Can a car be a soulmate?

I cannot remember ever feeling this way about any other car, but going back to the beginning of the model line, the Subaru Outback wagon always caught my eye.  It looked like it celebrated all the things I thought were neat in a lifestyle...a bit of practicality, a bit of adventure, and a bit of style that was counter to the Fast and Furious way of thinking about cars and life.

Not once would one go by on the road and not rate a long glance; a follow with the eyes and a swivel of the head.  I was smitten, but at a distance.

A recent trip to Vail, where Subaru is considered the "Official State Car of Colorado", I bet every 3rd car in any lot was either an Outback or a Forester.  I was in agony, driving around in the family truckster Mazda 5, and I whined incessantly about it, much to the chagrin of my wife.

But God was gracious and I am now among the ranks of Outback owners. I could hardly be more pleased.  She's a beaut', she is.

Soulmates, we are, or at least from my viewpoint.  How she feels about this, I cannot say for certain, but I suspect she feels the same.

What's In a Name?

"Now you can call me Ray, or you can call me J, or you can call me Johnny, or you can call me Sonny..."  Raymond J. Johnson Jr.

Cross bike.
Gravel Bike.
Adventure Bike.
All Road Bike.
X-Road bike.
Mixed Surface Bike.

I cannot recall a time when the marketing folks in the bicycle industry have struggled so hard to define a niche.  And believe me, this industry LOVES 'niche'.  Niche means you need yet another bike in your stable and this biz thrives on 'the next thing'.  But I digress.

Take a road bike, open it up for bigger tires, slacken the angles a bit, and tune it for comfort and stability and you have drawn a big circle around this new genre.  Now I am not poo-pooing the idea.  Far from it.  I am very much enjoying the gravel bike I have in my garage (yes, the maker of the bike calls it a "Gravel Race Bike".  So, there!).  But not everyone has such a clear vision of what they are selling.

So what's in a name?  This gravel thing was too good to stay in the rolling plains of the Mid West.  It has spilled out across those borders and founds it's way into places like So Cal where I live.  But we have no gravel, per se.  We have dirt.  And we have paved road - lots of that - that can be mixed with dirt.  So the appeal is there for a bike that can cover all kinds of surfaces (although I think "Mixed Surface Bike" is the worst name of all...sounds like a Home Depot product..."mix well and wait 24 hours before use").

"Call me what you like, just don't call me late for dinner."

But what to call them, these new bikes that are not really cyclocross, not really road, and not really an MTB at all?  No one seems to know.  Heck, even I am not sure and I find myself using one of those terms listed above in a conversation and feeling awkward about it, like I called one of my kids by the wrong name. I mean, don't I KNOW what it's called?

No.  And neither does anyone else, it seems.  At least not in the broader sense. Yet defining this in a marketing sense is important...got to get that term right so as to not exclude potential buyers.  And no one wants to miss this gravel gravy train, so you are seeing most of the bike makers getting something out there that gets them in the game.  So back to the list of name options (and I am sure as I write this, more are being thought up).

Cross bike:  In some cases it is accurate, like if I have a Specialized Crux.  But I am not 'Crossing on it (as in cyclocross racing).  Still it is a real 'cross bike, yet most new bikes coming to the market are certainly NOT a 'cross bike and calling them so would be wrong.

Gravel Bike:  Personally my favorite.  Even if gravel is not the same everywhere, it is easy to say and folks 'get it', even if you do not have gravel to ride it on.  It means (or should mean) that it is a bit lower, a bit slacker, more comfy, and bigger tires will fit compared to a typical 'cross bike.  Or at least to me it does and that is where the gravel bike and 'cross bike begin to take separate paths.

Adventure Bike:  Really?  Any bike is an adventure bike. And while you cannot deny that pretty much any bike can be ridden on a dirt or gravel road, not all of them will do it well.  And adventures, or how you experience them, are quite different. There is road based touring, fat biking (snow or otherwise), century-type road stuff, bike packing, and ...gasp...dare we say it, having an adventure on any old regular MTB.

All Road Bike:  Interesting and maybe a contender.  But is a Trek Domane with 32mm tires stuffed in there really a bike for all roads?  There are some roads that would truly suck on that bike.  Try the White Rim Trail in Utah.  It's a road.  Is this the Jack of all, master of none approach?  Not sure.

X-Road bike:  I think Giant has this one in their corporate pocket.  But I have no idea what it means.  Can I cross the road on it or what?

Mixed Surface Bike:  Saw a Ti bike called that from a big builder in that frame material.  Ick.  See Home Depot comment above.

So until something better comes along, I am sticking with Gravel Bike.  At least I have some idea what I am saying at the time.

