Eco-rection

I don't really get it... Eco-rections, that is.

I get THAT they happen. I can understand that people have reasons. I just don't identify with them. There's plenty of reasons why people get aroused over "green-ness", being eco-friendly, trying to change the world.

I can understand that people really and truly believe that the single most important thing to do "in all the world, right now" is to clean up the environment. That they believe it is more important than all other political, economic, religious, technological, etc. issues.

I can understand that the pleasure of a personal crusade. How it gets ones nipples pert and erect with excitement over having a project, doing something, affecting the world. Some people want to make the world better, some people just want to affect the world. Others want to preach to others from a position of superior piety about how they are pure and proper and right in the world and therefore better than someone else who they've deemed inferior due to their different choices, or life, or situation.

But the thing that I really don't get is why people derive personal internal pleasure from "being green". I roll it over, looking at it from different angles, and it still doesn't trigger anything in me. If you choose to live your life in a way that consumes less, pollutes less, etc... that's fine. It's the way you live your life, and everyone lives their life, neh? You can make choices or have a plan for yourself and make changes. But if you're not actively organizing, or advocating, or trying to be holier-than-thou, or preaching-and-screeching, then why does "reducing my carbon emissions" become a source of pleasure in and of itself?

Where does all this come from, you ask? I was emailing with a friend that also rides a bike, and as the topic diverged from the original conversation, I made some sort of comment that "I just like bikes, that's enough for me". And she came back with how she loves that when she's riding her bike that she thinks about how good it is for the environment, and how it reduces traffic congestion, and all of that.

I'm trying to put myself in her head and understand what it is about that - what kind of pleasure or satisfaction she gets and how I can understand it by comparing it to my own experience. There's all kinds of pleasure that I can identify - a lively discussion, a job well done, a good cup of coffee, an elegant solution to a difficult problem, pleasant company, a delicious meal, swimming in the aromas of fancy beers, a hard workout, a beautiful vista, sex, friends, cool widgets, cool friends with sex widgets...

But the "I enjoy my reduced carbon footprint" pleasure? I'm just not built that way.

pedal therapy

A new mantra to cure what ails: just go pedal somewhere.

A couple weeks ago after a build up and tension-filled anti-climax of over-thought expectations, I found myself crashing hard, and into a navel-gazing funk. A little voice inside trying to console myself, trying at both ends to pull deeper within and extract from the morass. "Go, get out and do something." "Do what?" "I don't care... Try Something. Try Anything." "I should at least have some sort of plan." "No. Just go pedal somewhere."

And that's the voice that won. And as I rolled along, the lint clot in my head broke free. The bike love took over.

It fixed me.

There's lots of bike love - whether you're a pro or new to it. Sometimes you just have to remember that it's there Available, cheaper than therapy, and no reservation required.

Dapples (overdue Manistee mumblings)

The weekend before last, in honor of the last decent expected weather in Michigan, a trip just came together on a lark.

It was impromptu, happenstance, and serendipitousish, and thus begins my flawed and biased re-telling...

As y'all might know, the public lands administered by the US Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management are, unless specifically prohibited otherwise, open to the public for recreation (meaning hiking, camping, hunting, parcheesi, whatever). Assuming you aren't governed by something else (hunting season/permits, motorized vehicle restrictions, etc.) you can pretty much do your thing. And in the Manistee N.F. you've got a stretch of the North Country Scenic Trail, which is on its way from New York to North Dakota (a glimpse of the map below and full map of the National Trail System here). And the NCST, which you can read up on here, also intersects the Big M trail system. Lessee here... a pinch of trail, a dash of forest... hmm.

So G brought the minivan over, we packed in some bikes, some gear, some food and drink, I refrained from making any Soccer Mom wisecracks, and off we went up to Manistee.

4 hours later we're within the bounds of the forest. While it was a little confusing figuring out what all the obviously private dwellings were doing in the middle of what we expected to be just miles and miles of pseudo-wilderness (remember that "Wilderness" has specific federal definitions... which MNF isn't), we nevertheless managed to blunder about.

We got to the established USFS campgrounds, and instead of paying the ridiculous fee ($12 for a campsite where there was no water, no showers, no nada... just a flat piece of ground) we elected to just plop ourselves out in the forest somewhere. Down this chunky 2-track, down that chunky 2-track. Hoping that we're on public land and not inadvertently stumbling onto private land or a meth lab so that we don't get shot.

We find a spot, set up tent-age, get the bikes out and go for a quickie ride. Nice to roll out of home base and in a 5-10 minute ride be on a trail that goes for 1000 miles in either direction. NICE trail I tell ya. Wooded singletrack moseying through stands of pines and oaks and maples. Occasional boardwalk or bridge crossing creek and marsh. We go south a ways and notice that the map board at a road intersection indicates part of the NCST off-limits to bikes. Puzzling, but not a worry since it was time to turn around, and there was more trail to the north of our campsite. Back to camp in delicious pre-fall weather, make some dinner (Saag Paneer) and a beer, or was it wine start a little campfire, sit around a bit before turning in for the night.

A nice morning to wake up to and an easy breakfast of instant oatmeal and instant coffee. I have to confess - I am an unapologetic coffee snob. I'll tell you how much I hate when a bean blend is cheaping it out with Brazilian filler beans. I'll bitch about strength. But when it comes to carrying gear and cooking on the trail... nothing beats coffee crystals for that perfect combo of light, easy, adjustable strength, quick, and no cleanup or garbage. Leave the coffee pot at home, folks. Just carry instant.

Right, so the next day we have some breakfast and lazily make our way into bike gear, pack lunch and stuff, and head north seeing lots of pretty forest (some of it heavily wind-damaged, but happily cleared trail) and on the road connecting off-road trail, this yard art/eco-mower. We get to the Big M Outer Loop intersection and head around the outside of the Outer Loop, which has a couple climb sections of note and interesting bridge building technique. I've never seen bridges on primarily MTB trails that had handrails. Constructed with downed trees and a chainsaw. Three of 'em. It was weird.

