Good Bye Blue Mondays

Fajitas, it's what's for dinner

2012-01-23T19:37:00.000-08:00

I don't know for sure, but I suspect that every family has its own collection of favorite dinner dishes. Sure, every family also has their own version of sprouts, casserole, or some other much-abhorred supper, but it's much more fun to think about the favorites.

In reflection on the fact that my family culinary tradition should be limited to boiled potato and cabbage -- Mom's ancestor's shtetl was spitting distance from Dad's ancestor's shtetl (culturally, if not geographically) -- our dinner menus were fairly diverse to what they could have been (and I'm thankful for that, every single day). Dad's classic was to roast chicken, but he also enjoyed shopping at Chinese groceries on East Broadway. The whole family loved to-go burritos from our local joint. Put all that together, and it came to pass that one of my family's favorite meals were fajitas -- which really meant some kind of burrito hybrid, since we always included rice and beans with our wok-sauteed peppers, onions, and chicken.

Putting the crappy electric range to work
It generated loads of dishes
It was worth it

As far as single dude cooking goes, I like to prioritize two things when preparing meals: simplicity and leftovers. One pot or pan is ideal (because I'm lazy about cleaning dishes), and the more meals I can get out of one cooking session, the better -- for the obvious reasons. So, although I love cooking fajitas, both because they're delicious and because they bring me back to childhood, I don't make them often, because doing so requires at least two pots and one pan -- and usually more.

The microwave warmed the tortilla and melts cheese

If I had a bigger stove, I'd figure out a way to do this without a microwave
Alas

I found myself drooling over some tortillas in Wegman's last weekend, so, I figured I should probably suck up my fear of dishes and make some fajitas. So, I did. Red, green, and yellow bell peppers, along with red onions in one pan; chicken with some appropriate spices in another. Rice in one pot, and re-fried beans in a second. It all cooked for a bit, and made the apartment smell great. After dinner that night, there was enough leftover for two more dinners. Win!

The finished product
I'll admit that it looked more delicious in real life
The one challenge I always have is finding large enough tortillas

Beyonce with the cooking beats

Distracted by snot

2012-01-16T19:58:00.000-08:00

Being outside in the cold always leads to moments requiring distractions. While riding today, I made the mistake of wearing a stupid hat with both a brim and an ineffective ear band--if I tilted the hat back to keep the brim from obstructing my vision, the band would scrunch up and expose my ears. If I pulled the hat forward to smooth out the ear band and cover my lobes, the hat's brim sagged down in front of my eyes, making me hold back on descents and generally keep my speed in check. It was quite the distraction from the chilly air.

I needed a more powerful distraction at the end of the ride. Back at the shop, I searched my soul in a quiet agony while the nerve endings in the fingers of my left hand thawed out. I did my best to discretely blink back tears while trying to carry on a conversation with Bowman about Master's Cyclocross Worlds, in Louisville, Kentucky. My hands remained swollen for hours afterward.

On Sunday, I searched my soul on a chilly Derby. Only a handful of riders came out, riding in temperatures around 18-degrees when I left my house, and had only climbed into the mid-20s by the time I got home. After we'd completed the roll out, and stopped to ensure that our collective pipes weren't yet frozen, we joked about how today was the day that we weren't going to go hard on the way back to T-Town.

I was down, but someone got it in their head that this was the Derby, and we had to go hard. So we went fast. Here's the thing, though, it's much harder to go hard in the cold than in warm weather. Although the overall Derby took 12 minutes longer than it had the week before, it was much, much harder. On such a difficult ride, I often start looking for any distraction to keep my mind off the pain.

Yesterday, I got distracted by snot. For physiological reason that I don't understand, cold breads snot like heat and humidity bread sweat. Everyone on these cold-ass rides drips, spits, and blows prodigious snot--there's some streaked across my sunglasses, and one friend even posted a photo a truly epic snotsicle* on facebook -- that thing had to be a good six inches long at the end of his 70-mile ride. Our collective snot production, impressive as it may be, is also kind of gross.

In particular, I was thinking about how I really wasn't having any fun at all after we'd crested Topton hill and were headed toward the left turn onto Chestnut, when another rider turned his head to the right, reached across his face with his right hand to shut his left nostril, and then exhaled sharply, sending a perfectly clear, viscous glob hurtling down toward the pavement. Sheltered from the wind by his body, the glob hurtled toward the ground ... until his furiously spinning foot rose on the upward half of the stoke, catching the flying goo on the outside of his booty.

There it hung precariously, half stuck on his foot, half dangling in space, changing its shape and orientation at each stage of the pedal's rotation. I sat in behind, mesmerized by the tissue filler. Then we reached the turn, entering the series of rollers that mark the Derby's final kilometers. I lost track of the snot, but found plenty of other distractions from the cold as the pain and pace increased.

*Brad denies that it was snot

Cleaning up the childhood home

2012-01-12T20:09:00.000-08:00

My parents bought their house in Brooklyn in 1988, shortly before my brother was born. I lived there until I went to college in 2003, returned for a few months here and there until moving out for good in 2007. They still live there, but no longer need the amount of space the single-family brownstone offers.

Also, they want to retire, so, they decided to ~~sell it, renovate it into a duplex~~ rent it out. As a result, I've been trying to clean out my childhood bedroom a little, every time I go home, preparing for the day when they finally do move out. Fortunately for me, I did a pretty thorough clean out when I moved to Saratoga in 2007. However, there's still a lot of crap in there, most of which is going to be hauled out the curb at one point or another. Some of it's worth saving, though.

A box full of shoe boxes
Each shoe box is full of pictures
Most of them, I'm sure, are not worth saving

On my last trip, I filled up a carton of photos, taken before we all gave up on film, sometime around 2004, or maybe even earlier. In my head, I had the idea of going through every photo (there are probably hundreds, but maybe thousands), and organizing them into albums or something. Knowing myself, though, it's more likely that I'll let them all continue to sit and collect dust for a while longer, until necessity prods me into action.

When that will be is anyone's guess. I'd bet that it'll happen sometime during the week before I actually move out my apartment, when organizing old photos will suddenly become a preferable alternative to some other, moving-related chore. When that will be, however, is also anyone's guess.

Anyhow, I did take the time to look through a couple of little albums that I found in one of the shoe boxes of photos. One of the highlights of my middle school experience was starting the Outdoor Sports Club with Brett. Together, we organized hiking trips and other outdoor activities for ourselves (and a few, mostly unwilling friends). I remember thinking that the photos were stoic, back in 1996. In 2012 (holy shit, it's been 16 years!), however, they look plain hilarious.

That's my Dad on the right,
back when he still had his mustache
I'm not sure what the log was all about

There's Brett, sitting on a rock
He now works at Ralph Lauren
They probably wouldn't approve of his old haircut

On a previous trip to Brooklyn, I loaded up a box of books. I love to read, typically ending each of my days with a few pages from one book or another -- a habit I picked up at a young age, after reading before bed with my parents. As such, I've accumulated a fair number of books, many of which have been in storage at Mom and Dad's place. In going through the shelves, though, it was funny to realize how much my tastes have changed over the years. For example, I quickly loaded up all of my Tom Wolfe books, the remainder of Vonnegut (most were already here in Emmaus), a bunch of Doctorows, Edward Abbey, Steinbeck, London, Heinlein, and many, many others. However, I didn't feel compelled to schlep any of the dozens of novels by Stephen King, Michael Crichton, or Tom Clancy. I suppose I'll bring those over to the used book store on my next trip to the city -- they'll make good beach reading for someone, as they once did for me.

The next step is to find a suitable book shelf for my apartment.

A box of books hiding in the shadows
I'm quickly running out storage spaces at home
I like to read, and I like having books around

Unsocial networking my ride

2012-01-09T19:18:00.000-08:00

I've been using Strava.com for a couple months. In case you don't know, Strava is a social media site that lets you upload ride data from GPS devices, and compare your rides with others around you.

Fortunately, my subscription is coming to end, and I won't be renewing.

The service, which is new, has become fairly popular in a short time, with riders using it either to compare ride metrics, or just to track their own riding. One of the most popular features, though, seems to be the KOMs (or QOMs, for members of the better-smelling sex). When I first joined, and plugged in my Garmin 500, the web site automatically update all of the ride data I'd saved since May. Every Derby, lunch ride, Prospect Park loop, and tired, post-crit Sauerkraut Lane traverse.

I also learned that I'd accumulated a couple-dozen KOMs, which was awesome -- except that I suddenly cared whether or not someone had posted a faster time than me on Reservoir Road, or on Northeast approach to Lake Desolation. I used to care about the people I was riding with on any given day, but now, suddenly, I had a means with which to care about people I'd never met.

So, that's been nerve-wracking.

In addition, when you're a type-A cyclist like me, there's the added stress of having everyone know when I was taking a slow day, but not being able to explain it ("I raced both days this weekend, my legs were tired.") The feeling I had, whether or not it was justified, was that everyone who happened to see my rides were judging me. OK, it was probably justified. I shouldn't have cared what other people thought of my rides -- if they were even looking, which they probably weren't -- but I totally do.

Also, for me, riding has largely been a social activity for me -- like, the kind of activity you do with people, not online avatars, so wasting time uploading ride data was taking time from I should have spent writing here, cooking, or, most likely, sleeping.

Maybe it's for some people. Also, I'll miss the ability to find rides in new places -- or new rides at home. But I won't miss the (limited) anxiety it caused me. Enjoy Strava responsibly.

New Years Resolution: more food

2012-01-04T19:14:00.000-08:00

My holidays were great, how about yours? In addition to two fairly intensive and productive weeks at work, I feel that I acquitted myself admirably on the holiday party circuit, honoring all five of the season's major events: my Dad's birthday, Hanukkah, Christmas, Jewmas, and, of course, New Year's Eve -- the last of which served as a glittery exclamation point on a great year, and a great holiday season.

One of the season's highlights was a conversation I had with another journalist at a Hanukkah party early in the party season. After confessing to this woman, who I had only just met, that I hadn't been feeling motivated or inspired to write outside of work, she suggested that I start a blog on a topic unrelated to work. It was an interesting point; I started this blog, back in 2007 with the goal of breaking into cycling journalism (whether or not I knew it at the time). With that as my goal, I was able to focus tightly on writing about cycling, until I became enough of an expert (and the stars aligned) for me to get my job.

But, now that I write about bikes at work, it's hard to come home and write more about bikes. The trouble, of course, is that this is a bike blog, and I'm not willing to abandon it. So, my New Year's resolution is spend more time writing about non-cycling topics on the blog, while still finding a place for bikes here and there.

What will I write about? Well, I love eating, and food is an important part of eating, so, I think that'll be a topic of increasing interest here. The first food on my plate? Latkes:

Think of it as a giant french fry
Or, perhaps, something like a a hash brown
Probably not historical, but traditional

While celebrating Hanukkah with Amanda, her sister and brother-in-law, I had the opportunity to eat a lot of latkes. As you probably know, latkes are traditional potato pancakes. They pay homage to the Hanukkah tradition of a day's supply of oil that lasted eight days by helping you to consume an 8-day supply of oil in each bite. They are delicious.

My Mom's recipe -- which is probably her Mom's recipe, and so on -- involves putting white potatoes and onions (roughly in a 4-1 ratio) in a blender with matzoh meal, pepper and egg. The resulting batter is too thin too be formed into patties, as some recipes call for, so, she puts about a quarter-inch of oil in a pan and heats it until just before it starts to boil. Then, she pours in pancake-sized dollops of batter, cooking one side thoroughly, flipping it, and then cooking the other side.

The result, is oily, mildly salty, and delicious, making an excellent vehicle for apple sauce or sour cream. Mom suggests letting the latkes rest on a paper towel for a little bit before serving. Because, you know, that makes them less oily -- but still pays tribute to the holiday's tradition.

I often say that I'm only Jewish for the food. That's not entirely true, as I'm also Jewish for the guilt and Manischewitz wine. But, mostly for the food, and us Jews love our food traditions: pot roast and gefilte fish on Passover, Chinese food on Christmas, bagels and lox on the day after Thanksgiving and peperoni pizza on Friday. OK, some of those traditions may be unique to my family, but that's OK, I still get to love them, and recreate them when Mom's not around, as was the case this year.

One of the best things about food traditions is sharing them. In fact, I recently learned that other families eat kinds of latkes different from my Mom's. For instance, this year I was cooking with a crew that has all sorts of weird food issues (read, they are vegetarians and don't like oil), so, at Amanda's urging, we attempted to bake some of the batter. The results were not delicious:

It's meant to be fried, and will settle for nothing less
Our baking experiment ended poorly
Fortunately, other baked results came out better

Half an hour at 400-degrees did nothing for my fry-able batter. However, a similar amount of cooking did wonders for the squash latkes that Amanda's sister made. They were delicious, I have to say, even if the only thing they shared with latkes is a roughly round shape. Cheers to holiday foods!

Bike reg to make our lives easier

2011-12-20T06:36:00.000-08:00

Got this press release in my inbox this morning:

BikeReg.com and RaceDay Event Software Collaborate to Streamline Event Registration and Results Process

BikeReg.com is collaborating with RaceDay Event Software, a well-regarded and proven program leader in the event-day registration and results software industry.

BikeReg.com has been working closely with event directors and participants for over a decade to offer cycling-specific online registration. An event-day registration and results tool has been at the top of many promoters wish-lists and we are excited to offer this great product. From start to finish, we can now provide an easy and fast registration and results process for the event director, event staff and volunteers, and officials.

RaceDay Event Software was developed and used in over 700 events over the past 10 years. This simple yet powerful software package allows you to manage your event from the close of online registration through onsite registration. The software creates start and results sheets, manages results, allows for the emailing of results to your participants, and assists with loading results back to a posting site. RaceDay Event Software has a built-in USA Cycling participant database to allow registration entry of athletes using just their license number. It also supports USA Cycling Results and Rankings upload as well as direct uploads to road-results.com and crossresults.com.

BikeReg.com will provide properly formatted participant registration data that event directors can easily import into RaceDay. Once this is completed, no internet connection or special programs are required. Event directors are then up and running for streamlined day-of registration and results. RaceDay staff will also offer stellar customer support by phone and email 24/7 365.

RaceDay Event Software will be available exclusively to events using BikeReg.com as their online registration provider.

Copies of RaceDay Event Software, including a demo version, are now available at www.RaceDayEventSoftware.com.

About BikeReg.com
BikeReg.com, a division of Pioneer Registration Services, LLC is based in Northampton, Massachusetts and has been providing online registration services since 1999. BikeReg.com takes great pride in the level of customer service they provide and their stable, streamlined registration platform that makes registering for races easy for the participant and provides the event director a complete suite of tools to manage their events. To learn more, visit www.BikeReg.com. You can also find us on Facebook, or follow us on Twitter (@BikeReg).

Contact BikeReg.com at (888) 956-9560 or email Sales@BikeReg.com

About RaceDay Event Software
RaceDay Event Software, owned by PeloPro Sports, LLC is based in Salt Lake City, Utah and has been providing and testing RaceDay Event Software over the past 10 years. You can also find us on Facebook, or follow us on Twitter (@RaceDayEventSoftware.com).

Contact RaceDay Event Software at (801) 699-5126 or email support@RaceDayEventSoftware.com

Riding (briefly) with one leg

2011-12-18T19:04:00.000-08:00

In January, 2009, I went to visit my brother in Colorado. Together, we went up to ski with Tom, who was working at Vail for that season. Although the trip was a lot of fun, the skiing wasn't that great, at least not by Colorado standards -- the snow was crusty and old -- and it didn't snow at all during our visit.