A sign that befits the quandry, courtesy of the 4077th MASH unit.

Then I'm gone.

Pulling back the curtains and peering out the window into the dimly lit darkness showed a foggy morning, the street lamps looking like little moons haloed by the moisture in the air. I had no idea how cold it was and was not sure I wanted to find out.

I sat in the dim light, not wanting to stir the entire household, pulling on a base layer under the bib knicker's straps, then a wool jersey over that, then finishing with a jacket rolled and tucked into the center pocket. Tires were checked and the sound of a "PSSSFFFttt!" from the presta valves as the Silca pump head was removed, worried the dog who looked a bit afraid that she was going to be invited on the ride.  She got up, spun in a circle or two, then laid back down, turning away from me as if to put that idea to rest.

Shoes next…ratcheting straps ratcheted, wool head cover pulled on, then helmet, then gloves.  The sounds of clacking cleats on the hard floor mixed with the click click click of the free hub as I duck walked to the front door, pulled on the handle and caught a full breath of cool, moist air.  

A thought came to me.  "I could be in a Rapha video right now".

Out into the morning, away from warmth and comfort, pedals turn and gears spin as muscles strain to wake up and perform.  Maybe the dog was right.

I wonder how many times I have done this, this pedaling thing.  No idea.  I cannot even be sure how old I am at this moment…let's see…my inner abacus whirs and clicks along with the gear changes and a freshly oiled chain, but it's early and math is hard.  It is certain that nearly 6 decades on their earth have gone by and I settle on one number or another as my age.  Close enough.  Until carbon 14 dating gets a bit more accurate or I die and they count the tree rings, that estimation will have to do.  What's in a birth date anyway?

From birth till somewhere in our 20's we are on an upward swing, getting better and faster and holding a glass half full, our bodies and minds being an optimist.  But around the mid 20s, it begins to tilt the other way and some guy comes along with that half empty glass and kicks the half full glass guy in the nuts and steals his glass.  From there it's a desperate attempt to keep even status quo in sight.

No matter.  The road turns up and into the fog as moisture from the air condenses on my helmet brim and mixes with sweat on my face.  There are no glasses in sight, full or empty.  Just the road and the tires and the pedals that require my full attention.

The road forks and I stay right, into smooth dirt that I can smell and feel under my tires more than see.  Earthy and rich.  Water drips from road side plants and I brush them in my hasty weaving, adding to the wetness I am becoming.  Not cold anymore.  Working harder now and man that feels good.  So familiar.  How do people live their lives and not do hard things like this?  I have the half empty glass guy worried that I might be gaining on him just a bit.

And then I am there.  The top.  I cannot actually see that I am on any summit, as I am covered in clouds.  But I know this road, and where it leads.  On comes the jacket, fastened tightly for the descent to come.  Ears are covered, gloves pulled tight. Somewhere down below there is a barrista who knows me, knows I am out here, and knows what to do about that.  And with fast moving hands, jets of steam, and careful pouring of milk into steel cups, he or she is creating aromas that call to me.  Click…clack. In the pedals and pushing away. 

The wind tugs at me, flapping fabrics and pushing beads of water off my helmet in fast streams.  Gravity vs. wind.  The eternal cyclist battle. I bring in my knees to the top tube, reach for the drops, and lower my head.  Things go quiet. I look up, craning my neck to see the next line, the next corner.  A foot is dropped to the outside, weight is shifted, and then I am gone.

Photo courtesy of www.Rapha.cc

The Rush to the New

I was riding with KT the Man and we were talking about this new 27.5 wheel size thing.  He and I were both on 29er FS bikes so we are big wheel type guys.  But neither of us have an axe to grind either and he feels like I do…that one should ride the biggest wheel size that works best for them, whatever 'best' is.

He drives a demo van for a bike company and lately they have been besieged by people asking if they have any 27.5 bikes to ride on the demo visits.  The question most asked him used to be "do you have any 29ers?".  Times change.  Now that is fine and all, as the company he works for does make a 27.5 bike(s) but they are pretty heavy duty models and really not what would suit most trail riders in most areas of the country.

However people are buying them anyway, just because they are the latest wheel size.  Regardless of the obvious fact (to anyone looking at the situation with a cool and critical eye) that this person would be better suited to another bike in the line-up, wheel size regardless…or another brand's 27.5 in a more moderate build…they are buying them anyway.  It makes no sense really, but there it is.  And KT was shaking his head in a mix of amusement and wonder at the entire deal.  Why would you buy the wrong bike, and a very expensive one too, just to have a 27.5" wheel?