So at the top of one of the longer climbs, the stomachs growling decreed that lunch was to be had, so we pulled over, munched a lunch, and lazed about in the forest watching the dappled leaves, listening to the breeze in the trees, napping a bit. er... I mean "resting my eyes"

Rolling along after lunch, it became time to head back, and so we did. Back to the campsite in just enough time to mosey over to the river and rinse our selves off ("The Little Manistee River... where the water flows clear and chilly, and the scrotal shrinkage is instantaneous."), gather water, and get to cooking. Fried tempeh with zucchini and Kung Pao/Szechuan noodles, some wine, and a campfire. Nice, that. Bummer though - the rain, she did come. Luckily, the warning sprinkles gave us time to get things stored away before it got raining for serious. But there was lots of firewood left over, and plenty of wine and beer, and that was unfortunate that they couldn't both get used that night.

But the next day was the journey back, and along the way came the Beer Gauntlet. On the way back from the Northwestern Lower (Peninsula of Michigan, for you out-of-staters) to Ann Arbor, the highway is littered with breweries. It's like a truck was driving along and they just fell out the back. Founder's in Grand Rapids, Bell's in Kalamazoo, Arcadia in Battle Creek, Dark Horse in Marshall.

Gotta say, the start and end points were... tasty. Founder's, y'all rock. I have much beer love for you. And you sponsor bike racin'. And have cool live music. Have I mentioned I like your beer lots? Kentucky Breakfast Stout, while very limited in availability, is delicious. Round and full, swells nicely on the tongue and rolls strong, comes off it slowly and gently. Well done. If you get a chance, give it a try. And the regular Breakfast Stout. And the Red's Rye. And Black Rye. And the Dirty Bastard Scotch Ale.

I limited myself in time and liver capacity to one, and we moved on to Bell's. While it's a fascinating tap room (with art and maps and historical documents), the beer was... mediocre. Bell's continues to non-impress me. Yes, they are the 800 lb gorilla in Michigan Beer. But the hoopla about Oberon is overrated, especially since every time I had it this year it has been terrible. Two-Hearted Ale, sure, but that's about all I can stand to buy. Everything else is ridiculously priced, and not really good enough to justify the price. I had the sampler, had a hard time picking because there was nothing on tap that hadn't been around on store shelves already over the past 5 years.

On to Arcadia. Beautiful bar/restaurant in the celtic style, but again... nothing new. The beers have remained the same as they have been for 10 years. While they've had small-run interesting but not very available batches like Coco Loco, Hopmouth, and Cereal Killer, the rest of the beers have stayed middling.

Dark Horse Brewing wins the Upstart Award. It's a tiny, tiny place in Marshall, MI (also a tiny place). What they lack in refinement of label art they make up for in enthusiasm. Favorites of mine: Crooked Tree IPA, the Black Beer, the Amber Ale, and the joint venture with Corner Brewery: Dark Corner. Tasty stuff, it is.

And Dark Horse likes bike racin' too. Oh yeah, and the sister brewery of Corner Brewery, Arbor Brewing Co. also sponsors bike racin'. I'm seeing a trend here.

Ok, blah. I've blathered too long. Forest, Bikes, Beer: mmm, Good.

woof.

chuckle-snarky

Gah. Been bad. Ain't been posting. But couldn't resist passing along the snarkiest corporate slogan/motto/tagline I've seen in a while:

BOB Trailers - "the leader in following"

not a bad day...

Regardless of the late start I got on the day, I gotta say that it shaped up pretty well.

Started with the emails back and forth that look like will get me a good recommendation on a job with a company I've been thinking about for a while. Good, that.

And then the bikey shtuff... first of all, a big Thank You Hug to the collective staff of the Infrastructure Planning and Street Maintence (and whoever else) at the City of Ann Arbor for the updates to Packard Rd. Been a pain in the ass in many ways, the construction project to bolster infrastructure (water, etc.) for the SE corner of the city resulted in new pavement that includes (ta daa!) bike lanes. They went from 2 lanes each way to 1 each way with a shared turn lane, and Full Sized Bike Lanes. Which kicks ass. Happy taxpayer, I am. And really has very little effect on traffic flow, given the feeder streets to that section of Packard and usage patterns. I realize that this is only 1 mile or so of changes, but it's a step in the right direction. Oh yeah, and it's right outside MY house. Now if only Morgan and York would fix the damn neon sign. It's incredibly tacky to be in such disrepair, and it's not like they don't bank large amount of cash from their froofy booze-n-cheese business. Pony up for the maintenance bucks, guys. The asphalt road is showing you up, and it just lays there.

For those interested in urban planning and transportation alternatives, check out the Ann Arbor Non-Motorized Transportation Master Plan. It's a long slog through a long document, but brings up all kinds of interesting planning, safety, and usage pattern factoids.

Other bikey news. It was absolutely perfect weather. 60 miles run through Waterloo, no bonking. Nice.

Bikey chit chat: rolling through Waterloo I ran into up Brian (Sociology grad and part-time wrench slinger for Two Wheel Tango) and we rode back eastward together. Plenty of chance to chat, and while we were talking for most of the way, my sore shoulders and post-ride cough gave me the distinct impression that he would spank me big time in a higher-stakes ride. Talked about this and that... lamented the fact that the Bloomer Park Velodrome is so far away, but so so fun. Now where in Washtenaw county could we put one? I mean, there's gotta be at least a couple hundred people that would be interested, what with the thousands of bike folks on the Ypsi/AA/Saline/Dexter/Chelsea axis. I'd love to make a comment about how Brian, as a part-timer, does more for the cred of the shop than Dennis (owner) does with his Mr.-Grumpy-doesn't-seem-to-want-you-as-a-customer attitude, but I'm not negative like that. or am I?

So then it was a christening of my new pressure cooker with with some cow peas, bacon, garlic, and kale, and a smidge o' red red wine for the glass. Gotta tell you, I do make a damn good bean dish, if I may say so m'self. The one thing I just love about kale, other than it's apparent surface hydrophobia, is that it takes abuse like no other leafy green I know. You can cook the snot out of it (i.e., toss it in and forget about it for a while) and it just takes the punishment and comes out tasty and nicely textured. It must have a little bit of masochist in it.

