza (comfortably munching wood fired pizza and nursing $3 pints until the 9:00pm New Belgium bike raffle), the ride had left in its wake a less than pleasant memory for some in Golden. No mayhem, litter or destruction, but enough of a taste of the 'other' to apparently require a bit of backlash. As the police arrived to the scene in response to complaints about traffic stoppages, noise and reckless cyclists clogging the streets, it became clear that group ride fame and cult status comes somewhat at a price. A 50 person ride is one thing but a 300 person cruiser mass is a camel’s back crushing monster that even relatively bike-tolerant Golden couldn‘t abide without some grumbling. So while the ride organizer argued with the Golden police about the impossibility of having 300 riders moving in single file down the road, the levity and capriciousness of earlier dissipated and brought the evening back to reality. While the sight of 300 bikes moving through a quiet mountain town may appear idyllic to some, this is still America, and that dream is just not shared by all.
In any case, I think Kate and I will be back in force next month for June’s Golden Cruiser ride. We’re planning on bringing some of our closest friends. We’re going to be more prepared and hell I may even knit some beer cozies. We’ll be veterans of the ride at that point and will need to help look the part to keep up the image of the summer evening’s balloon-tired revelries. As they say, when in Rome do as the Roman’s do…and if 400 Roman’s want to ride around slowly on bikes, listen to music, drink a little brew and meet new, like-minded people…then who really can argue with that?

The way it should be

Cyclists break all kinds of laws and I've had it

2010-05-22T21:17:00.000-07:00

Police in Boulder Colorado are currently on the watch for a cyclist with shaved legs who stole some coffee and maybe some cash from a Boulder coffee shop. This actually made local news here in Denver…at least the web versions of it (aren't we still fighting a war or something, dumping oil into the ocean and our economy's in the shitter?) But I have to say I’m quite pleased with the due attention this important case was given by our great local media sources. Consider this my Crime Stoppers tip of the week: we’ve got to find this shaved legged, bike riding, coffee thieving bastard. Some of you have probably heard my rants about cyclists running stop lights and acting like lawless brigands, giving the rest of us decent upstanding bike riders a bad name. That running stop signs crap is child's play compared to this most recent lawlessness. Just think about it, now when Miranda or Randal go to Starbucks to get that 3rd grande latte of the day before climbing back into their Cadillac SUV for the trek to little Johnny or Madeline’s soccer game, they’re now going to eye the cyclist standing outside the door with undue suspicion. They’re going to scan down to see if the legs are indeed shaved. They’ll hold their latte tighter, pressing their sweaty palm firmly against the cardboard insulator...they might even burn themselves a bit. Their heart will start to race, and it won’t be due to the caffeine or complex sugars coursing through their system. It will be panic, or rage or smugness, or all three take your pick. They might frantically tell their child to get back in the safety of their car: cars are very safe. They’ll whisper to Karen from pilates about the shorn legged, Chrome bagged hipster at the door mysteriously eying the skinny, half-caff, no-foam cappu being whipped up by Devon behind the counter. Hell, they might even start packing heat, and they sure as freakin' hell won’t give 3 feet to pass now that one of ’us’ has started ripping off their damned fancy coffee drinks!!! Oh shaved legged coffee bandit you’ve gone too far! You’ve woken the sleeping giant by poking its slovenly gut with a knuckle tatted fist and track-standing on its thoughtless head. I hope the cops find you and punish you to the fullest extent of the law. You will pay that $3.75 and you will be made an example of; through your punishment we cyclists will all find redemption…like Morgan Freeman and the white guy from that prison movie. I for one will not be able to shave my legs until you are caught, road rash and stubble be damned…plus I nabbed a bagel the other day and I hope that if the bagel shop catches on they’ll pin that crap on you.

Viva La Revolution…700c’s going round and round and round….

Happy Saturday from Denver...its smooth legged, cycling anarchy out here...sweet!

What I did today

2010-05-08T19:06:00.000-07:00

Today I left home at 8:00am for my ride up to Fort Collins. I met my friend Aaron at Indiana and 64th about 8 miles into my ride. We went up Indiana and then took McCaslin Rd into Louisville. From there the route varied from what I initially set out to do. Aaron's from that area so he took me on some roads which proved more bike-friendly and scenic. I felt great despite the 80+lbs of bike and gear I was pushing around. My pace up the initial tough climbing was pretty slow but once I got onto the flats (with small rollers) I was comfortable cruising around 15-20mph. With my route deviation I found myself close to Carter Lake, so I through the plan aside and took the road as it came, working my way northward to Fort Collins. It proved pretty fortunate as I ended up on a road with a wide shoulder and bike lane all the way from Loveland to Fort Collins. It also happened to be the road I wanted to head north towards Poudre Canyon. Happy twist of fate. Tomorrow I'm going to go try and work my way up the canyon to get some pics of Kate in the midst of her suffering. Why anyone would want to run 26 miles is beyond me.

Off of McCaslin Road in Louisville. This was supposed to be a great shot of my "high water" mark for the day's climbing...with Longs Peak in the background all dressed in snowy whiteness. Instead its really just a bike and a pole.

Mile 60, heading into Fort Collins.

The Surly at rest, Poudre Canyon.

Have Bike, Will Travel

2010-05-08T16:22:00.000-07:00

Although we moved around a couple times growing up, I consider Kirkwood, MO to be my childhood home. A quiet suburb of St. Louis, Kirkwood offers all of the charms and comforts of small community living with the connectedness to the broader St. Louis area which makes it so desirable. Good schools, parks, shopping, and a rich local history all combine to make Kirkwood a highly sought after place to live. As is typical in such locations, small neighborhood homes occupying spacious lots often find themselves purchased cheaply and then razed to make room for McMansions and other tacky displays of ostentation. If you were to go by our old home at 602 Pamela Lane you’d see this sign of progress in action. The small, blue 1950’s ranch with black shutters and basketball hoop no longer occupies center stage of the large lot framed by twin silver maples, there’s a monstrosity in its place now. I even think the maples are gone.

So with this new suburban trash moving in and devastating the character of the neighborhood to make room for their garage-mahals, I cannot speak to the quality of the community today. I can say that the cul-de-sac community of families, working folks and seniors made for an ideal place to grow up a couple decades ago. One of three long, deadend lanes, Pamela sat on the boarder of Kirkwood and an even more exclusive west county community. Yet for all the wealth and splendor of the blocks surrounding it, the cluster of homes on these three streets were all more or less the same; simple mid-century ranches with spacious lawns and healthy mature trees. The ‘black path’, so named for its crumbling asphalt, spanned the back side of the three streets and led to the elementary school not a mile or so away. Given our proximity to school and the relative safety of our neighborhood we grew up first as walkers. We walked to school each morning at 8:00 and when the bell rang at 3:00 we walked home. I think we walked from 1st grade, shepherded by the 5th grade crossing guards and an occasional parent. The Pott’s kids, Matt Plank, Jimmy Humphreys and several others usually accompanied my brother and I as we made our daily trek home from Westchester Elementary, backpacks and lunchboxes flopping around as we went. On weekends and during the summer though our walking turned to riding. As cliché as it may be to say it, in our small neighborhood a bike was your passport.

I can remember my first bike. It was a red and white Huffy. It had a red foam top tube and handlebar pad. It was a gift from Santa Clause, and probably the best he ever came up with. I can picture myself flailing away on that little bike, trying to keep up with the bigger kids in the neighborhood, Danny Plank and the two Albers boys all three of which were several years older than I. Our street climbed the entire length from Geyer Road at the bottom to the circle at the top. We rode up and down it, perhaps a half mile in length, often racing each way. Sometimes we rode down through everyone’s backyards; few had fences and since most of the homes had kids it seemed ok to race down the hills and over the roots of trees without too much concern for property or privacy. The Albers boys were eventually replaced by the Tomasinos who had two girls, but we rode through their back yard still anyway. You could generally always tell where everyone was on a given afternoon by the pile of bikes at the end of the driveway. It was not uncommon on a good football or baseball day to see a half dozen or so ten speeds and bmx bikes in a pile on someone’s lawn. I think it made us easy to find when we happened to be out later than curfew.

The highlight of growing up had to be 3rd grade when they let you ride your bike to school. Westchester had a bike storage area adjacent to the gym by the ‘big kids‘ playground. Generally filled on a nice autumn or spring day, everyone in the surrounding neighborhoods could access a quiet residential street or back alley path to get to school. Once I got older this interconnected web of paths and streets presented an opportunity to wander even farther from home. I’d love to go back in time and add up the miles of neighborhood streets I traveled. I knew every street and path from our home all the way to Ballas Road easily a couple miles away. I don’t know if my parents even realized how far we went at times. Since we avoided any major streets it seemed safe enough and certainly not worth illustrating in any revealing detail.

My first road bike was a black Murray 10 speed. I got a Domino’s pizza cycling hat from a Cub Scout event and wore it for an entire summer until the brim eventually came off of it. This was the era of Lemond and I’d seen his narrow time trial victory on Wide World of Sports and I thought bike racing was fantastic. I could race my bike too. The surrounding hills became Alps and every ride was a sprint and charge through each turn. Heading home one drizzly afternoon while in middle school I charged through a turn a little too pro-style and ended up in the emergency room with a broken wrist. Certainly not my first bike crash (and definitely not my last) my knees and shins still bare the scars from cycling antics gone awry: going over the handlebars after hitting my brother’s wheel while trying to scare him by riding right at him--he moved, or hitting a manhole in the field by the middle school with Jack Kramer--he got the worst of it when one of his spokes went into his leg. Bike riding in those carefree, helmet-less days certainly was hazardous, but we could have been doing worse things I suppose.

While I can remember several fascinating and rewarding aspects of Boy Scouts, one of the highlights has to be the bicycling merit badge activities. I took a trip with the troop and my dad and we went out to Defiance and rode the Katy trail to St. Charles and back: very ironic that my family would later move out to that picturesque area. It was a 50 mile day and at the time my longest ride to date. We climbed some real hills, and as a scrawny boy saw the true advantage of my lightweight physique. I could never be a linebacker but I could climb a hill on a bike like nobody’s business. We also did a ride from Westchester Elementary down to Forest Park in St. Louis. I can clearly recall the moment where I realized that all the places I’d been in a car could easily be connected up and reached by bike. I’d been to Forest Park dozens of times but as a 12 or 13 year old, never under my own power. We could climb the tree at the Plank’s house and see the skyscrapers around Clayton on a clear fall day. After that bike trip, I’d climb the tree just to see how far I’d ridden.

And today I sit on bench at a campground northwest of Fort Collins, Colorado at the mouth of Poudre Canyon. As I type I look up at the blue Surly Long Haul Trucker resting against a fence across from me. My bike is still my passport. Today it brought me safely north over hills and country roads, more than 75 miles from my home. And tomorrow when I wake up I’ll climb back on the saddle and it will take me somewhere else. I’ve come a long way from the days of red Huffys, but that same excitement still remains; have bike, will travel.

Truckin'

2010-05-07T20:54:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, Saturday I’m heading out on a ride to Fort Collins. Kate is running the Colorado Marathon up there on Sunday, so I’ve decided to take the Long Haul Trucker out for a long haul. My destination is a campground up in Laporte, near the entrance to Poudre Canyon. It should be about 80 miles from home.

My big summer goal is an unsupported, cross-Colorado ride. I plan on doing this around early August so I have plenty of time to get into form for it. As preparation, I’ll be doing the Triple Bypass, which is a one day 120+ ride over a couple mountain passes. I’ll also be doing a fair amount of road races and training. I should be in relatively good shape for the ride, but I want to get in some practice packing and loading my bike and riding under the weight of a lot of gear. So tomorrow will be my first test, and the first true trek of my Surly LHT.

To prep I’ve created a gear list, which admittedly is somewhat overkill for a one night camp out, but one which might begin to resemble the packing list necessary for my cross-CO trip. Tonight I laid out all of the items on my list and weighed them on an old scale we have…one which is not the most reliable but close enough for round 1. I’ll be packing a saddle bag, handlebar bag and 4 panniers. Here’s a run down on the various items and weights of what I’m taking tomorrow.

GEAR	WEIGHT
Me	154 lbs
Surly LHT	31.5
Backpacker Tent	4 lbs
Sleeping Bag	2 lbs
Sleeping Pad	1 lbs
Crazy Creek	1 lbs
Stove and Fuel	1 lbs
Small Pot and Utensils	1 lbs
Headlamp and Batteries	.10 lbs
Lock and Cable	4 lbs
Tools and Tire	1.5 lbs
Personal Items	.5 lbs
Camera	3.5 lbs
Netbook	4 lbs
Toiletries	.5lbs
Clothes	7 lbs
Tevas	1lbs
Food	3.25 lbs
Approx Total	49.25 lbs (packed)

Overkill right? But my strategy isn’t too far fetched. At 80 miles, the ride tomorrow will cover the distance and terrain that I plan to try and handle on the plains when I ride across the state (my big mileage days). I think packing heavy and seeing how it feels isn’t a bad experiment. Sure I’m toting an entire bag of GORP …but I do have a marathon to watch Sunday and all that running makes me hungry. I figure I’ll need to cut some weight on incidentals in the future: lock, Crazy Creek chair, etc. I’ll need to make room for more fuel for the stove, more food, more clothing however I probably won’t have to plan for quite the weather that I fear I may have to contend with tomorrow night.

Even with what I feel is an excessive pack list for a weekend on the road, I didn’t fully fill any of the panniers. So I’ve got room to grow, which is promising yet ominous when I think about pedaling around a big loaded with 75+ lbs of stuff. Nevertheless, I’m in very high spirits tonight looking at my piles of gear. A couple weeks ago I was training by doing Coach Carter's infamous Weights on Bike (WOB’s…the big gear runs up Lookout). Tomorrow I’ll train by doing Weighted Bike…I wonder which I’ll like more in the long run?

With a little help from my friends

2010-05-04T19:10:00.000-07:00

Usually when I spy a race slick tire coming up alongside me on my commutes I figure I’m most assuredly about to get “schooled.” Sometimes these riders just blow by, unencumbered by the weight of a full pannier and hefty touring bike. Other times they think they’re going to blow by but actually end up stalling out in front of me at a hill or other such obstacle. I find the latter group a bit more annoying than the first. You can’t blame someone for passing a slow moving vehicle, but you can blame them for becoming one in return.

Today I’d gone out to our office on the northeast side of Denver. When I left work the morning’s benevolent tailwind now met me head on as I slogged my way westward. In addition to the wind I found myself in a somewhat sour mood. Riding downtown, which I don’t do too often, I’d been buzzed, honked at, flipped off and passed while stopped at a light by a cyclist who thought it more prudent to just run it. Deep down inside I hold him partially accountable for the buzzing and honking culture I have to contend with. I was annoyed and each gust of the 30+mph headwind only egged on my sense of annoyance. Can I just say that on a particularly windy day it is especially insulting to ride by those “Your Current Speed Is: “ displays, only to have your whopping 14mph speed displayed in bright yellow brilliance for all the world to see. So when the light changed at Sheridan and 26th and I heard the tell-tale sign of Keo’s clicking behind me I thought for sure I knew what to expect next. In truth fate did not disappoint and just passing the Burger King I caught the approach of skinny tires out of the corner of my eye. However, when the rider passed me today he quickly slid back over and said, “I’ll pull for a while.”

Dumbstruck but comfortably in the safety of the draft my speed increased dramatically and I breathed easier. I sat in for a while and then took a pull up to the light at Wadsworth. I never caught the rider’s name. He was commuting home from work as well with his gear in a Timbuktu messenger bag. He was new to the area having recently come back to Denver from Spokane. He rode a Specialized. He had an optimistic view of the weather and the impending change back to cold and rain due in the latter half of the week. I enjoyed swapping pulls with him and shooting the breeze…no pun intended. I arrived home more refreshed than I would have if I’d made the trek alone, and I was in much better spirits having shared the suffering with another rider. Sometimes it is nice to be out on the open road, enjoying the solitude of the ride and the peace of your own thoughts as company. And yet when the headwinds are a blowin’ and the horns a honkin’ its almost always better riding with a friend; even one you‘ve just met and may never see again. But if I do see him again he’s definitely got a wheel. I owe him that much.

Lookout...the Verdict

2010-05-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

Saturday the foul weather stayed away, and the morning dawned cold, but sunny and clear. I got out to Lookout by 6:30 to register, set the bike up on the trainer and started warming up for the 8:10am start. For the 3 Primal/1st Bank riders holding down the fort for the team on Saturday, our strategy was to get a fast start, ride tempo for the first mile and a half and try and apply pressure on the fast sections as best we could. Our goal really was to get as many of us into the top 20 as possible for BAT (Best All-Round Team) points.

We had a great warm up and I felt good getting to the line. The three of us lined up to be first to the initial inside turn: great position from the gun. I consider myself a reliable clip when starting, probably due to my commuting route with lights and stop signs etc. At go I was up, clipped in and the first through the first 3 turns. I held a good tempo and was quickly joined by my two teammates: Primal held the first 3 positions. The other two guys from my team clearly had stronger and fresher legs. They really pushed hard up the first section and I had a hard time holding their wheel. The plan was working but I knew I was going too hard too soon. As the rest of the field began to swarm we still held the first position and 2 in the top 10 riding into the switchbacks. I began coasting back but kept with the lead group. I had to face facts though rounding the bends into the 'fast section'; I was in a bad heart rate zone, holding it at present but unlikely to sustain it the remaining 2 miles. Reality set in and I edged back and brought my heart rate down heading into the last two long ramp sections. The field started to pull away at this point and I fought fatigue and annoyance at not really sticking to my game plan.

As I pulled into the last series of tight switch backs I felt better and got out of the saddle. A guy standing on some rocks yelled, "Get on that wheel bearded man!" That got me fired up and I started pulling back some riders. I reeled in some guy in a blue jacket, then a Garmin/5280 kid. I pulled in a Feedback rider and heading into the fast turn at 200 meters felt another Feedback rider on my heels. He had a bit more in the tank and out sprinted me to the line, but we did pass a CO Bike Law rider just before the line. I could taste the iron in my throat and my voice was raspy over a few heavy coughs: ahh the taste of blood. What pain, ,what sheer lunacy, and in a flash it was all over.

We rode briefly and cooled down our legs before the cold descent back down the hill. As much as I bad mouth and complain about this race, I do enjoy it on some levels. One of these days maybe I'll ride it the way I know I should as opposed to the way I always do! (Too hard too soon and then hit the wall). Still, when results came through the ACA site this morning the final tally ended up pretty good. Primal got one in the top 20. We narrowly missed a second with 21st and then me bringing up the rear: 26th of 53 starters. Mid pack, but with a time of 21:06. I consider this somewhat of a victory. I beat my time from last year by 53 seconds. I also beat my best time of the year in terms of training. And, considering I put in a miserable 24 minute and change effort on my own back in March I think my progress actually is respectable. This year's field was more consistent and so more guys placed higher up than they did last year, speaking to the quality of riders on the road Saturday.

So the verdict on my Lookout cramming...undecided. I actually think that as a concept, given a suitable base level of fitness, riding Lookout continuously over an extended period of time actually does work pretty well for intensive training. Its boring as hell but you definitely see quick gains from the effort. More built in recovery (non-Lookout days) and a longer rest period between training and racing probably would yield even better results. But that starts feeling too much like that textbook, traditional form of training nonsense which I have no stomach for. So you can feel free to use my new and improved, better than normal training, patented, "Lookout Cramming" technique for your own training purposes...that is if you're completely out of your mind...and lacking for inspiration...and not concerned too much about actual results...and you pay me some royalties or buy me a beer or something.

Lookout...the end

2010-04-29T20:50:00.000-07:00

On the 12th day of Lookout, the mountain sent to me: 12 days of climbing...

Today actually summarized my entire Lookout climbing escapade over the past two weeks. I woke up this morning and it was snowing. Later the snow turned to rain. Then by the time I headed home to face the dreaded mountain for the last time it was sunny and pleasant. Once I started riding pleasant turned quickly to windy and cold. It was like reliving the past 12 days all at once...at least meteorologically speaking.