And it got me thinking that the same thing happened with 29ers.  There were a lot of them sold to people who got caught up in the newest thing that 'everyone' was rushing to have.  However, many did not end up with a bike that was best for them.  Even though that big wheel does some really cool things to the dynamic of a ride, it is not the end all be all for everyone.

This new 27.5 wheel size is certainly going to replace the 26" wheel for nearly any MTB model of bike shop quality (and Wallmart will have 'em too, if they don't already).  It really is, as one industry wag noted, "A better 26" wheel".  But that does not justify buying the wrong bike just to have the new hoop-hype working for you.

It will be interesting to see how this all pans out for the consumer.  It is giving any 26" wheel holdout/29er nay sayers a reason to buy a new bike that appears to be an improvement over their old bike and yet maintain their disdain for the really big wheeled bikes.  Not only does their pride remain intact, they get a new bike and make the bike industry money, which it surely needs.  A win win, so it seems.  29ers sure did that for the industry the last few years but now, as 29ers become more and more 'just a bike', they need to do something to get folks excited about filling up the credit card.  27.5, good, better or best, will do just fine for that purpose.

And I have no problem with that. However, buy the right one for the right reasons.  Whatever the wheel size, it does not transcend common sense.

Wade Simmons, Virtuoso.

Music is where you find it.

JeffJ is turning 100.

Miles that is.  I am not sure when the mad plan was hatched, but it sure was incubated as our road miles accrued and his fitness increased.  The day we pedaled to 80 miles he said to me that this was the farthest that he had ridden on a bike...ever.  Cool.

Let's go farther, yes?

So the 'century' ride, as in 100 miles in a day, was the next thing to shoot for.  The route was determined...nothing wild, just reasonable and coastal to avoid the late in the year mid 80s temps that the inland areas were seeing...and the invites went out.

The attendees were his daughter, JenJo, who was a CAT2 road racer until not too long ago, a young man she knows named Andres, Ed the Tall, Stevie Ray and yours truly.  I was not sure about the new guy, Andres, until I saw his bike.  It was a Specialized Venge with carbon wheels and Di2 shifting.  Oh.  Ok.  The team kit he wore (and races for) said the rest.  I think he will make it.  I knew JenJo would be fine and Ed the Tall is always strong.  Stevie Ray is a CAT1 MTB racer, or was when he raced and he is still a grey hound even though there is more grey than there used to be.

So the only doubts were the two old guys...JeffJ and I.  Even money bet for both of us.

But in the end, we rolled back to the car with 101.xx miles on the clock and most of our faculties intact.  It was a fun day and once again showed me that cycling is a boundary crossing activity.  We were wide spread in ages, fitness, backgrounds, education, gender, and abilities yet we all supported, encouraged and strengthened each other.  In the process we became more as a whole than we were as individuals.

In short, it worked.  We won.

The big guy came rolling in next to Ed the Tall with a big ol' grin on his face.  He hit a milestone along the good old 'path of life' and did it on two wheels, 27 gears, and next to friends and family.  We could have done much, much worse with our Saturday and I would not have wanted to be anywhere else.

Congrats, BMOC (Big Man On a Cannondale).  Thanks for sharing your life with us.

What a Difference a Cheeseburger Makes.

Those words were said by JeffJ as we uploaded calories of a greasy kind after a 65 mile road ride.  We had spent the day riding with a group of triathletes as they prepared for an upcoming Ironman event in Arizona.  It was an interesting day.

I had never met any of them before but we had an invite to the group through a friend of my wife.  I had pretty good feelings about the group dynamic and the route so off we went at a ridiculously early hour on a Saturday morning, pointing ourselves toward the promised cooler temps of the So Cal coastline.  JeffJ was a bit more concerned that he would be a pariah, seeing that he tends to ride in baggies and a visored, bass boat green MTB helmet.  A bit Freddish, but we are all mountain bikers at heart anyway.  Introducing himself as "Jeff, or you can call me Fred" did not register at all with the group and just resulted in nervous laughter and odd stares.  Exit, stage left for Lippy the Lion and Hardy Har Har.

So we were pilgrims in a strange land, this try-ath-a-leete deal.  And as the bikes were unloaded and clothing assembled, I was struck by the complexity of the bikes.  Oh my!  There were angles and wedges and bobbles and bangles and widgets and bottles and wings and bags all over those bikes.  They had handlebars that reached waaaay out in front so you could, I presume, steer with your elbows which makes some sense as I do not recall ever using my elbows much on a ride anyway, so they should do some work too.

I had an extra tube strapped to my bike.