So I'm gonna head out and see Eastern Promises tonight just to try to cap it off with a flourish. Viggo makes a good movie, David Cronenberg (History of Violence, Crash, eXistenZ, The Fly) does really good stuff, and Naomi Watts? Well even if she hadn't pulled me in and ripped me a new one in 21 Grams, she is so... meow. Mmm, pretty. Throw in some Russian Mob intrigue and some prison ink, and I'm ready to be entertained.

integration vs. innovation

What does how we think say about each of us? Not what we think, but how we think.

I walk and talk. I ride a bike. I shower. I sit. I eat. I sleep. I drive. And I hear about/from other people - about when they had this inspiration or that revelation. For some, figuring things out comes from talking through them - not necessarily (but maybe sometimes) because of dialog with another, but just by speaking the words and engaging the verbal brain, the process works something in the clickety-clack and out pops this new thing. For others, it's standing in the shower and the hot water and noise pouring over them smooths over the distractions to find the nugget of Nouveau. Sometimes riding a bike or running works the ideas through to previously undiscovered vistas.

This started out being about riding the bike - on a long ride my brain is more likely to integrate quietly in the background, and conspicuously, not spontaneously innovate. That the long stretches jostle everything around and new information settles in the cracks making itself comfortable, producing a compact solidity that makes room for new things to come in afterward, but keeps new synthesis from poking through to the top. I love the metaphor, but the consequence is not exactly something I'm that keen on. It's been far too easy over the years to adapt to my circumstances, and sometimes I wonder exactly who I am anymore. That I'm too much of an integrator.

At the same time I'm still prickly and argumentative for the sake of argument - to a fault at times. Maybe that's just my inner teenager rebelling for the sake of rebellion and to make its mark on the world. Opposing anything and rejecting everything, good and bad regardless.

But when it comes to the new, everyone has their own style. For me requires a substantial amount of monotony. Digging ditches. Putting Tab A into Slot B and pasting to Sheet C, over and over. I guess my brain has to have the opportunity to wander a bit and clear out the everyday business before getting to somewhere new. I often find that point... somewhere 10-20 miles east of Benton Harbor. On the way to Chicago, it's that point where I've had about 2 - 2.5 hours in the car, a cup of coffee or two, there's not much traffic or distraction, I'm settled enough into driving that I don't feel tired anymore or uncomfortable yet. Of course, I don't go that way that often, but it's predictable enough that the brain be warming up right then.

If only I could turn make it on-demand inspiration...

Crapola. Haven't been too bike-thusiatic the past week or so, until this weekend. Went for a couple hours of ridin' in the dirt out at the Poto yesterday, and was all ready to be pavement-ey this morning. But it looks like it's gonna rain all damn day. Fricken-frack.

It's what I can't have that I want the most right now - dry pavement.

Death Ride wrap-up

It was good. Hard. Long. Getting on the bike at 6:00 am and rolling back to the cabin at 6:30 pm makes for a loooong day. Fred described it best: "You know what it's like to go for a 4-5 hour ride and think 'that was a long ride', but in this case, it's a whole day that disappeared while you were on the bike."

The track here shows the route - out and back to the far side bottom of Monitor Pass, same for Ebbett's, and then to the top of Carson's and then back. 127 miles total. Max speed: 53.6 mph



We got in on Thursday, assembled from various flight schedules, picked up luggage, bikes, and drove to the cabin. Along the way, little would we know that the playing of Rammstein's Amerika would result in it becoming the theme song for Team Old Style. We got unpacked at the cabin and went for a Massive Dinner and grocery shopping trip. Ate at a Basque restaurant family-style. That means sit down at long tables and food just starts showing up. No need for a menu - your only choice is what kind of meat you want, otherwise you eat what's put in front of you. And then food just keeps on coming... and coming... and coming...

Needless to say that with all the "Got Picon?" joke-y shirts and bumper stickers and such, some of us were compelled to try it. Not exactly going to become a household name anytime soon, but definitely better than moutai. A little bit of Port, some soaking in Diana's hot tub, some more Port, some staring at the stars, and then Team Old Style vent off to schleep.

Friday morning saw us putting bikes together by the light of the morning sun. Beautiful scenery, but dudes be looking pretty rough around the edges early in the morning. Faces only a mother could love. Figured we'd go for a ride to loosen the legs a bit and see what the countryside looked like - went for 40-miler with 3000 ft of up in it, out to Markleeville and the hot springs (beautiful, by the way) and then back past the cabin and out along Airport Rd, which is... duh, by the airport (basically, a strip of asphalt that has FAA signs on it - not much else).

So then we get to the sketchy bit - on the map when I was plotting a route for the GPS to guide us through, I thought "hmm... the dotted line usually means dirt road. Looks like this road suddenly becomes dirt. Think we should re-route? Nah. Just power through. It's only 1-2 miles of dirt. How bad can it be?" Well, it was the chunkiest bunch of buried sharp rocks I've ever had to dodge on a road bike with dainty tires. Steve apparently dodged all of 'em except one, so he got the first and only (as far as I know) flat of the trip. Good time for pictures, and I gotta say, if you're going to flat, you might as well flat in a nice little valley next to a pretty little lake.

So then we get back from the warmup ride and go to registration and find out that, contrary to our imaginings, registering as a team (even an ersatz one) does not simplify registration. It actually was more than frustrating, and there were other "teams" in the same boat. They told us to come back at 9pm and it'd all be sorted out. Annoying, to say the least. But the good thing was that there was lots of pretty eye-candy at the registration expo. I gotta say, I could get used to showing up at events for endurance athletes. Death Ride, dirt-triathlon, crit... damn there's a lot of toned, tanned, beautiful women hanging out wearing snug/skimpy clothing over their hardbodies. Meeeow.

With time to waste, we figure it's a good time to shop for brake pads and cassette for Andrew (his pads on the Cane Creek brakes were heinously hard and slippery), grab a coffee, and then head over Monitor Pass (the first one on the route for the event) to go to the casino with the all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner. Along the way, seeing the road and the climb, that's when Andrew started metaphorically shitting his pants about the ride. He hadn't been getting any training in because of work and new baby at home, was feeling out of shape and heavy, and seeing the length and grade of the climb had him moaning and keening in the back seat. Eventually we got to the casino, it was a no-go for spaghetti, so we found a pizza/pasta joint down the road and ordered a shitload of food. 5 dudes polished away: 2 orders of spaghetti/meatballs, 2 orders of ravioli, 1 order of lasagna, and 2 pizzas. It was... a lot. All in the service of preparing for a long day ahead. Some burping, farting, and registration details later, we were tucked away in bed for a good night's sleep and a 4am wakeup.

