you gotta be stoopid to be tough

It's been quite some time since I've pinned a number on a jersey.  It felt the same as in the past.   The looming event created nervous energy which in turn made me stab myself with the safety pins.  Even though I knew the event was not a race, I still wanted to post a decent time.
 I signed up for the Moab Gran Fondo way back in the winter, but made my decision to ride in the eleventh hour.  Literally - I was changing tires on my cross bike at 11:30 pm the night before the ride.  All the while muttering to myself the question of why I would pay to do the Loop road when it is basically in my backyard and accessible to me whenever the time allows.  Logic would dictate that any time I wanted to go out and punish myself for several hours on end I could hop on the road bike and roll straight into the pain cave. 
But alas the money had been spent and I would be a giant chortle-head for not participating.  So the morning of the event I got up early and did some stretching.  I pounded some coffee and water and managed to get down a couple of bananas.   I knew I needed to eat more, but rarely can I get up and just start downing food.  My stomach needs awhile to "wake up".  So I stuffed my pockets with a bunch of energy goops, pills and potions and bolted out of the door.
I arrived a few minutes early and found myself a rock to sit on and check out the crowd.  There was enough carbon fiber around to build a stealth fighter jet.  The writhing crowd of lycra almost sent me into dizzy spells before the gun went off.  Why am I here I asked, as I clipped in and dodged flailing freds desperate to get into their pedals.
I've spent a bunch of time on riding in crowds of people and it almost always makes me nervous.  Comfort is usually found at the front of one of these rides because that is where the experienced riders usually are.  As we made our turn onto the river road it began to be apparent how far away those experienced riders were.  By the time we hit the first roller climb of the day the long train began to fracture and form groups.  I found myself in a decent sized group about a half mile gap behind the next group who trailed the lead thoroughbreds.  I took a quick sweep of the talent as we rolled along.  I felt comfortable with about half and not real sure about the rest.  The pace was up and down and all around.  Braking in a group is very uncool and there was quite a bit of that going on, so I worked my way to the outside thinking it would be safer.  The pace continued to be erratic and my uneasiness was compounding.  I began doing calculations in my head as to whether I could bridge the next group.
Before I knew what I was doing I had began moving to the front.  Then I was at the front. And then off the front.  I buried my head and occasionally glanced up.  I could see another rider out in no-mans-land and I quickly made contact.   "I'm not gonna be much help, I'm afraid," the gal said as I pulled up beside her.  I sat on her wheel for a few minutes and got my heart rate back down.  I pulled back around and told her to hold on and made another surge.  The fact that I could see the next group ahead did not help matters, because the gap was not really changing.   Once again I started doing calculations in my head again and realized how close we were getting to Castle Valley and the first of a long stretch of climbing.
I throttled back to a good spin and was soon joined by two others who couldn't deal with the squirrelly group I had left.  They both commented on my tank of a bike and how I managed to move it forward pretty well.  We rode together for a while, picking off debris from the now exploded group as we headed into our first climb.  I felt good cresting the first hill, but knew food had to be consumed stat and I really had to find a place to pee.
I was a great relief to see the first water stop at the base of the real climbing.  Both of my bottles were empty and I was beginning to feel a twinge in my legs.  I topped off both bottles, sucked down some food and was off the to ascent.  I knew what lay ahead so I planned my power accordingly.  Only problem was, my legs had a different idea.  As soon as I stood up my legs gave a warning shot that systems were not functioning properly.  I sat back down.  My quads and hamstrings were alternating constrictions with every pedal stroke.  Cramps.  No, please no. Not the cramps.  
Halfway into my ride and I was cramping.  Son of a biscuit-eater.  I was pissed.  Not enough fuel and going too hard out of the gate.  Now I had to go into damage control mode.  I turned on my zombie powers and got in my easiest gear.  I limped up the climby sections and stretched on every teeny downgrade.  I ate most of the food I had with me and pounded more water.  The miles were going by, but at a much slower rate than planned.
I finally made it to the Kokopelli overlook and knew I was close to being done.  A bunch of downhill followed by the last big climb and some more ripping downhill.  I pulled out of the aid station only to be blasted by a soul-crushing headwind.  I switched into my big ring and extended my middle finger up into the wind.  By now my legs were finally coming back around.  After pedaling through cramps for 1.5 to 2 hours, I felt I could finally put a little power down.  I caught and passed some folks on the downhill.  Looming in the distance was the last of the upward pitches in the road.  I managed to stay on the gas and as I was passing a bunch of shelled carcasses on the climb, my girl passed me going the other direction and I blew her a kiss. Suddenly I was invigorated.
I now knew the finish wasn't far and bombed the huge downhill like a peregrine falcon.  I managed to pick off a few more stragglers before hooking onto a big dudes wheel and riding his draft across the line.
I was fully toasted and knew I had destroyed my legs.  The painful reminder of the ride loomed in my legs for the next two days.  And yes I did finish the ride.  But as my friend Heather D says, "you gotta be stoopid to be tough."