I asked the group where the button was to transform the bikes into Optimus Prime.  No one laughed.  Serious folks, these tri people.  No Fred jokes, no Transformers jokes.  Got it.

Be careful what button you push or...

...you get this.

Rolling out into the quiet of the morning coastal fog, we began at a nice, friendly pace.  This, I was told, was 'Zone 1' training.  Later we would get into Zone 2 and 3.  Hold on...what is a zone?  Is it like a zip code for cyclists?  I am not sure I have zones.  When I am riding the SS up some stupid long climb and my tongue sticks to the stem, what zone is that?  There is more to this tri stuff than meets the eye, and that is saying a lot as the bikes were just so complex looking, but still cool in an odd way.  I am thinking that tri-folks are the golfers of the cycling world, always looking for that new 'thing' that will give them the edge.

Riding alongside the leader, a very fit lady on a very carbon bike, I asked her if that bike was comfortable to ride as it looked pretty stiff, all those airfoil shapes.  She glanced at me with an odd look and then said, "it goes real fast in a straight line".  Then she clicked up a gear or two, got onto the tri-bars, and showed me how that worked.  Well, I guess so.  See ya!

Seriously, that was pretty cool.  She would just ride away from me with what looked to be barely any increased effort and I would have to up the wattage dial to just hang on.  I guess riding the cycling equivalent of a Cruise missile aerodynamics study has its advantages, even if comfiness is not one of them.  Zoom zoom.  I considered tossing the extra inner tube strapped to my seat stays to see if that would help but I think I was just entering zone 2 and I did not want to mess that up.  I might not ever get there again or if I do, they will not let me in.

So here we were, JeffJ and I, on our round tubed, old school road bikes, having a very nice ride at a very decent pace along with a very nice group of very well equipped people pedaling two wheeled airplanes.  At some point we split the group as most folks were heading out to get some required training work done that apparently we had not done enough of and then they had to run across the county or some such thing and we better not stop too long here or we will drop into Zone 1.65 and that could be fatal.  Whew!  Close call, that one.

What zone are YOU in?

And so when JeffJ, seated outside the pearly gates of In-And-Out, said that immortal statement of truth-ness..."What a difference a cheeseburger makes!", it struck me that this revelation born of beef patties and grilled onions on a toasted bun was about more than just a much needed celebration of un-holy calories.  No, it also was all about the day and the dynamic of the ride.  JeffJ and I were just riding with no agenda than to see some new roads and ride our bikes hard in the company of some new faces.  At least one other lady rider was out for fun as well, but all the others were there for a singular purpose - to be in Zone 1, Zone 2, Zone 3, etc for the required time to get the required data to get the required result.

Now I respect that, even though it may not seem like it, because if you have a serious goal then you need a serious plan.  And a full Ironman is no joke.  I can throw a rock farther than I can swim.  Running?  No thanks.  So I do understand the world of a serious athlete and the dedication it takes to make it happen, especially if you are making a living at it.

But.

If you are just Joe and Jill average and you do not own a bike without a PowerTap hub and deep dish carbon wheels guaranteed to slice .006 seconds off a 2 kilometer time trial, then something is wrong.  Because all the data downloads in the world cannot make up for missed opportunities like where a deer bounds alongside the road in a woodland echelon and you missed the sight, being so wrapped up in 'the zone'.

There are roads never taken that beckon a hard right turn just to see where they go.  Close the laptop and be your own Google Earth.  Pause long enough at a rest stop to rest.  Life is a mad rush at the least.

Zone zero is OK every so often.

And a cheeseburger, when it is all said and done, makes all the difference in the world.

Although I still wonder how you steer with your elbows.

Weighing in on things.

I read a post the other day written by a good friend on bike weights and how important that is or is not, depending on how you look at things.  I have struggled with this as well and debated with myself on how much bike weight really matters in the grand scheme of things.  And, after all this time, I have come to a conclusion.

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

Pretty decisive, eh?  Let me take them one at a time, hmmmm?

Yes:  It matters a great deal.  A heavy bike is simply more weight to accelerate, stop, turn, and flick around.  Mtn bike riding is all about all of these things repeated over and over and over and a lighter bike is better at all of them.  Physics?  Dunno.  But after riding quite a few bikes over the last few years, nearly all of them 29ers, I can only remember one time when lighter was not better and that issue only applied to a narrow section of the ride experience.  This applies especially to wheels.  Light wheels are pretty boss on a 29er.  In fact, I had an engineer for a big bike company tell me that "cheap 29ers suck" as the wheel weight gets ponderous.