The next morning was early. We elected to wait until the sun was up so that we wouldn't have to carry lights, so we hit the road at about 6:00. While still together on the Montior Pass climb, we got a kind fellow Death Rider to snap a photo of us while we were still all riding together. It's silly to try to stick together over 130 miles - people's rhythms on the climbs just don't match up, and everyone needs to go at their own pace. But for the first pass at least, we were reasonably together.

Later on in the day saw us catching up with each other at the rest/feed stops, and in at least one instance, Steve and Karl seem to have met up in the porta-potty.

Of course, some of the times we would meet up because someone was just getting to the top, and the other had already been down the other side and had come back up, but still, it was nice to be able to catch up and see how everyone was feeling. And it may have seemed silly getting matching jerseys before the ride, but it sure is easy to spot your buddies in rest areas and when they are blasting down at you at 50 mph. Not only that, but we got more than a few nice compliments on our stylish Old Style jerseys. So there. Team Old Style in tha' hizzie.

Technology-wise, what I feared might happen, happened.. the battery in my Garmin 305 wasn't up to the task of a 12-hour day. I got the "battery low" message at the start of the 5th climb, but wanting to record the high-speed descending, I turned it off for the climb and turned it on before blasting down (thus the missing 17 miles at mile 95).

When it comes to blasting down, I might weigh 200 lbs, and that's a non-trivial thing when you're trying to turn the 39x23 up the 10% and 12%. But when the direction is down? Oh, it's a different story. It's awfully easy to go fast down the hill.

I don't have balls big enough to let go and bomb down Ebbett's at Stupid Speed - there's some wacky bits on the way down. But Carson is wide open, and though it was open to traffic, there wasn't much (traffic). Besides, who in their right mind is going to try to pass a cyclist in the middle of the lane going 50 mph when there's oncoming traffic? None that I saw. Motorists were really pretty easy-going on the road. Heck, there's 3000 cyclists out there. By the time they got to passing me, they were used to the idea of bikes on the road.

So yeah, back to the "it was a long ride" part - my tender sitting places hurt a bit on Saturday night. Not to say that there weren't breaks from pedaling to be had - water and food stops at the top and bottom of each mountain pass. But at the top of Carson's Pass when I got back on my bike, clipping in and sitting down... yoinks. Cabin proprietress and masseuse extraordinare Diana tells me that it wasn't a sore muscle, but likely a tissue bruise (and we'll call it "minor", I know she meant to say so, even though the word didn't come out of her mouth)

So did I mention that I was pedaling a 39x23 on this? Yeah, that was stupid. Manly and awe-inspiring... but stupid.

Sure, it gave me something to brag about later at the cabin (i.e. "you buncha weines with your compact cranks and 11-27s... sissies, all o' youse."), but for many, many hours I would finding myself riding next to people spinning a much easier gear (triples, or 34x28s) and silently lust for their gearing. Oh yeah, and the simple fact that I could see what their gearing was means that I could see the right side of their bike (meaning that they were to the left of me, meaning that they were passing me). There's meaning in there somewhere, I'm sure of it. Regardless, when I back out the calculation of a 39x23 being 143 gear-inches, at 7mph on the up-sections, it would appear that I was climbing with a cadence of about 50 rpm. Not so good in the long term leg health, but my knees have felt fine during and ever since. Lucky, I guess.

But more importantly, it was pretty. Fun and pretty. Sure, slogging up the mountain is work. But when you turn around and tuck in and blast down the mountain faster than you've ever been, you very easily forget about the previous 2 hours of slow climbing that it took to get there. The views were amazing. The instant camaraderie with 3000 other people was unexpected, but in a day of shared suffering and exhilaration, a rather nice thing.

A couple days after getting back from the ride, someone asked me "so.. would you do it again? Maybe not next year, but some other time?" My free-association response: "I'd do it again next month if it wasn't so damn far away. Where do I sign up?"

overdue happenings

Been a while, I know. Just haven't exactly felt bloggish. Plenty been going on though...

At the moment I'm sitting in the Vegas airport on my [cough] 4 hour [gack] layover between Detroitia and Reno. Hey, at least they've got the free WiFi here - I sure as hell don't pay for access in airports. Internet access sure is handy when you're wringing your hands for 4 hours holding out hope that my bike got loaded on the plane at DTW and will make the transition in Vegas. AND I'm hoping it doesn't get murdered by the baggage handlers. You see, I'm heading out to ride the bike in the California Death Ride.

I'm certain of two things:
- There's no possible way that I'm trained up and "ready" for a ride like this. There's just no mountains in Michigan to practice on.
- Of all of my admirable qualities [ahem], tolerating pain and discomfort are two of them... along with stubbornness, of course.

These, along with my charming personality, shall see me through the day.

So what's been going on lately? Well, Andre had a birthday a couple weeks back, so he had a party. I entertained my aspirations of animatronic cake sculpturing, but discovered that maybe I was setting the bar too high for my second cake ever. I learned that buttercream frosting is NOT a good idea for a summer party - it just gets too thin when the temps go up. Imagine that, a forsting made predominantly out of butter... melts. Who'da thunk it?

Much carousing and fun was had. Folks got out instruments and played for a while on the back porch. Ok, who am I kidding, "a while" = 'til 2 or so. Gerry and Sean were guitaring, Dave with the keyboardin', and varying other people bopping in and out on the tunes. Dave played ALL night - I was worried that he might be glued to the keyboard, but it just seems that he be liking to play and don't like to stop. Hammed it up for the camera, too. (thanks Dave!)

I can't tell exactly what happened here though - either Warren got assaulted by his own accordion, or the mood lighting and relaxing effects of beverages made Accordion a little extra amorous, and this should have been a "private" moment.

Sheesh, hippies these days.