I'm not sure what exactly was gained by riding Lookout Mountain 12 days in a row. I certainly don't know if I'm any more or less prepared for Saturday's race than before I started. I'm sure I am... However at this point I feel strangely like I'm back in school...feverishly studying for a test, living solely off of orange soda, Doritos and Pez; its 2:24am and I've hit that point where you realize nothing more will go into your brain. I've done all the climb-cramming my legs will hold without crossing the line into severe overtraining. I'm definitely over trained...just not severely so quite yet. With the jury still out on the effectiveness of last minute hyper training, I can say that I've enjoyed the experience regardless of my fate on Saturday. My mental block on training seems to have dissipated. Having a goal helped me focus enough to start riding with more regularity and push my fitness levels more than when I was just piddling around avoiding the subject. I worked through some of my descending issues, and at least now on Lookout I feel like I'm close to descending and cornering with the same level of confidence I had last year.

I think I also realized some things about my riding. I certainly enjoy my opportunities to ride to work each day, but beyond that I enjoy being out on my bike (especially when its not taking me to work.) At some point, even during the crappiest of riding days there's always that moment where you feel like a kid again. When your bike was your passport to new places and adventure. You could get on your bike and take off on your own for a while, cruise down hills, pedal hard and never know quite where you'd end up. While I knew at least for the past two weeks that I'd generally end up at Lookout at some point, there was always that moment: I'd feel gravity sweep my bike and pull it through a turn; I'd experience that first push of tail wind driving me faster; that instant where the sun pulls from behind a cloud and returns warmth to cold extremities. Damn, cycling is fun...even after 12 days of climbing its still fun.

So after a nice soak in the tub with some Epsom salts and after a bit of work on the legs with the recovery stick, I should feel right as rain again. And there's no climbing tomorrow so that will be a relief. To sum up the nuts and bolts of my experience here's some Lookout Stats:

Days of Climbing: 12
Trips Up and Down the Mountain: 14
Miles of Lookout Climbing: 63
Miles of Lookout Descending: 63 (I know that's some pretty hard math)
Total Miles on Lookout: 126
Total Miles To and From, Up and Down etc: 314
Miles of cheating due to driving out one rainy day in the Vanagon: 16

Lookout You Just Got Served

2010-04-28T20:40:00.000-07:00

One thing I’ve come to truly appreciate after my 11th day of riding Lookout is this: people on bikes love to race. Sure not everyone on a bike wants to race or likes the idea of racing. But when standing around the parking lot at the base of Lookout (as I did yesterday for a while) one picks up on some interesting conversations. People get keyed up to ride their bikes and everyone deep down wants to feel like a superstar. And so yes, while it may seem surprising, the mid 40’s woman replete with jacket tied around waist, riding the hybrid comfort bike is also very interested in her finish her and place within the pecking order of the band of cyclist comrades she will accompany up the hill. Other riders just wear their race-obsession on their sleeves for everyone to see.

This is particularly apparent with the 20-30 something male, out to somehow prove how exceptionally strong he is against everyone else on the hill. And if you happen to be wearing a team kit of some kind, you might as well have a target on your back. You are the yardstick that this ambitious foe would love to measure himself against. I’ve seen dozens of these Tuesday night racers on my rides up Lookout over the past week. Lookout on a good day is crawling with these hammer heads. And yet while there’s some great competition to be had on Lookout, one must be careful not to bite off more than they can chew. Here are two examples:

On Sunday while cruising out to Lookout I came across some 20 something guy on a Specialized, rocking his Assos or Castelli (I don’t recall) jersey and shorts just like the guy in the advertisement. He was moving well enough. I came around him on one of the hills heading into Golden, said my hellos and spun onward. Hitting the second light at Washington and 13th in Golden my new friend pulled right up behind me in a huff. The light turned and he was a mess of hasty clipping and shifting: I suppose I’d been served. We didn’t take the same route up through the School of Mines but as luck would have it I encountered him again at the light crossing to begin the climb up to the infamous Lookout pillars. Now, for as tough as Lookout is on its own, the climb up to the actual parking area, while short, is equally tough: straight up a steep grade. My new race buddy had something to show and took off, leaving the collection of riders also waiting at the light in the dust. He probably toasted himself on this initial hill…but that’s jumping ahead a bit.

My goal for the day was to put in a sustained, consistent effort up Lookout pushing a big gear and then spin my way up around Boettcher to recover before heading out to 40 and down to other locales for more climbing. I had this plan before I finished my pancakes at breakfast. I wanted to put in some miles and get a hill workout in, so that’s what I settled on for the day. Nearing the pillars the grade eases. I shifted into my big ring and started grinding onward. A little sustained power, big gear equals adequate speed. Lo and behold a quarter mile up the road I came across my friend, weaving and passing riders, flailing his knees and putting the hammer down on those unsuspecting, weak bastards. As I neared him I simply slid over to the middle of the road and passed. From behind I could hear a flurry of shifting and heavy breathing. This persisted until the mile and a half point where it became eerily quiet. That was the last I heard from my friend.

My second story also starts on the way out to Lookout. It was Monday and I was again rolling out getting the legs going. After I got past the I-70 bridge I heard the sound of a rider behind me. He made some indication that he wasn’t coming around and sat in for the ride. As the road widened he pulled around and starting chatting. He road comfortably, strongly and was barely breathing hard. He wore a local team kit and was riding an old Independent frame. He pulled back in behind me as traffic demanded and when the lane freed he came around and resumed conversation. I did most of the pulling for the way out and heading up the long gradual hills outside of Golden still had the rider on my wheel, occasionally pulling even to talk a bit. The interesting tidbit about this guy is that he couldn’t shift into his big ring. Something broke on his derailleur while out and he was left with his 9 gears and small tooth chain ring. So while I hammered my 53 he spun his small ring, and kept pace enough to shoot the shit all the while. When we pulled up to the light and parted ways, he said that I about gassed him there on the descent past Coors. Gassed or not, he hung in and kept with me. I was more than impressed.

The moral of these stories is that as much as cyclists want to get out on the road and smoke other riders around them, believe me I was one of these guys not too long ago so I know how this works, you never know who you may or may not be smoking. Especially in Colorado where the field of cycling talent is quite deep, you never know who might be waiting to serve you some humble pie in return for your hubris. Colorado boasts literally dozens of local race teams with rosters of strong talent. We also play host to many pros who like to train here at altitude. And you never know if the unmarked rider pulling up next to you is a former 3 time Iron Man or former Junior World Champion. So while it is great to race and get all geeked up on how many people you passed on the road, before jumping in to wage battle sometimes it is better to get a feel for what your competition is really all about. Coming up on some rider, team kit or not, you don’t know if they’re on a recovery spin, if they’re doing intervals, if they’ve been riding Lookout for 25 days, if they’re ramping up for a big stage race, if they’re hopped up on EPO. You just never know, that is unless you ask. “Where you heading?” “How far you going?” “Mind if I sit in or trade pulls?” Any of these simple questions can help create a sense of mutual acquaintance and set the stage for some fun at a later point. On the other hand, if you pass someone going up Lookout and think you’re a hard ass, you might be severely disappointed to know that they’re also riding another 75 miles or they plan to do Lookout 4 more times...whereas you only have the cajones to do it once.

I suppose my point is, if you really want to race then go out to the ACA site and pick a race and actually race. Or go join a group ride and get to know riders who have similar abilities or interests as you. There are entire group rides for guys who want to race but don‘t want to pay to race. They talk shit, they sprint, they crash its all fantastic and totally free. Or, for the non-joiner then at least strike up a conversation with your fellow rider and see where it gets you. Don't hop on people's wheels and flail away because to you that is some form of competition and you just might 'beat them.' Its one thing to find a rider and have them push you to work harder and get stronger, its another thing entirely to notch your belt by wheelsucking on some team rider, picking off old men and schooling people on hybrids: what fun is that really? Then again, I know some guys in their 50’s who run sub 4 hour marathons and know their way around a bike…they also like to lie in wait for younger guys to try and pass them. Or in the classy dialog penned by one Quentin Tarantino, “The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride! Pride only hurts, it never helps.” Well I guess pride might help get you served!

Lookout Day 10: A tale of 2 Lookouts

2010-04-27T19:39:00.000-07:00

I think my looking out has finally started to catch up with me. Sunday I rode up Lookout (surprise) and continued on past the normal stopping point, looping up around Boettcher Mansion park and out to US 40. From there I elected to take the screaming descent down into Morrison and cruise down through Red Rocks to Bear Creek. It didn’t snow…not once….or rain for that matter so I’ll go ahead and call it a great day for a ride even though it was a bit windy, cloudy and cool. I felt great the entire time out and came home pumped.
Yesterday I wanted to push myself a bit, one last time, and so I made a quick pace out to Golden and after spinning the first mile or so of Lookout set about ramping it up. I didn’t go to any extremes, but I felt good, comfortable and my heart rate was in a great place for the entire ride. I was amped up the ride home and ate tasty chicken and salad for dinner: excellent. Today my plan was to head out to Lookout and meet one of the guys from the team to ride and talk a little strategy. I was a bit late getting out of work and that didn’t help my cause. I pushed it on the stupid Surly to get home, change and get on the road out to Golden. I felt sluggish on 32nd making my way out to Golden; probably poor nutrition, or over training, or being a dumbass or all three. My teammate never showed, so after waiting a bit I took off up the hill. I felt like crap. At more than one point I thought about just turning around and going home.

With Thursday being my 12th day of this nonsense I intend to cruise until that point. Its not a proper workout and recovery regimen but I think it will do. I’ve pushed myself with my Looking Out and now I’m at the point where I’ve done what I can do. I need to chill out, spin and wait to get killed on Saturday. Cheers.

Tour of MO Survives Appropriation Debates

2010-04-25T08:32:00.000-07:00

Here's an interesting article by the Missouri Bicycle and Pedestrian Federation recounting the several attempts by various Missouri state legislators to cut or reduce funding for the 2010 Tour of Missouri. Interestingly the budget for the tour ($1.5 M in state tourism dollars) survived each attempt to carve it down or eliminate it altogether. There's a light at the end of the tunnel in terms of bipartisan support for the event, however the funding still hasn't been finalized by both houses just yet. So the Tour still needs support from cycling and race fans alike. Take a look at this article, and take some time to send a friendly email of support to these fine MO representatives and ask them to continue supporting one of our nation's few ProTour cycling events.

MoBikeFed article.

Third time's a...lot like the second

2010-04-25T08:08:00.000-07:00

With the prospect of a 3rd straight day of foul weather in front of me I sucked it up and started out for Lookout early. I wanted to get it over with. A constant stream of drizzle followed me out to the mountain and about a mile up before turning to large snow flakes. While cold and damp it didn’t feel insufferably cold and damp like the previous days. The road didn’t cling to the moisture from the flakes the way it had with the rain. I passed two guys on mountain bikes at the start and a runner about half way up the route. I saw two cars on my climb, that’s it. One passed me very gingerly shortly after I saw the runner. The second passed me towards the top and as if having read the comments on my post the other day, promptly stopped at the entrance to Buffalo Bill’s grave at the top. Not quite turning in and not quite going straight. I scooted by them and stopped to take these pictures.

The orange sign in the background warns driver's of the up coming closure next weekend for the Lookout Hill Climb. Hopefully by then the scenery has changed.

Towards the bottom of the hill I encountered a piece of radial or staple of some kind and had the pleasure of changing a tire with cold, wet hands, in the cold wet air. When finished I was shaking pretty badly and done with Lookout for the day. As if sensing my defeat Mother Nature decided to turn tables on me and the clouds started to part. The road on the way back dried almost instantly. I started to see riders passing me on 32nd on their way west to Golden. Lucky bastards. I suppose I shouldn’t have been so eager to get going; patience would have afforded me a better ride…oh well. Suffering builds character, at least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself.

Lookout Day 6

2010-04-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

For today's slog through the elements I didn't mess around: Surly Long Haul Trucker with fenders, rain pants, jacket, lights if needed...the works. A side note to this excursion: the works is freaking heavy and really slows you down...but I was dry. I took the window of precipitation-less conditions and left work in route to Lookout. I don't have much of a story of today's events, so I'll let the images speak for themselves. I will say I picked one hell of a week for this little project.

Thursday's trip up Lookout (4/22).

The net result of Thursday's storm and Friday's continuation of it (4/23).

The view out towards Denver...sort of (4/22).

Today's view, snowier but improved (4/23).

Warning Lookout May Be Hazardous For Your Health

2010-04-22T20:31:00.000-07:00

Day 5 of Lookout. It rained on the way to work this morning. It rained a bit on the way home. As I pedaled my way home I could clearly make out the peaks of the foothills in the distance. The sight gave me hope that like yesterday’s ride I might be able to sneak in a quick trip up the mountain in between cloud bursts. No such luck today, the rain found me in a big way. Taking the coward’s way out I opted not to take the ride out to Lookout this afternoon…I drove out to Golden instead. To drive home the sheer laziness and hypocrisy of this act let me point out that I’ve already railed on in a couple of blog posts on this very blog about driving to rides. I also happen to live like 9 miles from Lookout…so driving 9 miles to avoid getting ‘wetter’ is somewhat lame, though today it proved fortuitous. The ride up Lookout Mountain this afternoon was quite perilous. Exactly how so? Let me elaborate via the 9 lives of this afternoon’s Lookout cyclist.

Slippery When Wet: It was raining considerably hard by the time I pulled into downtown Golden and unpacked my bike. Slick roads make for a dicey downhill descent. Soaking wet wheels and brakes are the icing on the cake.

Bend Over and Take It: This is what they tell you if caught out in a lightening storm, bend over and stick your rear in the air or huddle in a ditch. As I passed the 1 mile mark the heavens decided to commemorate the occasion with a flash of lightening and a teeth rattling boom. Almost instantaneously I went from “happy ride in the rain” to “get me the f@!% off this rock.” If there’s lightening during the Lookout Hill Climb I’ll race really fast; I apparently do well with a little motivation.

Avalanche: I’m not talking NHL playoffs folks, I’m talking about rock slides. After my thunder shock I heard another disconcerting sound; an odd banging along the guard rail. I didn’t think anything of it really until I rounded the corner and noted debris (sand and rock) in the roadway. Then I put two and two together: wet+loose rock+wind+2+2= the 4th way to go…getting popped in the head by an errant softball size piece of mountain.

FOUR!: This is what they shout in golf when teeing off to warn people on the fairway of the incoming projectile. I yelled a similar 4 letter F word when a VW Golf came careening around one of the corners near the mid section of the mountain while I was heading up the other lane. Presumably pumped full of Mountain Dew and lame techno music, the driver must not have appreciated the slideyness of the road. His wheels squealed slightly, he over corrected a bit and then hiss-hiss of sweet turbo bye-bye. I hate the Tokyo Drifters, especially in the rain.

Now you see me: As the pictures below indicate, it got a little foggy on the mountain as the clouds descended into the area from the north. On my way down I hit the series of switch backs just below the trees and came upon a neat stretch of clear air just before the clouds rolled up the hillside to sack it in with fog. I took this picture of the sign before it became completely wrapped in grey; then I realized your average Lookout motorist likely wouldn’t be able to see me if they came bolting around the corner: time to make a movie.

Switchbacks just below the trees.

Pausing to look back up towards the windy saddle on Lookout.

Sub Zero: The temp was in the mid to low 40’s when I hit the top of the mountain and began the descent. Although I made my way cautiously, hitting speeds of 25 mph while soaking wet in 40 degree weather gets the teeth a chattering.

Well I guess that’s about all I got…doesn’t quite add up to 9 lives. I suppose I can keep the other 3 and save them for tomorrow when it looks likely for rain again. But for people who need resolution, here’s 3 more (albeit far fetched) perils of Lookout:

One might get attacked by a deer suffering from mad cow or chronic wasting or hopped on EPO. After getting thrashed in the Giro Atmos you end up sick with deer disease and croak weeks later as you protest to your wife about how you feel better and just want to go out for a ride.

A kamikaze hang glider could sweep down from the heavens like a nylon clad pterodactyl and knock you and your carbon rims off the mountain side. "Death from above!"

There’s always the time tested, stress induced embolism (like in Clerks…chick dies while swimming laps in the pool…story line linked to Mall Rats where TS apparently told the girl she was fat…I'm a dork...anyway) Not very dramatic but certainly effective.

Safe riding all!

Lookout Day 4: No one to lookout for

2010-04-21T21:05:00.000-07:00

Technically when I left my house this afternoon for Lookout Day 4 rain was falling. Fortunately I ignored my better judgment as the ride up this afternoon, despite the cold, humid air was really enjoyable. Upon reaching the pillars I found the road still wet but drying, and looking up towards the mountain top the clouds loomed but remained content to simply look ominous without actually dropping any rain. This happy twist of fate left a wide open road before me with nary a bicycle or car in sight. It wasn’t until the mid section of the mountain that I finally saw other cyclists. It surprised me how many cyclists were actually out on the mountain in the face of the cold wind and dampness, but the number barely amounted to half of the number on the road on Monday or Tuesday. And the absence of vehicle traffic was almost eerie, as if at some point zombies were going to appear around the corner waiting to eat my brains. A couple cars passed me on their way down, but I was almost to the top before one passed me coming up the mountain. This is almost unheard of given the norm for Lookout.

As I’ve said before, Lookout attracts a myriad number of people to its recreational offerings. Today, without any of said hordes in sight, it was easy to reflect on just how many people actually use the mountain...and how nice it was to not have to share it with them for a change. Here’s a rundown on the list of Usual Lookout Suspects…if you see some of these folks you just may want to Lookout!

Motorists:

There’s a fair amount of local traffic up from Golden to the neighborhoods atop Lookout Mountain. I feel for these folks as their commute has to be hell. You can easily spot the locals, they generally handle their vehicles confidently and know how to share the road.
Contrast this with folks who are heading up the road for the first time; usually readily identifiable by the non-Colorado plates. These drivers crawl up the mountain about as fast as the 50 year old Triple Bypass cyclists training for their annual bike holiday. The tourists are even worse on the descents where they initiate their turns poorly and ride their brakes until they melt. Getting stuck behind these stinky rubber smelling minivans (usually minivans) is the worst. Getting oneself unstuck often requires a bit of daring.
Along similar lines as the tourists are the Driving School kids. I don’t know what it is about Lookout but it attracts Driving School teens like the latest New Moon film. I had a car pass me on Monday all but brushing my elbow, and I looked over to see a driving school instructor frantically reaching across to grab the wheel, thankfully intervening to prevent my untimely death. God knows I fully appreciate the long arc that is the learning curve…but why does it have to the same curve where I’m riding my damn bike.
Then there’s the Tokyo drifters. These are probably the worst and most reckless of the motorists who use Lookout. These douche bags drive their Subaru/Volkswagen/Audi/BMW/Mitsubishi chainsaw-sounding pieces of crap up the mountain at unnecessarily excessive speeds. Playing out some scene from Too Fast Too Furious, they corner erratically, accelerate in an obnoxiously loud manner and obviously have nothing better to do with their time. If a 4 minute Lookout Peak climb is all they need to toss their rocks off, then I feel for the hoochie mama’s they’re often toting around with them. "Ain't my car so cool baby?"...." Oh yeah its real cool baby."
Last but not least are the big tough truckers. "Did you question how tough I am? Well I'll just run you down to show you. Yeah those are giant steel balls hanging from my hitch." Almost as dangerous as the Tokyo Drifters, these guys run their gigantor trucks up narrow mountain roads and get off on forcing everyone else (or generally just cyclists) out of their way. Usually discernable by the characteristic growl of throaty, diesel engines, its best to hear them coming and hug the shoulder.