Even if my memories of skiing itself aren't that great, there was one incredible sight that I doubt I'll ever forget: A guy absolutely shredding a steep, mogul run that dropped in a near-straight line down the side of a deep canyon. Adaptive skiing is always impressive, whether you see athletes in "sitskis," or blind skiers descending the mountain with a guide, it's always inspiring. But this guy, who I only saw briefly from the chair lift, wasn't using any kind of adaptive equipment, he was just using one regular ski, and two regular poles; the vacant leg of his ski pants rolled up to his hip.

We first saw him evaluating his line from the top of the gulch, then, he launched down, driving his board between the moguls with a fluidity that I will never achieve, no matter how many hours I spend working at it. In fact, I basically gave up on skiing right then.

But, that's not the point. I was thinking about that guy today, because of something Tom said after watching his run: "His leg must be so fucking strong!" Yup. Thinking skiing with two legs is hard, just think about the challenge of doing the same thing with half the muscle.

Today, on what was otherwise an awesome day of riding with the South Mountain Cycles extended family (extended, because I was there!) to White Clay Creek State Park in Newark, Delaware, the non-drive crank fell off my test bike, leaving me to pedal the last couple miles with just my right leg. While interesting, the experience is not one that I'm eager to repeat.

In addition to the obvious problem (that's a lot of work for one leg!), I also found that going down any kind of grade was challenging without being able to level off the pedals. Fortunately, everyone was kind to me in my moment of need, and didn't leave me out in the woods to die, despite the fact that my pace dropped from "reasonable" to "glacial." Now, hours later, my right leg is much more sore than usual, and sore in all kinds of new and exciting ways. And, that was only after a few miles.

I'm going to have to double up on the single-leg drills for my left leg this week, just to balance things out. The whole experience, though, made me realize how lucky I am to have an intact, mostly-functional body, so that my one-legged jaunt was a curiosity, rather than a permanent condition.

In other news; White Clay is a sweet place to ride, especially if, like me, you lake technical mountain bike skillz, but enjoy long rides off road.

Cookies and 'cross

2011-12-11T17:58:00.000-08:00

With a much-needed quiet weekend at home, I formally declare the following:

-Training for the 2o12 road season is now underway, as evidence by the 15 hours I rode this week.
-I'm done racing 'cross until next year. It was a fun, two-month season, but I was pedaling really slowly at the Kiln today, and can't see myself getting any faster in the immediate future. Besides, there aren't any more local (or, localish) races.
-If there was an inexpensive service that delivered cookies in Emmaus, I would definitely avail myself, with great relish. Someday, someday.

I think the third point is pretty clear, but I'll lay it out anyway: I have, and have always had, an insatiable sweet tooth. In fact, the greatest hindrance in my career as a mediocre amateur bike racer has been my inability to control my diet. The ONLY way that I can get some relief from my drive to eat sweets is by not having any in my house.

At home, my extreme laziness is able to overpower by desire, and, most of the time, I'm too content with my feet up on the couch to move, let alone leave my house to satisfy my most base temptation. HOWEVER, I really want a (box of) cookie.

So it goes.

As for the other two points, the formal start of winter training started loosely on Dec. 1, which made this my first week of regular training. Sadly, due to short daylight hours, it also meant that I spent four hours on my rollers this week. That, I do not love. But, I was riding pretty well last April, and I hope to be riding pretty well next April, so I need to on the proverbial ball now.

'Cross, on the other hand, has been a fun adventure. I was able to hit most of the Thursday night 'cross races here in Emmaus (thanks Ray!), and after wrapping up Spa:CX, I got myself to a handful of regular races on a few weekends, and even -- in what must have been a fluke -- stood on a 'cross podium.

Today's race, Limestone 'Cross at the Kiln, was something of another matter. I rode a lot on Saturday, and probably a little harder than I should have on the Derby this morning. Regardless, I was less than motivated for the race, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to race so close to home (it took me about six minutes to ride over to the venue), so, I went out and started. At first, I was in the race, but then I had a pretty bad bobble and lost a few spots. Then, I realized that I was pedaling surprisingly slowly, and couldn't seem to get going faster. So, I settled in to a rhythm of pedaling, running, pedaling, running, and coasting a little.

The saving grace, of course, was the really fun course, and my friend heckling from the base of little climb that I wasn't skilled enough to ride. Good times.

Racing 'cross this fall has been a surprising amount of fun, and I'm already looking forward to racing more CX next year. First, though, I'm hoping to learn how to turn faster.

New traffic pattern in Prospect Park

2011-12-04T18:50:00.000-08:00

I did something today that I don't think I've ever done before. While riding in Prospect Park earlier, I stopped for a red light, unclipped and waited for the light to change before continuing my ride. What's more, I was one of several cyclists who stopped at that particular light.

What's the big deal? Prospect Park is in the midst of it's latest round of pedestrian vs. cyclists squabbling, and the police appear to be more concerned than usual with enforcing traffic regulations. In fact, the reason I stopped for the red light was mostly the cruiser sitting in the intersection, lights on and apparently ready to apprehend anyone who rolled through the light.

Of course, I only had to stop for one light in two and a half hours of riding, which is pretty solid for an urban ride. Despite the recent upheaval, things were mostly as they always are in the park: Some people were riding slowly on expensive bikes; other were riding fast on inexpensive bikes; triathletes were there and trying to ride. There were kids riding, and parents riding, and people walking and running. Of course, it was a warm, sunny day in the park, and everyone had the same idea, to get out and enjoy the weather.

There was one interesting new feature; at the bottom of the hill, the site of the aforementioned accident. Cyclists can easily reach speeds of 30mph, and occasionally faster on the descent, so the parks department is using orange traffic barrels to narrow the roadway to one lane from three. At first, I thought it was just a means to slow traffic (which it does), but later it occurred to me (remember, I was riding in circles for two-and-half hours, so I had a lot of time to think about these things) that the narrowed travel lane means pedestrians have a much shorter distance to get across the street, reducing their exposure to cross traffic.

I'd heard some grumblings about the barrels earlier in the week, but I have to say that I support their use. It's a simple way to force everyone to pay more attention, and there's no reason to be ripping through that turn at full speed in the middle of the day, when the road is open to all users. Besides, on most of my laps, I barely had to slow down anyway. And, it's much better than a permanent alteration to the roadway.

I have to say, though, these discussions have been going on for years, and, I'm pretty sure that this latest round will pass before too long.

Pushing through the 24-hour haze

2011-11-28T19:45:00.000-08:00

Closing in on the 24th hour
My ability to ride certain features diminished throughout the event
Will I race again? I'm saying "no" right now. But, ask me in eleven months

This weekend, I was forced to contemplate exactly how much is too much. I think I'll need further contemplation to arrive at a precise conclusion, but I have settled on the following guideline: One hour is adequate for 'cross. Three hours is overkill, and anything beyond should be employed by the CIA as a means of extracting information from terrorism suspects.

To wit: On Saturday, I set aside my better judgment, drove home from a lovely Thanksgiving weekend in Brooklyn, and saddled up for FSXO, a 24-hour 'cross race at a secret location in Emmaus.

My approach to the race, which turned out not to be a winning strategy, was to go forth at an endurance pace, which, I figured, I could keep up for a while. The race started at 5 on Saturday afternoon, and although I'd spent some time last week setting up, I had not fully understood how technically challenging the course was. And, it was dark. One of my critical errors, aside from undertaking this absurdity in the first place, was to make liberal use of the PBR shortcut (it's exactly what you think it is) in the first several laps.

Then, I was drunk and had a hard time parceling out appropriate efforts. But, somehow, I pressed on. For the first hour or so, I managed to stay on the lead lap with most of the others, but eventually my lack of speed and technical skills caught up with me, and I was soon losing ground on Jasen Thorpe, Aaron Snyder, Steve Schneider, and others. At around 8, someone pointed out that, shit, we've still got 21 hours to go.

I think it was around 9 when I broke my derailleur in half, thus forcing a break, while Mark and Mike Jerry-rigged a Campy Record derailleur onto my 105-equipped 'cross bike. Once adjusted, I had three or four gears to chose from, one or two of which worked relatively quietly. So, that was good. Meanwhile, I'd bumped my knee on my handlebar at some point, re-opening a wound, which bled profusely. While Mark was working on my bike, Ray helped me out by affixing a bandage, which worked well to keep me from bleeding out through my knee during the remainder of the event. Thanks Ray!

Sometime around 11 I started to feel pretty tired -- we'd been riding for six hours -- so I took a break by the fire, at which time I realized that the folks hanging out there, those who weren't racing, seemed to be having a lot more fun than me. "Next year," I thought to myself.

At some point, I started riding again, knocking out a few more laps. Later still, Dan showed up with a cake, and it was awesome. A little before 3 in the morning, with most people done for the night, but plenty of folks still hanging out by the fire, Matt and I rolled down the hill from the secret location to my place to crash for a few hours.

In the morning -- after four hours off the course -- we rolled back, to discover that no one was really at it yet, except for the fools racing for the PBR record. Everyone was slow to get started, but we eventually started riding again. Even by that time, with eight or nine hours still to race, it was pretty clear that Jasen had the win locked up. Even when Aaron showed back up having had a full night's rest, Jasen seemed pretty unfazed (he eventually rode about 90 laps).

In the middle of the afternoon, I started to lose enthusiasm for life, riding bikes, and everything else. Meanwhile, I soon became ensnared in a three-way tie for fifth. At this particular race, placing fifth means you've won, so once I realized that I wasn't going to win outright, my goal was pretty clear. So, I spent most of the afternoon sitting by the fire, trying to stay awake and watching the other fifth-place contenders. At sometime around 4, we all started riding again, whichever of the three of us rode the most laps without passing the fourth-placed rider, would take home the grand prize.

Unfortunately for me, I'm pretty bad at riding 'cross, so the other two quickly out-distanced me. It was kind of pathetic actually, and in retrospect, I really wish I'd spent more of the afternoon riding my bike, instead of sitting around. I could probably have finished third fairly easily, with two of the faster riders spending the afternoon in a smoldering staring contest for fifth place, but instead decided to join that race to the bottom, ultimately losing it.

On the upside, Acu-Jamie made some awesome zitti, or which I ate an entire crock pot. So, that was good. Also, I slept really well on Sunday night.

Beginner lessons

2011-11-20T18:26:00.000-08:00

Matt and I had warm weather for a mountain bike ride on Friday afternoon, shredding the trails at Salisbury. It was the second time we rode off road last week, and I found the second outing to be a bit more challenging that the first, mostly because there were lots of rocks to impede the bike's natural course and motion. Matt, who has more experience riding off road than me, seemed to be less effected, but I wound up walking a fair bit.

That got me thinking about challenges and being a beginner. I've long had a fear of being a beginner, especially where cycling is concerned. After all, I've been riding on the road for years, and -- I think -- I've passed the point at which anyone would think of me as a beginner -- although I'm still far from what I would consider an "expert." But, that's all on the road. Off road, I'm a pathetic mess, and it's been both tough and enlightening to begin that process.

The trails at Salisbury were very fun and also proved challenging. Unlike the trails here at South Mountain -- originally intended for hiking, but also used for mountain bikes -- Salisbury was purpose-built for two-wheeled use. So, you get things like really fun bermmy switchbacks on the way down the ridge, and logs -- even big ones -- ramped for easier riding. I anticipate that riding there will be well worth the 20-minute drive once my skills improve to the point where I can ride over rocks, rather than getting intimidated by them and slowing down.

As it stands, I'm still at the point where larger rocks make me nervous. For one, bright, shining moment on Friday, I thought I had figured it all out and was rolling right along down a moderate incline -- when I got ahead of myself and wrecked. It was the sort of slow-speed wreck that shouldn't have caused more than a momentary hitch, but I smacked my knee on a rock.

It's been a while since I've really crashed (in fact, I think the last time was that time I broke my wrist, and that came not as a beginner's mistake, but as an occupational hazard of racing, and I experienced the blinding flash of pain that momentarily made me think I was about to die. But, of course, I didn't -- and wasn't going to -- die, I jumped up and hobbled down the trail, pacing back and forth for a few minutes until the pain subsided. Then, the ride went on without further interruptions. Later, I found that my knee was swollen, and I had some scratches on my shin.

Two days later, my knee is still swollen, but I was able to ride on the road both Saturday and Sunday without pain -- so, I suppose, learning my limit was worth the momentary pain. But, I think I'll hold off on riding off road again until the swelling subsides.

Post No. 1,000: Occupy adulthood

2011-11-16T20:31:00.000-08:00

This is a momentous blog post. For one thing, it's the season of my birthday -- I'll be 27 on Monday. Imagine that. Before you know it, I'll be ... 28.

For another thing, this is my 1,000th post here on GBBM. I don't know if I'd say that I, "never thought I'd see the day," but I can say that when I started this project in 2007, I didn't really know what to make of it. A blog? What's a blog? Will people read it? (there was a time when I cared if people read it) OK, whatever, I'll do it. Four years later, I'm still not really sure what this is all about. The difference, though, is that these days I'm more OK with not knowing, more secure in the knowledge that it's all going someplace -- even if I don't know where that place is quite yet.

1,000 is a fairly arbitrary number, and therefore feels like a potentially odd time for introspection. But, we're a people who love arbitrary events -- Why is Jan. 1 on the start of a new year, anyway? Couldn't the Earth's 365-day trip around the sun begin or end on any day of our choosing? Why is an 18 year old better equipped to vote than a 17 year old? -- and it's a nice, round number.

So, I got to thinking about everything that's happened to me during these thousand posts. There are the obvious things: I got a job, moved out of my parents' house, got another job, got another job, lost a job, got another job, moved to a new state. Some things that hurt: Money woes, crashes, hangovers, broken hearts (mine or hers). And the things that get taken for granted: haircuts (not enough), oil changes (too many), flat tires (on my bike, not my car), grocery shopping, cooking, taking out the trash (when stench was powerful enough to overcome laziness).

But, through it all, there was a general arc of a life changing (mine). I was reading, recently, a story in the Washingtonian about twentysomthings (oh, BTW, that's one word now, haven't you heard?), which painted us as an entitled, ungrateful, self-important lot who turn up their noses at jobs they deem below them. Yeah, I guess that's about right.

I still have friends (only a few, but still too many) who live with their parents, or otherwise accept help from home. Some have yet to cut a rent check that bears their own name. Others don't know their way around the grocery store (hint, the produce is almost always to your right as you walk in, meat case along the back wall). If I've accomplished nothing since moving back to Saratoga Springs to take a low-paying ($21,000, if you're curious) job at a newspaper, at least I've grown out from under my parent's wings.

No, fuck that. I've accomplished much more than just writing rent checks. According to that Washingtonian article, I've achieved what few in my generation have: I settled for a low-paying gig, worked my ass off and thanked my editors for (almost) every assignment, no matter how stupid, and was eventually rewarded with a job that I find intellectually satisfying and challenging. I wonder what I'd be doing now, had I passed on that newspapers' offer, and had instead chosen to continue living in Brooklyn, arguing with my parents about dirty dishes and selling sneakers. It's hard to say, but I'm going to guess that I wouldn't be where I am now.

Here's what I'm trying to get at: Social media, an upbringing that promised us the world and the lush '90s has separated many of my peers and I from our parents in one crucial way: Past generations did. They didn't waste years thinking about whether or not they were making the absolute right decision, or agonize about whether or not their job was as fulfilling as their college professors had promised, they just chose a path, and went for it. If it worked out, great. If not, they figured something else out. Can we expect more than past generations? Well, we can expect whatever we want, doesn't mean it's going to happen.