Stacey had a party a couple days later to celebrate the 4th and all things Americana, including such cocktails as "Old Fashioneds" and Manhattans. All sorts of hot-dish-esque American foods too - the pigs-in-a-blanket apparently were a hit, and the veggie-dog versions went over pretty well too. Of course, the kids got to 'em first, so that might explain things. And while Stacey might complain about not wanting people posting pictures of her, she can rest assured that, while I'm shameless about sharing some of them, the picture staring down into her cleavage will never leave my computer. See? It's all upside from here.

On the 7th (7/7/07), Jimmy organized another alleycat in Ann Arbor. It being a nighttime race was cool, especially since then there's this crazy train of silly bike people with blinky light charging through downtown terrorizing pedestrians and pissing off motorists in a mad dash to beat it to the next checkpoint, or beat out other racers, or whatever. I'm normally really quite law-abiding and peaceful, but when there's a race on, I let my good example self stay home (heck, there really wasn't even a prize, but winning be what matters and people and things are only obstacles in the way). Most motorists don't know what to do when they encounter bicyclists on the roads (other than yell or throw shit at us) so I think of it as removing the necessity for them to make a decision. I'll only be going into oncoming traffic for a second or two, and I'll be through the intersection faster than they can decide what to do.

So this was a scavenger-hunt format on the theme of the seven deadly sins, with mostly picture-taking to prove you were there, but at gluttony, you had to down 10 saltines without drinking anything before leaving the checkpoint. Which sucked. Riding hard, all out of breath and cottonmouth-y, then 10 crackers? I guess I'm glad it wasn't fat-free matzo or anything.

Things I learned this time? When there's a starting sprint to a checkpoint for dice roll to decide where to go first, you gotta be the first one to hit that. Standing in line behind other people who are already riding off makes me antsy as hell. So yeah, that's the occasion for the balls-out sprint. Oh yeah, and when you get in and take 2nd place, check the cameras of the team that took first. I swear, those dudes weren't even sweaty, and it was a hot night - did they even hit all of their checkpoints? I say this afterwards, but didn't think of it at the time, and Jimmy wasn't really checking, electing more for the honor system than anything else. Dang. Coulda had 1st. Next time maybe.

Funny thing, I *just* saw the baby-faced young guy (on the team that took first) out at the track a couple days previous when I went to "beginner's night". I was kinda bummed out because by the time I got there it was threatening to rain, and by the time I got changed, it rained. We waited, and it stopped and almost dried out, but then it rained again, and that sucked. Ah well, I'll have to wait until some other week. The track looks like fun. I don't know if I've got what it takes, but heck, what can it hurt? (oh yeah, legs and lungs, that's right...)

Alrightey, time to get on a plane. Cross your fingers and wish the baggage handlers luck in getting the bike on the same plane that I'm on.

Dexter Crit race

Well, a big old lukewarm is what I've got for you, dear readers.

Felt ok-ish, stayed in it near the front, didn't crash, didn't crash anyone out, but didn't bring the cheese home, either.

No great mysteries either - the crux of the biscuit was in the last lap, halfway through the lap, going up the hill before the downhill S-curve and straightaway finish. Fairly obvious spot to put on the oomph for the finish, and I even thought about it during the warmup laps. I knew it, but blew it. I'm the kind of guy that doesn't have a whole lot of "pop" - it takes me a while to wind up to full speed. So since there's not a lot of passing in the S-curve, and the straightaway is pretty short, I probably should've started pushing earlier up the hill instead of responding to other people making moves and watching them from behind.

Aaaaanyway... mid-pack finish for me on a field of 20-25 dudes - and now I know now - I need to remember to go early, go often. (er.... ok, maybe just early).

All in all, it was fun. Me likey.

There ain't nothin' going on in MI for a while until the Ada Crit... might have to go to Ohio for racey-poo. (or, maybe I should go see what that track thing is all about) Then again, there's Death Ride in a few weeks... maybe instead of working on fast, I should work on putting on distance and that up-the-mountain thing. Bah. Whatever. The wheels-on-the-bike-go-round-and-round...

preparing to...

... I don't know, have something to say? (bizarre, yes, but bear with me)

You see, last night I made my virtual way over to the sign up spot for the Dexter Crit and, along the way, to USA Cycling (to get that license thingie). So I'm committed. In shape or not, psyched or not.
Saturday, me be racin'.

So though I've been putting miles in all season, it's all been friendly group ride miles. You know, where etiquette matters and smooth and polite is the order of the day (town sign sprints excepted, of course). So... I figure I better get my fast-n-hard-cornerin' brain in the mood, so I went to the Velo Club crit practice last week and this week. Last week, I was feeling like a punk because I couldn't hang on when the speed cranked up in the last lap or two. This week, the same. But it's a mixed group of people, everyone from newish dudes like me to Cat1/2s. So I wasn't the first to fall off, I'll say. And that if you're not in the lead group going into the finish, it seems that folks are calm and don't exactly sprint for 6th. (it's a practice race, ya know...)

So what's my point in all this? Well, since this is the first race I've entered in... 12 years? (yikes) ... I have NO IDEA what to expect out of the Cat5 race. Compared to riding with the big-lung/big-leg dudes? I guess I'll be preparing to say:

a) how surprised I was at how slow the race was
b) how surprised I was at how fast the race was
c) how good I felt (if I did well)
d) how badly I felt (if I did poorly)
e) all of the above

Am I nervous? Yeah, sure. Am I worried? No, I guess not (worried about what?) Anxious? Sure.

Hell, I could go 'round and 'round for hours like this. I need to quit thinking like it's life-or-death. It's just ridin' a bike around town, goin' hard and tryin' to do it harder and faster than other dudes.

Right?

buncha assholes

So here we are in the lovely Twin Cities of Minnesota, G and I... me with the lounging about town, her with the work, digging in the archives and public records. Staying with gracious hosts Fred and Mona for the week and cavorting about town on occasion. Yesterday morning, she's leaving in the morning to go out into the wild and woolly world when she comes back in with just a single sentence.

"The bikes are gone"

What? (the fuck?)