inspiration

I got a message from a fellow blogger recently that basically read, "help, I've got writer's block."  I shot back a message, "write about what inspires you."  Then I thought about how long it's been since I've posted.  Heck, I needed some inspiration myself.  Then I thought a little deeper and decided maybe inspiration was all around me.
Spring has ushered in guiding season and I now have two trips under my belt.   Lucky for me they were both mellow trips, because bad planning has left me with nothing but my one speed to pedal.  I am currently trying to sell my "Moab" bike to get a more "pedal-able" trail bike for work.  So in the interim I have left myself with the body punishing one-speed to ride in the dirt. 
I felt good about the riding on the trips, but questioned the fun-factor of daily singlet-track riding.  I cut a few laps on some tasty new ribbon overlooking town.  There were the expected o-shit-my-head-is-gonna-pop moments, but I also found the some flow.  My eyes and brain were firing in concert when spotting inclines that required synapse directed muscular turbo boost.  I managed to refrain from hiking AND didn't barf.
I was hooked on the single-speed again.  And then I road Phil's World in Cortez, Co.
That's when I really freaked out.
I was riding with a bunch of friends and blew some turns even though I had no idea where I was going but it didn't matter because this was one of the most fun 22 miles of flowy desert trails EVER.
I didn't go the wrong way and we regrouped and freaked out some more.
Holy crap the riding there is fun.
And if that isn't enough, my little buddy Elijah is doing his first race this weekend.  I sent him a cycling cap I made in hopes it brings him good luck.
So I reckon I've got inspiration spinning around me.

la classica di Primavera

Today marks the 102nd running of the the Spring classic, the Milan-San Remo.  The event was organized by the Italian sports paper, La Gazzetta dello Sport in 1907, who questioned whether or not finishing was even a possibility.  The first edition started on April 14, 1907, covering 288 kilometers and draconian rules forbade any feed zones or equipment changes.  Out of 33 starters, only 14 finished. 
In 1927 the race was moved from April to March, and the length gradually increased to 300 kilometers by 1946.
The fastest Milan-San Remo was in 1990, won by Gianni Bugno in 6 hrs, 25 min, 6 sec at an average speed of 28.45 mph.
The slowest was held during a snowstorm in 1910, where only four riders finished.  Eugene Christophe was the victor after 12 hrs 24 min.

The venerable Eddy Merckx holds the greatest number of wins at seven.
The Italians have taken 50 victories in their home country and Italian rider Wladimiro Panizza holds the record for participation with an amazing 18 starts.

 The event has become known as the "sprinter's classic," amazing in itself that riders have enough "kick" left after 299 kilometers of racing.

movie review - The Misfortunates

When in the movie rental store, I tend to gravitate toward the strange and quirky.  Independent films are preferred and for some reason I enjoy foreign movies with subtitles.  I usually trend toward the conservative side when watching movies with Lisa, mostly because I have picked more than a few duds in my time.  So since she was out of town, I went out on a limb and rented "The Misfortunates." 

The above photo was on the back cover and even though the dudes were naked, they were on bikes.  I've ridden a bike naked, so therefore I could relate and was intrigued for more back-story.
The film is Belgian.  So as one might expect there is bike riding and drinking.  Lots and lots of drinking.  So much drinking that Uncle Beefcake participates in a Tour de France of drinking, complete with a yellow jersey for the leader.  And as you can imagine, problems arise from all that debauchery.
The story is centered around 13 year old Gunter Strobbe, his dysfunctional family and his desire to leave the chaotic surroundings. 
That's about as much as you need to know without giving the whole movie away.
The film feels raw and confounding as it walks the line between tragedy and comedy.  It carries it's message close to the surface.
One might wonder what the attraction might be in such an emotional train-wreck of a movie.
I guess it's the same as most movies, we just want to see how it turns out in the end.
Plus, there are many scenes with bikes and any flick that incorporates cycling into the script has got my attention.  Naked or not.

saturday spin with lola

 

Sometimes it's tough living with a special needs four-legged zombie.  Saturday started out as one of those days.  I could see it in her eyes as soon as she finished breakfast.  It was a "you're gonna take me out to play today or I'm gonna do something crazy while you're gone" look.

Normally I'm not so concerned when her brother and mother are around.  But the better-half had taken CottonBall with her to SW Utah for some vertical bluff-scaling.  For the next few days, it was just me and  the little nuerotic one.

Friday night at the mixer I had spoken with my friend Angela about doing a Porcupine lap.  It had just opened up recently and she was going with some other bad-ass lady-friends of ours.  I felt honored to be invited on the ride, and bummed to bow out.  I knew Lola needed to run wild, but Porcupine wasn't really dog friendly.