A good friend once observed that I had a very pragmatic view of relationships ("Well, I liked her a lot, but it wasn't going to work out in the long term, so, it sort of felt like there was no point, you know?"), and I've come to realize that my pragmatism is not limited to my view of romantic situations. But frankly, I think a bit of pragmatism can do everyone some good now and then.

Should we lower our expectations? Maybe. Should we be pragmatic about our choices? Yes. It's great to have goals, and it's admirable to try to achieve those goals. But what worries me is seeing lots of my peers still searching for jobs that aren't going to materialize, and putting the rest of their lives on hold in the meantime. just. do. something.

I referenced the ongoing "#Occupy" protests in the headline of this blog, mostly because the one thing I know about social media is that it's good to reference terms in your headline that are likely to garner (even accidental) hits on Google. But, I also had a sincere point to make about those protests. Here it is: There are a lot of people (many from my generation) participating in those sleep-ins, or whatever they are. I've said to anyone who's asked my opinion (like, two people), that I think the protesters need to organize themselves and come up with a coherent message and demands. As it stands now, all they're doing is bad math (99 percent? Please.), and moving away from pragmatism. They feel marginalized, but they're also not doing any thing to change their position -- not in their own lives, and not in the larger sense of the alleged 99-percent's alleged struggle with the alleged 1-percent. Instead of doing something, they're sitting around complaining about things they don't like -- and they can't even agree on what those things are. Typical, apparently, of my generation.

Remember the Civil Rights movement? They accomplished something. How'd they do it? Well, for one thing, they had a pretty damn good sense of what they wanted. It wasn't therichpeople'smoney/organicfood/domesticjobs/revisedimmigrationlaws/mycar'sbrokenandsomeone'sgottafixit. It was equal rights. Done. Simple. Oh, and a charismatic leader didn't hurt anything either. But our generation wouldn't know about that. I don't know about other institutions, but at my liberal arts school, all that was need to effect change was a few dozen students signing a petition about some trifling grievance. Unfortunately, that's not how it works in the real world -- but my peers must have skipped the lecture that day.

God damn, I did not realize how angry I was at so many of my peers! Thankfully, all hope is not lost. For every acquaintance I have living with their parents, there are several more out in the world doing things -- and many of them (pragmatic or not) have found things to do that fulfill them. Hell, it even appears that my brother will get a job some time in the next two or three months. Knowing, despite evidence to the contrary, that there are people in my generation who "do" makes me hopeful that we'll find a way to stop Facebook from taking over the world, and then maybe address our real problems in a meaningful way. We don't need to occupy Wall Street -- we need to occupy our lives to the fullest extent possible.

(Here's to one thousand more!)

Hitting the dirt

2011-11-15T18:37:00.000-08:00

Back in June, when I had little elbow and no wrist, I went with Matt to the Stoopid 50, a 50-mile mountain bike race outside of Happy Valley. As far as races go, it was pretty fun -- nearly as cool as a 'cross race, and much cooler than your average road race. Even not racing, and alternately getting rained on and swatting at flies, I had a great time.

It also got me thinking, "I could do this." Sure, I wasn't going to out ride the speedy guys who were challenging for the podium, but there were plenty of slower folks just out for a good time. Plus, there was beer and pulled pork at the finish line. I mean, come on! Who wouldn't want to do that? I resolved to get a bike to test and to start riding off road, as soon as I regained the use of my arm.

Then, when I did regain said mobility, I was so concerned with getting back into shape for road racing, that I soon forgot about my off road delusions. Fast forward a couple of months: Racing was done and I was looking for fun ways to maintain some modicum of fitness without resorting to rollers this early in the off season, or running. Seemed like a good enough time to get back on the mountain bike track.

Incidentally, this happened last year too, after Jamie took me for a ride in October. Only, that time it didn't stick -- I was in the midst of moving and lots of other things. So, I'm a year late to the party, but at least I got here.

A few weeks ago, we started calling in some mountain bikes for our "tall" testers to try out -- most of our mountain bike test riders fit best on medium bikes, so there haven't been any bikes for me to chose from, but now I've got a Cannondale Scalpel 29er to test -- a dual-suspension, 100mm travel bike that's more technically advanced than my car, and is lighter than my first two road bikes.

Matt suggested we ride dirt at lunch today, and we did, heading to South Mountain -- trails I last explored by foot. The verdict? It was fun. I surprised myself a little by riding more obstacles than I thought I would have been able too. Of course, I also walked quite a few sections. But, like I said, it was fun. It's an entirely different challenge than I'm used to, and I greatly enjoyed the chance to think about where my pedals would need to go, and how I needed to re-adjust my weight to get over or around rocks, roots and logs.

While the trails were challenging, they also provided several opportunities to open the throttle and push the bike -- at least to the greatest extent that I felt comfortable. I have to say, mountain bikes have come a long way since I bought my Trek 820 in 1996. Dual suspension, combined with 29-inch wheels makes everything a lot easier on the trail, to say nothing of a fork that actually works as intended, and grippy tires. It's really no wonder I didn't have fun riding that old hardtail -- after just an hour on the Scalpel today it was immediately apparent that modern bikes can work with you in a way that my old bike never did or could have. Instead of fighting the bike today, I felt that I was able to let it go. It was really quite a rush.

The complexity is also somewhat staggering -- I needed help to set the sag on the suspension, and then, upon realizing that I needed to ride with a shock pump, became nervous about the possibility of something going wrong. Of course, nothing broke on our short ride -- and, anyway, the off-the-grid aspect of mountain biking is part of what appeals to me. But, before our next ride I think I'll take some time to better familiarize myself with the bike. Also, I'm going to need to stop the seat post from slipping -- my knees were killing me by the time we got back to the office.

In the near-term, I definitely see myself riding more dirt. In the longer term, the 2012 Stoopid 50 is eight months away...

Celebrating PA, on the bike and off

2011-11-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

Third place prize
I was the low man on the podium at Crossasaurs Awesome
It was awesome! See what I can do when there's no mud and lots of straightaways?

My friends declared this weekend, "Pennsylvania Fest," and while I didn't participate in all of the Fest activities (choosing to sleep in and ride, instead of visiting the Yuengling brewery, Clover Hill Vineyards and Winery, and Cabella's), I did take some time to celebrate Pennsylvania in my own ways. Incidentally, a week from Monday will mark one year since I moved here.

How does a cyclist celebrate his adoptive state? Relaxing at a bonfire, drinking beer with friends, and riding bikes, of course.

It occurred to me today that, "went to a bonfire," requires a little explanation when talking to folks who haven't experienced the country life. Everyone loves a fire, and it's a pretty great, relaxing way to spend a couple hours, if you ask me. But, it's also not something that happens when you've lived your entire life in the city. Bonfires happened with some regularity in Saratoga -- particularly in the fall and winter. I always look forward to chances to warm my toes by the fire.

Anyhow, a relaxing bonfire turned into a trip to the VFW, before the party moved to the Jungle Room. A pretty solid Pennsylvania day.

On the bike front, I wound up leaving late to ride on Saturday. I still don't know as many of the roads around here as I'd like to -- so, I just simply took off, riding generally west and south, both on roads I know, and on roads that were new -- toward the setting sun. Knowing that I was likely to be rolling home at dusk, I'd brought a handlebar light along, as well as a blinky. It was a good thing, as around 4:30, on my way home, I came across Kiem Road. I'd ridden it once before, during the Rapha Gentleman's Race, but had no real memory of it. Bill talks of it often, as a favorite road, one that inspired him, and the last time I'd come across it on a previous exploration, I'd demurred, riding instead on toward home.

It was late, I had a bonfire to get to and I was running out of light, but I took the left anyway -- I was in an exploratory mood, and what the hell? It is a fun road. The dirt was in good shape, and the climb back up Oysterdale Road was a pleasant surprise. Then it got dark. I switched the lights on, and eventually made it home.

Today, on little sleep and a hangover I rolled to the Derby. Things got off to an amusing start, when the entire peloton acted collectively on bad advice, attempting to ride a bridge, only to discover that there was no pavement on the bridge, just lots of soil. After surviving the ordeal, the pace became slightly quicker than usual on the way out. After the turn, I quickly found myself off the front -- first in a group of three, and then in a group of five.

Both efforts were fairly painful, and lasted about 20 minutes, before the second group was finally overtaken, just a mile from the finish. I made a last-ditch solo dig, only to be (as-scripted), swarmed from behind. So it goes.

Not content to stop there, I rolled home and switched my skinny tires for (slightly) wider ones, taking the 'cross bike down to Crossasaurus Awesome, in Schwenksville. After last week's debacle here in Emmaus (I drank more beers than I completed laps of the course), I was racing in the Bs, which is the appropriate field for me. Because I have no points or standing of any kind at 'cross races, I started at the back of the small field. A crash in the first lap caused a slight delay, but the race was soon rolling along at full tilt.

I came through traffic on the first lap, arriving at the front to cheers of "rainbow warrior!" at the barriers (I was wearing my Bicycling Magazine kit). It was pretty sweet. Actually, I wasn't quite at the front -- there were two riders way ahead, racing for first and second. I initially settled into fourth, but was soon able to overtake the guy ahead of me, slotting into the last podium position, where I stayed for the next couple laps.

For a while, I thought I was gaining on the leaders, but I probably wasn't. In any event, I certainly wasn't going to be able to catch them, so I settled into a rhythm of trying to hold off the three riders who were coming up behind me.

They did eventually catch me, and I even briefly slipped back to fourth, but the course was very well suited to my specific 'cross abilities (applying watts to long straightaways), and I was able to open up big enough gaps on the non-technical bits to keep myself from risking the podium position -- until the last lap, when the three finally did catch me.

Even with a big burst of speed leading into the barriers, I came through with only a marginal lead -- and I'm about as fast over the barriers as your grandmother, so it wasn't going to be easy. Fortunately, I proved faster in the final sprint, and preserved my third-place finish. And, can I just say, tubulars are awesome for 'cross.

A day watching running

2011-11-06T20:02:00.000-08:00

Looking south on 4th Avenue in Brooklyn
This was taken at about mile 7
We had a really hard time picking Rachel out of the crowd

At the end of the day today my back was aching, my legs were sore, and my hip was killing me -- but I wasn't saying anything, to anyone. Why not? All I did was walk around the city a little bit, ride the subway, and eat. I did also spend several hours cheering for runners in the NYC Marathon with Jamie and various others with connections to his wife/my friend Rachel, as well as Aunt Cindy.

However, I did not run a marathon, and therefore have no right to say anything about the physical state of my puny cyclist's body. Minor aches aside, it was a great way to spend a day, and it was the closest I've been to the race, since I rode with the elite wheelchairs in 2008 (and '07).

Much of the day was occupied by cheering on the runners (including spending some time in a sweet, unofficial VIP section), many of whom helpfully display their names on their clothes. The real highlight of the day, though, was overhearing the following conversation between a well-dressed lady cruising down Park Avenue and a Marathon finisher sitting a bench outside of Central Park, enjoying a well-earned Diet Coke with her male companion:

Well-dressed lady: "Finally sitting down?"

Runner: "Yup."

Well-dressed lady: "Gonna be hard to get up!"

Runner: "How would you know?"

A little rude? Yeah, sure. But I can almost guarantee that if I'd been in that runner's shoes, I would have retorted with a similar sentiment, but with more profanity: "How the fuck would you know, asshole?" It's the Brooklyn in me -- I can't turn it off. Given the enormity of running a marathon, I can only imagine how unwelcome the intrusion of an outsider who hasn't experienced the rigors of endurance events would be. Sort of like how I tire of explaining how long bike races are, or how fast they are.

And, as I've pointed out, I've never run a marathon, and likely never will. So, I don't get it, and don't claim to. But, I do understand that it's a huge accomplishment for the participants, and for anyone willing to spend the day outside, cheering the participants is a great way to be a part of the event. At first, it seems preposterous that cheering for someone could make any kind of difference in someone's day -- but then I think about the races I've done, and there is, without a doubt, a boost from the cheers. In that way, us lowly spectators, with bodies that could certainly not withstand the pounding that comes with a run of 26.2 miles, can be a part of it, potentially making a difference in someone's day, and, incidentally, having some fun along the way ourselves.

I may not enjoy running, but I can appreciate supporting those who do.

Some muddy photos

2011-11-03T21:15:00.000-07:00

I was having a really good race tonight at Fifth Street tonight, sitting second wheel behind Jasen and rolling away from the rest of the race when I blew a flat and had to retire form the race. Boy was that disappointing. At least I feel like I'm getting the hang of piloting a bike around a 'cross course. I made up for the sad end to the race with ample drink following the race, undoing any good work that I'd done on the bike tonight.

I'll give it another go on Saturday, when I face off against Yozell at the first day of Bear Creek 'Cross. I wonder who'll win...

As I mentioned the other day, Travis accompanied me to HPCX last weekend, and took a few photos. Here were the best of the bunch:

After the race, muddy and miserable
The key advantage to nearly getting lapped:
I was the first to the power washer.

On a rare stretch of pavement
Unfortunately, I became unable to access the big ring mid-way through the race
I was effectively speed limited after that

HPCX: I am not a mudder

2011-10-31T19:30:00.000-07:00

This weekend had a bit of excitement, a bit of drama, and a bit of everything in between. Mostly, though, there was an incredible amount of mud at Sunday's HPCX, the ninth race in the MAC series.

I decided to race HPCX on the tails of a very successful Saratoga Spa Cyclocross, and then girded my resolve to race after having a good night last Wednesday. It seemed to be a fairly obvious decision: I was enjoying a wave of late season fitness, and I've been having fun on my Focus test bike, so, what the hell? Besides, I was already going into the city to help a friend celebrate her birthday (and Halloween),* and the race was in the general direction of home. I even goaded Travis into coming out and working in the pit for me. He got some photos, which I'm looking forward to sharing soon.

But, there were some complications. First of all, as predicted, snow began falling on Saturday afternoon, and accumulated throughout the region overnight. Then, it got warmer on Sunday in many places, causing said snow to melt throughout the day. The result, as far as the 'cross race was concerned, was a variety of gooey, slippery, squishy and otherwise treacherous surfaces -- all of it at a cool, liquid 40 degrees, not quite frozen, but pretty damn close. There was a brief stretch of pavement, and a few sections of path that remained hard, but for most of the course, we were racing through a river of mud. No uphill was rideable, and downward slopes were only navigable by means of locating the most solid-looking of ruts, and trying to guide the bike down by keeping the rear wheel from sliding too far to one side or the other. I found that I could kind of pedal on level ground, but that in a lot of places, I only went forward one pedal stroke for every two strokes. It was maddening. I've raced in mud before, but never anything like that.

After starting on a brief, paved uphill stretch, I ran for what felt like five minutes before I was able to even get on my bike, and even then, found that I was quickly off it again, trying to run. The relatively tenacious Continental tires on Focus quickly got packed with mud, leaving me without any traction to speak of. Shifting lasted a bit longer, but the cassette soon became too jammed to work reliably. I had a Blue Norcross SL with Travis in the pit, and I briefly considered switching bikes, but the Hutchinson tires on that bike surely would have provided even less traction, and that was not going to be the ticket on this day.

So, I kept slogging it out. In all, I think I rode three or four laps, and avoided being lapped by just moments. The greatest tragedy of it all was that it was a course that I think would have suited me very well in dry conditions -- it seemed that there was a lot of climbing and sections on which I could have applied some power. Oh well. Perhaps it'll be drier next year -- if the park wasn't so ruined that we 'crossers are banned and told never to return.