Her bike was missing along with one of Fred's. (After a phone call, it seems Fred rode into work, but hers was definitely gone.) We'd brought our bikes along as a way of getting around town (and me, I was of the mood to put on some miles too), and were parking them in the garage, right near Fred's bikes. The garage where Fred keeps all his bikes. And overnight, someone went to some trouble to break in, and took her bike. After more than a year of bikes being stored there, the fuckers pick THIS week to break in, when the out-of-towners are visiting. And while there's beau coup pricey bikes around once they were in the garage, they steal the one with the most sentimental value to it's owner. Fucking assholes.

We made a police report and all that but there's harsh reality - it's not likely to be recovered. There's just too many places it could go, so many bikes in this town, it's not so unique a bike it doesn't get lost in the multitude of other bikes, and cops don't exactly consider it as seriously as they would violent crime. Nevertheless, my font of anger bubbles about such things.

I think back to the days back at the shop I worked at in my youth. Occasionally, a bike belonging to a shop regular or employee would get stolen, a bike near and dear that was known around town. The word would go out on the street, and every now and then, bike people would get lucky and someone would see the bike somewhere. Revenge and reclamation ensued, whether it be a confrontation, a call to the police, or chasing the fucker down and knocking their sorry ass off it.

If it could happen more often, the Brutal Reclamation...

My angry self tells me this.

In the place where there used to be trusty transportation, a light breeze, and a smooth rolling along, there's sadness and pockets of anger.

But there's memories, too. Lots of old ones. And a couple of new fresh ones that are happy and good. There's more memories to come, with a bike that will come anew to a home that's already ready to welcome it.

How I Luvs My Glasses (or...How Spring Vegetation Makes You Pretty)

Went for a long ride in the dirt, and while there's a certain amount of hassle with getting gear together and into the car to go out to the good trails, I discovered today that the eyewear I was hating on the road (the bottom of the frames really get in the way of looking over my shoulder), I'm lovin' on 'em today.

Ok, maybe it doesn't look bad now, but when I came down the hill and around the bend, got clocked in the face with a surprise branch and it wrapped around my neck before ripping away, I was a little surprised at how easily I bled. It was just a branch and leaves, fer cryin' out loud.

Thus is the story about how I'm so happy with having eyewear. I still have both my eyes, neither collected any twigs along the way, and they still function quite well, thank you very much.

burf.

Did some ridin' today... but none of the normal roadie hoosey.

Met up with G to go ride some of the unofficial trails out on the east end of AA - basically public or Uni land that people have walked/rode on enough that they turn deer trails into human-passable trails. Some of it might technically be... uhm... without invitation for the landowner... but I can't imagine, other than maybe stumbling on a meth lab, that anyone would care. Of course, if we strayed onto the golf course, we'd probably be shot on sight, 'cause you know how those golfers get about people that don't ascribe to latest fashion. Anyway, a little sunshine, a little muck (still a little squishy down by the river), but a good time for a couple hours.

Then she scooted off to a musical extravapalooza with the family, friends, and neighbors, and I caught up with Pete downtown for a smoothie, a coffee, and then to go to my first Ann Arbor alleycat race. Now, while I don't really identify with the bullhorn-brigade fixie hipsters, a bike is a bike, and were all just a bunch of kiddies on two wheels havin' some funs. Me, I was caffeinated and chompin' at the bit for the go-go-go. I was still on the knobby bike, and when I paid in and got the map with checkpoints, realized that it would be a total pavement non-stair-jumping kind of a thing. With 30 minutes to go before the start, I scootched home, swapped out the dirty bike for the road bike, and came back. This particular event was of the out-and-back to checkpoint (4 times) variety, which, while I enjoyed it, might have preferred a looped or meshed or more interpretive/creative checkpoint distribution. Where choices of route are more up to the individual, and can make/break your time. Of course, the checkpoints were all along decent roads, most with bike lanes, so that was nice for safety, but heck, proper lane usage and complete stops at signs ain't exactly one of the biggest priorities in one of these kinds of things, knowhahumsayin?

So now you're wondering: "so... how'd you do?" Dismal. I blame... myself. On the way back from the first checkpoint, I did a stupid cut through a parking lot, had to get up a curb in a tight spot, and burfed it pretty hard, pinch-flatting the rear. I had a tube, but no pump. So now this basically turns into a brevet for me. I'm walking/jogging back the last mile from the checkpoint to home base, scouring my brain for bike shops around here (yeah, at 5:30 on a Saturday?) or gas stations. No dice. But, I go back to home base, and decide I'll ride the flat [gently, please] about 5-6 blocks to a gas station that might have air. Change the tube, and off I go. 2nd checkpoint and back, and then my stupidity kicked in. Tried a shortcut in a part of town I don't know well and overshot the turn, ending up on Plymouth instead of Broadway. Had to go way out of my way, and deal with hills I shouldn't have needed to, adding to my failings.

Never the less, there was the last checkpoint, the jam to the finish line BBQ, and a solidly mediocre middle-of-the-results finish. Pissed about my mechanical, bio-mechanical, and navigational stupidities, but was cranked up on endorphins by the finish, so all happy-go-lucky. Some grilled meat and salty chips later, yackety-yack with fellow riders, and all a good time.

Pete smoked me, by the way - and on his coaster-brake Schwinn cruiser. His knowledge of Arb shortcuts, other navigational oddities, and robustness of steed won him a nice 6th. That, and he's a gonzo badass who has a bunnyhop on that cruiser that... shit... I'm still in awe of. Tip o' the cap you, Herr Peter VonGonzo.

Flandis sounding kinda weak

so said Floyd:

This is yet another in a series of malicious actions by USADA that tramples my right to have my case heard in fair and just way... I’m infuriated by the behavior of USADA and the LNDD. Together, they have turned this proceeding into a full-scale attack on my civil rights and a mockery of justice.

... persecution complex, anyone?

It's not your civil rights that are being attacked, buster. You're engaged in business arbitration. You haven't been arrested or charged with a crime, bound into slavery, or been prejudged based on race, gender, religion... you've been accused of cheating in a competition. There's a difference. I for one really hope he didn't do it, not because I care about Floyd, but because I want cycling to be a clean(er) sport (than it seems these days).