Motorcyclists:

Old school Harley riders love Lookout, and generally they cruise up to the top, kitted out in leather and frequently toting some chica on the back of their ride. Lookout offers a nice route up to some of the biker bars in the foothills...and I think they typically pick a different route to head back when finished. Generally, the Harley riders aren’t in a particular hurry as its better to allow badassness to marinate…you don’t want to spoil the effect by rushing around like a jackass Tokyo Drifter.
On the other hand, take a Tokyo Drifter and put them on a crotch rocket and you get suicidal speed and inconsideration revving at 60,000RPM. Usually traveling in bands of 3 or 4, these pricks like to ride fast and apparently don’t care who’s around the corner in front of them when they’re doing it. Even though it makes me somewhat of a sicko, I dream of a Tokyo Drifter meeting its 2 Wheeled Compatriot around a corner one day: the carnage would be horrifically karmic.
The last crew of motorized, two wheeled brethren are the Orange County chopper super fans. Often indistinguishable from the Harley riders, these guys generally command their vehicles with a similar devil may care spirit as that of the crotch masters…I mean riders…I mean crotch riding masters. These guys are usually never in leathers, preferring to ride helmet-less in muscle shirts and jeans. They generally can be counted on to throttle their glasspack straight pipes just as they fly past.

Thrill Seekers:

Lookout attracts legions of thrill seekers: para and hang gliders, downhill luge riders and equally psychotic long board skateboarders. I’ve seen a guy going down Lookout on a unicycle. I’ve almost been hit by guys in full motorcycle race leathers and helmets going down the hill at ridiculous speeds on skateboards. On a sunny day one can be assured of seeing at least one hang glider: I saw one take a really nasty landing into the hill on Saturday. Early in the fall one can sometimes see the School of Mines cross country ski team practicing on the road on their odd rollerblade/ski contraptions. There are climbers who park along the road and hike down to some of the craggy cliffs along HWY 6 on the north side of the mountain. I respect all of these wackos although I may not understand why they do what they do. Lookout is a thrill seekers paradise...if you've got to be home by 4:30 and can't get to Moab or somewhere really cool. With the exception of some careless long boarders, most of them keep to their lane and don’t try to run you over.

Pedestrians:

For some strange reason people like to walk, jog or run along Lookout Mountain Road. There are a large number of trails running up and along the mountain, so often you’ll see folks wandering on the road trying to connect up with one of these.

And then there are cyclists…

Racers: the racers love Lookout like flies to honey or Cadel Evans to one day race victories. They do intervals, repeats, high cadence practice: every racer’s got a ‘workout’ in mind. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re putting in a great Lookout effort, only to get passed by some guy on a steel framed cross bike just out to ‘stretch his legs.’ The racers generally climb with authority and descend with some serious skill, capable of banking some of the turns well in excess of 40 mph. What the crotch masters have in fancy helmets and horsepower, the racer makes up for in riding the rails down hill on a thumb’s width of rubber, cornering at nearly the same speeds with nothing but spandex and a helmet for protection. The only thing better for a racer is repeat day, when you get to do it more than once!
Wannabe racers: these guys love Lookout too but often lack the mastery of it to avoid hitting the wall before the top. Generally you can spot one of these guys easily because they’re hammering the bottom steeps WAAAYYYY too hard to be sustainable. Anyone breathing heavy in the first mile is going to be near death by the 4th.
Mountain bikers: most of these riders are just trying to get to the trail. Occasionally, like a deer who wanders into a suburban neighborhood, the mountain biker finds himself on the road in between trails. I always feel sorry for them having to haul all that weight up the road, even with their low gearing. It just doesn’t seem right.
Triple Bypass Aficionados: these are generally 50+ year old riders wearing their Triple Bypass jersey from 1997, training for the coming year’s edition. They’re generally strong albeit slow and often inappropriately dressed for the conditions (read: overdressed for all conditions.) For many of these riders this will be their training for the Triple until Squaw Pass thaws out, at which point they’ll gravitate from Lookout to Squaw where they can again ride their bikes in 3 layers of clothing without suffocating to death.
Bike Tourists and Commuters: I’ve seen a handful of loaded up bike tourists and commuters on Lookout. I have to remind myself that they generally have low gearing, however hauling all that crap up Lookout is impressive even if you are in your 24X27.
Everyone else…fixed gear riders, recumbent bikes, penny farthings you name it, you could easily see one on Lookout.

So on any given Saturday you take a spattering of each of these groups and throw them all together on 4.5 miles of curvy, winding road. On an ordinary day the crowds don’t even factor in, the ride itself is fantastic without stressing everyone else out there with you. On a day like today however, in the absence of just about all of them, it really sunk in how great a ride Lookout really is and how enjoyable it is to have it to oneself for a change. I don’t mind sharing, but sometimes its nice to be selfish and not share but instead ride right down the middle of the road.

The 12 Days of Lookout

2010-04-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

On the way back to the start line of the Haystack TTT one of my teammates, Lucas, informed me that we may very well be the only 3’s on the team in town for the Lookout Hill Climb race on May 1st. Most of the 3’s are heading down to the Gila in New Mexico, leaving a scant few behind to race the local events and try to mix it up for more Best All Round Team (BAT) points. Since our team is off to a great start this season, keeping some BAT effort going despite the absence of most of the team might make a difference in the long run. I felt the grim hand of fate now steering me toward the base of Lookout Mountain…it would certainly be a killing. Despite Lucas’s assurances that he’d help pace me up the hill as long as he could (it likely should be the other way around) I still had my reservations about doing it. While the only thing to lose is about $30 bucks and the ability to walk for the rest of the afternoon, it doesn’t make sense to enter events like this if you really don’t stand a snowball’s chance of making it. One should play to their strengths, and for the weak its better to just play with yourself or something like that. In any case, it was about at this point in my self-doubt and wallowing that I agreed to give it a shot.

The Lookout Hill climb is a 4.5 mile mass start race up the winding, steep grades of Lookout Mountain Road: from pillar to post just about 1,200 feet of elevation gain. I’ve done this race and it is brutal. An event geared strictly towards mountain goats, anyone without some serious base mileage and intense training doesn’t stand a chance in hell. So as I pondered this fate and my options for helping out the team, I settled on an idea, and a far fetched one at that. Bike racing is not like a History or Math test…you can’t cram for it at the last minute, yet with my proverbial test on the horizon that is about the only thread of hope I can cling to. So I decided that I will cram for the Lookout Hill Climb: over the next two weeks I will ride Lookout in some form or fashion at least once every day. Is this an advisable training plan?--absolutely not. Is it a good idea?--not really. Will it work?--time will tell. I only want to crack the top 10...15...ok 20. My odds may very well be better that only 20 people will enter.

I’ve already ridden Lookout a handful of times this year, but nothing like the regularity of last year when my training was certainly more focused and disciplined. It was also around mid May, when I was feeling my best cycling shape ever, I clocked a 19:47 time (measured unofficially of course, I’ve bombed both of my past officially timed Lookout efforts.) About a minute off the 3’s winning time for last year, I can’t help but think that lazy 2010 Jason is even more screwed if uber-motivated 2009 Jason didn’t stand a chance. I think I managed a 24:45 a couple weeks back, under extreme duress and self pitying. I have a long way to go.

On Sunday I set about my task at hand with great flourish and enthusiasm. I rode from my home out to Lookout and climbed the mountain at a steady tempo. Descending back down to the pillars I recovered and set about riding the first 2 miles of the route in a very difficult gear at a very slow pace. The theory behind this form of riding is to build muscle strength, power and a smooth pedal stroke. I repeated this 3 times, each time finding the effort increasingly more difficult. After the third effort I descended back down to the start, grabbed a snack and rode back to the top a final time. After getting home I figured I logged nearly 50 miles of total riding, much of which was done on the hill. I felt that this was a good start.

Monday I could feel the prior day’s effort in my legs and really didn’t want to make the trip back out to that damn hill, but I’m in this boat now. My goal for Monday was a near race pace effort up the mountain to assess the extent of my deficits. I rode up to the pillars and stopped for a moment, grabbed my stop watch and GO. I focused on riding the initial 2 miles smoothly and without burning myself too deep before the middle fast stretch. By the middle section I felt composed and my HR was in a good place; drink of water and more steep climbing. When I hit the last section of steep switch backs I could feel it but was still within myself to keep my pace and finish strong. Cruising past the ’post’ at the top of the climb I hit my stop watch and stopped the clock at 21:40. Ok, that is an improvement from my March time, maybe there’s a glimmer of hope after all.

Today I again hit the road back out to Lookout, this time bent on a Lookout “recovery” ride. I don’t know if that phrase has ever been uttered before, but on a diet of Lookout I needed to get a recovery in somehow. I again made my way up to the pillars and this time set about my climb with the deliberate goal of keeping my heart rate low…very low. I spun my legs casually and freely and made my way up the climb. It actually felt great to ride at a high cadence and low effort despite the grade of the road beneath me. When I got to the top my unofficial time was around 26 min (no clocks on recovery day). Considering my complete lack of effort for the entire climb, I also viewed this very positively. Tomorrow I’ll be back at the hill. The forecast calls for a higher likelihood of rain in the afternoon, so my ride could be interesting. I suppose if push comes to shove, I might have to dress the part and ride my Surly up…every day, in some form or fashion. I guess I’ll see about that.

Good Morning from a Grump

2010-04-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

As I puttered around the house this morning I exhibited a less than enthusiastic mood about the prospects of going to work. My wife labeled it grumpiness, and indicated that both I and the dog were apparently grumpy: she lives in a house of grumpusses. You are welcome to feel sorry for her at any point. In any case, I got on my bike for the ride to work and after a mile or so felt much better, then I realized my riding was taking me to work and I promptly resumed my grumpiness.

On an unrelated note, I once read in some magazine or blog that when biking you should keep your knees covered if the temperature is less than 50. That person was all too correct in his or her observation. This morning it was 43 and while I felt very fashionable in my shorts, the ligaments and tendons around my left knee are fomenting rebellion. So on this glorious Monday, keep those head’s down, noses to the grindstone and knees covered. Its just better that way.

TTT or Synchronized Swimming

2010-04-18T07:31:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, April 17th I got out of bed propelled by thoughts of the Haystack Team Time Trial to come that afternoon. I laid my morning out to allow sufficient time to eat, take care of some chores around the house and ready my bike and gear for the Haystack TTT. I love the TTT. The fluid motion of riders exchanging pulls, the intense level of exertion dosed out in exacting means over a challenging course, and of course the really cool gear, make Team Time Trials quite the spectacle to behold.

As I mowed the lawn and fought my weed eater, a heavy layer of clouds began filling the Front Range basin, creeping over the foothills west of Denver. The temperature, in my opinion, was a perfect 62 degrees under sunless skies and still wind conditions: perfect for a time trial. Right on schedule I packed up my skin suit, TT bike, helmet, food and energy drinks and casually tossed my full finger gloves, arm and knee warmers into my bag; kind of a ’just in case’ measure. I loaded the Vanagon and made my way out to HWY 93 in Golden for the drive up to Boulder.

Upon hitting some of the high points of 93 west of Arvada I was afforded my first chance of seeing the dark blanket of cloudy tendrils wrapping the area around Boulder. Drops appeared on the Vanagon’s windshield. “Ah shit” I thought to myself. That would not be the last time I’d think that this afternoon. I continued on and for each mile the spattering of rain on my windshield increased. I tried as long as I could to not turn my windshield wipers onto the regular cycle, preferring to just cycle them on periodically manually; my way of convincing myself the rain really wasn’t that bad. Heading into Eldorado Springs, however, the wipers were on full bore and the road made that heavy, wet, rushing sound like waves on a beach as cars passed.

I pulled up to the start area and parked near the rest of the team. At this point there was a slight reprieve from the rain, and I made my way to the registration tent; apparently the rain hadn’t arrived at the north Boulder region…just yet. Upon returning to my car to pin on my number and change, the rain finally found us. Huddled under our sponsor's, Primal Wear, tent a dozen cyclists on trainers warmed up their legs and eyed the falling rain with trepidation. It was cold, cold and wet. Riders sat in their cars, forgoing much of a warm up. Others sought warmer layers to wear. Like many, I left a dry and warm Denver and foolishly didn’t bring much more than my emergency knee and arm warmers: thank god for that much. Forgoing our on-road warm up and practice, not the best of ideas, we sat under the tent, occasionally pushing the pooling water from underneath so the weight wouldn’t build on the nylon canopy. Time to go.

Would it be too much of a pun to say the race was going to be a wash out? On a quick warm up run to the start line we were disorganized and scattered. You couldn’t see through grime covered glasses, spattered by the spray of water and debris from the tires in front of you. To execute a TTT you must remain tight together, rotating behind eachother's wheels; difficult to do when you get a mouth full of spray and sand every time you cross lines with the rider in front. We had 5 min to stand shivering at the start. I swung my arms to keep warm and bounced my legs to keep the muscles from tightening. We started the 12 mile course at 2:22 pm (MST) heading north into a headwind and sheet of rain and spray from cars passing on the highway. I couldn’t see anything, but with the clear communication from the guys on the team things seemed to be going relatively well. I pushed my glasses to the end of my nose so I could see over them heading into the first 90 degree right turn. We had some mistiming coming out of that turn and things somewhat unraveled from there.

With only 4 of our planned 5 riders present at the start, we needed to get 3 to the finish line to score our time. Heading down the long sweeping downhill rollers on the back stretch of the course one of our riders, who struggled with his bike during the Individual TT earlier in the day, dropped his chain. We couldn’t stop and waste the time so the remaining 3 of us pushed forward to the line without him. The downhill sections were sketchy; hitting speeds in excess of 40, rotating a line of speeding riders all the while in an onslaught of splash back and rain. We were moving pretty well until one of the remaining team members started to cramp; now we had to slow as we needed 3 guys. The humid warm up under the tent and dehydrating, sapping rain pulls moisture out of the muscles and tightens them: cramping is practically an inevitability in conditions like this unless properly fueled up and topped off on electrolytes. We slowed down, encouraged him onward but ended up losing time on the clock.

Finishing 7th of a handful of CAT3 teams we were disappointed with our result, but pleased to have made it through the race with everyone upright and intact. Wet roads, speed and narrow slick tires (toss in some slimy road paint) make for a potentially treacherous event: a miscue could have sent our whole line to the ground. On the way back to the cars the rain was clearly finished for the day. The road spray was no where near as intense and when we approached our cars seemed practically nonexistent. A layer of dirt, sand, brown stains and grime covered the faces and kits of every rider. Bikes were practically unrecognizable under all the filth: it was a mess. But in the end it will prove a memorable mess and will likely make for better stories than many of the other races that will come and go off without a hitch or so much as a cloud in the sky. Here's some video taken of the Primal/ 1st Bank elite squad getting it done in the rain. (Click for video) Some video was taken of my team too, so when it gets posted I’ll link to it, so everyone can see and experience the fun of the Haystack TTT.

My Dirty Bike and Kit after the Haystack TTT in Boulder, CO.

"We Are Traffic"

2010-04-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

Today I pulled up to the light at Federal and 14th and chatted with a rider about broken glass on the path just south of the intersection. In his 50’s, outfitted in shorts, nylon jacket and riding a mountain bike with slick tires, rear rack and double panniers, he was heading downtown this morning. Other than his frustration at the insensitivity and rudeness of others, he seemed to be in high spirits. Yesterday I pulled up to the light at 17th and Federal and exchanged pleasantries with a fixed gear rider on the topic of my Surly frame, which lasted the following two blocks until we headed in different directions. He indicated that he has been considering getting a Long Haul Trucker frame to build up for touring and was curious about the weight and quality of the stock components. These types of exchanges are not uncommon when cycling. I’ve never had someone say good morning to me while driving but when riding it happens quite frequently. My most social interactions with other motorists (on the positive side at least) only occur when I’m driving my Vanagon and I pass another one: the other driver almost always waves.

And like the cult of Happy Vanagon Drivers, with the weather finally proving to be reliably pleasant, bicyclists are out in mass and generally seem to be enjoying themselves immensely. The other day I passed three riders heading up 20th on my way in to work. I almost always see bicyclist on the way home, usually in route to or from the quality hill climbing around Golden. In the morning I now see several riders around work navigating the mess of RTD construction detours which have the Platte River Trail routed through the neighborhood. Most people seem very pleased to be out riding and it is not uncommon to get a “Hello”, “Good Morning”, a simple nod of acknowledgement, if not a full on conversation even if just for the cycle of a stoplight.

I don’t begrudge this mass of fair-weather new riders, even the one’s who use these fine days as an excuse to once again emerge from hibernation to plague the rest of us with their poor bike handling, traffic navigation and riding skills. I wish more folks saw the feasibility and practicality of riding throughout the winter season, but in any case it is good to see so many people out on their bikes: even the tools and douchebags. There is something about being in the company of other cyclists that represents a kindred spirit of sorts and makes one feel a little less alone on the road. In Jeff Mapes book, Pedaling Revolution: How Cyclists Are Changing American Cities, he discusses how safety for cyclists improves as a result of an increased presence on public roadways. The central contention is that it is not necessarily improved bike lanes, road ways or signage which will ultimately make roads safer for cyclists, it is increased numbers. The more riders who take to the streets for recreation, sport or travel purposes, the greater the presence cyclists have in terms of contributing to the natural flow of traffic. One bicyclist is an exception and easily regarded as an annoyance by motorists, whereas dozens if not hundreds of cyclists become an equally substantial component of road volume as vehicles and traffic. For examples of how this plays out in reality one need look no further than European cities in Belgium or the Netherlands.

While there is certainly value to being unique or exceptional, there is some level of comfort derived from being part of the group. Previously, I compared cyclists to wolves in the sense that a wolf needs its pack for protection and survival. The more riders we have in the fold the stronger our pack and greater our presence and legitimacy amongst other users of the road. So to that end I am glad to see other bikes on the road. It has been a long, cold winter riding alone and the extra company is a welcome change of pace. And that even extends to those two guys out for their “training ride” the other day who blatantly blew the stop sign by my work and nearly ran me down as I, who had stopped by the way, was starting to turn left. I’m glad you’re out riding your bikes with me…even if I called you illiterate douche bags and wanted to beat your wannabe, poser asses with my U-lock. Its nothing but brotherly love, honest.

Roubaix Sunday

2010-04-11T17:59:00.001-07:00

Today marked the running of the 108th Paris-Roubaix, the ‘Queen of the Classics.’ What makes Paris-Roubaix such a seminal event is not the excruciating distance, often harsh spring conditions--biting wind and rain. It is the cobbles. A quarter of the race’s grueling 259km takes place on cobblestone farm roads. Frequently rutted out, dirty and slippery the cobbled sections present the challenge and the allure of the event. Today’s winner, Fabian Cancellara, rode away from the lead group with nearly 40km to go to the finish. The time trial champion soloed in for the win over two minutes ahead of the chasing group. While this annual highlight of cycling was drawing to a close, halfway around the world in Boulder, Colorado our own local version of this event was just getting started.

In the spirit of the French, cobbled Queen, much of the Boulder-Roubaix road course occurs on dirt and gravel roads (American Pave’). This year’s Boulder-Roubaix course boasted a longer format for the circuit loop that riders would race. At 19 miles, the race would start on a section of dirt road and would alternate after a mile or so to pavement before quickly returning to dirt; repeating this way the entire 19 miles. Over 50% of this year’s course, just over 30 miles, would occur on wash boarded, dirt roads. While not as long as the French counterpart, for riders attempting Boulder-Roubaix the course would nonetheless present a challenge.

For some bizarre reason I thought this event to be a suitable starting point for my 2010 race season. After an extensive ‘off-season’ and piss poor spring training effort I apparently felt like flinging myself into the deep end of the CAT 3 pool. By way of preparation, I pre-rode the course on Saturday with 3 other Primal First Bank teammates. While the preview helped give me some confidence in my bike handling skills on dirt, I still had knots in my stomach much of the evening. I’ve been out of the racing game for a bit now, my head not quite into it, but for Boulder-Roubaix I’d have to Harden the Fuck Up (the team’s quasi mantra) or get spit out the back in short order (that result likely would be inevitable anyway.)