No:  It is largely irrelevant.  A heavy bike will get you there with only a little bit more effort in nearly the same time and likely do it for a lot less money.  Lightness costs a lot these days...well, it always did really and that is not likely to change.  The sky is just as blue, the air just as sweet on a heavier bike, and there is no pretense or keeping up with the joneses in the gram wars.  Want a lighter bundle to get up that hill with?  Lose some weight, fatty.  What is cheaper...losing 5 pounds off the middle or losing 5 pounds off the bike?  It is the rider that makes the real difference.

Maybe:  If light means weak or fragile, that is bad.  But heavy does not mean strong either.  If you are in no hurry and there are no Strava aspirations in your plans, then a heavier bike is no biggie.  Who cares if you take a couple of minutes more to get around the trail?  But if your buddies are a pack of rippers, then you better be a beast to be a contender on a heavier bike.  I have both seen it done AND had my butt handed to me by stronger riders on a porker scooter.  If light means overextending your wallet to the point of stress about it, then be content, work on you first and let that bike do for now.  If a bike is more of a tool then pegasus to you, then the heavier bike is likely more practical.  And so on.

So between ridiculously light and unbelievably heavy lies a wide range of bikes.  I have never been one to drill holes in my crank arms (yes, I have seen that done too) and ride unpadded carbon saddles, etc.  At some point, the scale of justice tips away from good sense and the money spent to drop those last few ounces is foolishness.  Where is that tipping point?  When the bike stops being reliable, strong, practical for the purposes it is intended for, and fun to ride.

Fun, after all, is why we do this.  Sure some folks do it for a living and maybe they are not having fun at the same time, but that is such a small minority that it is not even on the radar.  Bikes are all kinds of things...practical, efficient, affordable to own, providing great exercise and contributing to our well being.  But above all other things they are fun to ride.

And I have more fun on a lighter bike, more often as not.

Oblivious and loving it.

Strava just makes me shake my head in wonder.  Map My Ride?  Seriously, who really wants to know all the details of your ride though town or how fast you got up the local hill compared  to whoever?

I am not sure how it all  started, this fascination with KOMs and stats and PBRs, etc.  I want to blame the triathletes.  How can you trust someone that never wears sleeves on their jerseys?  It is mostly two wheeled navel gazing if you ask me, perhaps a natural outgrowth of our fascination with all things relating to ourselves.  "Enough of me talking about me...tell me what YOU think about me!", etc.

I actually have, at one time or another, used a heart rate monitor, bike computer, and a GPS.  I have long since forgotten about HRMs...I figure that at this age, if my heart is still beating then that is good enough for me because one day it will cease to do so.  I do not need a HRM to tell me when that happens.  Bike computers can be handy, especially on road bikes if you are doing organized centuries, etc.  Less so on a mountain bike.  Carry your bike or push it for a while and see what that does for your computer's accuracy.  Now GPS, that is handy.  That is a great tool, although you can rely on it too much, but it can keep you on a predetermined course even in the dark, etc.

I guess that some of my disinterest in all this micro-managing of my ride experiences is due to the fact that I have no use for a real training plan and I have no illusions of podium appearances anywhere.  Could care less.  I just want to ride my bike.  And if I am slow at it, I will ride more, ride harder, ride less to rest, or just enjoy the day anyway despite my speed or lack thereof.

So if you are a contender or a serious, serious competitor, I get it.  But that is so few and far between, this whole game of stats and numbers seems to be just another phase of this generation's addiction to information.  Gimme' more info, give it to me faster, etc, like somehow that brings meaning to the experience.  I think it just brings increased anxiety, if the truth be known, and we as a society have enough of that already, along with a decreased ability to separate the truly important from the merely transient.

So when I do a new route, I typically figure it out in hours.  And from then on, Route A is a 3 hour ride, Route B is a 5 hour ride, etc, based on my average pace.  I will grab the GPS every so often and run the miles the first time I ride something new, but even then that is rare.  Usually I know how long something is in miles from someone else telling me.  Cool enough.

But the biggest reason that I care little for how many gigawatts I generated or my average endorphin level over the .5 Miles of Hell KOM route or my heart rate adjusted for altitude and bran muffins over the last 24 hours is that none of that enriches my basic experience of just riding a bike across the surface of the earth.

And that is something that I never tire of doing, and while it may not be my reason for living...it is not, by the way...it is a wonderful, hard, freeing, sweaty, adventurous, child-like pursuit of the horizon and what it promises.

Not a Strava run.

Image courtesy of gnat.

Roots

Ya gotta' know where you came from, so I present the original singlespeed rider.  We have not come so far after all.

Darwin got it pretty wrong, but in this case....well, I wonder?