I did learn something, though: so-called 'cross geometry, with a high bottom bracket, does make some sense when you're pushing through mud that's encroaching on your hubs.

After the race, Travis helped me clean off the bike, while I wiped the prodigious mud off my self, and threw my ruined kit, shoes, helmet and glasses into the trunk before we headed out for food.

Back in Emmaus, the storm had downed tons of trees, leaving the city dark, and my electrically heated apartment at about the temperatures of a meat locker (I know this because I used my meat thermometer to measure the air). Clearly, I did what any sensible bike racer would do in this situation, and found the nearest hose, using it to remove as much mud as I could from my dirty kit. Then, I unloaded the car by the light of my headlamp, wrung some more mud out of clothes in the kitchen sink, took a cold shower that failed to thoroughly clean the mud out of my hair, ate some summer sausage and cheese by candle light (electric stove, too), then blew out the candles and got into bed, where I feel into a deep sleep at about 10 -- the earliest I've gone to sleep in months.

Today, the office was closed, so I slept in before decamping to Erin's mother's place, with Erin and Meghan, where we enjoyed the heat, electricity, and left over Halloween candy. Later on, Professer Hostsetter schooled as all in Scrabble. Arriving back at home a little after 8, I found that the power was back on, but that the heat was not (I hadn't turned it on yet this season). Hours later, I can no longer see my breath in here. So, although many of the roads are still a mess, life is returning to normal -- whatever that is.

*I successfully drank a lot, ate poorly, slept hardly at all, and endured jeers from my friends after I opted not to wear a skimpy costume, in favor of something warmer, if uninspired -- "Was he always this lame?" asked one friend upon meeting Amanda, who arrived dressed as Mini Mouse ("yes," was the answer, obviously). But remember, it was snowing! I believe that I made a good decision, especially as there will be plenty of later opportunities to embarrass myself more fully in the future. Also, the drive from here to the city took about 50-percent longer than usual, due to the crappy road conditions and shitty drivers who insisted on crawling along at 20 miles her hour for no apparent reason. I know that not everyone drives a four door sports car like I do, but it's not like we've never seen snow before!

Bumbling my way to a 'cross podium

2011-10-27T20:01:00.000-07:00

I'm learning that a key thing to successful riding 'cross bikes at speed is a willingness to let the bike to what it wants to do -- to an extent. Hold onto the bars too tightly and your own rigid arms can lead to the bike bouncing around too much, possibly moving you off your line. When you relax, though, the bike is more free to flow over the bumps and ruts, sticking to its line.

Sadly for me, it's not easy to undo years of training myself to stay rigid on the bike while grasping the lever hoods in technical situations. I found last night, while racing Fifth Street 'Cross, that a beer led me to a much more relaxed stance on the bike. More than just a social lubricant, one beer seemed to loosen my elbows and hands. Read: I had an OK first race, sitting for most of the four-lap affair just behind the leading quintet, fighting for sixth place. A little bobble near the end of the fourth lap cost me the battle for sixth place.

Then, after cooling down, I applied said lubricant, and when the second race started, I somehow found myself riding at the front very early in the race, and seemed to be turning much better than usual, flowing effortlessly around the sinewy turns. Of course, "much better than usual," is still pretty awful, and I'm sure that I managed to annoy all of the much faster racers around me -- both with my going really slowly through turns (no matter how fast I thought I was going) and my accelerations every time the course was uphill or straight. That's basically the only move I have in a 'cross race, I had to play to my strengths, you know?

In the end, after one racer flatted, and another bobbled, I wound up racing in a group of four, along with Ryan, Jasen and Steve. At some point, Jasen and Ryan got sick of my antics and pulled away in the turns. Steve tried to come around me on the last uphill drag, but I successfully held him off and made it to the line in third. My fist 'cross podium, ever. My previous best effort was that time John out ran me at the Bethlehem Cup, and that was in 2008. It's been a long dry spell for 'cross results, indeed!

Even better, I capitalized on a three-rider pile up in the dash-for-cash, and took the $20 prize at the end of the night -- and promptly spent it on a pulled pork sandwich at Volpes. If there's a better way to celebrate, I'd like to know what it is!

So, that was fun. I'm doing a real 'cross race on Sunday, and will hope to find some way to loosen up, without resorting to drink. After the activities planned for Saturday evening, I have a feeling I may not want to drink much on Sunday. And, drinking before a race that cost me more than $10 feel like a bad practice.

Spa:CX: The most exciting four days

2011-10-25T20:14:00.000-07:00

Most-fun promoter duty:
Bestowing awards upon deserving racers
Even better when they're attractive and fast!

In the parlance of these times, I straight ran out of bandwidth last week. Besides the usual stuff going on at work, things were ramping up for Spa:CX, and I was suddenly out of time for anything. Strangely, or perhaps not, it was a pretty joyous sensation, to be so totally consumed and distracted by a task outside of the usual, day-to-day stuff.

The first part of the week got me settled into a steady rhythm: Spend the day at work, doing work stuff and checking our bike reg page every few minutes to watch the number of riders increase. I'd come home after work and cook dinner, then spend a few hours exchanging emails with John about the race, in which we'd rehash well-trod details. There wasn't really much for us to do -- all of the preparations were set, we just needed to wait until it was time to drive stakes and assign numbers.

On Thursday, I left work, loaded the car, and made the trip up to Saratoga. We spent Friday overseeing the first of the set-up duties: A big, 20x40 tent, and prota potties. We made some adjustments to the course, installed barriers, and parceled out prizes. It was all very fun. Later, I assigned numbers, then John and I ate our combined weight in pizza while assembling registration binders. It was a bit of work, but all part of the fun of promoting a successful event.

The real work began on Saturday, when a crew of volunteers joined us to drive stakes and run tape. The course went up fairly quickly, and after a few drinks at the end of the day, and some time spent riding the course in jeans and without a helmet, I convinced myself that racing was probably even a good idea -- provided everything went well.

Sunday started out early, with some more volunteers arriving to the venue in the pre-dawn dark. Registration went smoothly, t-shirt sales went smoothly, the first races went off more-or-less on time, and kids made use of both the kids' course and bounce-house all day. Can you ask for a better combination? Probably not.

I showed what bike racers are all about by simultaneously giving an interview to a local paper and changing into my kit, and then proceeded to embarrass myself for an hour. Two things I know about racing 'cross: those damn pedals are hard to clip into, and standing on your feet for three days while drinking heavily is not a recipe for successful racing. About halfway through, I got lapped by the leading trio, and then just about everyone else. Forgetting that others were actually racing while I was just there to please my adoring fans, I took a beer hand up, and nearly took out someone lapping me while I concentrated on drinking instead of riding. Oops. Sorry!

Promoter's prerogative, or whatever.

The race ended, and despite crashing twice and having enough bobbles and stutter steps to rival the entire C race, I managed not to be last. So, that's something.

Also, the course came down quickly with lots of help, and the race committee ended the day basking in the sun and enjoying some of New York's finest. Wayne, you may not have won, but you earned our respect. Jenny and Aurora, I can't understate how cool it is that we had two Saratoga winners this year!

On Monday, as I oversaw the removal of the potties and tent (and spent hours trying to make the balance sheets balance), John pointed out that work just wasn't as fun without our big extracurricular going on simultaneously. It really was true, though I didn't feel it until today, when I went back to work (to a mountain of stuff to catch up on!) Good thing there's next year to look forward too.

It's been 11 months, time to get on the move

2011-10-18T19:37:00.000-07:00

People typically talk about internal clocks in terms of biology: "It was an OK date, but I could just hear her clock ticking," or, "My clock just wakes me up after five and a half hours, I'm used to it," etc.

For me, the internal ticking has mostly to do with real estate: I've lived at my present address for eleven months. About three weeks ago, my internal alarm clock started ringing, and earlier today, I decided I could push "snooze" no longer. Besides, someone spilled beer on my white carpet during Saturday's parade party; it's time to move--otherwise I'd have to clean the carpet.

Just about every year since graduating college (and during college, of course) I've packed my shit into bags and boxes, bribed friends with large vehicles and schlepped across town or the Mid Atlantic. My various moves have been pretty well documented here, of course. What I haven't really written about is why I've spent so much time bouncing between locales.

Usually, it's been about necessity: I moved from my first apartment in Saratoga across town when I broke up with my live-in girlfriend, and could no longer afford the rent. A little more than a year later, I moved out of a modest two-bedroom in a great neighborhood when I broke up with a wonderful room mate, who was moving across the country, and couldn't bear the pain of trying to find someone else to take up her half of the rent. Downsizing seemed prudent.

Then, of course, came the move to Emmaus, for my job. Again, as much as I would have liked to stay in Saratoga while working in Pennsylvania, commuting four hours each way to work would REALLY have cut into my riding time.

I was pretty lucky to find a nice apartment overlooking the triangle in Emmaus, where I can keep an eye on the burgeoning Occupy Emmaus movement, and track folks going in and out of both the Golden Trigger and the ice cream parlor. It's pretty sweet. But, I've always hated the aforementioned white carpet, and my pathetic attempt to obscure part of it with an area rug has proven futile. More importantly, the huge, lovely windows that sold me on the place when I first saw it (so much light!) don't keep the cold out very well, or keep the heat in. In other words, this is not really an affordable place for me to live, especially in the winter.

I've been looking around a bit, and will need to kick the search into high gear in the next few weeks. Just today, I saw two apartments a block away, in the same building as Armetta's and South Mountain Cycles -- a major plus! But, one would leave my bikes in the living room (a major flaw!), and had no laundry. The other would be a great place -- if I could afford it on my own. With a room mate, the bikes would again be taking up precious couch space. And, again both have those white carpets. Why do land lords think we want that ugly crap?

So, the search continues. I'm a bit hamstrung by two factors: My paltry housing budget and my insistence on being able to ride to work in less than 10 minutes. Finding the right place is a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, but if you see anything for rent in or near to Emmaus, please let me know!

Oh, and by the way, the next place I live? I'm hoping to stay a while. I mean, I've said it before, but I mean it this time--I'll just have to figure out some other reason to go through all my crap and throwing all everything I don't use next year, a process usually mandated by moving.

Six days to Saratoga Spa:CX. I'M FREAKING OUT!

2011-10-17T18:52:00.001-07:00

I've been so excited about Spa:CX over the past few days that it's been hard to think about anything else, let alone to focus on any tasks not directly related to the race. And, while we're on the topic, you should probably go ahead and register here. Buy a T-shirt, while you're at it!

Things that I either did not do this weekend, or substantially delayed doing due to my distracted state of mind:
-Vacuumed my apartment after a Halloween Parade party here on Saturday
-Folded my laundry
-Paid my corporate Amex bill (actually, I should probably do that).
-Looked for a place to move to when my lease runs out next month
-Etc. I think you get the picture.

But, there's a lot to be excited about. Improvements over the 2010 version of Spa:CX include:
-More prize money for elite men and women, plus bonus prizes for the top cat 3 man and cat 4 women in the open races -- thanks to our sponsor, Bicycling Magazine!
-Course tape and Kid's prizes courtesy of another sponsor, Shimano!
-Even more kid's prizes from our sponsor Clif Bar!
-Improved course. Last year, we thought we had a difficult run up. Then everyone rode it. Not this year, friends. We've also added about three minutes to the lap, for your enjoyment.
-Better food. You liked last year's wood-fired pizzas? Then you'll love Lilly and the Rose and the Fortunate Cup!
-The most-awesome T-shirts in NYCross.
-Better inter-state representation. At least one PA resident (other than me) will be present and racing Sunday.
-Step-in stakes (Well, we had them last year, but now we own half of one-third of them, so that's cool. It's a long story. Buy me a PBR some time and I'll tell it to you.)
-A registration tent! You won't get wet while signing your USAC waiver (OK, this one's mostly for me and John and the other volunteers, but we're still pretty excited about it).

All that, in addition to last year's racing action, kids' fun, and wheel-sucking sand. Don't miss out!! (Two exclamation points on one sentence, you know it's going to be good!!!)

Now that I've got some of my unabashed excitement out of my system, here's a very formal press release, which was released to the press earlier this evening. I wanted to post this before my cell started ringing off the hook with interview requests (any second now....). See you Sunday!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Saratoga Spa Cyclocross sets the stage for racing action and family fun at Saratoga Race Course

250 athletes, 350 spectators expected for third-annual event

10/17/10

SARATOGA SPRINGS – Beginning at 9:15 a.m. on Sunday, Oct. 23, cyclocross racers from New York, New England, and beyond will converge on the NYRA Lowlands, on the grounds of the historic Saratoga Race Course for the third-annual Saratoga Spa Cyclocross.

Cyclocross is a style of bicycle racing that evolved in northern Europe, as a way to keep bicycle racers competing through the fall and into winter by moving them off of roads and onto muddy paths and open fields.

Racing places demands on both a competitor’s fitness and dexterity. Cyclists using specialized bicycles with road-style handlebars, but wider, knobbed tires will complete multiple laps on a mile-long course that will force them to navigate obstacles, jump over barriers, and to dismount and run up hill while carrying their bike. With a course marked by tape, fans will have their choice of vantage points – exciting fast stretches on open terrain or on the run-up, where racers will look for a cheer (or jeer) to get them over the top of the climb.

One of the highlights of the day will be a free kid’s race will take place at noon, open to children younger then 10 on a cyclocross-style course. A kid’s practice course will be set up in the expo area for children to ride throughout the day. A bouncy-bounce will also entertain kids while parents take in the racing action (and lunch).

True to the best European tradition, Spa:Cx will be a complete spectator experience, with food available on site from Lilly and the Rose and the Fortunate Cup cafe. An industry expo will feature displays from Serotta Competition Bicycles, Luna Chix, Gore Bike Wear, Sigma Sports (cycling computers and lights), K. Bedford Custom bikes, and HandleBra (locally-made leather handlebar wrap), PrestaFlate Cycles, Aurora Massage Therapy, and the Saratoga Mountain Bike Association.

“After an exciting year at our new venue in 2010, we’ve made improvement to the course that will enhance both the racer-, and spectator experiences,” said promoter John Onderdonk. “Sand is expected to be a pivotal factor in high-level races in coming seasons, and we’ve got lots of it to get Spa:CX racers ready! Best of all, our expo area is located at the bottom of a huge, natural amphitheater – a spectator standing in the expo area eating lunch will be able to see most of the action from one spot.”

Athletes will compete throughout the day in categories broken out by age or ability. Races for children 10-14, and beginner’s categories for adults begin at 9:15 a.m., to be followed by races for master’s athletes competing in 35+, 45+, and 55+ categories at 10 a.m. Intermediate men will follow at 11 a.m. Elite women will race at 12:30 p.m., elite men close out the day at 1:30 p.m. Registration is available on Sunday, or pre-register to avoid a $5 late fee at www.bikereg.com, search for “Saratoga.”

“Saratoga Race Course proved to be an excellent venue for our race in 2010, and we’re really excited to return this year,” said promoter Andrew Bernstein. “By hosting events like ours, the race course shows that it is a vital part of our community, even outside the famed Saratoga meet. We couldn’t have planned a successful event without the track’s generous support, and that of our sponsors, and we are looking forward to a great day on Sunday!”

Sponsors include Elevate Cycles, Blue Sky Bicycles, Bicycling Magazine, Bonacio Construction, Sigma Sports, Gore Bike Wear, Chomper Body, Aurora Massage Therapy, the Saratoga YMCA, and Stone Industries.

This year, we are also proud to have partnered with two charitable agencies that work local and nationally. For the second year, we will raise funds for the Backstretch Employee Service Team, which provides services to backstretch workers at the Spa, and other tracks around the country. This year, we are also pleased to announce that we will make a donation to Team Billy, a Saratoga-based not-for-profit that raises funds to support research into brain tumors.