Sunny, warm, and dry the weather apparently didn’t feel like making Boulder-Roubaix worse than necessary. Our race started at 11:15, so I arrived at the start area around 9:30 to get my number, check in with the team and prep for battle. I arrived at the start line early, but not early enough to get a good slot in the front row. I found myself three rows back tucked in with some Junior 17-18 year old riders who’d also be racing with the 3’s. Glancing at the bandaged arms and legs of the ‘kids’ next to me I should have guessed what was going to happen next. At the gun the junior right in front of me took off but missed his clip and stopped with me right on his wheel: no harm done but I was not off to a great start from go. (His buddy, bandage arm, blew a pavement transition on the second lap and wrecked in the ditch.) My mission initially was to hang on to the leaders and try to navigate the first two somewhat technical dirt sections without much ado. One rider rode clear past the first turn and crashed. Within the first mile there were 2 or 3 flats and heading through the first transition from pavement to the second dirt section another rider overshot the turn and ended up in the ditch.

I held my position towards the back and rode with a fellow teammate and some other more cautious riders. We picked good lines through the turns and didn’t have to work too hard to manage the accelerations of the pack. I was racing again and feeling pretty good. Heading into the last stretch of dirt road the group approached a series of sharp, rolling hills. I found a good line along the left side of the road and worked my way up into the lead bunch of the main pack. I probably burned a match prematurely with this effort, but I found myself working in the main group and riding with our team leaders: I could move up well enough, now I just needed to hold my position. Lacking some of the confidence to keep pushing forward I drifted back again as we ended lap one. The pack was trimmed but seemed to have held on to many of the starters as we began the second lap.

I again found myself hanging on to the back of the group, this time with three teammates, navigating the corners with ease but beginning to feel the rubber band stretching a bit more. With a pivotal uphill, paved section of the course nearing, I told myself that I needed to move up or this would be it. Along the road the pack lined out and left an alley open on the left side near the median. I started moving up to the front. Finally feeling like a racer again I soon found myself again with the lead riders, many from my team. At that moment one of our strong riders made a break with another on his tail. I thought this was my chance! I looked ahead and saw two riders up the road, clearly this must be a break away and our leaders are trying to join. Someone in the pack shouted my name and told me to go (or maybe they said ‘No’ or ‘Way to go’), so I surged forward and gave Grant the ‘What’s up’ on my way to Michael Hanna who was leading away. I wanted to pull him up to those riders more than anything. Unfortunately drawing close to the two riders (and looking back at the somewhat perplexed expression on Hanna’s face) I saw that the riders were in fact not from our group…and they were moving pitifully slow by the point I pulled in behind them and practically stopped. Now at a crawl, I watched as the entire peloton, not an opening in sight, passed by me in a blur. Finally a gap opened and I pulled out from behind my imaginary break away companions and found myself gassed and on the back again heading into the grueling roller section.

That was pretty much my race. I survived the rollers and held on to the leaders as we began lap 3 but was pretty spent and unable to continue matching the accelerations: here’s where training would have come in handy. Bygones being bygones and all that, I sat up and caught my breath. For much of lap 3 I worked with a group of stragglers from the main pack trying to catch the group… or just finish with dignity. Frustrated with the lack of cooperation amongst my chase buddies, I eventually sat in until the long climb where I surged forward and left all but one wheel sucker who I’d soon drop in the rollers. At this point I don’t know where I ended up in the finish: 40th or worse? Michael Hanna, who obviously did not need my help on his breakaway won the race. We placed two others in the top 20.

I do know that up until my stupid move on the hill I was feeling good, and I was getting my senses back…if only for just a little while. Struggling with my mental block on racing has been a frustrating part of my off-season. Earlier in the week when I thought about entering this race I thought that I needed to have my head examined. But I got good advice from Kate and my team captain: just go out and do it and try to hang on as long as you can. That’s all I really had to do: just do it. As Kate put it, I needed a little ‘fire in my belly,’ and she was certain that getting dropped in a race would be just the medicine I needed. And thinking back on the day, underneath the pile of dirt and dust I choked down while racing, there just may be a little fire.

My Boulder-Roubaix Stats:
57 miles (30 or so of dirt)
Average speed: 23.4 mph
Total time: 2:26 and change
Average heart rate 168 bpm

A Thank You Note

2010-04-07T07:08:00.000-07:00

Dear Mother Nature,

Boy, you are one messed up lady; very schizophrenic this time of year aren’t you! This is Jason: I ride my bike a lot to work and around town and stuff. I just wanted to write and thank you for the torrential downpour yesterday morning. That was really entertaining. I could swear it wasn’t raining when I left my house…but I could be wrong (silly me!) I’m sorry I missed the hail though, that would have been a real hoot. I guess I got to work too early for that. But your 40+mph headwind last night on the ride home really gave my thighs the much needed workout they’ve recently been missing. I fought pretty hard on that downhill along 26th to Kipling and still only made 17 or 18 mph. That Surly Long Haul Trucker just isn’t aero enough for your gale force winds: I need to get some TT bars and slap them on it, maybe that will help!

But really, the snow today was top notch; really a great touch. It picked up just enough to smack me full on for my entire ride to work: I’m glad I didn’t miss any of it. You know that wet spring snow, its so tenacious: I had rain pants and full shoe covers on and my socks are still wet! Very well done MN! I do however wish more of the snow would have stuck to the roadway. The slush helped a bit, but really the snow didn’t stick...fortunately that left plenty to stick to my drive train components! The Surly makes a great single speed once you freeze up the rest of the cassette with ice and slush. Good thing that happened on the long downhill along 20th so I would get to enjoy my 11 tooth cassette ring the rest of the way to work. I now appreciate the full heft of a laden, cromoly steel, touring bike even more after today: thanks again MN you’re swell! I’m glad I brought that towel to wipe my bike down, too bad you can’t wipe away frozen slush from in between the teeth of cogs—I guess it will just have to melt naturally and rust my components even more; golly that will be great.

Well, I’m sure glad you’re having fun with yourself. You really look to be in rare form this spring. If I’m lucky maybe there will be locusts this afternoon or it will rain toads like in a cataclysmic biblical sense. That would be the cherry on top for sure.

Bye For Now!
--jason (of the Surly—surely—wet sock and boxer clan)

The Colorado Spring Commute

2010-04-05T07:24:00.000-07:00

“Mostly Cloudy and 30…” This is easy, long underwear and shorts, long sleeve shirt and t-shirt with hat and full finger gloves.

“…with a high of 65…” Alright, scratch the long sleeve shirt and t-shirt for jersey and arm warmers. Trade the full finger gloves for half fingers with thin liners. Tough it out and wear shorts with a knit hat for the morning and nothing in the pm.

“…gusty winds likely; 30 mph…” Hmm...ok, switch back to long underwear and shorts, t-shirt, arm warmers and maybe a vest. Definitely keep the full finger gloves. Knit hat for morning and maybe a bike hat for the afternoon. Ditch the vest if it gets windy but stays sunny and warm.

“…and a chance of rain.” Mother f#$%@!... Toss the shorts and go with: trusty old thrift store khakis (which can be rolled up if dry and kept long if wet), keep the t-shirt and arm warmers, knit hat, toss in a rain jacket, bike hat for the afternoon. If it is dry, the jacket can go in the bag or be worn with the t-shirt if wet but warm, or with the long underwear shirt if it wet and cold, or with both if wet, cold and windy…ahhh screw it just bring everything.

Will Bike for Food

2010-03-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

In honor of Cesar Chavez day today, I did not have to go to work. I think my employer just might be the only one to recognize the 29th of March as an actual holiday, but really you will get no argument from me. As I traveled the winding roads north of Golden to meet some friends for a ride, I succumbed to the allure of carless streets, the quiet of the morning, and the signs of spring all around me. How could I miss the serenity of such a ride? What could possibly keep me from enjoying such a tour day after day?—oh yeah, work!

So consider this post my official “Will Bike for Food” sign. I will ride my bike in exchange for food so I don’t have to work for it. Any takers? Here are some of the jobs I’d be willing to do in the service of riding my bike:

Pro Tour Racer: While I lost the dream of being a pro cyclist years ago, if any pro team would like a 30 something amateur grunt to add to their arsenal consider me your man. I’m undertrained, in my 30’s, a CAT3…did I mention undertrained? I would consider it an honor to be off the back of any pro tour team; salary and benefits negotiable.
Bike Messenger: I would consider being a bike messenger. I will however insist on riding a bike with gears as I believe in Darwin and the theory of evolution…the derailleur is good. It would be a great excuse for getting a Chrome bag though, not too shabby.
Velo-Cab Driver: I would gladly drive one of those pedicabs around, however I’m not good at chit-chat so fares should have no expectation of pleasant banter or idle rambling.
Bike cop: ride around on a bike, with a weapon and exact justice on the unsuspecting, lawless scum of Denver. SIGN ME UP! I’d like a red bike though, and a siren and maybe a cape.
Shoot videos for Training Peaks: Now this has to be the sweetest gig in all of cycling. You ride around with a dork camera on your head and take rider-perspective video of roads. The Training Peaks folks then take your video and add it to a computer simulation for training. I could easily do this. I know lots of great routes…and would travel to Europe to ride if you really insist on it.
Gear tester: I’d ride around all day to log countless miles on some company’s tires just so they could stick a “Tested by #17” sticker on the inside…oh they do that testing in a lab…bummer. Well if there’s a job for riding around and giving my opinion on gear I’d consider that as well.
Bike tour guide: I think this would be a pretty sweet gig too. It would be like being on a group ride—all the time. The hard part would be indulging the touristy and out of shape set with their incessant demands for breaks and photo opportunities. And to think they’re paying to ride bikes…why would they want to stop so much?
Charity bike rider: If some group, I don’t care which one, wants to sponsor me to ride around and take pictures of my travels for their ‘cause’ I’d sign on with their agenda without a second thought. (Now I suppose this isn’t entirely true. I’m an opinionated SOB so I couldn’t stomach some of the crap churned out by the ‘free thought’ mass of bigoted, crackpot, nut jobs out there. But if there’s a group of tree huggin’, dirt worshippin’, bike lovers out there looking for a rolling billboard give me a shout!)
Gypsy: Do they still have gypsies? Are there bike gypsies? Maybe I could be the first.
Corporate whore: That’s right: slap a logo on my back and I'm yours. The price is cheap: food for me...and my wife too I suppose…and maybe some help with the mortgage…and gear money. But hey that's a bargain in exchange for freely pimping myself out for your product, no matter how crappy. You make ugly jerseys with rock band art and fake tattoos and junk on the sleeves…I’ll rock out that Pink Floyd swag and make it look good. You have a new bottle design…I’ll drink from it. You hand stitch panniers out of yak skin…I’ll pack up my junk and show everyone how yak is the new cordura nylon. Want to make an organic, compostable shammy...I'll put my ass on the line for it. Have a new phone app or other tech gizmo that measures power, heart rate, blood pressure, sweat loss, carb consumption, and pee acidity…just call me the pee acid king.
Self absorbed bike blogger: This would be the greatest gig ever. You get to be all high, mighty and arrogant about how superior your mode of transportation is compared to all the others. You can gripe about the weather, traffic and people who ride aero bars on the bike path. You get to look down on all the ‘unworthy’ masses and dispense your wit and wisdom from high atop your shiny new Brooks saddle. People love you and hate you all at the same time, and you could care less because you’re out riding your bike and cleansing your conscience all at the same time. What a sweet gig…one can only hope!

Of Wolves and Buffalos

2010-03-28T18:42:00.000-07:00

Last weekend as part of the failed Primal/First Bank training camp we rode north west out of Denver up to Boulder for “Super Flag.” I didn’t get an exact count but I think at our peak the ride easily included 20+ riders from our team and a handful of riders from other teams. With such a presence on the roadways we attracted the attention and ire of many of the motorists we passed. At times I must admit I even felt uncomfortable traveling in the group, the presence of erratically passing cars and speeding motorists (not to mention the flurry of bicyclists) transformed the roadway into uncomfortably close quarters. This weekend I opted to ride alone, and found myself traveling many of the same roadways covered last weekend. Not an incident to speak of or report. No senior citizens to yell at, no truck exhaust filling the lungs. No fly by’s or shouts from teenage dumbasses in their Too Fast Too Furious mobiles…or mommy’s SUV. Was there simply less traffic?--perhaps. I left my home earlier than last week which might have had something to do with it, though the weather today was nicer and I think more folks were out and about. So what changed?

The only difference I could think of was that I was alone; one cyclist on the road as opposed to 25. Could this really be the distinguishing factor: numbers? The more I pedaled and contemplated this phenomenon the more it made sense to me on some levels. Pleasantly left to my own devices my thoughts drifted to the Buffalo. The buffalo is a large, strong beast but one inclined to idle the day in a field, consuming resources and producing methane. These lumbering giants congregate in huge herds and move about all day long prowling the landscape eating, pooping, mating and butting heads with each other. From the openness of the prairie they can easily spot predators from afar and stampede the life out of them if needed. Its kind of a brute, monotonous existence but one that works for the buffalo (until we showed up on the continent and blasted them all…but that’s not my point.) My point is: motorists are much like buffalos.

Since cyclists appear to cause buffalos so much consternation and angst, cyclists must then be more akin to wolves. A lone wolf, as I was today, roaming the wide open prairie in isolation is hardly a threat to the lumbering, buffalo, motorist herd. Even when on more remote, wooded lanes or curvy mountain routes one wolf is still not a significant threat to a herd of buffalos. But generally it is in the cyclist’s nature to not travel in solitude but rather to seek the power and strength of the pack. The buffalo knows this and deep down fears it. With one cyclist the herd remains calm, perhaps a watchful eye fixed in the direction of the wolf but they feel more comfortable giving wide berth when passing and thus move on with their big, stupid existences with ease and less stress. With a pack of wolves however it is a different story. Haven’t you ever noticed that pel-e-ton sounds eerily familiar to bring-it-on. Because peleton secretly means: buffalo I’ve come to hunt you and take you home as a trophy to my family….its French though so the translation isn’t quite literal. This is no surprise to the buffalo, they expect as much, and thus from the congregation of cunning and strength found in the cyclist pack arises an implicit danger to the buffalo. Although larger and stronger pound for pound, buffalo know to be afraid of a pack of wolves (or consider elephants and tigers or rhinos and lions, there are plenty of other examples). The heightened tensions arise from the knowledge that a pack of wolves can easily cut through a herd of buffalos, separate out the weak, frail or stupid and devour them whole. I’ve seen a pack of cyclists eat an entire F-350...its both grotesque and beautiful at the same time like something out of National Geographic. Sensing this fate the motorist, upon seeing a pack of cyclists roving the hills, reacts with a preservationist instinct exemplified by behavior such as: yelling, incorrectly citing traffic law, hoof stomping and drive-by buzzing. These displays are intended to prevent the inevitability of attack.

Does this posturing work?--not really. It makes the buffalo motorist look like an ass. I’ve often wondered what type of thoughts were rolling through the empty skulls of driver’s who deem it necessary and prudent to closely buzz a group of cyclists: now I’ve found my answer. It is pretty much, "Uh...duh...duh...cud...buffalo...cud...chew...grunt...stomp...stomp...bike." In any case, these are the types of thoughts one can have when left to calmly ride around the countryside enjoying the road and serenity of one’s head. Unfortunately it doesn’t happen too often with such lack of disturbances from the herd. It is a shame that the level of ease and comfort I enjoyed today is not often experienced when riding with my friends. As a wolf, I’m a pack animal by nature, and while it is sometimes nice to go off by oneself, it is more fun riding in a group. If only we could just get the buffalos to chill the hell out.

"How you like me now Denver?"--Mother Nature

2010-03-23T19:50:00.000-07:00

Mother Nature spited the Primal 1st Bank Training camp on Friday and Saturday last weekend, but in an apparent extension of good will gave us a great Sunday for riding. Well not wanting to lull us into a false sense of self confidence she’s back and kicking us in the balls again. Denver’s getting nailed by the biggest snow storm to strike Denver in the local media’s recent (short attention span) memory. And while I generally disregard all the talk of blizzards and such nonsense, this one might live up to the hype.

Thanks to the crap weather which struck landfall here in Denver around 3:00...in earnest at least…the ride home SUCKED. The cold, driving, north wind; the stinging sleet and damp snow; the frosty, opaque glasses; wet socks; slush and splash back from cars; you name it this ride had it. Its almost April, what have we done to deserve this? I want to ride my bike on dry, sandless streets. I want to wear shorts, without knee warmers. I want a warm breeze and sunshine. Well I could carry on like this for a while, but at this point I’m home safe and so is my wife so I’m hoping for the best: Blizzard 2010, sock it in baby…I want pancakes for breakfast.

I can tell by the tracks...bikes were here.

All smiles: snow won't stop this intrepid rider.

Blowing snow.

Your 'Local' Pro Tour Event Needs You!

2010-03-19T07:57:00.000-07:00

With heavy, wet, spring-snow flakes falling outside, we’ll not be having our first day of Primal/First Bank Training Camp today. Instead we’ll be sitting inside on Computrainers wishing it were spring or at least dry and remotely hospitable. The weather forecast calls for 3-7” in the metro area with the heaviest accumulations falling in the foothills: the National Weather Service is actually calling for heavier amounts than the local news, but who really knows. At the bottom of the weather story the comment trolls are feverishly fighting about who loves snow and who doesn’t, who is a real Coloradan and who is not. The weather sure brings out jingoistic sentiment like nothing else.

Well I’ve been here about 10 years, which means I’ve been here longer than many currently residing in Colorado, but I’m not a “Native” and never claimed to be. I’m from Missouri, a good sized state smack dab in the heartland of America. Missouri is book ended on its east and west sides by really large cities (St. Louis and Kansas City) with the rest of the state consisting of largely rural, agricultural or forest land. Like Colorado and many other states, Missouri currently finds itself in a tough financial position; specifically with $500M to trim from its budget. Unfortunately, one of the line items in the cross hairs for trimming happens to be the Tour of Missouri, which gets much of its funding from the State of Missouri Board of Tourism.

Stars and Stripes
Last year my wife and I piled into our Vanagon and puttered our way east from Colorado to Missouri to follow the tour. I’ve seen US ‘professional’ bike races in person (small circuit races or criterium events) but I’ve never followed an actual pro tour stage race. And while Missouri is not the south of France and the Ozarks are not the Alps (or even the Rockies for that matter) the event was awesome to watch and the scenery and geography of rolling hills and small rural towns made for great racing. Many of the small US pro teams (Jelly Belly, Bissell, Team Type 1, Kelly, Colavita) fought hard against the continental teams which made the trip to race in my home state: Cervelo, Liquigas, Quick Step, Saxo Bank and Astana. The big American teams, Garmin and Columbia High Road were also on hand to throw down and they brought big names to help them do it: George Hincapie, Christian Vandevelde, David Zabriskie, Mark Cavendish and others. I saw a handful of Mark Cavendish sprint wins: we saw a Thor sprint win as well which was pretty awesome. We watched break away’s form and get chased down by the pack. We saw riders wear the suffering of incessant climbing on their faces as they incessantly climbed Missouri‘s hills and ‘mountains‘. The race had it all and it was only 800 some odd slow Vanagon miles from our home here in Denver.

Levi Gets in the Zone for His TT Effort in Sedalia
From what I’ve read in the tour’s impact study, the 2009 Tour of Missouri brought in about $38M in tax and sales revenue to Missouri; that sounds like a pretty big chunk of change compared to the state’s $5M investment in the event. The study noted that approximately 500,000 spectators watched the event over the course of the race and potentially hundreds of thousands, if not a million more, watched the coverage on TV or followed the tour online. While critics of the race would suggest this is not a sizeable enough return on investment, and poor, rural, Missouri cities pony up a fair amount of unaccounted for fees to play host to the race, it certainly wouldn‘t seem to me that these critiques justify calling off the event altogether. While far from perfect, I’d argue the event has merit and puts Missouri into the global spotlight in a way that other events could scarcely conceive of doing (there won’t be a Rams Super Bowl appearance anytime in the near future so what else is there that’s comparable?) Additionally, the race did seem to energize some of these local communities who served as key watch points along the route, not to mention the start and finish towns. The impact to these communities, which otherwise would scarcely see outside visitors or tourists, must certainly have been significant even if brief.