Elves in the garage and keeping up with Santa

Been bike building again.  I swapped the fork on the bikepacking Lenz and my wife's 29er.  I have the new SS test bike 95% built up with some things old, some things new, some things borrowed from other bikes, and a fork that has blue stickers on it.  Perfect.

The garage has become a loosely organized bin of bikes, bike parts, tires, wheels, forks...oh my.  The box of hydration packs alone is big enough to be a small row boat.  My cup runneth over.

So what do you do?  Get a bigger cup?  That is the typical response for today.  Accumulate.  The only good thing is the next thing.  More is better. 

Hmmm...too much or not enough?

 Fah!   If it were not for the situation I am in for the time being, I would have two bikes.  A 29erSS and one bike with gears and FS.  No spare wheels.  I would be looking for deals on tire sales, not packing them into milk crates in the corner. 

My natural man tends toward complication and I need to remind myself to keep it simpler.  It helps that I can pass a lot of this stuff on to those who need stuff, stuff that I have too much stuff of.  Keeps me from being too stuffed with stuff.  And really, that is the way it is supposed to work anyway.  We should be conduits of our gifts and blessings to those around us who are in need.  None of this goes with us in the end and none of it really belongs to us, in that we did not get any of this stuff completely on our own.

One of the neat things about Christmas is the gift giving.  I know it gets beat on as crass commercialism and it does burden the lesser fortunate with the guilt of not being able to give as they would like, but it allows us a scheduled reason to give, even if that is only a little.

Giving is far underrated.  I think we need more of it.  Pure, unadulterated giving;  ourselves, our talents, our possessions, our surplus.  Christmas, where the ultimate gift of all time is recognized as hittin' town, gives us a reminder or excuse or prodding or whatever, and lets us participate in, and receive in turn, gifts and well wishes from those we know and love.

I was shopping for the wife and buying some cuddly, snuggly things to keep her warm in winter (no, no jammies with feet in them, although she would wear them if I could find them) and I realized I was truly enjoying picking them out and thinking how she would receive them, enjoy wearing them.  When I got back to the car, I called her and said, "I sure like shopping for you".  I realized I hardly ever do that.  Budgets, busyness, boredome...who knows.  Life tends to lay down the trump card and bends us down under the weight of the daily grind. 

Christmas changes that for a short time and I am grateful.  So I need to decline the bigger cup option and pour out a bit of that overflow to others.  And I really have too many tires anyway. 

I sure want to see the look on my wife's face when she opens that gift bag of 29er tires.  Man, will she be surprised. Merry Christmas, sweetie.

Check out these elves...nice bit of charity work, it seems.

Character

Brought to you in a non-bike moment cuz there is more to life than pedaling.  There are tiny bunnies and truths to be spoken.

"You Must Like Pain"

"You must like pain".  That was said to me in a recent email after I announced a 'Six Hours Of' ride in the local trails.  Simple idea.  We all begin at a set time, ride a one hour, ten mile loop as many times as we can, coming by our trucks every lap for re-supply, and we cannot begin another lap once the clock hits the beginning of the sixth hour.  Fun loop, too.  Hard, but not too hard and good payoffs.  Really, just a fun way to train a bit and see what that kind of experience is like for those who have never done anything like that.  At about 3 hours, then 4 hours, then 5 hours, it does begin to hurt a bit.

I had plenty of time to think about the 'loving pain' comment as I was chin deep in a multi hour hill climb this past Saturday.  This 5 hour loop begins with a 6 mile paved road section, pretty much all uphill to one degree or another, then hits it hard into the dirt and just goes up....and up...and up.  It was maybe 40 degrees at the top and cloudy and we were all pretty cold as we traversed the ridge line toward our 5.5 mile singletrack descent.  It was a very painful climb and suffering abounded.

I am planning a ride next year of the White Rim in Moab.  The WRIAD covers 102 miles of dirt road in remote territory in a day.  Pedal, little mtn biker.  Pedal.  It will hurt, I suspect.  I can't wait!

So now I am considering the comment made by the person, himself an experienced rider, and wondering if it is true.  Mountain biking is hard.  Yet I do not go out of my way to do hard things by nature.  No Everest ascents or runs across Africa.  You won't see me on Shark Week.  However I have to admit that I embrace the more difficult aspects of riding a bike over longer distances and such, although I am certainly on the moderate end of such endeavors by many people's standards.  So what is the deal?