I do indeed hope the USADA arbitration comes quickly so this can go to the CAS... and then it'll be over. How much possible flailing about can there possibly be over a couple of cups of piss? Test it, confirm it, guard against error and fraud and technician bias... these are not difficult concepts.

post-bonk Orange-gasm

What is it about oranges these days? I am obsessed. Some days, I have 4 or 5 of 'em. And when I eat them, it's not pretty. It's an orgy of sweet juicy orange pleasure. I can't imagine what I look like (an expression of crazed mania? a dark and predatory glare? glorious and thankful delight?) but I know that I don't know how I seem. All my attention is on the orange. And how quickly I can shuck the rind and get it stuffed into my pie-hole. Like pistachios - the rate-limiting step is the peeling more than anything.

Take today for example. I rode the Waterloo route this afternoon, and even though I took food and tried to eat smart on the way (yes, I've run out of gas on that route before), I still bonked and suffered the last 15 miles. But when I got home, eyes dry and burning, I was all about the oranges. 1 was good. 2 was better. 3 was damn fine. I had to stop myself because it tripped my "this might be a bad thing when it goes too easy and too quickly" sensor.

In other news - I was on the way back home on HRD and I passed what looked like the Tuesday AAVC group ride heading out. It was nice to see tons of folks out rollin' along, but I'm thinking that 30-35 people bunched up is not exactly a good way to go. Sure, take your space on the road and roll strong in traffic, but with that big of a group, on that 2-lane, no-shoulder/no-escape-route, potholed-and-cold-patched road? Safer to split up a bit, don't you think? When the bunch is 4-abreast in a random diamondy shape, when cars pass... maybe they're gunning it? Kinda makes it sketchy for whoever is riding on the left side, no? I'm just sayin'. Bigger than 20 people: maybe split it up. Now if only the route would change by 3 blocks to avoid that dude in Dexter who yells at everyone rolling through that stop sign. Or, maybe just change the route to avoid rolling through the stop sign to begin with? Call me crazy...

SRAM-alama-ding-dong

I finally just decided that the forces of Want exceeded my financial prudishness. Gimme, Gimme, Gimme, and I plunked down my dollars.

The SRAM Force build kit is coming in about a week, and soon, grasshopper, soon, I'm gonna be all DoubleTap™ey-ish. More with-it in the 21st century, yes I am. I've been a proud retro-grouch with a fetish for Italian parts, but I think I'm gonna give the boys and girls in Chicago (and Taiwan, or India, or wherever they manfacture) a chance at my velo-pleasure-receptors.

In other parts news, it seems that there's rumors of carbon fork breakage. In this, I'll remain a retro-grouch for a while. Stems? Bars? Steerer tubes? pretty damn important to keeping your ass upright and on the bike. Granted, in the famous Hincapie wreck in Paris-Roubaix due to a broken steerer, it was an aluminum steerer (and not carbon) that probably was compromised in a previous crash... but still. I'm just not there yet. One day maybe, but not just yet.

"there's no such thing as bad weather..."

".... there's only inappropriate attire." And guess what? My attire is particularly inappropriate for riding in this weather.

It was 60 degrees just a few days ago, so when my eyeballs saw this, I thought "bah, 33 degrees ain't so cold... I'll just layer up and tough it out. Besides, if I'm heading off to the trail, once I get in the trees it won't be so cold, will it?" Well, not noticing the wind gusting to 30 was a serious failure of attention on my part. From my hands to my waist, I was toasty. Even my head was warm. But my cheeks (all 4 of 'em), thighs, and toes were feeling tingly, chill, and numb, in that order. Oh yeah, and as soon as I dropped off the pavement and onto trail, two other bad things happened... (1) "ouch, that hurts" (2) [squish] goes the muck.

Looks like I won't be riding on dirt for a while - not only is wet, mucky, and erosion-ey spring here, but my shoulder still ain't feelin' right 95% of the day, I'm fine. But when I do certain things, it's clear I ain't 100% yet. Seeing as how my only bike for the dirt is hard nosed and hard tailed, blasting around on the bumpedy-bump is just gonna have to wait a while.

oh, meeeoooww.

Oh, how I loves the bike porn. It's not just the glamour shots and the shiny bits and the juicy paint jobs... Over at Vanilla, they sure do some pretty stuff, and it's the subtle little things that are making me goosebumpy today:

Not only the little red details on the seatstay bridge, but the fender attach points inside the fender under the seat stay bridge and on the back of the seat tube. Subtle, meaningful, nice.

And then the sexy-as-hell seat stays, with the schweet cable routing. [mmph] (bites lip)

And who isn't a sucker for chrome? It's not just the cutouts on the lugs, the polish and paint detail at the edges, just all together it just... works.

ok, cold shower time.

'Tucky Travels

Got back from Mammoth Cave Kentucky last week... a fun enough adventure, but not exactly life-changing experience either. On a scale of 0 to 10, I'd give it a 6.5, maybe 7. No catastrophes, no ecstasies either.

Got kind of a late start on Sunday, leaving around 11-ish, and for the 6-7 hour drive, that unfortunately meant setting up camp (and then cooking dinner) at the park in the dark. This would become a theme for the week: being too optimistic about time, and thus perfecting my skills at pitching a tent and cooking/cleaning without the benefit of sunshine. And while camping is certainly a cheaper way to travel than hotel, I wasn't exactly happy to pay $17 per night in the main campground. $17? For what? A plot of dirt? Sure, there's running water and toilets, but no showers (gotta pay $2 at the store for that). Whatever.

Monday was Cave Day, and I, surprisingly, got an early start. (whenever I'm sleeping somewhere new, I usually wake a dozen or so times in the night). And thus, began my second disappointment. The Wild Cave Tour is weekends only, and sells out months in advance. Crapola. Instead, I picked the Grand Avenue and Historic tours. And this is where I have henceforth solidified my new policy about trails, routes, tours, and vacations. If it is a "wilderness" area and it DOESN'T have safety warnings... it's probably pretty boring. Anything that has paved trails, is stroller-accessible, and has bathrooms nearby is likely to be jammed with slow-moving groups of retirees and children bouncing all over the place. I'm not hatin' on your sprogs, I just happen to be child-free, healthy, and adventurous. When I'm looking for grandeur of nature, I would rather it wasn't corrupted by constant yelling of 5-year-olds. It wasn't just me... the kind, gentle, mother-of-two who couldn't get her point across to the non-parenting parents of the uncontrollable child, even after resorting to shouting over her shoulder at least five times "Kid! I can't hear...will you SHUT UP!"... she wasn't enjoying the distraction, either. It is also, I found, very difficult to take casual photos in caves. Flashes wash things out, or fail to illuminate the nifty dark recesses. All I was left with was random shots of the backs of heads of my fellow tour-goers. If you want to see pretty photos, buy the postcards.