“Thank you for including Team Billy as one of the recipient charities for the Saratoga Spa Cyclocross. Team Billy has funded over $1,250,000 in brain tumor research through the Billy Grey Research Chair at the National Brain Tumor Society. We welcome interested riders and walkers to join us next Spring on Sunday, May 20, 2012 for a 50-, 25-, 10- mile bike ride and a 3-mile walk at High Rock Park in Saratoga Springs (see teambilly.org for more information). In the meantime, good luck to all the participants at the Spa on the 23rd!” said Ken Grey.

For media inquires, please contact Andrew Bernstein at 917.414.8424 or Bernstein.andrew@gmail.com. Interview and photo opportunities are available. For more information please visit our blog: www.spacx.blogspot.com.

Muddy 'cross, in the dark

2011-10-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

I did a good job hurting myself tonight; and not just in the sense of putting in a good honest effort on the first night of Fifth Street 'Cross (although I did that), but also in the sense of riding hard on an unfamiliar bike, and now my hip and back hurt a lot.

Unfamiliar bike? My prep time before tonight's race consisted of taking the bike off a hook in the Bicycling workshop, adjusting the saddle height, and installing my pedals. Then I rode from the office to the Emmaus Recycling Center on Kline's Lane, stopping briefly at home on the way.

When I got to the race, I'd learned four things about the bike: The fork was stiff enough to resist chatter pretty well; the bottom bracket was pretty high; there was too much air in the tires; and the saddle was too far forward. Fortunately, I had a multitool along to adjust the saddle position, and you don't need a tool to let air out of the tires, FYI.

It was still light when I arrived at the recycling center, which marked, I think, the first time I'd ever been there in daylight. Night falls fast these days, however, so we all switched on our lights and the race started. I'd seeded myself near the back of the 25 riders who showed up, because it's more fun to pass slower riders than to be passed by faster riders, or to get in their way.

I did manage to pass some people, and I daresay, the second lap of the first three-lap race was some of the best 'cross I've ever raced. I even passed Matt, who possess impressive handling skills. Of course, we were solidly in the middle of the field, but it's still awesome to feel like you're racing. Heartbreakingly close to the end of the race, I had a pretty bad bobble, and both Matt and Taus passed me. I managed to get ahead of Taus by the finish, but Matt out-meh'd me to some unknown placing.

The second race started better. Since the first race was three laps, I felt safe in assuming the second race was only two laps. You know, because the second race is always shorter than the first. Except for tonight. So, I raced two really good laps of 'cross, passing a lot of people and making reasonable turns (for a roadie, in the mud, anyway). Then I got to the line thinking I'd ridden a great race, only to be told that there was one more lap. At that point, I became completely unglued, as if riding one more lap was the equivalent of being told to move a pallet of cinder blocks across town, by hand.

But really, I fell totally to pieces: I was taking all the wrong lines, loosing my front wheel, and then, insult of insults, I forgot to complete the last turn in the candlesticks, and crashed into a bush. Yup, gotta watch those bushes, they really jump out of you. Needless to say, Bowman passed me; Matt passed me; Taus passed me; even though he was presumably at home and not racing, Yozell passed me; and finally some toddler on a trike passed me. It was still fun.

At the end of the night's racing, I drew the follow conclusions: 1) As awesome as the X-Fire is, the Focus Mares CX2 is better suited to my preferences, with its lower bottom bracket. 2) Riding a new bike for the first time at a race is a recipe for extra pain in the joints, brakes that need to be toed in, and poorly adjusted shifting. 3) Cat 4 'cross skills + cat 2 fitness, divided by two = Cat 3, which, incidentally, is my 'cross category. 4) The effect of applying Rapha's Winter Embrocation is fairly pleasant, and it's not at all uncomfortable when you forget that you've just applied embro and then go to adjust your package. However, the effect on your legs (or, presumably, on your balls) is intensified when you slam into the ground. Also, I forgot to remove the embro before getting into the hot shower. Ouch.

All that being said, I'm looking forward to next week!

A body of tales

2011-10-10T19:44:00.000-07:00

If only it were my left wrist
Then, my watch would help hide this ugly beast
I'm glad it's there to remind me, but don't need it to be on display

It was really warm in Emmaus today (for Oct. 10, anyway), so I wore shorts to work -- this is a chief benefit of our informal workplace, especially in summer, or summer-like weather. Also, I spent the morning running around moving and washing bikes, so shorts felt especially appropriate.

I'm not sure why, but for some reason I got caught up looking at my left shin, which bears a line of five small scars leftover from my crash at the Tour of Sommerville. These scars were caused by a chainring that bit into my skin in that pile up. At the time, and still now, the wounds, though they bled profusely into my sock, seemed minor when compared to my shattered wrist.In fact, I didn't even notice I was bleeding until a passerby pointed it out to me as I sat chatting with EMTs about my other issues. Even the scars seem relatively minor when compared with the surgical scar on my wrist, which is unfortunately located in I-tried-to-kill-myself-and-knew-what-I-was-doing position.

These wounds did eventually stop bleeding
They are now small and gray, arcing across my skin
Incidentally, a matching set on my right shin, from 2006, has mostly faded

And yet, there are my scars, slashing across the front of my leg. Cycling forges the body of all who dedicate themselves to it: Twiggish arms and sculpted legs, slouching shoulders on many of us, and boldly contrasting tan lines. Then there are the unfortunate consequences of the sport; the blemishes and imperfections that come as a result of painful encounters with the ground and machines.

While not generally considered attractive, there's no denying that a scar stands for more than just regrown dermis -- there's a story behind each one. At this point, the story behind my shin is pretty well-trod, the large, splotchy gray mess on my knee is the product of not one, but three crashes that ripped the same skin open again and again. The larger discolored patch on my hip has been similarly disturbed multiple times. The oblong splotch on the top of my wrist is, fortunately, mostly obscured by hair. And now that I'm trying to think about each time I've rent my skin, I find that I can't recall each incident -- just the truly awful crashes, the ones that I hope never to repeat.

In that way, I'm grateful for my scars -- they serve as reminders of past experiences, and hopefully of lessons learned.

Losing grace

2011-10-04T20:12:00.000-07:00

It doesn't matter how much you ride, you're still susceptible to careless errors.

One day last week I rode to work on my Champion System, as I often do. In fact, I've done the ride so many times (nearly every day) that I sometimes fail to think about what I'm doing -- just pedal and go. There really aren't any challenges along my mile-long route to work. No real hills, no bad pavement, and not even that many cars.

My commute ends with a few pedal strokes across the office lawn to, then a bump up onto a concrete pad in front of the bike room door. Then I hang up my bike, roll down my pant leg, and march upstairs. One day last week, after an otherwise unremarkable ride to the office, I forgot to lift my bike's front wheel onto the concrete pad, and must have had my weight carelessly forward -- instead of rolling smoothly from the grass to the concrete the bike stopped dead, bucking me off the saddle.

I was wearing sandals, so the force of stopping my forward momentum became slightly painful -- to say nothing of my crotch hitting the stem and the handlebar catching on my legs. The worst of it, though, was the saddle coming up and hitting my tailbone, right above my ass crack. I wasn't going fast, but it was still enough translated momentum to make the saddle come up with enough speed to hurt, a lot. A week later, it's still pretty tender.

The first thing I did upon realizing that I'd landed on my feet was to look around to see if anyone had seen my less-than-graceful stumble and dismount. Fortunately, no one had, so I don't have to endure tales of my poor handling. I just have to endure a tenderized coccyx to remind me.

A great ride with a few hundred readers!

2011-10-02T19:40:00.000-07:00

In my life as a reporter, there were days when I couldn't go grocery shopping or to the coffee shop without hearing from some reader who either wanted to compliment a story, or tell me how to better do my job.

At times, it was helpful. At other times it was a pain in the ass and made me wish my work was less public. Such was the life of a reporter in a small town with a highly engaged public. I still live in a small town with a highly engaged public, and while many more people read Bicycling than read The Saratogian, and I have much less contact with any of them.

So, it was, I thought, pretty remarkable that nearly 1,000 readers showed up to ride around the Lehigh Valley today with the Bicycling Magazine staff -- despite the rain and generally crappy weather. In addition to being a fun ride, it was a good chance to hear from a few readers. Those who I met were enthusiastic about what we're doing, but were still willing to share their thoughts on future directions.

So, thanks everyone for a great ride! Of course, I wouldn't have objected to better weather.

Purpose served, re-evaluating GBBM

2011-09-29T20:27:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about my blog recently. I've been posting regularly here since the summer of 2007, a few months after graduating college and there's a fairly major blog milestone coming up in the next few weeks, so I feel that this is a pretty good time for some introspection.

Initially, I started blogging because a writer I know, Stephen D. Price, told me that if I wanted to be a journalist, I should have a blog. I wrote my first post mere hours after receiving his counsel. I know when to heed the advice of my elders, and he said this was a first step in beginning a career in journalism.

In the interceding four years I've worked in three jobs at two publications and had lots and lots of positive experiences -- all despite the fact that I'm a member of, in Price's words, a "profession of rejection." Over that time, this blog has held different meanings and purposes for me. At first, it was a receptacle for random thoughts, loosely relating to cycling. At other times, it was a launching pad for a series of essays I wrote for the Embrocation Cycling Journal. I've even done real journalism on this blog, posting popular race previews particularly related to the Tour of the Battenkill. Mostly, over the years, it was just a place for my random, semi-formed thoughts. Somehow, despite my apparent lack of focus, I have managed both to keep the blog going, and to enter a challenging field. Simply amazing.

Lately, though, I'm not really feeling like it's enough. I've also realized that I've been writing more lazy, poorly-conceived posts, and both you my readers, and me, deserve better.

The thing is, though, writing better takes more time. For years and years I've been posting on evenings, Sunday-Thursday. I like to think that such a schedule gave folks something to read on work days. But, I'm sometimes left wondering why anyone would interrupt their workday to read.

So, I'm going to try a different approach. Instead of pushing myself to post every night, I'm only going to post when I have something worth posting. I expect that I'll still be posting race recaps and other adventure stories on Sunday nights to kick off the week. I'm also aiming, with fewer posts to hammer out, to offer more substantive material. To put it another way, I'm going to focus on improving the quality of my writing here, and stop worrying about quantity. I hope you'll enjoy, but for those of you who can't get enough, there's always this.

Rekindling a long-forgotten interest in 'cross

2011-09-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

At lunch today, Matt and I headed over to the Parkway to test out some 'cross bikes for an upcoming online feature.

Matt was riding a highly unusual bike, a Boo with a Gates Carbon Belt Drive. It was fortunate that we didn't come across any pandas. Had we, I'm sure they would have been all over Matt's bamboo bike, like, well, pandas on bamboo. Unfortunately for Matt, the Edge (must have been an older model) tubular wheels were glued with Challenge file treads, which proved to offer slightly less traction than the medium treaded-clinchers on the Fulcrum wheels that came on the Focus Mears CX I was testing. Combined with the relatively poor braking of a carbon wheel, he was sliding all over the place.

We only rode for about an hour, a pretty standard lunch ride, but it was the first time I'd ridden off road in quite a while. There was one, very brief moment of epiphany that rekindled my interest in 'cross, and in riding off road in general. It was a very small moment, and I'm quite sure that Matt didn't notice, but as we were riding down a gravel path, a foot-wide rut ran diagonally across a small descent. The roadie in me wanted to stay to one side, hoping to ride around the rut, but a latent instinct form somewhere deep down took over and I steered toward the rut, lofting the bike up and over.

The brief flight, combined with the bike's shocking lightness and the sturdy feeling wheels was revelatory, and pretty fun.

Of course, I still managed to stumble all over myself when I attempt a running re-mount, but it didn't take much of the hour-long ride to remember that 'cross bikes are pretty awesome. The big wheels and drop bars let you go pretty fast, while the extra traction and powerful brakes let you tackle a variety of terrain. Best of all, instead of a heavy mountain bike to lug around, 'cross bikes are only marginally heavier than their road-bound cousins, so there's less to throw around, and just marginally more maintenance.

I've spent these fives grafs talking myself into racing 'cross this year. Bring it on!

Margins of light

2011-09-27T19:46:00.000-07:00

The short daylight hours these days mean that you're racing darkness as you ride back into town toward 7 p.m., making it harder and harder to squeeze in a two-hour ride after work. I guess that means I'm going to have to start coming in earlier in the morning, with the goal of leaving earlier in the afternoon to get out to ride while there's still time.

That, or I'll have to rely on my little and big lights to keep me safe.

Cyclists live for the longest days of the year, which come in May and July, with the best and longest days in June, around the solstice. In the dead of winter, it's cold out and you're not motivated to ride anyway. Or, if you're me, you're resigned to riding the rollers. But these days are harder. It's still really nice out. Yesterday and today were almost like summer, so, of course everyone wanted to ride, and wouldn't have missed the opportunity.

Today, a co-workers suggested that an alternative might be to get up before work and ride, but I am not really a morning person, as much as I aspire to be, and the dual challenges of getting up earlier and getting into bed earlier feels like too much of a reach. Besides, it's colder in the morning than in the evening, even if the darkness is about equal.

Mostly, it's important for us all to stay safe out there, and remember our lights, when we're riding around the margins of light.

Mostly, I just hope to stay safe on the roads.

Season's last bike races: Lake Desolation Hill Climb and Mengoni Grand Prix

2011-09-26T19:48:00.000-07:00

I say this once a year: Stick a fork in me, I'm done. With two last races over the weekend, I'm officially calling an end to my 2011 road season. I'm hoping to race the training crit Thursday, but otherwise, I won't turn a pedal in competition until 2012, unless it's on a 'cross bike.

It's been an interesting season. I had some good rides in the spring, and I had an injury, and I had some bad rides in the summer, during my big comeback. In some ways, it's too bad the season is ending: With the Green Mountain Stage Race in my legs, I was actually starting to feel some form returning, just in time for the bike reg listings to thin out to nothing. The end of the season is bittersweet. I love racing my bike, traveling to races and seeing friends from all over -- and I miss it all when it's done for the year. But, I'm tired. It'll be nice to have less pressure to train and travel.

As for this weekend's races, there were no great success, only great failures.

OK, that's a bit of an overstatement, it was actually a pretty good weekend of racing.

Saturday's race, the Mengoni Grand Prix in Central Park, was a moderate success insofar as I didn't crash on the rain-slicked 6-mile circuit. The race was really fast, and more than a few fast guys were going out that back of the single-file peloton. I was happy to sit in. I hit the front once, on the second to-last lap, when there was a small group dangling off the front. Of course, there was no help on the chase, so I quickly returned to the safety of the peloton. There was a break up the road, which appeared to not be coming back. Indeed, it did not come back, and the winner came in about 14 seconds ahead of the group sprint. There was a crash in the sprint, which I was happy to avoid, while coasting in mid-pack.

I don't get to race in Central Park too often, but I really do think it's one of the most fun circuit races I've ever raced, owing to near-constant smallish power climbs, combined with fast flat sections and an uphill finish that can suit non-sprinters in certain situations. Plus, as I noted on Facebook, there always lots of attractive women running and riding in the park, even at 6:30 a.m., when the start pistol goes off.

Sunday's race was truly a failure. This was the Lake Desolation Hill Climb, an event I'd won in 2008, 2009, and 2010. Needless to say, I had an interest in defending my title -- so much so that I threw together a spur-of-the-moment plan to drive to Saratoga for a quick, overnight visit (I thought the race was in October, it's traditional date). In so doing, I missed an exciting trip to the Sands Casino -- that was how much my title meant to me.