Great Night of Camping in St. Johns State Park
For our part, while on the course of our trip we stayed in State Parks or small town camp facilities using the Vanagon as our base of operations. We bought food in local stores, bought wine from local wineries (very tasty I might add), fed my coffee addiction from local coffee shops (no Starbucks in middle America praise the lord!) and tried to walk around these small towns and visit with local shop owners to let them know what brought us to their towns. We talked to about as many local cycling fans (and curious residents) as we talked to racers; and yes you can talk to and meet just about all of the racers…and for the record Jens Voigt is twice as personable and clever in person as he is on TV. And while it was hot and humid at times (so is France) there really were no complaints.

JENS!
The moral of this story is less about how great 2009 was, but more a plea for people to support the effort for 2010. While the rest of the world seems to properly recognize the sport of professional cycling for the quality spectator event that it is, the US is struggling to get there. We’ve got a strong local and national race scene and are gaining in notoriety for the quality of pro level competition at our grand tours: Tour of California, Tour of Missouri and the former Tour of Georgia. But with the Tour of Georgia the funds dried up and so too did the race, the Tour of Missouri could very well be next. If you think there should be a 2010 Tour, as either an in person spectator or general fan of quality pro tour bike racing, then the good people of Missouri need your help. Here’s what you can do:

Visit the Tour of Missouri website (http://www.tourofmissouri.com/) and just poke around: hits mean interest.
Sign up for their email list or register as a fan if you feel so inclined.
Send some emails: emails to your friends telling them about the tour, emails to fellow race fans telling them the tour is in jeopardy and most importantly emails to key folks in Missouri State Government to tell them you want their support for this event. As a starting point, here’s some contact info for Governor Jay Nixon’s office and the Missouri Director of Tourism:
Governor Jay Nixon: 573-751-3222, http://governor.mo.gov/
Tourism Director Katie Danner Steele: 573-751-3051, DirectorMoTourism@ded.mo.gov
You could also email Lt. Governor Kinder, local representatives etc. I actually emailed the Lt. Governor after last year’s tour and got an actual email back from a real human being (not the Lt. Governor, but I’ll take it.) This leads me to believe that there are folks out there in MO-GOV land who really want this event to continue, they just need your voice to help add some momentum to it.
Continue to support local racing and interest in competitive cycling. More interest will mean more races which will eventually make it harder to say no to events like these in the future.

Garmin in the Break
Here in Colorado the buzz is about whether the Governor and Lance can work out a deal to bring a pro tour race to Colorado in the near future. We had the Coors Classic back in the 80’s but since then haven’t hosted an elite level bike race, while other states have seemingly been working to promote the sport in our absence. Colorado could very well host some of the most challenging riding pro riders could ever expect to encounter: you want to climb high?--then climb Mt. Evans. You want days of endless climbing…how about days of climbing at 6,000+ feet…all day long. Flats…yes we got them too. But one race cannot stand on its own and expect to continue on the support of state and local governments alone, it needs to draw from a growing support for the sport across the country; it needs help from other state Tours to keep the energy and interest growing. Colorado needs the Tour of Missouri just as the Tour of MO needs Colorado (and others) right now. Take a moment and send an email, support your local pro tour event: have a bake sale or something, every little bit helps.

KOM Sprint Starts to Form

Sianara Path, Its Been Real

2010-03-17T20:27:00.000-07:00

Today afforded me the opportunity to play young urban professional one more time, this time with a full commute eastward into the belly of the beast: Cherry Creek. So after two days of high profile urban riding and path trolling, I now feel myself a learned expert on the subject. Before my ride tomorrow, which will once again push me head long into the world of industrial parks and tenement housing, I figured I’d dispense my wisdom and be shed of it.

The small dog trend really needs to stop. These pocket puppies are the canine equivalent of a bag of Skittles to larger predators (like squirrels and such) and thus really serve no role in nature. Take your teensy-weensy poopsie and get it off the bike bath before an errant valve cap flies off and crushes its skull.
There are a lot of people out there who enjoy the comfortable ride of a full suspension mountain bike. There are those who enjoy the effortless glide of road bike tires. And there's the third group who has no qualms about enjoying them both simultaneously.
Aero bars…*&@#$%! aero bars. The market for aero bars is apparently very good despite our slumping economy and near 10% unemployment rate. Here’s a stock tip, buy shares of Performance because they must be making a killing selling tri bars to hybrid owners for their daily Tour de Pathlete.
Old men on old road bikes are a trip to watch; overly loaded for their 20 mile constitutional, inappropriately dressed for any weather, they always seem to be suffering…even when waiting for the light to change.
If you have no agenda, no job, no initiative to do anything or get anywhere then head out to the bike path around 2:00 in the afternoon and weave amongst the old men, path racers, hipsters and poopsie pocket pups. In fact bring your significant other or 12 and just make a parade of it while you’re at it. The more slowly pedaling weavers the merrier.
The slowly pedaling, agendaless weavers always end up laying on the grass in the sun at the park, that one you pass as you make that last turn and head towards your schmuck job...who's laughing now office boy?
A kitted up female cyclist will never wave or nod at you…ever.
A kitted up male cyclist will only wave or nod if they think they’re faster than you, otherwise they’ll just pedal harder and over compensate.
Most kitted up male cyclists cruising the path at 8:00am think they are faster than everyone.
The IQ of driver’s in Cherry Creek goes down 10 points for every 10 grand of pre-tax income.
There are a lot of people running at 2:00 in the afternoon; most of them are in really good shape and are apparently unemployed or nocturnal…so that’s how they do it.
“I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars” While that might be true for the Flobots, its not true for most of the people who attempt it on the bike path. Just hang on tight for Pete’s sake. Pete is a nice guy and you’re complete lack of control or sense of balance is going to f* his shit up.
The hardest part about riding a bike is selecting a helmet that fits properly on one’s cranium. Apparently few have mastered this skill, and many fail at it publicly every time they go out for a ride.
Any guy riding in non-existent drops on his mountain bike, chain a-grindin' and a-squeakin', with a sweatshirt with “Ted” on the back will most assuredly be a douche bag. He’ll pass and then slow down right in front of you. He’ll cut people off at random. He’ll be wearing those radio headphone combo things. He’ll attempt riding with no hands--poorly and he will do it all just to spite you…and he will enjoy every minute of it.
You can say “on your left” as loudly as you want, but if a runner is in their Ipod zone they will never hear. And as you go by right in the midst of their 'bringing sexy back' they will always give you that, “scary, fast passing, asshole cyclist” look as you pass.
If you try not to pay attention to the fact that they are homeless people cheering for you, it almost feels like you are in turn 1 entering onto the Champs Elysees for the Tour and it might smell like it too.
Any attempts by the city to “fix” cracks in a bike path only ends up making it worse. Say yes to crack, it is less annoying than rehab.
Painting yellow lines on the bike path to help designate opposing lanes heading into tight turns or corners is a big mistake, as the amateurs look down at the lines to make sure they’re in the right place and inevitably end up veering into the other lane anyway.
They could plaster the roadway with airport runway lights, neon signs and dancing purple monkeys in share the road shirts and drivers would still think that the marked bike lanes on city streets are their turf to be contested with a level of aggression and hostility one typically only associates with the West Bank or when the people in your office fight over the last Krispy Kreme in the break room.
There is a moment in every cruiser bike rider’s ride when they realize that despite the cool appearance of their vintage ride, the posture, fit, weight and gearing of their heft machine is entirely inappropriate for their chosen route and distance. If you’re lucky enough you just might be around to witness this realization when it happens. Its like shooting stars and magic and nirvana and stuff.

And really if anything is about shooting stars and magic and nirvana its riding the bike path. I only mock out of jealousy…honest.

Home Sweet Suburban Hole

2010-03-16T17:13:00.000-07:00

I’ll preface this by saying first and foremost that I’m not really much of a city person. I’m not inclined towards the crowded living arrangements, noise and general din of urban living. I didn’t move to Colorado for its urban offerings; if I wanted urban culture and amenities I would have stayed in St. Louis or Indianapolis or better yet would have moved to Chicago as many of my collegiate friends did. Chicago is a big city. But city life was never my bag, which is why Denver held such an allure: it is urban but not really a ‘big’ city. So I’m somewhat conflicted. After our move down from the foothills we acted decisively on our anti-city inclinations and settled somewhere in the funky black hole that is the burbs: it was like committing but not really committing, one foot in one foot out as it were. Now I’m not talking about tract home burbs…but in truth our current neighborhood is not far off though. The net result of our move here, while positive on many levels, ultimately is clearly less than ideal. With my disclaimer aside, I go about my business on days such as today and feel myself tugged in a host of different directions leaving me questioning my sense of place.

Every time I travel into the heart of Denver for work purposes it impresses the hell out of me how easy navigating the city by bike truly is; there are many aspects of this city which I feel work really well in terms of car free accessibility and layout. People can get to the heart of the city via light rail or bus, or they can make their way by bike as many choose to do. I can approach Denver via one of three easily accessible east-west bike routes which span the distance between Lakewood/Golden here on the west all the way into downtown. Today I opted for the route down 26th past Sloan’s lake jogging south to the 23rd ave bike route. I easily could have taken 32nd through ’the Highlands’ or 20th more or less to 23rd again at Sloan’s Lake. These on street routes offer wide lanes for bike travel, are clearly marked and generally boast a number of riders heading in either direction. My route ultimately connected me with the Platte and Cherry Creek trails, what I would characterize as Denver‘s main bike and pedestrian super highways. In typical fashion I was not the only bicyclist out during the morning rush hour not by a long shot, and it was 28 degrees when I left my house (on its way to 60--only in Denver). The span of humanity coursing along the bike paths downtown today included young professionals on commuter style rigs, women and men kitted out for early morning training rides, hipsters heading to class at UCD, people cruising on their cruisers to wherever; it ran the whole gambit, each one representing a car not on Speer or some other major metro arterial. For a bike commuter the sight is about the most refreshing thing one can find save a trip to Holland or something like that. I got off the path near the convention center and headed up to catch the bike lane along 14th towards the Webb Building. Here I parked my bike in a secure location and after a short walk I hopped the 16th street mall ride between my meeting locations.

In route I passed all of the retail and dining offerings of the downtown area. I’m not much for nightlife, clubs, bars etc., they have their place and all, but I can fully appreciate the spectrum of coffee shops and breakfast sites open early in the morning. I love breakfast and good coffee and it is easy, if not obligatory, to find a local shop for your cup of jo versus the multitude of Starbucks coffee burners strewn about the place like dandelions in a well manicured lawn. Everything is easily within an easy walk or ride: banks, food, retail etc. While not on the scale of a New York City, one can easily find an outlet for whatever their needs may be all within a comfortable, car-free distance. For those who choose to (or can afford to) living and working downtown makes the option of a car free existence very attractive. In my opinion this should be the goal for any densely packed urban area with both commercial, entertainment and residential options. Yet, as highly as I regard the ease of navigation and travel within the Denver area, I still find myself conflicted in terms of my desire to live close to town versus out in the woods somewhere.

As I said earlier, I’m not a fan of urban living. I prefer to live out in the country or back up in the hills where I used to live. Yet it is hard to weigh my desire for a more rugged or rural lifestyle with the environmental costs of residing on the periphery of town and commuting in for work, shopping or recreational purposes. I don’t look back on my days of car commuting fondly with the added stress, time wasted, traffic, and long hours idling on the interstate. Unfortunately the burb-hole we now call home lies almost too far outside the periphery of the city to regularly take advantage of its conveniences more readily. I consider our neighborhood somewhat of a purgatory of sorts, sandwiched between the true subdivision burbs (hell in short) and the inner city (not really heaven in my mind, but better than the alternative). Our void is sorely lacking in accessible entertainment and dining options; days like today only reinforce how inconvenient and car dependent our neighborhood truly is. We have easy access to a grocery store and other such box retailers, yet prefer not to patron such establishments…unfortunately all of the friendly, local big-box competition is closer to town and not exactly in our hood. Similarly the streets lack the bike routes, bike parking, easy connection points and types of regular public transportation that make true urban living so convenient. Plus, we don’t work here. So while our commutes are now bikeable its still a commute and another door to door form of travel, more or less bypassing anything of value in the process. With Denver trying to market itself as a greener, alternative travel friendly, active place to live, I suppose we’re the target demographic for many of its in-fill efforts. At this point I suppose I am still resistant to its charms, yet after a day like today I have to admit my defenses are weakening, if even just the slightest, tiny bit

Important Message from Our Sponsors

2010-03-12T12:16:00.000-08:00

Denverites, Boulderers and Aurorans, Lakewooders and Littleton people lend me your ears! Have you been outside yet? If not drop everything you are doing immediately and go outside.
Ride your bikes
Do hill repeats
Work on intervals
Do one leg drills
Hit your LT
Get down in your TT
Get in some LSD
Head down to the park
Dust off that cruiser and cruise
Pannier up and haul some junk around
Bundle those babies and Burley
Nod to a roadie
Track stand with a hipster
Wave to that chick on the flowered Electra
Give the "wha's-up" to that dude on the flamming balloon tire ride
Tandem up with your buddy
Take your dog and MTB and get muddy
Just do something!

This has been a public service announcement from your local, neighborhood bike blogger. Its sunny and really warm outside...do you know where your bicycle is?

Bike Whine

2010-03-11T20:26:00.000-08:00

My fellow bike blog compatriot at Rules of the Amateur UnPro Cyclist posted a lament this afternoon prompted apparently by the nagging whine of some other rider’s gritty, grimy chain. This too is a peeve of mine hearkening back to my anal retentive nature and mindfulness of the need to care for one’s gear. As one who for several years was a pretty serious (read fanatical…to the point of sickness) rock climber, care of one’s gear can mean the difference between safety and a busted skull. You respect the rope and in turn it tries to keep you from returning to earth in Icarus like fashion. Similarly, you respect your bike and it will in turn provide you with a nearly free, simple, enjoyable means of transportation and recreation for years.

Yesterday on one of my lunch runs I ran past a bike in dire straits. Even with my ears crammed with buds and music coursing through my head I could hear the discernable squeal of a bike crying out for help even before I could see it. The clueless rider, out for some “serious miles” on the bike path carelessly wobbled his way past, squeaking the entire way down the trail. I should have said something. I should have intervened. Its like watching someone beat a child…you should do something shouldn’t you?

First and foremost, isn’t the sound annoying!?! It annoys me, why wouldn’t it annoy you? Now I suppose I might be a bit of an extremist in this regard; perhaps a bit uptight. If my bike so much as creaks under duress I’m annoyed, let alone riding for miles with incessant creaking and grinding. But do these chain grinders not know there’s this magic thing called an old t-shirt and its best friend Mr. Lube…not that kind of lube, though the result is quite similar. Just wipe the chain and pulleys…make sure to wipe the grime forming on the pulley wheels…and a touch of lube. Not ‘its time to get busy’ lube, just a thin coating will do; then wipe off any excess. Voila, or as they say in the movies: silence is golden.

While I’m whining about the whine, can I tell you that another one of my annoyances is people who ride in TT (aero) bars when:

A. not on a TT bike
B. not in an aero position
C. on the bike path

To these specimens I must ask: what do you think you are gaining from leaning out on your TT bars when you’ve got a 12 degree rise on that stem? And your seat is lower than your handlebars? And you look like a tool? And you can’t steer that bike no matter how comfortable you may feel…so grip the damn handlebars before you kill all of us! I suppose that’s all I have to say about that topic. So in conclusion, remember these formulas for aero bar success:

TT bars + TT bike = Good
TT bars + Aero = Good
TT bars + Aero + An Actual TT = Ideal

TT bars + Hybrid = Disaster for humanity you tripathalete wannabe
TT bars + TT bike + Bike path = Your 15mph bike path TT effort won’t get you anywhere. You’re not impressing anyone, least of all me, nor that hot chick out for a run, nor the old people walking their dog. We all voted and think you need a new hobby. Get off our island, the tribe has spoken. Go ride on the street or around a reservoir somewhere.

Fisherman's Chronicles Part 1: Me and the Dick

2010-03-09T19:09:00.000-08:00

Call me Ahab...Ishmael was a douchebag.
I drove my Surly westward this evening in the hunt of the great whale, Moby Dick. I steered a course along the 14th parallel to Colfax towards Wadsworth. I then headed north on Carr across Colfax and into uncharted waters, but where I now believe the great Dick to live. My harpoon was ready. I remained attentive, vigilant. With a squall on the northern horizon I knew my window would be small, but I remained fixed on my task at hand. Life or limb be damned, I would find him.

***

I spotted the leviathan a week ago on 20th just past Wadsworth. I rolled along the westward lane of traffic where he turned off of Allison…or was it Zephyr? My sextant in my pannier and my Garmin at home I wasn’t sure of my exact longitude, but I assure you this: it was the Dick I saw. They may call me a liar, and laugh behind my back at my tale but I know it was him. I could feel his presence even before I caught site of the tell tale beater car, the missing front license plate, ratty grill and faded paint job. And then as if to clear his blow hole before descending back safely to the depths of the sea, the driver’s window cracked just enough, “Get off the street stupid!” and then he was gone.

My first sighting of the great white whale of a Dick came back in aught 9. I was 31. The world was my oyster and I regarded myself an able seaman, even if yet untested in the great waters of the west. Rumors of the great beast which trolled these waters almost seemed too extraordinary to believe. I was young, strong, confident and skeptical of the yarns of these old seamen, the same sailors who wet themselves at the sight of a Dodge Ram 1500 bearing down upon them; how could these fainthearted souls have seen the Dick firsthand and lived to tell the tale. They had to be pulling my peg leg, so to speak. Yet to see the old timers tell their survivor’s stories, the collective wisdom of those who’ve long sailed these seas, their eyes alone reveal the learned truth behind these whopping fish stories, which despite my initial inclination towards incredulity, are tales which clearly beg heed and earnest mindfulness. Yet in all my time coursing over the great expanse of ocean between Federal and Wadsworth I never once saw the Dick. That is until he caught me quite unawares, exhaust smoke billowing in his wake, the faint shape of some mid 70’s crap American gas hog all but discernable, yet the trade winds carried a faint tone of gruffness to my ears, “…stupid!” Could it really be true? I spun and looked, yet the seas were again calm, the event passed. I retold my stories over many an ale at the local tavern, I’m sure I heard correctly. “Now you see., Now you believe,“ the old timers replied and mocked my newfound religion. I swore it was HIM! I began to obsess, to conceive of the glory of catching the large, white, slovenly, ‘classic plated’ Dick.

Since this first meeting there have been others, always catching me somewhat by surprise, always with my Sanyo Harpoon effectively out of reach. After last week’s encounter I resolved myself to seek him out; rather than waiting for fate to deliver the beast to me I would go out and create my own destiny. I would seek out the Dick. I’d find him and I’d Lampoon his ass on my blog and pic his plates for the Lakewood PD. Today’s excursion proved unsuccessful. Promising leads revealed themselves at every cove and inlet as I slowly trolled the environs south of 20th. I baited the beast with shouts of “Share the Road” and “Cadel Rules Always” but to no avail. He stirred not from his watery slumber. Yet I’ve not given up hope. This is my quest and I accept that I shall carry out my days in the hunt for the great white, fat, beater driving Dick…or I will die or go mad trying.