I think is it more complex and yet simple than just a pain fetish.  I am a mountain biker.  I love being all that that encompasses.  And folded up in that knobby tired wrapper is a healthy dose of pain and suffering.  It just goes with the territory.  And the territory is exceptional.  The big climb into the clouds we just did looked down on hundreds of folks who were scurrying around the valley floor doing their busy things, looking up into the clouds we were in and thinking, "sure glad I am not up there in all that weather".  Honestly there were times I wanted to be warmer, but I would not have traded places with them.  There were times I wanted to have the climb over with, but I would not have skipped it to stay where it was easy, down in that valley with the coffee shops and heated cars.

I guess what it comes down to is that I like the view from the saddle more than any other view I know of.  And that view is a fine one indeed.  From slow, plodding efforts that lead to vistas and high places to blurry ones where gravity is pulled and stretched as we slingshot along with the laws of physics firmly in our jersey pockets.

And, I guess that is that.  Mountain biking is hard but rewarding and it is that balance of sweet and salty that has captured my heart for over 25 years.  The pain is not something I seek, but just comes with the territory.  I do admit that I enjoy the looks of non-riders who, when hearing about a recent ride will look at you like you are crazy.  "You rode up there?  On a bike?  Pedaled up there?  You are nuts!"

Maybe I am, a bit.  But I think I am smart.  God's grace has allowed me to participate in a great sport for many years now and has kept me fit, younger feeling, and happy.  It gives me goals and rewards me with great friends and great experiences. 

And the pain part?  Well, OK...I like it just a little.

The things you see...

...when you are on the road.

Brothels, legal ones.  I find the whole idea both odd and disgusting all at the same time.  The whole concept of pulling into a parking lot, walking in, and pulling out the VISA card to pay for jolly time, then going on your way....well, that is just bizarre to me.  However, there were always cars in the lot.  Wonder if they would like their pictures on the net?  Likely not. 

John 3:20

New International Version (NIV)

²⁰ Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed. 

 
But if that is not enough, there is always a museum for the kids.  Yes, there was a tour bus there and tourists.  Amazing.  But not quite as much as the transvestite hooker on the hotel elevator in Vegas.  Imagine Nicolas Cage in a dress and wig.  Oh yeah.

So with that, I will leave you and leave the road trip with this pic that has to be the best sign for the Ladies Room that I have ever seen.  Beatty, Nevada, you crack me up.

The Lonely Road

I am drawn to them like moths to flame.  I see them, winding off valley floors into hidden canyons and high mountain passes.  Often just barely there, suitable for horse drawn wagon, foot travel or a good bike, they seem to ring back through time with the sounds of jangling team harnesses, mining rigs, lumberjacks.

Lonely roads.  They inspire me and intrigue me.  I want to go there, wherever 'there' is.  Let them take me on a journey that few others bother with now in our modern and fast paced lives.  Sadly, I am all too often one of those hamsters on the spinning wheel of life.  Lonely roads require time and a conscious disconnect from the tyranny of the urgent.

We need lonely roads and unseen places that call to us, if not in our lives, at least in our imaginations.

Living the elevated life.

I was standing in the coffee shop behind a middle aged woman in shorts, Teva sandals, and a fleece sweater.  Her calves were killer, shaped and sculpted from years of hard efforts in one sport or another.  The couple at the near table in the Columbia jackets were reading the local rag and having a hot tea, but looked like they had just come in from a run in the morning showers.  A shaggy beard there, more fleece and down vests over in that corner, tan skin, little fat, no make up.  Helmets on the hat rack.  Organic coffee and a tip jar for the local Barrista who just may be a budding wanna be pro snowboarder waiting for the next flurries to begin.

Mountain towns.  Gotta love 'em.  Man I miss that vibe.  It is the same in many towns I have traveled through.  Any place that offers that combo of outdoor life style and elevation seems to draw in a similar class of folks.  It is hard to tell the stratum of wealth as they all seem to dress the same.  Patagonia clothing here is not just a statement of a Gold Card, it is a practical choice.  Only when the parking lot shows a Range Rover or a busted up Subaru do the layers of money show. 

In the coffee shop though, all caffeine seekers are equal.  The parking lot snobbery can wait a bit.  Fresh scones and rainforest approved beans first.

I could fit here quite nicely.  Durango.  Crested Butte.  Tahoe.  Idyllwild. 

I could live the elevated life.  I even liked the coffee.

Bike folks are cool.

The other day JeffJ and I had the chance to hang out with these folks in their spacious and cleverly hidden fortress of solitude.

The occasion was a sneak peek of the 2012 line of nicely machined and highly polished gear for bike freaks like us.  That is all secret stuff that I cannot talk about until later this year or they will cut out my heart with a highly polished tire lever.

But beyond all the schwag and marketing gab was a bit of an inside look at a bunch of guys and gals trying very hard to make very good things that we will want to buy, use, and enjoy.  And along the way to doing that, they are making a living, raising families, paying bills, and, as much as humanly possible, riding their bikes.