The record for the 4-mile Lake Desolation climb is 16:20, set in the late '80s by Davis Phinney, when he was in town visiting Serotta. Of course, Phinney probably doesn't remember setting the record, or know that we all still look up to him. But we do. Legend holds that Phinney, a sprinter by all rights, rode the climb with three team mates on the day he set the record. The modern hill climb, organized by Aaron of Tinney's Tip Top Tavern, bears little resemblance to that ride. Instead of three people, as many as 30 take the mass start at the bottom of Lake D, starting the clock as they roll over a bridge at the bottom of the climb, and racing to the bridge at the top, across from Tinney's and on the banks of the lake.

When I was at my best as a cat 3, in the two seasons that saw me earn my elite upgrade, I regularly spent afternoons riding up and down the challenging climb, and I sorely miss having climbs of that length and difficulty down here in PA. Once I got a flat halfway up, and, discovering I was without a spare and without a cell phone, made a fast friendship with a fellow transplanted Brooklyn Jew who happens to live on the hill. Last fall, I won the event with a time of 17:21, after sprinting away from the fly-weight upstart Nick, from somewhere out near Johnstown. It was quite a bit slower than Phinney, but it was one of the faster times ridden by a mere mortal, it was my fastest time to date, and was my hardest-fought Lake D win.

On Sunday, I expected Nick to again be my greatest challenger, and I knew that he had enjoyed a productive season as a cat 4 and had earned his cat 3 upgrade. I know that because the night before the hill climb I spent several hours drinking with friends from the Saratoga cycling community who were all too eager to dish about who was fast and who was not, in addition to expounding on a number of other topics. Of course, Nick, who is just a kid, was probably in bed as we were cracking open another round, and another, which I'm sure did nothing for my chances the next day, but it was a lot more fun than an early bed time. Of course, all of my slightly older friends were quick to remind each other and me that he might weight 120 pounds, when he's dripping wet. I was probably the next-lightest male rider on Sunday's start line, and I weigh 160 pounds, depending on how many cookies I'd eaten on the previous night.

On Sunday, the race got off to a lackadaisical start with no one seeming to want to take the initiative. Nick must have known he was the favorite, because he got to the front as soon as we hit the first of the steeper slopes and started turning a big gear. Zack, who won the spring hill climb in June, got on his wheel and I sat on Zack, having determined that after my up-and-down season, a defensive approach would be best for me.

Nick set the pace as we climbed past the farm that marks the start of the most difficult pitches, and that's where Zack started to come undone. I sprinted to get onto Nick's wheel, and Nick betrayed his inexperience by complaining that no one was pulling through. No shit, no one's pulling through: A minute later we climbed past the quarry and I came off the wheel. We were close to the top at that point, so I thought I'd be able to recover over the top, accelerate up the rollers to catch the kid before the finish.

Unfortunately, I'd already overtaxed myself -- my Garmin told me later that I'd ridden at or above 490 watts for more than 10 minutes at the point where I'd been dropped, with my heart ticking along between 198 and 208 beats/minute. I dragged my ass over the last roller and turned the biggest gear I could muster, but I'd been so thoroughly beat on the climb that catching Nick was out of the question. His winning time was 16:46, and I hit the bridge 40 seconds later to take second.

I'm sad to have lost my crown, but heartened that it was a good race and that I lost in fair fight. Chapeau, Nick! Congrats. I'm coming for you in 2012.

Winning the Derby*

2011-09-21T19:56:00.000-07:00

*Whoever said, "two dudes on bikes = a race" hit the nail on the head. Even yesterday, while out filming Matt for an upcoming video, I couldn't help but sneak past him on a few occasions, effectively cutting him out of the frame but also showing that I could go faster. Pretty dumb, right?

The originator of that statement would love The Derby, the twice-weekly group ride that rolls out from the Velodrome on Wednesday evenings (until daylight gets too short) and Sunday mornings. The route is always the same but the ride never is, as the last 10 miles are effectively an unsanctioned race back to the start.

On a warm Sunday morning in June or July, you might get more than 100 people on the Derby, often including some of our local pros, retired pros, former world and national champions and other assorted fast folks. On a bad day, such as tonight's Derby -- dark and rainy -- you still get a crowd that puts even the best-attended Blue Sky Bicycles Tuesday Night Worlds to shame, and you still get lots of fast people in the mix. In fact, it seems that the non-pro fast guys are the most hardy, and the most likely to show up in any weather.

All that's a roundabout way of saying that to win the Derby can mean something, even if it's just a bunch of folks out for a ride. Last Sunday, before leaving for Interbike, I rode the Derby and came into the final sprint on the wheel of United Health Care's Scott Zwizanski. He won (I finished third), a result that probably didn't mean all that much to him, given his impressive palmares, but being able to ride with such a successful racer -- and many of his colleagues -- means a lot to me, and, I imagine, to all the other riders in this area like me -- enthusiasts who will never be pros, no matter how many intervals we do, or what ludicrous training plans we may subscribe to.

Pride and satisfaction aside, winning or placing at the Derby doesn't net you upgrade points, there's no results sheet and no photographs to post on facebook, but it's still an achievement.

Someday, I aspire to win a big derby with all the guys who are a lot faster than me. For now, I'll take the win tonight, in the rain and dark, and absent many of (but not all of) the local fast guys. In a way, it's an analogy of my entire racing career -- sometimes I can do well at smaller races, but generally I'm outgunned. So it goes.

The Derby tonight was a little hesitant, due to the wet roads, but when Torch and Jess opened a gap going into the last turn, the race was on, so I attacked, forgetting as I always do, that it's still a long way to the finish from there. Fortunately for me, the chase was either too slow coming out of the turn, or not motivated, and I goaded my burning legs into just enough revolutions to make it to the finish line, first by several lengths. Woo Hoo!

Of course, had it come down to a sprint, I surely would have been beat. It's a good thing I know my strengths.

Bring on the hate, haters!

Pushing through the haze

2011-09-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

Today's rainy weather had me feeling really lethargic. Not helping matters was that the seat of my pants got pretty wet on the ride in to work (I need to switch bikes or put fenders on the ChampSys). There were a few moments during which was seriously considering closing the door and the light and curling up under my desk for a Costanza-style snooze (minus the bomb threat).

Fortunately, I pushed through the tired haze and had a fairly productive day at work, capped with a video shoot in the early afternoon -- by which time the sun was making a half-hearted appearance over the valley. Matt is making a promo video for our upcoming Bicycling Fall Classic, so we took the opportunity to test out a helmet camera we've had around the office for a while. Since he had the appropriate attire at work, Matt served as the model, while I was the camera man. I can only hope that my head was relatively stead and that my "pans" were smooth. The HD camera we were using will, I'm sure, appropriately show off our area's beauty.

Of course, I'll post the finished product here as soon as it's ready. And, if you haven't already, you should sign up for the event today! It's going to be a great ride.

I'll be riding the Bedford, of course, because it's awesome. But also, my Champion System bike is beginning to show its age, so I'm doing what I can to limit the number of miles I put on it. The thing about race bikes is: The don't last all that long. The bike may be young in years, but it's been ridden pretty hard and abused plenty over the past two seasons. The frame, at present, is cracked in two places, and while neither crack places the bike in immediate danger of catastrophic failure, neither one is a particularly good omen. I'll certainly be keeping an eye on both cracks, and hoping that neither gets much larger. So, if you're riding behind me and hear any odd squeaks that ought not be there, please let me know!

If only my power meter would fit on a BB30 frame. Oh well.

Book review: Bossypants, by Tina Fey

2011-09-19T19:04:00.000-07:00

Recently, on the way to Vermont for the Green Mountain Stage Race, I listened to an audiobook of Tina Fey's Bossypants. As a big fan of Fey's since the Weekend Update days, and as a huge 30 Rock fan, I was looking forward to reading the book. After all, if I learned one thing from Steve Martin, it's that comedians can write funny books, in addition to making funny movies.

Also, it was a really long drive, and I figured an entertaining book would make the time go by faster (this was, in fact, true).

But I found the book to be more than a little disappointing, especially in light of the fawning New York Times review. I know it's easy for journalists to get caught up when writing about so-called media darlings, as Fey certainly is (I've been there -- as a journalist, that is, not as a media darling), and the book's meteoric rise up the best sellers list would have made it hard to be a critic. But here's the thing: The book's best jokes were recycled from Saturday Night Live or 30 Rock. They're good jokes -- I mean, Fey's really funny! -- but, they were funnier the first time around.

More to the point, Fey spends a significant portion of the book recounting her life, which is really a fairly normal life, and although I wouldn't have wanted to miss the description of her "boss, bold, bladed motherfucker" father, it's a fairly uninteresting life, and without a few self-deprecating jabs, it wouldn't have been amusing any more than listening to any other stranger's life story. As a memoir, in that regard, the book kind of fails. Maybe it's because Fey's still so young with so much life left to live, but I think it's more because she doesn't teach us a lesson based on her life experience, as a memoir should. (Unless you consider advice to stay away from comedy writing a lesson).

Maybe that's not Fey's purpose. Really, what's interesting about Fey, whether or not she knows it, isn't the famous people she's met and performed with, or experiences she's had in the entertainment industry, but it's her ability to make us laugh. Instead of focusing on making us laugh with her words, Fey seems to use most of the book to recount her career, and I was hoping for more.

The other problem that I had with the book was the Wizard of Oz effect. Because her career is so closely intertwined with public works, the book has the effect of lifting a curtain, which proved not to be a totally comfortable subject, for me at least. You know that creative types love to stay up writing all night, but you don't want to hear about it, it kind of ruins the magic. I don't want to know that Alec Baldwin strung the network along for months before signing on to 30 Rock. That should be in his memoir. Also, the cover is creepy.

Not related to the book itself, but I feel compelled to out that when you search "Bossy Pants" on NYTimes.com, this is the top hit. I'd guess that Fey wouldn't approve.

Back from Vegas, indulging my love of books

2011-09-18T19:31:00.000-07:00

I managed not to accumulate too much dead weight in Vegas
But I did come home with a load of books
That's A. A. Milne's The House At Pooh Corner on top

I'm back from the wild, wild west! I knew Interbike would be an intensive week, but it proved to be even more exhausting than I'd anticipated. Instead of getting up early to race on Saturday, after arriving at my parent's house at 1:30 a.m., I slept in -- to 11 a.m., the latest I've stayed in bed in a long, long time (without sensual inducement, anyway).

To make up for my laziness on Saturday, I thought I'd get up early to race on Sunday morning -- it wasn't even that early, just 7:30 a.m., instead of 5 a.m., as would have been required on Saturday -- but when the alarm went off, all I could do was whimper, pull the blanket over my head and go back to sleep.

Now, happily ensconced on my sofa on the Emmatian triangle, I've had a minute to reflect on the whole trip. Aside from being exhausting, it was a very productive -- I met a lot of new people in the industry, solidified relationships with folks I'd only known via the phone, checked out lots of cool new products, and thought lots about directions we can take the Gear section in the next year. And, of course, where else but Vegas can you line dance, sing karaoke, pay $8 for a PBR, and ride a mechanical bull, all in one bar? Right?!

Sadly, I didn't get the chance to gamble. Hopefully I'll make better use of my time next year.

Of course, I also had the chance to spend a little time with my Mom, who recently broke her ankle and is laid up at home. Although it was nice to see her and keep her company, my time at home was also marked by time contemplating my parent's upcoming downsizing -- they're planning to convert their house into two units. Fiscal ramifications aside, it also means that the family has to consolidate a house full of crap. Fortunately, I'd already thrown out a lot of the vestiges of my childhood when I moved to Saratoga in 2007, but more stuff remains. Mostly books.

So, today I filled a box with some of my favorite books and lugged it home to PA. Of course, I'm out of book shelf space, but it does feel good to have some of my favorite works here under one roof with me. I've not got my complete Vonnegut, Wolfe, Kerouac, and Kesey collections, among other books. It'll be a few more trips before I move the rest of the books, but it was a good start. More than that, as a true bibliophile, it was a fun way to dig through my shelves, look at titles I haven't seen in a while, feel the worn spines against my palm and flip through dusty pages. When the box was full, my hands at taken on that wondrous scent that stayed with me all the way home to Emmaus.

On a related noted, I don't think I'll be hauling my Hardy Boys mystery novels west to PA, so shout if you want them!

Ten years later

2011-09-12T15:56:00.000-07:00

Some years ago I wrote an essay that recalled my experiences on 9/11. As much as I was writing about the day’s terrorist attacks and my fears about my Mom, who then worked across the street from the World Trade Center, it was really a piece about my relationship with my brother. I was 16 then and for the previous twelve and a half years he and I had maintained a somewhat contentious relationship. But that year was the beginning of a shift for us; owing nothing to the terrorist attacks, we had started to figure out that we were stuck with each other, and that we might as well enjoy each other’s company. Happily, we’ve continued to do better in this regard since.

I’d been thinking about brushing up my old essay and reposting it today, on the 10^th anniversary of 9/11, but after re-reading it, I suddenly found it somewhat wanting. After all, tales of brotherly love are great and have their place, but I didn’t see the relevance to the 10^th anniversary. Plus, I can only recycle the same words so many times.

So, what to write about on this momentous date? Surprisingly, or maybe not, I find that I don’t really have that much to say about it at all. Between all the coverage in the mainstream media and everyone’s lame posts on Facebook, most of the many varied sentiments about the anniversary have been covered. So, I talked to my family about it all, to get their take.

My Dad said that 9/11 was one of the worst days of his life. I don’t think it was quite at that level for me, but I was only a kid, and I didn’t (and don’t) have his perspective. So, what does someone who saw that day as singularly abhorrent think about the multitude of memorial activities on Sunday? He didn’t see any value in it. Neither, for that matter, did my Mom, who was closer to the attack than most others, having fled her office on foot when the second plane hit, eventually walking back home to Brooklyn via the Manhattan Bridge. My favorite part of the story is how she went to the other side of her building to a friend’s office to get a better view of the fire, before understanding what had happened, and what was happening. Apparently, there was never a formal order to evacuate her building.

Are my parents un-American for failing to properly grieve the dead? No, it’s not that, not at all – we all agreed that the thousands killed deserve to be memorialized, and so to the thousands of soldiers dead in Iraq and Afghanistan, regardless of whether or not you agree with those conflicts. Reading the names seems to be an important, cathartic exercise for the families of the dead, and I can’t imagine anyone would want to deny the injured their ability to grieve.

But remembering only gets us so far. Actually, it doesn’t really get us very far at all. My brother likened the whole thing to a breakup. At first you’re upset and can’t picture yourself living without the comfort of your erstwhile lover: Despite the fact that you’re no longer enjoying a physical relationship, you still exchange texts or talk on the phone. Maybe you hang out in the company of mutual friends. Eventually, though, you realize that you haven’t moved on, you haven’t been able to look at another girl, let alone contemplate dating someone else. Or, if once you’re ready to move on, you’ll still find yourself worried about what the other will think, should you start dating someone.

In his view, that’s where we’re at with 9/11 – still hung up on a tragedy that occurred a decade ago, we haven’t been able to move forward. We’re embroiled in two wars that started as a direct result of the attacks, and while one is beginning to wind down, American soldiers continue to fight and die in the other, with no real end in sight.

And what have we gained?