These are the voyages of the Blue Surly Pequod.
“Cadel Rules Always”

Slow News Day, Bikes Make 'News' Twice

2010-03-08T20:15:00.000-08:00

Must have been a slow day at 9News today as there were 2 bike related stories on the site today. The first one talked about Denver's efforts to promote safe cycling routes by spray painting arrows on the street (see Sharrows story here.) The second story talked about Denver's new bike sharing program called Bcycle. The city received a grant to promote this program as a pilot with city employees. Now they're rolling out the kiosk style rental units city wide (see Bcycle story here.) The quality of journalism or level of importance of these pieces notwithstanding, the point is that Denver is again trying to promote bicycling as a healthy, sustainable alternative to automobile travel around town. And with all of the environmental, health, fitness and practical justifications for these efforts the anti-bike group of trolls was nonetheless out in force on the comment boards spewing their litany of bike riders are a nuisance bile. There are a couple doozer comments out there in these forums, which I can easily sum up here for you to save you the reduction in IQ from reading them yourself.

Cyclists never stop at lights or stop signs.
Cyclists don't abide by any of the rules of the road.
Cyclists should ride on the sidewalks.
Cyclists don't pay taxes.
Obama wants everyone to ride a bike.
The socialist Dems want us to look like Amsterdam with its bikes, whores, drugs and health care (that one is practically a quote.)
Cycling is stupid.
Not everyone can ride a bike so cycling is stupid (see point above).
I live 45 miles away from work so cycling is stupid (see points above).
When the end of the world comes the riders of the apocalypse won't be on horseback...guess what they'll be riding...?
Bike programs are stupid because the "environment is a hoax"...the environment itself that is...another gem of a quote.
blah, blah I'll just run those cyclists over...teach them a lesson

Its usually at the point where some degenerate threatens, anonymously grant you, to just run them cyclists over that I stop reading the comments. I understand that we Americans have a dark, cynical sense of humor where making fun and ridiculing stuff we either don't understand or don't agree with is funny. But when it comes to threatening violence against someone for a mode of transportation I almost give up...and start looking at homes in Amsterdam...bikes, whores and health care...bring on that apocalypse!

Bike Commuting Can Suck When...

2010-03-05T15:32:00.000-08:00

You need to leave at 3:30pm at the latest to meet a contractor at home at 4:00.
You get a call at 3:20 which eats up your time for changing and getting out the door.
You get stuck behind a DB in the narrow parking lot at work who can’t get his Expedition unstuck and pulled around the Explorer coming the other way vying for the spot.
You run smack into a monster headwind.
You’ve now got 20 min to travel a distance you’d be pushing it to make in 25.
You’re riding a 25+ lbs behemoth bike with all your crap in a stuffed pannier.
You ran 5.5 hard miles at lunch (but in your fastest time yet!) and are subsequently spent.
You hit every freaking light, even the one at Wadsworth and 26th which you busted your ass uphill to try and catch.
A German Shepherd, although ‘restrained’ by its owner, lunges out at you and almost pushes you into oncoming traffic.
Every pedal stroke on your monster truck bike, translated to your road bike (comfortably sitting in the dining room at home) would easily net you 5+ more mph for the effort…and you make this calculation with every pedal stroke.
The damned wind just won’t stop.
You kill yourself to get home and make it by 4:02 and hope that like all contractors, delivery persons, and repair men these guys are late…but nope, they’re standing in your driveway and they give your sweaty, exasperated ass the, “hey get a load of this guy” look.

All this ranting aside, I really wouldn’t trade it for a second. A bad day of bike commuting means you still got to ride your bike. And with that: it is weekend time, adios!

"It really shifts it, your fog."

2010-03-05T07:42:00.000-08:00

Thank you Eddie Izzard for running through my head all morning on my foggy, foggy commute. Actually out in Lakewood it was gorgeous for early March and really only gooped up towards Denver...typical.

Here's a shot from across Sloans Lake (still a sheet of ice) towards the skyline of Denver.

This pic of Mile High, Denver and some misc. industrial junk turned out better than I thought for a 2 mpix, crap, camera phone.

Happy Friday riding!

Our Great Injustice System

2010-03-04T20:00:00.000-08:00

So I’ve been thinking a lot about justice and our justice system lately. What initially got me started was the very recent shooting at a local middle school here in Lakewood, CO. A guy walks up to kids leaving school. He asks them if they go to the school, and after they reply he starts shooting at kids with a high powered rifle. Shockingly, this individual has been previously arrested or called on for a host of other issues including domestic violence and other misc. firearms charges. While I’m all about the powers of redemption and the belief that people can change…justice implies a set of consequences for actions deemed outside the law. As tragic as this scenario is, fortunately no one was killed. The same can’t be said in the case of Kevin Flock.

If you are unfamiliar with the story of Kevin Flock then please read this article on VeloNews, you’ll get to know the man behind the statistic; a senseless victim of neglectful, and irresponsible driving. In short, Kevin was struck from behind while out enjoying a ride alongside a rural roadway in Virginia one morning. A Virginia National Guard recruiter, Aaron Trey Stapleton, out on a long drive from someplace ran Kevin down at speeds in excess of 65 miles an hour. The jury fined Stapleton $500 for improper driving. He killed a man and it cost him $500. As tragic as this scenario is on its own, the sickening aspect of it remained to be told until a week after the trial. A week later Stapleton again found himself back in police custody for guess what: careless driving. This time he drove through a fence and then took off; he also refused a breathalyzer test. So we have a man with apparent issues controlling himself on the road and on top of this, even prior to killing Kevin, Stapleton had a history of reckless driving charges and citations. Brilliantly however, in order to protect the rights of the defendant Virginia law prohibits the admittance of prior ‘improper acts’ as evidence in current criminal trials. The jury let this guy loose after killing a man. Prior authorities before that let him off, despite repeated infractions. No one thought…hey maybe there’s a dangerous pattern here? Well of course not, its just driving. We’ve all driven a little fast, taken some extra chances etc. We can relate to a motorist prostrate before the blind scales of justice. We can’t relate to gun toting kid shooters these people are just wackos and nut jobs. Criminals shoot children…anyone can have an ‘accident.’

After the Deer Creek shooter was arrested people again began clamoring for more stringent gun control rules: if we could keep the guns out of the hands of criminals maybe we’d be safer. Well in the case of Kevin Flock he wasn’t shot. The doctor in California who purposefully stopped his car in front of two cyclists descending a steep canyon road never intended to shoot anyone. He chose to use his car as a weapon. While we seem to be a society with no shortage of laws on the books, seemingly for the protection of you and I, we also put into place an elaborate legal apparatus for the plea bargaining, negotiation, and settling of criminal charges. Hey great, so and so plead guilty for a reduced sentence; he cooperated and we reached a deal. Well Kevin Flock won’t be reaching for anything ever again. So for all our great legal protections, freedoms and liberties, in this case I think justice it swerved.

Oh, you horny baby?

2010-03-03T07:50:00.000-08:00

Picture this:

Cyclist heads down residential street towards a three way stop; the road he’s on either turns right or left at the stop sign. He sits about 100ft from the sign moving at a relatively respectable pace for a guy on a commuter toting dress slacks and shirt, a lunch and running shoes. A car poised at the stop in front of him delays a bit before making its turn; now about 75ft out from the stop. From behind him the cyclist hears the hum of a motor and the distinct sound of acceleration. To hold his rightful spot in traffic, and signal his intent to turn left at the stop, the cyclist gives a glance back to see how much room there is, sticks out his left hand indicating he’s coming over and at this point coasts to the stop. Track stand, glance right, then left, and onward: no harm no foul right? Once the Toyota RAV 4, or some such equivalent, makes its turn the driver proceeds up behind the cyclist and hits the horn before driving past. WTF!?!

I can appreciate that the horn was designed for a distinct purpose, to allow motorists to communicate to other motorists that they may be in danger of collision. It apparently also works well to tell people in houses that you’re impatiently sitting out front idling and racking up greenhouse gases, but I digress. But with our over personification of vehicles as extensions of our very being, the horn has become a stand in for our loud mouths or lewd gestures (sometimes you still get the gestures.) Yet, I’ve rarely been honked at while driving. It has happened of course, but few and far between and usually I did deserve it. On the other hand I get honked at while cycling all the time. What is it about a guy on a bike that instigates some type of ‘vocal’ response from a driver via their horn?

I SELDOM ride in the middle of traffic, the exceptions being there’s something in the shoulder or I’m keeping pace with the cars in front or behind me. When its crappy and icy you bet your beeping horn I’m going to enter traffic (safely) to avoid ice on the side of the road. Similarly, because I’m generally faster than rush hour traffic downtown, if I’m riding around 15th, Larimer, Wazee etc in Denver, then I’m in the lane. I can hold 25-30mph long enough to hit the next light just like any car. I’m no Lance Armstrong but I can move a bike with authority when needs be. So there should be no reason to honk. People don’t honk at school buses slowing to pick up kids (no one did this morning), yet these large yellow vessels are clearly impeding their flow of motion. They likely wouldn’t honk at a geriatric barely hitting the speed limit; I suppose some might. A driver wouldn’t be apt to honk at farm or construction equipment driving on the shoulder, half in the lane, half out of it. So why honk at a bicyclist? Cars don’t honk at kids playing, people walking, joggers, ice cream trucks, police cars or UPS guys….all of which could be impeding their beloved right of way more than any cyclist…it just doesn’t make any sense!

Sometimes the honk is clearly a message that the driver is excited to see people on bikes. I’ve been honked at by people I know and I’ve been honked and waved at by total strangers who just think someone on a bike is a cool thing. I suppose I can accept this, however not expecting the blare (or gentle toot) of a horn from behind, you never know if you’re getting honked at out of love or out of a warning that you should consider your last rites: “How fast can YOU say the Lord’s Prayer before my bumper knocks the shit out of you.” And then there are clearly the jerk honkers…they honk cause they’re intimidated and angry at people on bikes and obviously lack the self control to just shut the hell up and get on with their lives. They perceive some sort of infraction against their beloved rolling steel cage on the part of the bicyclist, so they feel obligated to speak in its defense. “MY RAV 4 is precious and you made me stop at a stop sign…rot in hell @$%#%^$!#!” I can’t get my head around it, but it perturbs me greatly. When honked at I used to respond in turn with the bicyclist horn; usually some obscene gesture and ignorant comment. Now I just ignore it: what’s the point? Maybe eventually I will just be able to shrug it off…then again, maybe not.

On an unrelated note, I want to doff my hat to the mid 40’s, male pattern baldness driver of the Khaki (that’s Jeep’s official color) colored Jeep Wrangler Sport with black soft top at 26th and Kipling last night. We sat at the light, me behind you and waited for the drag race to begin. I totally thought I had the edge with my incredible capacity to overtake speeding cars... from behind…being a super-human bicyclist and rocking a 48X11 on my Surly and all. When you had to stop for that car turning left across from Gold’s Grocery I thought it was over and in the bag. Yet you put me in my place with your crunchy, hasty shifting, bat out of hell acceleration around the turning car from behind me in the bike lane. I thought I had your 6 cylinder 200+ horse engine beat over that mile before my turn but clearly should have thought again. You destroyed me and my manhood. I’ll never be able to look at my wife again and feel comfortable in my sexuality knowing that you and your large gas pedal are out there waiting to embarrass me again. This will inevitably ruin my marriage and my life...I'm looking at Enzyte ads now just to compensate, but it will never be enough. How foolish I was. It will never, ever, ever happen again. If I see you I will just pull over and vomit on my shoes in terror and deference…like a scared dog that wets itself upon first meeting strangers. Thanks for teaching me such a valuable lesson. (PS… I gladly would have testified in court on behalf of that Mazda who didn’t signal to turn left at Miller had your weak willed, small packaged, dumb-out-of-control-speeding-in-a-residential-area ass rear ended them…it looked close from where I stood, way too close for a freaking drive home. Hope your race home was worth it to get indoors so you could spank it alone to soft core porn on Skin-emax and visions of how you "beat that bicyclist"you loser. You’re a douche bag; likely always have been and likely always will be. And now everyone reading this will know it too.)

Rookie Move Ritter

2010-03-02T12:26:00.000-08:00

Colorado’s Governor, Bill Ritter, crashed his bike this morning while riding with a group he frequently rides with. The story made it on 9 News (click 9 News for link), in which they report the Governor overlapped wheels with a rider in front of him and went down. Net loss of his crash?…a couple ribs and typical road rash…maybe some dignity.

The Governor was out riding his bike. He was enjoying the Colorado air and mixing it up with traffic on the road, at 6:00am no less. He wore a helmet…all great, admirable things. Overlapping wheels however, that’s a no-no. Every junior racer and group rider hears the speech at some point in their biking career. If you overlap wheels with the rider in front of you and you hit them: they won’t go down, you will. They make this announcement at every training crit I’ve ever been too. It doesn’t stop some moron from eventually doing it, usually when trying to move up in a sprint or when navigating a tight pack, but the warning goes out nonetheless. So I think that when he’s all healed up from his broken ribs, our Governor should spend some time with the CAT4’s at the weekly NREL crits on Thursday nights at the highway patrol test track in Golden. There he can learn:

• The importance of sprinting in the drops
• Not to talk smack to other riders about how fast you were at the MS150 last year
• Which riders to ignore (like anyone in a junior or college team jersey)
• Which riders will crush you in the sprint (usually the hairy legged guy on the steel frame)
• How to hold your line
• When to yell at riders for not holding their line
• Why you should not try and hang with anyone named Pavel
• When not to brake in a turn
• What a goat’s head looks like
• Why we don't really like Australia (damn Australian kids)
• The value of making sure you have your helmet with you when you leave your house
• And most importantly, not to overlap wheels.

Then at least he’ll know as much as the 14 year old juniors and other CAT4’s know, and like them, he can then choose to do with that information as he pleases.

The ABC's of TTT's

2010-02-28T17:15:00.000-08:00

From the vantage of the casual observer a mass of bike racers moving down the road in a surging, noisy, blurry amoeba like form must assuredly appear chaotic and disorganized. The speed at which a peloton passes a fixed point barely provides a glimpse of the level of coordination and organization which belies the apparent confusion and chaos. Cycling is a team sport. And like all team sports there are tactics, strategies, game plans and roles for each member of the team to play. Watch basketball players set up a pick and roll, or an offensive lineman creating a hole for a running back to charge through and one can clearly see the logic behind the execution. Similarly, although difficult to gauge from the sidelines, when an organized cycling team exerts its will against the pack they can control the play by play much like a skilled NFL quarterback. The tactics and strategy change dramatically when the team is stripped of its direct competition and placed into isolation against the elements as in the case of the Team Time Trial. In this event the level of coordination and interplay between riders stands visible for all to see, much like a choreographed dance or closely timed relay. In the TTT the group of riders works together as one fluid unit to maximize the efficiency of the paceline against the wind; leverages the strengths of individual members against the road and clock; and ultimately hopes to best the competition over a fixed distance.

The strategy for the TTT is simple. Ride in a swiftly moving line, continually rotating fresher riders from the back of the line to the front in order to expose them to the wind and maintain the pace of the group over the course: see simple. Riders generally tend to peel off in the direction of the oncoming wind, edging back their pace as they slide along the flank to the rear where they slot into the queue and progress back toward the front. When done well this motion is almost seamless. (Check out this link for a montage of the 2009 TDF TTT…set to truly fantastic techno music.) One rider quickly takes the front, carries the pace of the group without a jarring, disruptive acceleration and then moves over in time allowing the next rested rider to repeat the process. Starting out this balance proves challenging to maintain, as riders tend to want to push forward once exposed to the wind. Additionally controlling pace is contentious when unfamiliar with the other members of the team and where they stand in terms of fitness. A sloppy TTT unit will leave large gaps between riders and will rotate in wide bands, as opposed to tight lines. With the TTT practice makes perfect.

Our Team Time Trial practice this morning got started in cold and somewhat windy conditions, but the weather quickly improved and made for a relatively good day of riding. Out of the gate we lacked the Team part of the TTT as only 5 riders showed up to practice. What we wanted in terms of numbers we made up for in a series of good efforts around Chatfield Reservoir State Park. The conditions of the road around the park were pretty poor with potholes and rough pavement for much of the course (perhaps some of that build up American stimulus cash could be applied to this obviously worthwhile cause.) These craters netted us two annoying flats, though I think mine was due to a faulty valve stem. Getting started we pushed a pretty easy pace while sorting out the logistics of rotation, acceleration and communication. For our second pass we upped the tempo and pushed ourselves more. At this point our organization and communication seemed to gel a bit more and the rhythm of our rotations became clearer. Despite some lingering hesitation and awkwardness there were moments of solid cohesion. We did a pretty good job of keeping a tight line and not dropping riders off the back with accelerations. Our third effort left us with 4 riders as one of our group had to leave early. I found myself out gunned by stronger riders on TT bikes geared with large 56+ tooth chainrings, small cassettes, areobars and lightweight carbon frames. I left my TT bike hanging in the garage which proved foolish for this last run but paid off later when the otherwise useless TT bikes had to go home.

Chatfield doesn’t really lend itself to TTT practice as the route is short and there isn’t a discernable loop to keep the group moving around the park at a consistent pace. With 4 riders and one stranded in the park with a flat, our practice was really short and I suppose somewhat disappointing. Yet I enjoyed it and felt the effort to be worthwhile. While we didn’t reach the pinnacle of TTT greatness, we got our season started early and I took away a number of lessons learned for next time, like: TTT‘s are better with more people, bring extra tubes, Cervelo makes a nice bike, don’t try and out duel stronger riders on TT bikes with a road geared road bike, a two line rotation is good though I think less organized than a single line rotation, stronger riders should make sure to pull longer, call out if there’s shit in the road, if you’re cooked then gatekeep, we need to practice more, etc.) Keyed up on TTT glory I left the rest of the group back at the parking area and since I was not on a TT bike felt at liberty to head up Deer Creek for some climbing. I soaked up the remainder of the day’s retreating sun on my climb. With yet another cold front due to bring more snow to the Denver area tonight it seems somewhat ridiculous to be thinking of upcoming TTT practices. But that doesn’t stop me. And next time I’ll pull the TT bike down and bring it out for practice, which hopefully won’t be too far in the future.

The road to Deer Creek...awash in sunlight, at least until those clouds get here.

The post TTT kick back.

Surly Anton Oh-No!

2010-02-26T07:53:00.000-08:00

Leaving the Lucky Strike bowling alley downtown around 9:00 last night, the “storm” that arrived just in time to turn the rush hour commute into a wet mess had more or less run its course. The blanket of clouds unveiled a few dark holes revealing the faint trace of dim stars. What a lovely evening it turned out to be. Heading home Kate asked if I thought the heavily soaked roads would dry or at least remain wet by morning…the appropriate answer at that point should have been “No way in hell.” But I coolly replied that I thought they’d likely dry if the clouds parted and drier air moved in overnight. I am no meteorologist.

After walking the dog this morning Kate returned and pronounced after “nearly falling twice while crossing 20th,” that she would be taking her bike on the bus with her to work today. I contemplated my options but succumbed to my far-sighted mannishness and hopped on the bike. I can say that I have jumped out of a plane, led multi-pitch climbing routes with both traditional and free techniques, flown on a Russian airline and slept under a bridge in Texas in the winter. I have done many crazy and seemingly stupid things. Yet I cannot recall a time in recent memory where I’ve had more “Oh Shit” moments than on the ride in to work today. I wish I could have effectively captured the conditions of the road with my crap Sanyo camera phone, but the radiating glare of mirrored black ice only translated into hazy white splotches with every picture taken. I’d need some serious equipment and actual photographic abilities to truly do photographic justice to the god awful state of this morning's roads.