There are some very cool people in the bike biz.   Bikes are very cool, and bike people, it seems to follow, are, more often that not, very cool people.

And that is one of the best things about bikes...the bike people...the people that dream them, design them, make them, sell them, ride them and live them.  It would not be the same without ya.

The Flower That Fades

"The human life is like that of a flower: it blooms and is beautiful for a time, but inevitably fades and withers away. By contrast, God is eternal and will never die or fade away. "  1 Peter 1:23-25

 Yesterday the cycling world heard the news of the death of a pro cyclist competing in a large stage race, the Giro d'Italia.  During a fast descent on one of the road stages, Wouter Weylandt crashed at speed and died from his injuries.  I did not know him...never saw him race that I know of, but still we are diminished by his death, for as cyclists and fellow mortal creatures, it reminds us of the brevity of life and the uncertainty of tomorrow.  We non-pros ride hard and fast too, although I never approach the stuff that those guys do.  But any rock on the trail will get it done.  We don't need a 50mph descent to die.

I answered the cell phone for the wife last night, then handed it off to her.  It was a friend from her Jazzercise girlie group.  My wife is not an emotional person, so when I heard her breath draw in, saw her face change, and heard her exclamation, I knew it was not good.  A common friend's husband had been killed in an off-road accident.  No details...just the news.  RJ was gone.  Just like that.

I had only met him a few times, so I was not really a friend, but my wife and his wife knew each other quite well.  Nancy and RJ had been married nearly as long as we have...30+ years, and that is a long time to have a happy relationship with another person.  A long time.  I can barely imagine the loss felt by his wife.  Having just celebrated 32 years of marriage,  I thought of putting myself in her place.  I don't like that place.  It is a lonely place.

We get up each day and go about the things we do without much thought to the end of our days.  It has to be that way.  To be continually aware that every moment may be our last is potentially terrifying.  That puts some folks behind locked doors in search of a therapist.  The problem is, the therapist is just as terrified when it comes down to it.  They just keep that emotion pushed down and away under a stack of textbooks.  A death of someone close forces that emotion to the surface where we deal with it for a time, then push it back down again under the weight of other matters...work, play, bills, plans, expectations.  It never really goes away though.

Yet, there is a blessing to that awareness of our mortality.  It is a recognition of a profound and undeniable truth - that we begin to die the moment we are conceived and there is an expiration date printed on our life like a bar code.  God has the code scanner and the date is non-negotiable.  I have no idea what mine will scan....maybe today.  I am grateful for every day, every moment, every pedal stroke, every person that enriches my life.  I do not desire death, yet I do not fear it as I know God holds my breath and the breath of many that I love.

And that will have to do till then.

The Snake Count continues

Buzz-tail numero six the other night.  Simply amazing, really.  And it is not anywhere near over yet.

Saying goodbye -or- "Not dead....just gone to Texas"

'Special K', as she will be known, the resident chica in the group of otherwise hairy, sweaty, and manly men is pulling up stakes and heading to another country.  Texas.  Pretty sure that is not really a part of the US of A, but I could be wrong.  They seem to be an independent bunch down there, those Texicans, so you never know.  Personally, I would just as soon be dead than be in Texas, but at least she is heading to the Austin area which is a hot bed of cycling.  It seems like there are a goodly amount of trails and races there, so I hope that 'SK' finds another great group of welcoming folks to ride with.

She rode and raced this somewhat ancient Giant Iguana SE that needed a new fork, new headset, new BB, chainrings, had rim brakes that somewhat worked, and had the oddest saddle I have seen.  But it never held her back.  No excuses.  Just ride.  Some guys I know could take lessons there.

We will miss her quick smile and humble ways that always left the ego and whining at home.  We will also miss working on her bike which always needed something or another, lending her chainlube, tires, shifter cables, ahhhh...well, I think we will miss that. :)

Just recently she popped for a used Niner RIP 9.  Big wheels, FS, slacker angles...oh my.  It showed the talent within as she was pretty much shredding the local trails and running away from a lot of 'da boyz' on that blue scooter.  My last memory is from the night she had the RIP out with some borrowed (of course...'Special K', ya' know) go-fast wheels and tires on it.  She was on my wheel all the way up the climbs and then, taking the lead on the DH, went about the biz of showing us her heels.  Mercy.  We created a monster.  I was pedaling along, grinning and giggling as she opened up a gap between us,  thinking that Texas is in for some trouble.

You go girl.

On behalf of the 17:30 Crew, we will miss ya.  Fair winds and sweet trails to ya'.