This past decade has arguably been one of the worst in American history. Our economy is continuing to fall apart, people are out of work in record numbers, we’re still fighting these unpopular wars, and one natural disaster after another has pummeled our country, further eroding moral. Worst of all, in my estimation, is that the nation is becoming wary of a government that is looking increasingly impotent in the face of such challenging obstacles.

What can we do? Instead of reading from the bible (a text that helped get us into this mess in the first place), I would have liked to have seen President Obama tell this nation what we need to have learned from 9/11, and to lead us in an intelligent discourse about moving forward, about mending our broken position in the world, and most importantly, about being kind to each other and to our neighbors. We are the United States, we should be a world leader that shows other nations the way with our charisma and just actions. Instead, we’re bullies incapable of discovering why we behave the way we do.

In a word, I’m saying that I would have liked our leader to show some leadership on a day that holds great importance to many Americans. I know that’s asking a lot – after all, Obama is the product of an election in which being a down-home Uhmerikan was considered an equal qualification to experience in governance – but I think we’ve earned it.

*A quick programming note: This post is coming to you from Las Vegas, where I’ve just landed ahead of the Interbike tradeshow. This is an extremely busy week for us at Bicycling, so I will be forced to suspend posting on the blog for the remainder of this week. I look forward to resuming regular posts on Sunday, Sept. 18. Have a great week!

Go register for Saratoga Spa Cyclocross!

2011-09-07T20:30:00.000-07:00

Greetings from the world headquarters of Saratoga Spa Cyclocross, and please pass this on to your club members!

Planning is going forward at full steam, and we're really excited to have you back to the historic Saratoga Race Course on Oct. 23!

This year, we are part of both the NYCross.com series, and the Eastern Collegiate Cycling Conference. In addition to series points and schwag from Gore Bike Wear, Sigma Sports, Elevate Cycles, Blue Sky Bicycles and other cycling industry members, you'll have the chance to compete for our distinctive, hand-made medals, suitable for display.

Registration is now open on bike reg: http://www.bikereg.com/events/register.asp?eventid=14141 While signing up, be among the first to order a Spa:CX T-shirt, available for the first time this year! Supplies are limited, so order yours today.

Don't forget to bring your family and friends to the race -- our expo area is coming together with a mix of cycling industry vendors to display the latest and greatest technology, and food vendors from the Saratoga region. Kids can join in the fun, with a dedicated kids' course set up all day, and kiddie age group races at noon.

Stay up to date on the latest Spa:CX news on our blog: www.spacx.blogspot.com

Reflecting on the season, at its end

2011-09-06T20:18:00.000-07:00

So, the revelation I had this weekend while racing the Green Mountain Stage Race was this: While I always want to do well at races, I'm increasingly not bothered when I don't do well.

Here's the thing, I really like riding bikes. I suppose that goes without saying at this point. I also like racing bikes, a lot, and have dedicated a tremendous amount of time to racing over the past eight years. Mostly, I'm in it for the awesome lifestyle, the great people you get to meet, the physical challenge, and the occasional satisfaction of a good race. Sometimes it's all much more than awesome, especially when I have fun friends to hang out with at the races, as was the case this weekend, when I spent a thoroughly relaxing race weekend with my friend Emma Bast and her wonderful family, and Evan Cooper, who we somehow picked up along the way. Among our little microcosm of racers, Evan was the most results-oriented, talking at length about this climb and that wattage. Emma was just quietly fast, winning the green jersey in the women's Pro/1/2. While I, with my nose stuck in a pulpy Michael Crichton novel (I was taking a break from reading about the Holocaust), was quietly slower.

But, I had a great weekend: I relaxed in Vermont, leaked sweat in the humidity, raced in the (brief) rain on Sunday, and thoroughly loved it. Although I was never in contention for the GC, and didn't have much of a chance for any of the stage results I was seeking, I was able to be a part of the race. I chased for a team mate, I spent some time off the front.

This attitude will probably never net me the cat 1 license that so many of my racing peers are clamoring for, but that's alright with me. At the beginning of the season I set out with the goal of being competitive in races. I happily achieved that, and was having a good season, until I broke my wrist. It's been a slow return to fitness since then. Now that the season's all but over (with Fall Bear canceled this weekend, and me heading to Interbike in Vegas the week after, it'll be hard to keep my fitness up, though I do have one race remaining), I think I'll do it again next year.

After all, I don't know if I'll win any races, but I'd hate to miss out on the fun.

Now, on to Spa:CX!

Green Mountain Stage Race, Hurricane edition!

2011-09-05T20:26:00.000-07:00

One-quarter of the planned racing up at GMSR was unceremoniously canceled today, when part of the crit course flooded in the midst of a steady, soaking downpour.

The net effects of the stage being canceled are three-fold: 1) The Champion System Racing did not get the chance to try and move Sergio onto the points podium. 2) I was deprived of the opportunity to embarrass myself in front of the crowds of adoring fans, as I have done each year I've raced GMSR. And, 3) I got home much earlier than anticipated, despite driving home the whole way in terrible weather -- and now have a little time for a quick race report. I had something of a revelation while racing this weekend -- a revelation that can only come in the midst of a hard stage race, at the end of a trying season.

I need to think my revelation out a little more fully before I write about it here, so stay tuned!

As expected, the race was a wash, results wise. Also as expected, I really enjoyed spending the weekend in Vermont, and found the race to be a lot of fun, and well worth the (long -- nearly 1,000 miles) drive.

I did have good legs on stage two, which was a modified circuit race in Hinsburg, a last minute substitute for the traditional course in Waitsfield, which was ruined by Hurricane Irene. With long climbs at a shallow grade, I found that I was able to stay comfortably in the field, even when the pace ratcheted up, and thanks to some confidence-inspiring wheels, I was able to descend well enough to maintain position, instead of doing my escape-out-the-back routine. Sergio snapped up some sprint points at the first intermediate sprint, so we both thought it would be a good opportunity to get him a stage result.

Unfortunately, the run-in to the finish was on a narrow road with exceptionally shitty pavement (even before the hurricane). While trying to advance my position on the right shoulder in the last seven miles as we rolled along at speeds around 30mph, I, rather abruptly, found myself out of pavement, and careening across a sandy turn-out. A few others had taken similar detours. My wheels made horrible noises as I hit a few larger rocks and I thought I was going to die. I didn't, though. The back of the bike fishtailed a bit in the sand, but I kept rolling, eventually slowing enough to hop back onto the road. Once back on the pavement, since I hadn't died, I decided to see about getting back into the race.

Of course, by that time, the peloton was a good 300 meter ahead. There was a CCB guy between me and the peloton, so I figured I'd catch him and we'd work together to get back into the race. A big effort got me onto his wheel, but I quickly realized he was done for the day, so I pressed on along, burying myself to make contact -- which I eventually did. In retrospect, I should have called it a day at that point, been thankful not to have been dropped, and chilled at the back of the field all the way home, while Sergio took care of business on his own. Instead, I immediately started to advance through the field, again on the right shoulder. I had made it about half way through the field, and we had about 3 miles remaining, when I got pushed into a second sand trap. I hit this one at a slower speed, so it felt safer, but I instantly lost all the ground I'd made up -- and decided to pull the plug. I rolled home a few minutes after the field, while Sergio, who pretty much doesn't need any help (especially not from me) sprinted to 9th on the stage.

The next day saw another modified race, thanks to Irene. We still started at the Sugarbush ski area (albeit, at a different base area from usual), and kicked off the race with a long, neutral descent. Then, instead of turning south along the ruined Mad River Valley, we turned north and followed the first portion of the original circuit race course. After the KOM, a small break went off for the sprint points, so I went to the front for a few miles to try and keep Sergio close the points. Unfortunately, neither of us had thoroughly read the race bible -- all three point spots were already up the road, but we both thought there were two more up for grabs. So to, apparently, did the three guys who tried to beat Sergio. He did, however, win the meaningless field sprint. The race's first 30 miles were pretty fast -- we covered them in 1 hour and 10 minutes, even with the slow neutral parade through Waitsfield-- but the race slowed a bit when we hit a short dirt section.

That was followed by a climb that was substantially less fearsome than either the Middlebury or Brandon gaps (both out of the race due to Irene), but did role and step for a while, and deposited us into the face of a strong head wind as we headed back south. Knowing that I didn't stand much of a chance of being able to keep up with the climbers on the Baby and App gaps, I made an attempt to get up the road -- bridging to a CCB rider who apparently had the same thought. Unfortunately, the douche from JAM Fund/NCC who had the yellow jersey jumped onto my wheel, where he sat and refused to pull through, dooming our move (which didn't have much of a chance anyway) with his presence in the process. Oh well. Perhaps he didn't know that I was significantly down on GC?

Predictably, I got dropped on Baby Gap, then it started raining as I dragged my sorry ass to the finish.

Monday, by comparison, was much more successful: Once the stage was canceled, I had a nice lunch with Ben and Marcus from Round Here Racing, then drove home in on-and-off rain, and on-and-off traffic. All in all, a great weekend of racing!*

*Note the omission of any mention of the stage one time trial..

Self control at the Allentown fair, to be ready for GMSR

2011-08-30T20:17:00.000-07:00

I went to the Great Allentown Fair earlier tonight, and did an absolutely terrible thing in that I didn't take a single picture of the carnies, gigantic pumpkins, jumping dogs or midway games to share with my blog readers. Oops. See, I was too busy looking for female mullets and rat tails of any gender -- because that's the kind of friends I have.

I also did another terrible thing, in that I deprived myself of any fair food -- no big greasy giros, no sausage-and-pepper sandwiches, no funnel cakes, no pierogi, no beer, and no ice cream -- hard or soft. OK, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, but I did have to dig deep to resist temptation. Regular readers know how much I love some good junk food.

So, why did I hold out? After a brief scare that it would be canceled on Monday, in the wake of Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene, the Green Mountain Stage Race is on, and begins on Friday with a prologue time trail. It's four days of racing, and will be the only stage race I line up for this year with what feels to me like proper preparation and reasonable legs. So, I'm anxious to not undue my training with poor eating.

This will be my fourth GMSR campaign, the last being 2009, when I was a newly minted cat 2, and had a correspondingly bad race. 2008 was better -- I was a high-flying cat 3 then, and although I was never in contention to win the race, I did wind up second on the KoM standings, and finished very well on top of the Appalachian Gap, at the end of the race's queen stage.

This year, my training has been good since I began my post-broken wrist come back, and although I haven't really raced since the Tour of the Catskills (which didn't go that well), I think I should be set to have a descent race this weekend. Of course, it all depends on who shows up, and what form they've got. So, we'll see. Mostly though, I'm looking forward to racing up in Vermont -- which has some of the best views and venues that I've ever raced.

GMSR is very well run, the courses (even the revised courses we'll race on this year after Irene caused some road damage) are great, and the whole event has a great, relaxed end of season vibe. I was sad to miss it last year when I had to work, and look forward to enjoying my time in Vermont this year. I think I'll even take a ferry to get there.

The storm in retrospect

2011-08-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

So, the weather here was pretty awful this weekend -- I got rained during the Sowing Seeds charity bike ride on Saturday, then nearly drowned in a flooding basement (OK, that's a slight exaggeration), and there was no racing to speak of -- but it was much, much worse in points North.

The fact that we had a little rain, and some strong winds didn't amount to as much of an inconvenience as some thought it would. We didn't have power overnight on Saturday, and I was actually looking forward to breaking out my Whisperlite for some camp-style cooking on Sunday evening (I've got an electric stove), when the electricity came back on in the afternoon. I suppose I'll have to actually go camping to get a chance to use my camping equipment.

I couple of things caught my attention during the weekend. The first was that my cell phone continued to work all weekend, so I didn't miss a social media beat. I was also able to stay in touch with friends in other places, to let them know that we were doing fine, even without electricity.

It got me wondering, though, what would have happened if our phones had all died. Would my parents have worried? Would I have been able to check in with them? It also made me think that I might start designating some time to turn my phone off for a bit, if only to give myself the illusion being less dependent on my phone.

The other thing was an email I got today from our electric utility, PPL, which, I thought, did a pretty good job of getting our power restored quickly, did send me an email to talk about their efforts to restore the grid. OK, yes I do have a smartphone, and yes, I just mentioned that my phone continued to function throughout the blackout. But, I couldn't help but find it ironic that an email was the preferred method of contact. Had my power been out, and had I not had a functioning smartphone, I would never have received that email, or been able to check PPL's website for information, etc.

Of course, I don't have a good alternative to suggest to PPL. There was a time when landlines were everyone's preferred method of reliable communication, but now, many of us don't have land lines, or, if we do, we have cordless phones that don't work without power. So, that's interesting.

The other thing I was thinking about this weekend was that I did not fall victim to the apparently common urge to rush out and spend money on things like batteries and bottled water. I wouldn't say I regretted it -- I had a few flashlights around, and together there was enough juice in them to get through the brief outage. But I did wish I'd bought ice. Predictably, our local gas stations were out by early Sunday afternoon, at which point we thought the outage was going to continue until Tuesday. Had the electrical predictions not been wrong, I would have had to throw away a lot of food, and that would have been sad. Or I would have had to eat a lot of previously-frozen meet on Sunday night.

So, I was glad not to have been caught up in the hysteria, but maybe next time I'll take the warnings slightly more seriously. I'll also, though, stay focused on thinking of the folks who had it worse.

Balanced meal, seeks balanced colors

2011-08-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

Hurricane dinner
Followed by hurricane beer and hurricane cookie
Thankfully, we do not have a hurricane day at work tomorrow

It's pretty well-known that cycling and food go together exceptionally well -- like franks and beans, peanut butter and jelly, or pizza and beer. These days, there are few things that give me more pleasure than coming home from a ride nice and hungry, and eating enough to satisfy my tummy and my legs.

One thing that I've come to appreciate about food is its ability to engage multiple senses at once. While I'm steadily becoming a better cook where tastes, textures and scents, but I continue to struggle with the visual aspects of food. I don't know, but I'm convinced that it's related to my inability to draw anything more complex than a stick figure. It's something I'm always meaning to work on.

But, there are many challenges to being a busy cyclist and journalist, chief among them being constraints on time, so I'm often left to eat simple things -- like past with unembellished red sauce, or simply cooked chicken breasts. Today was a rare day when I didn't have much to do, and had a well-stocked kitchen. My fortunes improved further when the power was restored after an overnight outage caused by the passage of Hurricane Irene through the Lehigh Valley.

So, I did what I like to do best, and put a few things -- red onion, red pepper and a Pink Lady apple, all chopped into inch-long, thin pieces -- into a pan, and let them simmer for a bit in olive oil, salt, pepper and lemon juice. Once everything was tender, I slid in two pieces of salmon, marinated in a Teriyaki peanut sauce, and let it all cook for a bit.

I served the fish with broccoli and brown rice, which lead to a delicious meal, but an unfortunately flat color pallet. Next time, I think this dish would have looked better with something brighter -- maybe a Jasmin rice instead of the healthier brown type, and maybe using more pepper. Also, although the fish tasted really good, as it always does, I overcooked it a little. Which was sad.

Hiding from the weather

2011-08-24T19:18:00.000-07:00

So, we've been having some incredibly nice weather lately. It just seems that every day since the rain ended last week has seen a perfect blue sky with big puffy white clouds, comfortable day time temperatures, and cool night air. The late summer and early fall has always been my favorite time of year, largely due to the reliably nice weather. Even the shortening days are only momentary tragedies.

I was thinking about all of that this morning, when my Dad called me from somewhere off the coat of Rhode Island. He and my Mom are off on their annual sail around New England, currently on their way back to Long Island. The plan was to get home Saturday, but then Irene came along, changing theirs, and everyone's plans.