While I made my way through the neighborhood, I managed to keep to the shoulders where the snow accumulated at least enough to provide some sense of traction. On 20th the crusty ice in the bike lane crackled, snapped and popped like Rice Krispies or Pop Rocks. If you want a test of your bike handling skills very quickly get your bike out to Lakewood, Colorado before the temp rises and head down 20th to Carr. I could have brushed my teeth and combed my hair while looking at my reflection on Carr St. The entire stretch from 20th to 14th, my typical snow day detour, was a full curb to curb sheet of ice. The handful of drivers that slowly inched past me gladly returned my look of terror and panic because no one was going to have traction on that crap (the zig zag of previous vehicle tracks assured us of that). I actually think Kim Yu-Na passed me on Carr near the Volkswagen dealer…she didn’t give me 3ft either #@!%&. Cars spun their wheels in a futile effort to purchase hold of the asphalt while trying to cross Colfax. Turning onto 14th I fish tailed but managed to catch myself without putting my foot down; I only unclipped a half dozen or so times but never had to step down…doing so likely wouldn’t have helped much as my shoes had less traction than my tires. I scientifically tested this theory every time I stopped at a light. With every pedal stroke I shifted my weight to find balance and prayed that I wouldn't eat shit. I had a close call with some tracks on 14th. I ran out of shoulder and barely made it into the lane of traffic by Sheridan. I both cursed and prayed to every god and deity imaginable before I finally made it to drier land; I even busted out some chants from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom just to be safe....Kali-Ma owes me big time.

Leaving Lakewood and heading into Denver the conditions improved with each block towards the city center. By the time I neared Federal I felt much more relaxed. I was no longer tasting bile and my heart rate had edged back considerably (back to Zone 2 where Cat 3 Captain Jordan "I don't bowl" says I should be). I knew I’d make it at this point...maybe Kali-Ma likes me afterall. Perhaps next time I’ll be a bit more judicious in my decisions to ride in to work on ice. On the other hand as I’ve repeatedly proven in the past, what hasn’t killed me actually makes for a really great story. It also serves to increase the thickness of my skull such that, when the opportunity arises and being the dimwitted fool that I inevitably am, I’ll eagerly do it again, and again, and again...good times.

DMV

2010-02-24T19:16:00.000-08:00

Surprisingly I was the only visible cyclist at the Jefferson County Dept of Motor Vehicle Office this afternoon...I know shocked the shit out of me too. The Jeffco DMV (off Wadsworth) boasts a grand total of 0 bike racks. Not even a well placed handicap parking sign or slim light post. Fortunately the security guard out for a smoke when I pulled up let me place my bike inside the lobby. So I was the only bicyclist and my bike the only bike at the DMV today; kind of surreal. Especially so since I got to skip the typical DMV "take a number" routine because I just needed to pay for new tags. All the seething motorists already in the midst of the DMV-mind-melt eyed me with even more contempt once I sauntered up to the lady at the counter and handed over my cash. In and out in less than 5: this cyclist is fast! I’ve seen that look of bitter jealous rage before at stoplights, when I’ve ridden up to the front to be out of the way of the cars behind me and in the line of sight for oncoming vehicles potentially turning left. I'm sure that pisses drivers off more than anything (though technically its permissible in just about every state and municipality across this great nation.) Well I guess they got a taste of that medicine again at the DMV, cause I rode right up to the front and voila', on my way! Bike: 1 Car: 0....ha-ha-ha, suckas! Ok that probably took it a bit too far. I generally don’t like to play the “privileged cyclist” card because it upsets people to an inordinately irrational degree (and besides I’m not really out to pick a fight…can’t we all get along yadda-yadda). But in this instance the irony of the entire scene was too much to ignore; best DMV experience of my life.

You Gotta Try This

2010-02-23T20:32:00.000-08:00

Yesterday when I cracked the cover on the freshly delivered copy of VeloNews I couldn’t help my amazement when I saw a 4-5 page spread on bike commuting towards the back; just before the table that subtly guilt’s you for not riding 50 miles a day for your March training plan. However I digress, back to my shock: bike commuting…in VeloNews? Maybe in Bicycling Magazine or some more germane, proletarian publication but not the great homage to cycle sport and racing that is VeloNews. But sure enough my eyes had not deceived me and back towards page 60, underneath the obligatory season opening Lance cover, replete with similarly obligatory Mellow Johnny’s photo op, there in fact was an article and gear review on bike commuting.

Although the article only grazed the superficial details of bike commuting (remember to pack clothes, ride the path, plan for the weather etc) it was good to see commuting get some press in between coverage of Will Frischkorn using the computer and the Tour Down Under. Granted, the editor’s idea of gear selection includes $200 Rapha pants and other such nonsense, but this article represents a pretty good start. They even play to some of the stereotypes that cyclists (read road bike purists) have of folks who commute; largely that they are nostalgic remnants of the oil crisis, clad entirely in neon, riding rusty, beater mountain bikes…slowly. And while I’m almost 100% positive VeloNews sports one of these stories every year (about this time when race season isn’t fully underway) I like to think that this story represents an opening of the fold if you will, to let commuters in to the greater biking family. The tongue in cheek characterization of the bike commuter that VeloNews satirized slightly, as they also imply, really ought to fade into history. It is about time we got past the image and focus on the ends that justify the means.

Sure I race, I did, I do…its day to day some times, but regardless of my ACA or USAC classification I am above all else a bike commuter. To me the bicycle is the simplest, healthiest, most enjoyable form of transportation, especially for an urban dweller like myself. As a commuter turned racer I generally never really saw much of a distinction, however now that I’ve been amongst bike race culture for a little while now there clearly is a bit of stereotyping or judgment of commuters on the part of road cyclists. I’m not sure why this should be, unless there is a sense that endurance or anaerobic capacity is somehow the only yard stick by which the quality of cyclist can be measured. I’m sure to the typical VeloNews reading, race crowd enthusiast (or wanna-be) the accomplishments of the full season bike commuter pale in comparison to a yellow jersey, podium finish or high water Power Tap reading. Yet the draw of being out on a bike seemingly unites both camps. Additionally, the broader role that bikes could play in our society, building a more bike friendly and bike reliant culture similar to what one might encounter in some European cities, opens the doors for both commuters and sport cyclists. I’m glad to see that VeloNews recognized this connection, at least for one article.

***

The weekend at home sitting around the house made me realize the importance of regular daily exertion of some kind; in short, if I don’t ride I go crazy. I considered myself lucky to have the means and nerves to ride in to work yesterday and today, despite the snow, ice and freezing morning temps. And today while I pedaled my ass in to work at a balmy 16 degrees, not breaking zone 3, not pushing serious wattage, not setting a blistering pace I still enjoyed my ride and got a lot out of it in return. Considering the alternative of sitting around in traffic in a car, I figure my return to be quite a bit more than most. So for all the accomplishment that regular bike commuting is not in terms of race output and impressive ability: I was out riding and it seemed at least on my route today I was the only one.

Enough about the weather already!

2010-02-18T07:31:00.000-08:00

In looking back at the past couple posts I’ve noticed that I dwell on the weather quite a bit. If you farm or your livelihood depends on the elements, than the weather forecast and daily predictions becomes a key focal point of your day. Everyone talks about when it will rain or when the rain will stop. I think the same principle applies if you ride your bike to work: the forecast means everything, and the weather takes up a significant portion of one’s attention. Today the weather folks are calling for a chance of snow, potentially starting as early as noon. I really don’t like forecasts like this. I don’t mind riding in the snow or rain, but honestly must say that I almost prefer not to know that it will rain or snow and just be surprised. With a surprise at least you don’t anticipate it and you just react and deal. But now that I find myself armed with the knowledge of what might befall the afternoon I’ll start checking the windows more often and invariably will hit the news site more frequently to see the mercury drop. Well, why watch the weather then? That’s a good question, especially since I paint it in such a painful light. But you have to know. You need to be able to plan for what’s in store in order to be prepared in case it happens: it’s the Boy Scout in me I guess, that wants to “Be Prepared”—damn Boy Scout commonsense brainwashing. If I need long underwear, rain jacket or bus fare I want to have it and not risk missing it desperately later. The unfortunate side effect of this readiness is the resulting pall cast over the entire day in anticipation of bad weather. Maybe it is just my Seasonal Affective Disorder kicking in…I’ve been moody, just ask my wife...but we’ve had cold and snow now the past two weekends which has limited some team rides, kept clouds overhead and made it less pleasant riding in each day (though today’s 28 wasn’t bad at all.) For a February this should be expected, and I really have nothing to complain about. But I guess that never stopped me before. For the record its still only 28.

Bikes at the Winter Olympics 2014!

2010-02-12T08:14:00.000-08:00

Tonight marks the opening of the 2010 Winter Olympic Games. Ho-hum. As a Colorado resident and skier I appreciate the bountiful diversity of winter sport: snow shoeing, cross country skiing, backcountry skiing etc. But Super G?—I’m not that in to it. Skeleton?—nope. Ice Dancing…? You get the idea. Winter sports are great but leave me wanting a bit more, and besides this is a bike oriented blog and not a ski one. So the question is, where are all the bikes at the Winter Games? You can ride bikes in winter (it can actually be harder than riding bikes in the summer), so why discriminate against biking at the Olympics?

For all intents and purposes Cyclocross could be a winter game; Cross season really just ended in December/January so why not reinstate it for the games in February? Just scrape off some of the snow (leaving enough to make it interesting), put some logs on the track, a pile of sand, some steps, beer and voila’: a cross race. Pile up some of those curling rocks and make them ride over them; that would be awesome. Hit the riders with brooms too, why the hell not?—its Cross! Ok if not Cyclocross, how about cross country riding on Pugsleys? Have you ever seen one of these monsters? It rivals the Moots Ice Bike I highlighted in this post. These beefy rigs easily could crush through snow on a cross country ski circuit. Instead of skiing and shooting, how about cross country skiing while being chased by any angry messenger on a Pugsley shooting you with paint balls? It would be like the Kerin but more entertaining.

Winter is also the season of the Velodrome as many cyclists do find the cold too daunting and retreat to the comfort of the indoor track: so why not include indoor riding as a winter event? You could cover the Velodrome with ice and everyone could ride studded tires if the Olympic organizers really feel it that important for there to be a ‘cold’ element. Another great event would be the overnight, outdoor trainer ride. Put spandex clad riders on trainers in the freezing Vancouver winter air and make them ride all night: the rider alive and pedaling at dawn takes the gold. If that’s not Nordic I don’t know what is…certainly Disney on Ice isn’t.

Finally, I suppose there are in fact ski-bikes. They don’t have wheels, or pedals or really anything resembling a bike other than handlebars and a seat. They are more akin to motor-less snowmobiles for people who can’t ski and don’t mind looking ridiculous. If one could get over the humiliation of riding one of these, they could be quite competitive in a winter sports environment. I’m sure at least the athlete’s parents would come and watch the event. Then again they’d probably get more enjoyment out of looking at Lindsey Vonn’s shins.

So I’m starting my petition now: Cycling Events at the 2014 Winter Games! Who’s with me?

Cross pic taken from www.pedalpushersonline.com
Pugsley pic taken from www.surlybikes.com
Ski Bike from www.skibike.net

Sharing the Road...Bikes Too?

2010-02-10T20:20:00.000-08:00

Standing at the light at 26th and Youngsfield I held the front of the left turn lane, line of traffic politely waiting behind me for the light to change. I wear a bright yellow jacket. I have a flashy, blinking light. Factoring in that it was only 5:00 with the pretty mountain sun a-setting, should imply that I’m one visible dude on a brand new shiny bike. So when the light changes and I proceed forward with my turn left onto the bike lane, imagine my shock when I hear the familiar sounds of brakes and tires grabbing pavement behind me. No, not car tires, or truck tires…or crotch rocket motorcycle tires, or cement truck, Fedex van, Ford F250: it was bike tires. “Oh sorry” was the acknowledgement I received from the cyclist who ran the red light in the bike lane before nearly t-boning me in the intersection. I stammered trying to come up with just the right words to say. In my astonishment I think all I got out was, “Guh waf a flick a dumpus” (you get the idea--gibberish and maybe an expletive-- I don‘t recall it happened so quickly.)

And to think that one of the chief complaints of motorists is that cyclists don’t obey the stated rules of the road. Imagine what the drivers waiting patiently for both the lights and me to turn would have thought at my getting rammed by some spandex clad, commuter tool on a bike. “I told you so” comes to mind, and it is sad how right they would have been. I know not everyone who gets on a bike wants to be an ambassador for the entire population of American cyclists. Some people don’t want to involve themselves in the politics of “sharing the road,” others don’t think it’s that big of a deal either way and some cyclists just prefer to do what they want. Yet, let’s face it, when you’re out riding a bike, even by yourself, you become “cyclists.” Most of the outspoken critics of bicyclists having equal access to public roadways do not distinguish between those cyclists who play by the rules and those who choose to make them up as they go. They see one rider run lights, weave through traffic, or see a group taking up more than their necessary share of the lane and these examples feed vitriolic stereotypes. Providing these cynics with more examples to justify their ‘cyclists gone wild’ view of bicycling only encourages their resistance and belief that bikes have no place on the road with cars.

Consider recent local legislative efforts here in Colorado to ban cyclists from riding on certain mountain and rural roadways. What began as the perspective of a handful of people, based on their negative reactions to what they perceived as cyclists pushing the limits, now has gained momentum to the point that local governments are actually considering these types of rules. While the messenger or the roadie may feel very cavalier or entitled in their navigation of traffic at their own personal discretion, they need to consider that their actions will reflect not just on themselves but on everyone else who wants to put two wheels to pavement. And while consideration for “the other guy” is not often the hallmark of this type of self-centered behavior, eventually it will come full circle. Unfortunately, until cycling becomes more accepted in the US as a method of transportation, the public will be on the watch for examples of how cycling just doesn’t fit in with the norm. In my opinion, all bike riding folk then have but two options: help provide an example of how bicycling can be a safe and logical method of transportation or just steamroll those people in traffic and see how far you get by yourself.

Surly

2010-02-08T08:24:00.000-08:00

Surly: bad-tempered, unfriendly, rude, and somewhat threatening

The bad tempered part pretty much summed up my attitude this morning when I woke to find 3-4 more inches of snow on the ground. Didn’t Mother Nature know that I have a new bike I wanted to ride to work today? I procrastinated my departure all morning, shuffling around, lounging on the bed, anything to avoid either riding in the crap or catching a ride. I tend to be one of those people who can readily forgo the lure of material possessions, however when I do have something I somewhat obsess over it. I’ve always been very diligent about taking care of things, almost to the point of neurosis. The advantage is that your stuff tends to last longer and look newer for the life of the object. The bad part is that your wife gets annoyed at your perpetual fussing and you never get comfortable with things. I hated the idea of riding my new bike this morning. I think it almost made me violently ill; certain that I’d crash it or get it covered in Mag Chloride and have it totally eaten through with rust by the afternoon. My psychosis was bad enough I almost considered riding my Cannondale instead…how sick is that?

Then I recalled something that I read in a book or on a blog once about people who covet their bikes. The author, making fun of people who have “rainy day bikes” said something to the effect of, “Bikes are tools and nothing more.” A bike doesn’t have a soul. A bike isn’t your best friend. It won’t last forever. Keeping them inside all the time, or stored in your dining room (what nut job would store a bike in their dining room…oh yeah me…) only speaks to the degree to which you’ve come to project emotions onto an object that never had them to begin with. This mental state is sick. It is wrong and it had me firmly in its grasp. I needed to just build a bridge and get over it: time to ride.

Well if a bike is a tool, then the tool you want for riding on a cold, snowy, slick, awful day such as today is a Surly Long Haul Trucker. It would be like showing up to a duel with an AK-47… “Oh you meant pistols at dawn? Kak-kak-kak-kak-kak—suckka!” I’m not sure if it’s the weight of the bike, the wide track of the wheels, the tread on the Continentals or my superior, innate bike handling prowess or what (it could be my prowess, don’t laugh), but the bike hammered through the snow, slush and crud. Where my Cannondale would have chattered and bounced among the tracks and blocks of snow on the shoulder, the LHT plowed through them with ease. Halfway through my ride I became thoroughly convinced that if everyone had an LHT no one would fear riding in snow. I couldn’t believe I almost grabbed a ride or hopped the bus today. Think how sad my bike would have been sitting in the garage missing out on its opportunity to prove itself…ok personifying again. But it would have been an insult to the folks at Surly who took a very brash and menacing attitude towards the elements when they crafted this bike; like cold-cocking Mother Nature in the eye and not even feeling bad about it.

So I made it to work and pulled in to the bike room glad to have ridden. I didn’t crash. I didn’t drop the bike on ice or slip on some slush. I made it in one piece and I think my Surly will live to ride another day…especially since I brought a little towel with me to wipe it off and make sure that Mag Chloride leaves my shiny blue CroMoly alone...its all about baby steps, old habits die hard...the first step is admitting you have a problem.

Long Haul Truck Drivin’ Man

2010-02-07T11:51:00.000-08:00

So I'm an Aquarian…big deal. True to form I'm kind of a detached, independent, free spirited, brainy type, and this being the frigid season of the Aquarian I recently had a birthday. Yahoo for me, cause my wife and parents conspired to hook me up with a new touring/commuting bike as a gift. Imagine my shock the other day when I came home from work and rounded the corner into the living room and standing next to the fireplace was a bright blue, 2010 Surly Long Haul Trucker! I couldn't even really talk for about 15 minutes. Now, I've commuted to and from work for 4 years and we've done some long riding and touring trips but these have all been on Craigslist beaters. I got a new mountain bike 10 years ago and 3 years ago got my first new road bike since I was a teenager and my parents got me a Murray for like my 13^th birthday. So I've ridden auction and Craigslist bikes for everything in between. My ride across Missouri a couple years ago was on an old Novara touring bike I got from some old timer up in Evergreen. My current steed, the 84 Cannondale, has held up well and been a tremendous ride for a $60-ish dollar find. I made my bike trailer. I've scavenged parts from swap meets, sale bins etc. I do pretty much all of my own maintenance and firmly believe that the best aspect of bike ownership is the low cost-footprint of it. I love a good cheap bike like an old pair of sneakers: reliable, comfortable, carefree and therefore expendable. All that humility aside and in the brilliant duality only a true Aquarian can muster…I LOVE NEW BIKES! Some people want $50,000 cars and fancy clothes and nice homes. Screw all that crap…but a shiny new bike…with crisply shifting components, unmolested tread, waxed frame…there's nothing like it! I don't care if it's a $10,000 road bike or brand new $300 cruiser: new bikes are cool and every time you get one (which I've only had one new bike in the past 10 years so this isn't frequent) it's like that childhood first bike Christmas all over again. So I hugged my wife upon finding my birthday present…but I'll readily admit it, I hugged my new bike even harder!

First things first, let me talk about the Surly LHT. The 2010 model comes in both a 26" and 700c wheel size: Kate rightly got the 700. Surly builds its frames from 100% CroMoly steel: don't be fooled this is a beefy, strong bike. It features: Shimano bar end shifters, Tiagra and XT Derailleurs for front and rear, an 11-37 Deore cassette for a wide range of gearing, Alex Adventurer wheels and Continental tires. This bike comes complete from the factory with rands and eyelets for bolting every form of bottle, rack or touring accoutrement known to man. It stores its own spare spokes on one of the rear chainstays. It includes a notch for mounting a frame pump. Includes mounting points for fenders and 3 bottle cages "…and I even like the color." This particular one, the first of the 2010 models to be delivered to Campus Cycles, arrived the day my wife picked it up and was assembled by our good friend and very talented bike mechanic Jason Gardner (owner of Jinji Cycles.) No one had ever ridden this bike…ever! My ass would be the first to grace the new WTB mountain bike saddle: that's awesome.

After I got my head straight and exited my new-bike daze, I set to work stripping the Cannondale of its racks and accessories (sorry Cannondale, you'll make a great fixed gear project.) Each component got cleaned, de-grimed and put on the Surly with loving care.