 So we packed up the truck and headed north for the Sovereign trail.  Although it's a short drive out to the trailhead,  both of us couldn't wait to get out of the truck.  Something about our rickety little toyota truck scares the bejeezus out of Lola.  When we turned onto the dirt section, she bolted away from the passenger door and tried to climb on top of my head.  It was rather difficult fighting off a 60 lb dog and navigating a sandy wash.  I managed to get her out of my lap, but she slid beside me and extended her broom-handle legs enough to press all her weight against me.  Ears cocked and body tensioned, there was no moving her until that door opened.  She stomped on me like a doormat as soon as I lifted the handle.

I couldn't wait to wear this crazed beast down.

And ride some sweet singletrack.

We started at the trailhead on Dalton Wells road and went up to the left towards Cedar Mountain.  I had never ridden some of that action and kept wondering to myself how this was possible.

I mean seriously....I couldn't believe I had never ridden this section of the Sovereign before.  There was plenty of climbing to the mesa top top and no shortage of technical moves on the way.  The climb up is mostly through a bentonite shelf, so as long as it's dry the trail is bomber.  The bottom section is a groovy slickrock wash.

It was a good ride for both of us.  I got to explore some "new" digs and Lola got the beat-down she needed to overcome her neuroses or whatever she has.

The weather was rather polite and we didn't see another soul out there.

Mmmm, singletrack.

I'm looking forward to riding this little gem again.

I think Lola is in too, as long as we don't take the Ez-truck.

march radness

March.  It's a month and a word defining movement.  March also tells us that spring is coming and so are the people.  Gone are the sleepy winter days in our little hamlet of Moab where you can cross the street without so much as looking.  The rise in the mercury seems to have a direct correlation with the amount of cars rolling into town.  And a majority of those cars have bikes on the roof as well as frostbitten Cool-oradan's, itching to pedal in the warm desert sun.

Among those making the annual spring pilgrimage from our neighboring state are the folks from Yeti.  Yeti has had a connection with Poison Spider Bicycles and much of the community for 20 years.  So last night to celebrate, Wes and Penelope opened the doors of the Love Muffin for a Yeti mixer.   A chance for the locals to show their face in public again and rub elbows with folks they haven't seen in a while and maybe meet some new friends.

I'll have to say, seeing a pile of bikes outside an event warms the cockles of my heart.  The bike to person ratio hovered pretty close to 1 to 1.  There was cake and adult beverages being consumed, rides being planned and smack being talked.  

With the legendary HB leading the charge.

A big thanks to the Love Muffin, Poison Spider and Yeti for bringing everyone together.  It's good to start out the season with laughter and good friends.  And of course bikes.

Bikes of all shapes and tire sizes.

The Hardcore Porn for Bike Geeks Show

The most vivid memories of my childhood have to do with bicycles.  Like many children of the 60's and 70's, I began with a Schwinn Stingray.  By the time my brother and I got finished with it, it was an unrecognizable smoldering carcass of its former self.  I remember the last time I saw it, it was sitting in the corner of a dilapidated barn, stripped down to frame and fork and rattle-canned matte black.  I felt ashamed.
Alongside it was another bike I had abandoned.  It was a red,white&blue ten-speed Free Spirit.  I had begged for a ten-speed for Christmas that year.  What I had in mind and what my folks could afford were two different things.  I had been in a real bike shop and had "seen the light."   In reality, I was an ungrateful teenager that was about to be taught a lesson.  You want it bad enough, get a job and buy it yourself, my parents had leveled.
So I did.  I was overwhelmed by the desire to own a nice road bike.  To this day, it is still puzzling to me.  I was old enough to drive, yet I didn't want a car.  All of my friends were shredding on bmx bikes, and yet I didn't want one of those.  My mind was reeling from glossy steel tubes and shiny imported parts.  I was whacked out on bikes and blaming the tubular glue.  My life was consumed with everything bike.

And here I am, some 25ish years later and bikes are still like crack for me.  Over the years I have become attached to a bike or two.   There are bikes that are dispensable to me, usually my work bikes, and then there are the ones that will never leave the stable.
 The coveted hand-crafted ones.
Which brings us to the North American Handmade Bicycle Show.
I personally think they should change the name to Hardcore Porn for Bike Geeks.
The show is going on right now as we speak, February 25-27 in Austin, Texas.
From it's humble beginnings of 23 vendors and 700 attendees in 2005,  the show has continued to grow and draw more attention each year.
A majority of the bikes on display are nothing short of stunning.   Part of me wishes I could be there adding my fingerprints and drool to the mix.  The other part knows I could only attend without a wallet.  Nevertheless, there is some nice photo documentation going on and I can live vicariously via the internet.
Check it out for yourself.  John is doing a nice job at  http://www.prollyisnotprobably.com/.
My personal favorite I've seen so far - http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnprolly/5476704189/in/set-72157626011075451/ .
Enjoy!
http://www.2011.handmadebicycleshow.com/