The Historic Tour was pretty interesting - about how the cave was used as a residence 4000 years ago and then more or less abandoned 2000 years ago by Native Americans, then re-discovered explored back in the 1800's by settlers, how it went from being a tourist destination to an industrial saltpeter operation, then becoming a tourist destination again, imagining exploring massive chambers by the light of a feeble oil lamp, etc. After 7 hours of tours, I realized that sunshine wasn't going to last forever, so I got the bike together and went on a quickie ride. Half hour out and back... then dinner and sleep.

Tuesday was Bike Day and Backpacking Day 1. The whole point of going to Kentucky, along with the 80-degree temps and one-day drive, is that it has a few hills (ok, more than SE Michigan). So in the morning I pack up my tent, organize food for 3 days of packing, organize bike stuff, and head off to the trailhead where I'll park my car, go for a long-ish ride, then come back and hike off in to the wilderness. The ride, she was a decent one. As I was rolling away from the car I thought "hmm, planning to be out for at least 4 hours... should I have put on sunscreen? Nahh... I'll be fine..." Well, I crisped a little bit, but the good news is that my teensy-bit of sunburn is turning into a very respectable start to my tan lines for the season. A decent ride was had. I was fortunate to find that the area around the park has rather smooth roads, with fairly light traffic - probably due to there being no heavy truck traffic and fairly mild winters. The shoulder ain't none too wide, but what with all the plants budding and whatnot, it was a pretty ride. Most all the car/truck traffic was easy to get along with - with the requisite one asshole shouting something out the window as he passes in his jacked-up Ford penis-substitute. (why is it that assholes on the road always seem to be driving Ford vehicles? GM, Chrysler, Toyota, Honda, none seem to attract the Asshole Gene quite as much as Ford Trucks).

So nothing gonzo about the ride, just putting in base miles with some of them uphill, and after getting back, stowing the bike, and a brief snack/rest put on the pack and head off on the trail. While it was nice that backcountry permits at this park are free (compared to out West - where I'd imagine the backcountry fees help offset the occasional cost of having to rescue someone injured, lost, or stranded) the trails themselves aren't that interesting. Unfortunately, I neglected to register on the map that there are occasional dirt roads through the area, and after hiking 5 miles with a full pack, crossing a road is aggravating. "If you can drive to this spot, why am I hiking it?" This gets back to my new policy about accessibility - a.k.a. "If It's Easy, It Can't Possibly Be Interesting"

Anyway, I got to the first backcountry site, and lo and behold a spring flowing out of the side of a hill, right next to the campsite. The last time I went packing was in the desert. Where getting water was sketchy. This was luxury. All the water you could drink, and not having to worry about whether there will be water anywhere near the next campsite. Heck, I crossed stream after stream on the hike. So why was I carrying 4 liters? Habit, I guess. Better safe than sorry.

I got there in just enough time before sunset to gather some firewood, so after cooking dinner I had a cheery little fire, stared at the sky for a while, and went to bed. 4am rolled around and the first few pitter-pats of rain was joined by "oh, shit... my gear is outside", but after some quick barefoot half-clothed pack-grabbing, I was back in my tent with gear safe and dry, when the pouing rain lulled me right back to sleep. After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, off I go to the second site by the river, and though it was pretty, it seemed that the further you get from the trailhead, the more likely people are to leave garbage all over the place. I ended up packing out 2x more of other peoples garbage than I created myself. Aggravatin', lemme tell ya.

I really wanted to go for a swim. I hadn't showered in a couple days, plus it was hot and a little sticky, and I hadn't gotten all of the road grit from the ride off me. But the Green River is... opaque. And, it seems, I'm a pussy. Apparently, when I'm alone out in the wilderness, I have an attack of age and responsibility. As in - when the edge of the river has rough and sharp rocks on the bottom that I can't see, and then suddenly the bottom drops away, I get a case of the willies. Imagining spraining an ankle, or stabbing my foot on something when I'm miles away from anything other than a basic first aid kit kept me close to shore. I guess I need to find a Cross-Country Adventure Buddy for these trips... it's nice to find solitude, but it's also nice to share the load, tell stories, and have backup in case one does something stupid and injures ones self.

I had gotten to campsite #2 mid-afternoon, so I spent the whole afternoon lounging about. I made some tea, sat and watched the river, constantly fussed with the little ThermaRest chair I got last year (it's more comfortable than rocks, but never quite right), and read the last half of In A Sunburned Country which, while humorous, started to grate on me with the same funny story/revelation over and over again. Yes, Australia is full of poisionous critters that will be happy to kill you. Yes, Australia has a huge and desolate interior. Yes, modern Australians are on average an amazingly warm and generous bunch of folks. We heard it in the first 100 pages... get on with it. In contrast with those two product disappointments, I'm very happy with my new MSR Dragonfly. After borrowing Jake's Whisperlite last year, I realized I really need to get my own stove. A stove that can reliably burn white gas, kerosene, gasoline, diesel, or jet fuel? Works for me.

Heading out the next day on the way back to the trailhead and the drive home, I passed by the strangest little cemetary. Yes, it was old, but why do some of the headstones just look like just a plain rock with no engraving? And why are they all spaced so closely together? Turns out to be a children's cemetary. Very few of the headstones indicate a life longer than 4 years. Some even have dates of birth and death the same day or only a few days apart. And they're all in the mid-1920's. Just kind of odd at the time to stumble onto this. Was is an illness that swept the area in that time? There's a regular cemetery at the historic church near the trailhead - why are the children's bodies buried 2 miles away up in the hills? Ah, mystery.

And in the end, a non-climatic journey home. I decided not to stop in Fort Knox (can't take a tour anyway), Louisville (don't really care much for baseball bats), Cinncinati (I'll see it some other time), or anywhere else. So here I am. Home again, home again, jiggety jig.