Actually, everything fit into its appropriate eyelet with ease and the entire transfer of racks and fenders went the smoothest of any of the bikes I've mounted them to. I had an appointment yesterday to go in to Campus to get fitted and select pedals. We got to the store shortly after they opened and within an hour were back out the door with a pair of Shimano SPD pedals and a ripe and fitted LHT, ready for its maiden voyage. The bike is a beast. Those online reviewers who say the bike is slow will be pleased with the 700c wheel offering (new this year but only on 54+ size frames) but will still likely complain about the bike being somewhat of a lumbering giant. The upright posture characteristic of the touring fit will take a bit of getting used to, since I typically ride hunched over in more of a racing position. See a crack or bump in the road…just go ahead and hit it, why not? The Surly's frame makes for a ridiculously comfortable, stable and quiet ride. Unlike my aluminum frame bikes, the steel dampens road vibration and absorbs bumps like nothing else. Hell, driving down the street I hit bumps alongside cars and the cars made more racket from the impact! The bike initiates into turns surprisingly well for a tank, likely due to its long wheelbase. I'd compare it to driving a very large sedan: big, stable, comfy, cup holders and fancy trim everywhere...its everything but the old person smell. Touring on this thing will be a piece of cake.

Yesterday, despite the crap weather, we set out to put the Surly through its paces. I loaded up a pannier with a bunch of weighty junk and we set off to ride around town for a while. Not a sprinter up hills, the gearing however offers options for handling inclines with ease. After a while the upright positioning seemed less annoying and more comfortable. I didn't mind riding down the path, hitting every seam and crack in the pavement because the frame barely translated a shudder to my handlebars or seat. I easily could get used to a ride this smooth. We rode almost 30 miles in the afternoon and upon returning home I felt pretty relaxed, not too tired from pushing the hefty bike or sore from the deliberatly taxing riding. Now I have visions of loading the bike up with gear and heading out onto the open road: free to roam and take in the scenery with ease. I'll probably adjust the angle of the handlebars a bit, to get a little closer to that race feel I like, but I won't go too crazy. I don't want to ruin the pleasurable experience of the H-auling part of the Long Haul Trucker. And in true semi form, when I get this bad boy loaded up with 60-70 lbs of gear just stay the hell out of my way, cause I'll be truckin'.

The Long Haul Trucker...in all its glory

Aptly Named

Sorry guys, she's cute, has great taste in bikes and is taken!

"We Are Traffic"

2010-02-05T07:59:00.000-08:00

Parking flanks both sides of the narrow funnel for traffic in and out of the office complex parking lot. This layout creates a gauntlet of sorts for pedestrians trying to play frogger with the morning traffic coming in and out of the lot. Such was the case today when a line of a dozen or so cars streamed off the side street and into the thin entrance way. On the far side of traffic stood a mother with her very young child, she had to have been 3. Hair in a dozen tiny braids, wearing her pink coat and carrying a lunch box, the child held her mother’s hand as they waited for one of the cars to let them cross. Even while inching forward at micro speeds none of the cars wanted to give way and yield; not even a tiny human sized opening was permitted to allow this child through. They waited in the 20 degree temps under a hazy blue cloud free sky. The little girl stood close and frowned. She’s obviously seen cars before, but in this manner, streaming forward, exhausts billowing and brakes squealing with each creeping shudder of progress, the sight must have scared her. She stepped even closer, practically huddling in refuge under her mother’s coat. But at the end of the line of cars, silent and wobbling in a creeping track stand was a guy on a bike. He let them forward, in fact he could pass as close or as far from them as possible in the line of traffic and still only seem a whisper to them; the ticking of gears and derailleur no louder than a mantle clock. The mother and child freely stepped forward and made their way. Confidently clutching her lunchbox the little girl now moved out into traffic, but there was no traffic. No exhaust, no menacing grill bearing down on her, no large tires to dwarf her and render her an obstacle no more imposing than the often ignored speed bump in front of them. No traffic, just a guy and a bicycle. This too must have been a familiar sight to the child’s eyes, because she turned and looked straight at the rider, raised her arm and pointed, smile beaming on her youthful face. She locked eyes with the rider in wonder, all the while her small feet quickly stepping haphazardly across the street, lunch box flapping at her side. Once safely across and pointed towards the entrance of the building, she glanced up at her mom, still pointing, as if to ensure that her mom took note as well. “That’s right dear; a bicycle.”

Headwind Blues

2010-02-04T19:22:00.000-08:00

Tonight while I struggled to surmount the slight incline up 26th near Crown Hill, one of my fellow Primal 1st Bank riders passed me going the other way. Clad in spandex, riding what must either be a carbon or lightweight aluminum bike, heading downhill with a massive tailwind, he looked utterly effortless in motion as he waved hello while speeding past. I on the other hand, riding my behemoth 1984 Cannondale touring monstrosity, wearing corduroy pants heavy gloves with full panniers dangling off the rear rack, labored into the headwind continuously buffeting me on my journey westward. I could barely hold a tempo enough to reach 14 mph let alone manage much of a wave or hello; in all honesty it was at times an effort to wipe the snot from my nose as pleasant as that sounds. Yet this is sometimes the lot in cycling. Sometimes you have the draft or the advantage of a full tailwind helping to propel you forward at superhuman speeds. Other times you get hit in the face with a cold front and it stops you dead in your tracks. Today’s wind probably wasn’t the worst I’ve ever encountered, but towards the end of a long week, after a long day and a fast run at lunch, it was not what I needed. As my mother in law is oft to say, “Sometimes you’re the bug, and sometimes you’re the windshield.” I felt a little flattened today…glad I get to ride eastward tomorrow morning.

I tried to capture the essence of how crappy today's ride home was but this flag just wouldn't cooperate. While its not flying totally at end (which I swear it was before I snapped the shutter), I think you get the idea.

Pondering Traffic...From the Bike Path

2010-02-03T18:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Kate sent an email to see if I wanted to head down with her to the Cherry Creek Mall so the Apple Store dorks could take a look at her I-Pod. I didn’t hesitate, why not? I’d ride north from work up the Platte River Trail, meet Kate at REI and then we’d head down the Cherry Creek Trail to the mall. There we could park our bikes just outside the door, head inside and take care of business and then roll homeward. Heading home we’d reverse our trip back down to Confluence Park and hop on the bike route up 23rd to the route on 26th and comfortably ride the bike lanes into Lakewood on the way home. An entire 15-20 mile round trip journey almost entirely on paths or bike lanes.

The popular statistic of the urban bicycle movement notes that the majority of trips Americans make are within 3-5 miles of their home. The idea being that most of these trips could easily be handled by bicycle instead of automobile. Certainly many don’t have day-to-day trips which fit this boundary. I seldom had a trip under 3 miles when living in the foothills, everything but the post office was well outside that boundary. Even our net distance for this I-Pod trip surpassed this threshold. However, the leap frogs of destinations pretty much approximates it: 7-ish miles to work, about 2 miles up to REI, a couple miles to the mall etc. The longest sustained riding we did was the stretch from Cherry Creek back home: a bit over 10 miles I believe. Considering that higher concentrations of people live within cities or densely packed urban areas these average trip distances probably apply. Yet as a society we’ve steadily pushed away from focusing on inward urban mobility preferring to flee urban centers to well crafted suburbs where land is cheap and neighborhoods are tailored to provide the average middle-class American with access to a cul de sac, Wal Mart and Mini-Mall all within an easy drive. These subdivisions and suburban oases are often several miles (often 20 or more) from urban centers and dense business or commercial locations. As a result Americans cram onto freeways and sit in rush hour traffic for a significant portion of their daily commute. Additionally the piling of subdivision upon subdivision often occurs along broad boulevards spanning sometimes two or three lanes in each direction. So while in the suburbs serenity is supposed to come via proximity, it still is proximity measured by travel dependent upon the automobile.

As I sat waiting for Kate I caught a rare glimpse of this phenomenon in action as the waves of traffic queued up on Speer Blvd for entry onto I 25. I’ve never really considered the proximity of the bridge to the Confluence Park area: its right freaking there! I ride under it all the time but usually am looking at the river, other path travelers or more enjoyable sights, I can’t ever recall sitting and watching the traffic. Yet I found myself with time, and I couldn’t but help feel sorry for all of the flickering red brake lights as they filed their way onto the I 25 arterial to head either north or south to the suburbs beyond the city’s reach. I wondered how many were heading to far remote sites (Arvada, Brighton, Westminster, Castle Rock, Morrison), much like I did for 4 years; heading out from the city to the foothills up HWY 285, nearly 30 miles one way. As I pondered the building of the evening’s rush hour I’d notice the bikes that passed by me on the path: old mountain bikes, fixed gears, race bikes…dozens of different people out riding, some for recreation but most heading home with a backpack, pannier or messenger bag. As we rode up the Cherry Creek path we passed or were passed by dozens of people out commuting or riding their bikes. It actually surprised me how many people we saw, even on our return route west as we headed into ’the burbs.’

The investment in bike paths and bike lanes, coupled with an expansion of redoubled residential development within the Denver urban center has helped contribute to the growing number of people commuting by bicycle. I don’t know if it necessarily takes an oil crisis, global warming or economic catastrophe to help encourage people to ride. I suppose these events help assist in the belt tightening and alternative seeking of people looking to save a dime or a tree. Yet when it comes down to it I still think its just a simple question of quality of life. People like suburbs because they offer safety, convenience and comfort. Once people realize they can find these things in urban areas (and cities focus more on offering them) I think they too will gravitate to bicycling as a means of transport. People will ride because its fun, easy, convenient and safe. It ultimately doesn’t have to be more political or decisive than that. Perhaps the trick at this point is reaching out to the flickering lights in traffic and letting them know that they don’t really have to wait for that day to come, from where I was sitting at Confluence Park it pretty much already seems to be here.

No LSD For Me, I'm Straight...Straight Out Of My Mind That Is

2010-02-01T07:45:00.000-08:00

Despite a wonderful home cooked meal of steak, potatoes and asparagus the night before, I woke Sunday starving. Not a good sign before the last all team ride of the month. I slowly ate a stack of delicious pancakes drank some coffee and could feel my energy levels start to return. After a quick clean and lube of my bike, change into my kit and multiple warm layers (it was a touch over 20), I hit the road. The team planned to meet at Golden Bike Shop for what was cryptically labeled in the weekly email as the 'Denver West Loop'. When I got to the shop I discovered that this was nothing more than our typical ride out north to Superior and back, I felt a bit deflated at this prospect as the route only takes a couple of hours, offers but a few rolling climbs and barely scratches 40 miles: not what my legs, sadly lacking in base miles at this point, needed.

Hollow threats of a timely departure to the contrary, we left late after about 15 min of standing around freezing our asses off while waiting for folks to show. Rolling out the pace was smooth and steady. The chill in the air gave way to casual banter and chatting as we wound our way up northward from Golden. Crossing the tracks west of Indiana two guys flatted out so we dropped our pace and stopped to wait while they changed tubes. The standing around provided an opportunity for some food but also rapidly cooled warmed muscles; starting out again was painful as we greeted the frosty air with cold cores for a second time. As we hit the stretch before Simms a sprint point contest developed. I positioned myself well moving up to the 5th or 6th wheel. Watching a break on the right side I quickly pushed forward hopping wheels after a short rise in the road and caught the wheel of powerhouse Lucas heading into the final couple hundred meters. I held the draft for a few seconds and shot around Lucas for the sprint; a well executed lead out and uncontested dash to the line.

At the half way point in Superior my legs felt fresh and energized and I wanted more…fortunately for me one of my fellow CAT4 turned 3, Grant, felt the same way. We decided to leave the group and continue rolling north to Boulder. Our loop wound us up Cherryvale Road down Baseline to 75th, up to Jay and back some random road to Valmont before winding into Boulder for some food. Neither one of us could really tell how fast the other wanted to ride, and in typical macho-bike racer fashion didn’t talk about this while actually riding, so we ended rolling a pace that both of us in hindsight thought to be a bit too fast. After our break for bagels and bananas, where food gave us newly found conversational skills, we agreed to edge back the tempo a bit while climbing up the hills and eventually ‘The Wall’ out of Superior. At this leisurely pace we talked about Grant’s Triathlon training, discussed the upcoming race season and generally shot the shit. Legs feeling the lactate acid building we cruised the final rollers before heading back to Arvada. The wind from the north gave us a bit of a push and helped us maintain a decent cadence despite both us feeling the day’s mileage, which at this point was rapidly building. We parted ways at 44th, where Grant took the right back to Golden and his car, and I went straight on McIntyre to 32nd and home.

Once home I enjoyed a warm bowl of homemade potato soup (crafted by Kate from the prior day’s leftovers) and a sandwich before jumping in the shower and then pleasantly falling asleep for a quick afternoon nap. Although the temp never got into the 40’s as promised, and the skies were partly clouding hiding the sun’s warmth for most of the day, it was nonetheless a good day to be out riding. While not quite the textbook ‘Long Slow Day’ preached by trainers and coaches alike, the 80 miles of riding at tempo felt good on the legs and helped energize me for the season to come. Next weekend is Team Time Trial practice which promises to be a lot of fun.

The Squeaky Wheel...

2010-01-28T07:29:00.000-08:00

When I was in second grade I got a hamster from a litter of hamsters born to our class pet. They were long haired, fuzzy and cute from a distance: I named him (it could have been a her for all I knew) Buddy. In my second grade way I really hated Buddy because he bit me the first day I got him. I tossed him across the room and my mom had to find him and put him back in his cage. Wearing rubber gloves and swearing she tossed my room and complained about having to touch what she at the time regarded as a rat. In Buddy’s short tenure on this earth we had a pretty lukewarm relationship. I fed him and gave him water, admittedly not as often as I probably should have or he might have lived longer, and watched him through the glass of his cage as he did hamster things. In stereotypical hamster form Buddy had a wheel in his cage that he loved to run on…at night when I tried to sleep. He never touched the damn thing during the day, but he’d run for hours on it at night. Are hamsters nocturnal, where was Wiki in second grade? The incessant squeaking kept me from sleeping on a number of occasions and I would lie in my bed and curse the day Buddy was born; both for biting me and for running his stupid wheel. This morning I got on my bike and my front wheel began to squeal in a manner I’ve not heard before from the Cannondale, but one vaguely reminiscent of Buddy’s wheel. All the way to work, squeak, squeak, squeak: the bearings must need lubing. The cold night and excessively heavy, damp, morning air must have finally caused the nearly 20 year old hubs to start seizing. The whole way to work as I rolled up behind cars and passed people walking through neighborhoods I cursed my obnoxiously loud bike and how conspicuous it made me feel, very similarly to how I cursed Buddy those nights in bed. Unless there’s a miracle or the angel of Buddy comes down from hamster heaven to fix my sticking bearings, I’ll squeak the entire way home tonight as well. Buddy’s angel probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me anyway: he did bite me and I did subsequently toss him and now he's haunting my wheel so I guess we’re even. Stupid wheel: I hate the sound of squeaking and apparently always have.

The Trainer (aka Start Playing with Yourself!)

2010-01-27T08:13:00.000-08:00

As a 9-5’er the winter affords few opportunities to log any sincere form of training miles. Weather permitting, the weekend generally offers the best shot at any extensive base miles, and aside from regular commuting and riding to the store (with coats, gloves, shoe covers and the like) the miles are hard to come by. Fortunately for the eager cyclist in training the great almighty gave us trainers. Riding the trainer equates nicely to running on a treadmill or other activities one might do by themselves to get by until the real thing. Like running on a treadmill (or whatever you may do alone), no one enjoys having to do it but it gets the job done when you’ve got few other options. The worst part about riding on a trainer has to be the sheer boredom of being locked to a machine flailing away with little to show of your progress. Bikes are made to go places! There's no wind on the trainer, no speed, no coasting! So to help with the monotony of trainerdom I’ve compiled this list of things one can do to spice up that time in the basement while you play with yourself.

1. Train with a video or workout routine. This helps simulate actual riding or helps to keep your mind focused on actually working.
2. Watch TV. You can sprint during the commercials or do intervals until commercials.
3. Watch a movie. This helps if you’re going for serious length…try Dances with Wolves or Titanic or some other 3+ hour film if you can make it that long (not due to the riding).
4. Watch old race videos (bike porn). This can be very entertaining if you can get past the idea that you’re not actually in the Giro, you never will be, riding your 53-11 while your dog stares at you is not the same as sitting in with the Schleck brothers and that blonde just doesn’t have any interest in you…she makes those noises for everyone.
5. Listen to music. Music can assist in varying tempo and cadence. Listen to music you can’t stand…it makes you ride harder.
6. Sit in silence. Silence is golden.
7. Sit in silence in the dark and pretend you’re riding at night…or in a cave.
8. Read a book or magazine. I sweat like a beast no matter what so this really isn’t viable for me unless I read those 10 page plastic baby books that you can sweat, drool or chew on.
9. Share your pain with a friend. Why suffer alone? Invite one of your cycling pals over to sit on their trainer with you: misery loves company.
10. Create an inspirational PowerPoint and play it through your TV. Images could include the sad, cherub like expression of World Champion Cadel Evans; a crack pipe and 40oz bottle of Colt 45 to remind you of the fun you could be having with Tom Boonen; a picture of Jens Voigt’s scarred face to remind you you’re not even half as tough as Jens—maybe not even a quarter as tough; highlights of Alberto flying up TDF mountain stages humiliating both you and the peloton; images of 14 year old Little Aussie kids who are already better than you will ever be…ever…even with rockets on your bike.
11. You could update your Twitter account every 5 min in Lance Armstrong fashion: “I’m still riding on my trainer.” “Mary Kate’s coming over in an hour.” “We’re having sandwiches.”
12. Close your eyes and imagine you’re being chased by Dodge Ram pickup trucks, rabid dogs or triathletes—“No Mr. BadForm McTriBars you will not pass me…You will not!”
13. Listen to a book on tape, like “Its Not About The Bike” or “Harry Potter” or “I’m Not Riding By Myself In The Basement Because I’m A Loser With No Friends…Really.”
14. Get some Rosetta Stone CD’s and learn Italian or French so you can impress your local group ride with how Euro you are. And then when they drop you, you can say “Merde!” with a great accent.
15. Ride in TT position. Then after a half hour remind yourself how stupid you are to be on a trainer in TT position—stupid but aero!
16. Put your trainer in your garage or on the porch. Then it is like riding outside but sort of cheating. But while freezing your ass off you'll remember why you got on the trainer in the first place.
17. Ride your trainer while you play Wii games…then its double the illusion of exercise.
18. Ride your trainer and watch non-cycling sports. This is actually very interesting because you see other people exercising, but they’re not doing your sport, yet you feel strangely connected to them...even though you have never figure skated in your life.
19. Put some cookies in the oven and ride your trainer in the kitchen. This is much like that sect of Catholicism that believes in self flagellation: you should be punished for your sins.
20. Put your bike on the trainer and then go do something else. This accomplishes little to nothing in terms of working out or training…but really it’s the only way the trainer is even remotely enjoyable.

Sometimes...

2010-01-21T19:06:00.000-08:00

Most times cars and bike pleasantly cohabitate the same spans of pavement with little to no incident. Most times bikes can ride home from work in the bike lane with little care or concern for the traffic streaming by them. Sometimes, however, people decide they need to take short cuts through residential neighborhoods, like the side streets along Colfax Avenue. And sometimes these people decide that their need to get somewhere in a hurry supersedes the rights of others to share the roadways with them. Sometimes these people hurtle their P.O.S. late 90’s white sedans down these residential streets easily 15-20mph in excess of the speed limit. Sometimes they roll almost through the stop sign on 14th before noticing the bicyclist entering the intersection. And sometimes their tires squeal to a halt. And sometimes the cyclist gives them the WTF hand wave and glares at them while riding around the hood of their car, 3 feet into the 2.5 foot wide bike lane. And sometimes behind that incredulous and unknowing cyclist sits a Lakewood police officer in an inconspicuous SUV. Sometimes this officer gives the white sedan driving, late stopping, reckless speedster his own WTF look and flips on his lights. And sometimes, just sometimes the cyclist rides by the driver of the sedan and looks through the thin window pane of glass between them and smiles with the smug, contented smile of the vindicated. This never happens most times, seldom happens oftentimes but sometimes…just sometime.