Like most people who live near the coast, we've been though our share of bad storms. The worst was Hurricane Bob, which hit Cape Cod while the family were there on vacation in 1991. The ensuing week, without electricity, was fairly memorable. Aside from some felled trees, though, that was a fairly minor hurricane. Another time, we were on a chartered boat in the Chesapeake Bay, when a fairly powerful, albeit brief, storm blew through. We were secure on our anchor, but the rolling, pitching boat was a less-than-fun place to be. In fact, although I'm not necessarily averse to it, I haven't slept on a boat since (except two nights on ferries while schlepping around the Mediterranean in 2006, but that was a different kind of thing).

I guess that Chesapeake storm didn't have as much of an effect on Dad, as he's spent countless nights on his boat since then. He did, however, decide to heed the weather service's warnings about Irene, so he and Mom will seeking safe harbor, in the literal sense, to ride out the storm this weekend. Although I love sailing, I can say with certainty that I hope to never be stuck on a boat in a big storm, and I'll be hoping the two of the are securely moored this weekend.

My weather-realted challenges are slightly easier to deal with, and certainly require fewer logistics: I was planning on racing Saturday evening, but it's increasingly looking like that race might get washed out. Having once raced in a monsoon, it's nothing that I'd like to ever do again.

Love letters and lost data

2011-08-23T19:19:00.000-07:00

A poet I once knew told me that journalism was easy; "You just push it out," he said. Poetry, on the other hand, can require years or incubation, he said.

That was a long time ago. I was in college, and he was a recent graduate. We were both interns at a small, failing magazine in Brooklyn. We spent that summer sitting side-by-side in an airless basement closet. The publisher, such as he was, sat in his own airless room next door, pleading with advertisers to help him finance the next issue. My poet friend and I talked a lot about the folly of our chosen career path.

Years later, I've come to see that my friend was right. At the newspaper, I wrote as many as five stories a day: You pick up the phone, you record some quotes, you push in the transitions, commas, periods, and quotation marks before sending it over to the copy desk and moving onto the next topic.

I can't speak as a poet, but as an essayist, I can agree that good writing requires a certain period of contemplation and reflection. Everyone's process is different, but mine often consists of collecting notes to myself on scraps of paper, setting them aside in safe places, losing them for a while, then finding them while cleaning and thinking about how my life has changed my thinking on a certain topic, and how that might fit into an essay. Sometimes a topic lays dormant while I await inspiration from a life event. Sometimes a topic that sounds good in my head rings hollow on the page, lacking needed life lessons that I'm simply to young to supply. Sometimes (not often), my notes to myself wind up on my computer, in little-visited folders deep in the hard drive.

One of these digital folders, buried way deep, is titled "love letters." I'm not going to talk about the contents of the folder, yet, but it represents an essay I've been contemplating, about the way people communicate these days, specifically the way we talk to close friends, family, and loved ones. There was a time when people wrote letters to each other. There was a time when people had no choice. Even in my lifetime, I can remember writing letter to my parents from summer camp. Then sending letters to the girl I'd met at camp, once we'd returned to our homes. Do kids still do that? I sort of doubt it.

My Dad once bought me a book of Portuguese love letters, written between lovers spread between the homeland and colonies in South America -- at one time, he was a poet, too. I think I was 16 when I read it, but I wasn't too young to be moved. Back then, even if I didn't realize it, I was already a historian in the making, and was impressed not only by the letters' (translated) prose, but also by the fact that the documents -- written on paper and shipped across an ocean at least once -- had survived for so many centuries. Hence the folder on my computer.

But now, most communication between friends (both close and not), as well as family and lovers, happens instantly, via phone, email, messaging, facebook or text. An email might take a few minutes, and span to several paragraphs, but without an envelop to lick, most of us don't even bother to trigger the spell check. A text gets little or no thought; it's ephemeral, it costs nothing (or nearly), and does not require a ship and team of horses to carry it upstairs, or across the ocean. A letter that may never reach its destination will be written with care and beautiful prose. A text doesn't even warrant correct spelling.

And yet, that doesn't make it any less valid of a form of communication, or any less meaningful to the people transmitting or receiving. So, my essay on love letters, currently incubating, percolating, and simmering in my head and hard drive, was going to include lengthy recitations of text conversations that I've had with various friends, family, and lovers over the years.

But then ~~there was an Earthquake~~ I dropped my phone, effectively giving it a lobotomy -- it sort of looked the same, and could handle some of the same tasks -- and yet it was somehow different. So, I called my cell phone provider, who told me I had to visit a store. The store was way on the other side of the valley, so I trekked up there after work today, and spent a couple hours reading the new Bicycling Magazine, wringing my hands, and pacing, while the clerks fixed my phone. Unfortunately, fixing my phone required deleting about six thousand text messages I sent or received between now and July 31, 2010.

Like I said, ephemeral: We've lost more than an interest in writing out longing prose -- we've lost the permanence of the written word, trading it for missives that can vanish as easily as they're created. There's lots of material left, and always new material to be gleaned, but if those Portuguese letters can survive the Atlantic, it's hard to imagine that my modern equivalent couldn't survive a small tumble.

Cleaning up

2011-08-22T19:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I'd pass this test
But at least I'm closer
Hopefully I won't need to clean again for a while

I wouldn't say that I like cleaning, and I wouldn't say that I'm very good at it. I would say, though, that I recognize the importance of tidying up from time to time. And, while I love living alone, I would certainly admit that I was a more frequent cleaner when I had a room mate. I suppose this is a fringe benefit to living the bachelor life.

Living alone, I clean only when the spirit of disgust moves me, or when my feet start sticking to the kitchen floor, as they had been recently. Of course, it took me about a month to go from acknowledging that I really should clean up a bit to actually doing any cleaning, but with no racing this weekend, and a relatively light riding schedule, the conditions were perfect for cleaning.

Although I was home from my ride and fed by 2 p.m., it was 6 p.m. by the time I quit procrastinating and actually got around to clean something. Most of my cleaning was focused on the two rooms that are easiest to clean, the kitchen and bathroom. Once the tub, toilet, mirror and vanity were nice and shiny, I moved over to the kitchen sink, counters, and cook top. And that was enough for Sunday. With a little Bar Keeper's Friend, I'd discovered that there was a relatively shiny sink underneath a layer of grime in the kitchen, and that my bathroom faucet was easily relieved of dripped toothpaste. So that was all good.

Today, I spent a while cleaning the floors, which are most decidedly no longer sticky, and returned to their former linoleum glory. And that was enough for today. Depending on whether or not I can motivate myself for a third day, I'll break out the vacuum, but I wouldn't want to get too crazy all at once -- and I may need something to look forward to this weekend. If only I didn't have carpets, I'd have had this place swept up already. So it goes.

I also managed to get rid of a lot of paper that was hanging around, and moved two extraneous bikes back to the office. The trouble with cleaning, of course, is that I feel really good about how this place looks right now. But cooking dinner tonight already undid some of my hard work, and little bit by little bit, the place will once again need cleaning. The great cycle of life?

I would point out that I'm much better about more day-to-day cleaning responsibilities like laundry and dishes.

Wrenching

2011-08-21T19:49:00.000-07:00

I was pretty happy to not have to go anywhere this weekend. Yesterday, once I got home from a really nice ride up to Hawk Mountain with some friends in the morning, the farthest I went from my couch was to Allentown. Today, after The Derby, the farthest I ventured was to the far side of the triangle for some take out Thai food.

It was pretty awesome, really.

In the midst of a whole lot of couch sitting, I had a bit of wrenching to do, which was somewhat cathartic, and sometimes frustrating, but also a lot of fun. I don't get to do much wrenching these days -- mostly because I'm not competent enough to be of much help to Mike in the office workshop, but also because I've been fortunate not to have too many mechanical problems this year, or many bike projects. That all ended this weekend.

Things started out on a positive note, when I went to hang components on what is, unquestionably, the most unusual bike that's ever been in my workstand, a custom steel bike built by Kelly Bedford for an upcoming Bicycling Magazine test. Not just an unusual frame, the bike is getting some unusual components in the form of SRAM Red, in black. More normal components include wheels, a bar, stem and post from Easton, Fizik saddle, and Continental tires. Mike's going to finish the build this week (because I'd fuck it up), but I was happy to be able to at least start the process. I expect that he'll have an especially good time with the internally routed brake cable -- but he'll at least know how to do it, unlike me, who would probably try use some combination of dental floss and old spokes to thread the housing through.

Here's the bike as it appeared on Friday afternoon, before I'd tracked down a clamp for the front derailleur, pictured with the painted-to-match Serotta fork:

Handmade in Greenfield, NY
I'm looking forward to getting this guy on the road soon
Integrated features include the press-in headset and BB30

Speaking of doing things the wrong way, while riding my bike up Hawk Mountain with friends on Saturday morning, two of my chain ring bolts broke. I heard some creaking start on the climb's steeper pitch, and although it was certainly not a good noise, I thought it was just a creak in the bottom bracket or a hub wanting some grease or spokes relieving themselves of some pressure, or something. Then, no sooner had the creak started, it stopped, and the chain popped off. I'd having a really nice trip up the hill, and was pretty bummed to be interrupted mid-climb. I stopped to put the chain back on, only to discover that it was wedged between the two rings -- and that the inner ring was bent pretty far toward the inside.

Exploded bolts, flimsy cranks
It did get me home, though
If only I could get the crank off

So, I finished the climb in the big ring (which wasn't as hard as I thought it would be). At the top, we ran into the Saturday morning Velo ride, and Torch helped me redistribute the remaining three bolts in what he appropriately dubbed a "home-getter," as in, it'll get you home. It did, though I was restricted to the big ring from the rest of the day.

Today, after getting a new set of rings from Dan (who just happened to have a spare set in his car, for some reason), I went to pull the crank to replace the rings, only to find (unsurprisingly), that I'm not strong enough to loosen the bolt. So, after struggling with it for 30 minutes, I gave up and resolved to find a bigger wrench tomorrow. Then I cleaned my toilet and microwave, which was at least as important to my mental well being as fixing my bike. I did not vacuum, though, which I'd really wanted to do, but there are way too many bikes in here right now to accomplish anything.

I've never been a good mechanic, but I've always liked trying. Working at a bike shop gave me a good opportunity to learn from lots of grate mechanics, but I don't often have the chance to use those skills -- or to build on them. So, today was a rare opportunity, and I'm glad I took advantage -- because even if I can't do every job, it's satisfying to try -- just like it will be satisfying to sit on a clean pot in the morning.

80 days later, clean bill of health

2011-08-18T19:48:00.000-07:00

I could have circled the world. Instead, I stayed home. It's been 80 days since I broke my wrist at the Tour of Somerville. Looking back at the photos today brought back painful memories from the crash -- I'd all but forgotten that in addition to the broken bones, there was lots and lots of broken skin.

Skin heals fast, though. Bones, it turns out, take longer. To recap: I had surgery three days after crashing. I was in a cast for two weeks, during which time I couldn't ride a bike at all. I wore a brace all the time for two weeks after the cast came off, but I was allowed to ride inside. About a week after the cast came off, the stitches from the surgical incision finally came out and the four-inch wounds started healing. Then I wore the brace for another three weeks, mostly just for riding and started physical therapy to regain movement in what had become a very stiff joint. I started racing again at some point in there, after six weeks away from the competition.

Now, after six weeks of physical therapy, I'm been, in the parlance of the industry, I've been discharged.

Am I completely healed? Not quite -- still a little deformed and still a little stiff, but I'm healed enough that I'm beyond the ability of current medicine to do anything further -- and that's just fine with me. As nice as my physical therapist was, and as much as I enjoyed our twice-weekly sessions, it's two hours of my life that can be better spent.

The injury did give me a new perspective on things though, and for that, I'm grateful. Because I wasn't able to ride for a few weeks there, or was restricted to riding inside, I took time to do things that I haven't made time for during past summers, and it was kinda fun. Also, not driving to a race every weekend wasn't exactly a bad thing.

Of course, I'd say that I missed racing, quite a bit. I didn't accomplish everything that I'd hoped to on a bike this summer, and I certainly didn't get as established as I would have liked in this new racing community. Mostly, though, breaking my wrist really put things in perspective for me. Besides realizing that there's more to pedaling bikes in circles, I also came to understand that racing bikes, for me, is just a hobby, and won't ever be more, no matter how fast I get or how much time I dedicate to it.

To what lengths are you willing to sacrifice yourself for your hobby? Your health? I gotta say, that I'm not really interested in breaking any more bones. The surgery and following recovery was a huge pain in the ass that impacted my work life almost as much my cycling life. Yes, typing with a cast that goes to your bicep is a huge pain in the ass.

In part, I wound up at the Tour of Somerville because it's a big race, and everyone who's everyone was there. So, I went, in short, because I felt as if it was expected of me. But, would anyone have really cared if I had stayed home? Probably not. I hate crits, and I'm not good at them, and that race is a known crashfest. So, I'll skip it next year. Same goes for Chris Thater, which is next weekend, and which my team will race without me. It's just not my jam.

Instead, in the coming seasons, I'll focus my energy on racing events I like (or think I'll enjoy), without worrying so much about where I think I'm expected to be. I highly encourage you to do the same.

Too many passwords

2011-08-17T19:29:00.000-07:00

Something happened today with my work computer and I had to re-set my network log in password, as well as my email password (the two are linked). Unfortunately, no sooner had I changed the password than I forgot the new password.

Incredibly, I can remember meeting a friend of a friends two summers ago at a pot luck dinner in North Hampton, Mass. I can remember what we drank that night (a nice Pinot), and, after not seeing or talking about the friend-of-a-friend for two years, I can still remember her name. Yet, when it comes to passwords, what I ate for breakfast, or which day I'm supposed to go to physical therapy, my mind is like a sieve.

The net result of this, today, is that an IT guy logged into my computer to address whatever issue was going on got to watch as I struggled to enter the correct password to log into my machine. Of course, once logged in, the computer takes over and remembers all the passwords for me -- the one for email, our internal travel system, twitter, facebook, and other essential applications. It's good that technology helps me out in this way, as I'd have no chance on remembering any of them on my own.

To improve my chances, I've tried using the same password for everything -- but that degrades fast, when you're periodically prompted to change you password. Sure, you can add "1" or, @, but unless you change all of your passwords at the same time once prompted to change one password, you're suddenly out of sync -- and then can't remember which log in requires "Emmaus1," and which requires "Emmaus2," etc. It's all very confusing.

This all got compounded tonight when I got home, cooked and ate dinner, showered, and repaired to my sofa to check the interwebs for new and exciting things, watch a little Top Gear, and, of course, blog. Part of the ritual is to check my work email, in case any of my west-coast colleagues were working late. BUT, I don't have my work computer at home. I've got my home computer at home, which does not have all my passwords stored on it.

So, instead of relaxing and watching The Stig run hot laps around an airfield, I spent about 10 minutes trying to guess my email password. I tried every permutation of my usual ones, including several attempts at what I thought I'd changed my password to this morning. Eventually I gave up, and I hope that no one needed an quick response on any queries this afternoon. Or maybe the password will come to me as I'm brushing my teeth. That happens some times.

Earlier today I was looking for tricks to help remember passwords, but eventually decided that the only trick that will ever work for me is the oldest one in the books: writing these things down -- with a pen, on paper. Then, of course, putting that paper somewhere safe.

Looking for climbing legs

2011-08-16T19:53:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I was good at climbing. I thought of myself as a climber, I rode away from people on climbs and then soloed to the podium at bike races, I was the undisputed king of Lake Desolation, and I seemed always to be able to spin the crank a little faster to go a little faster, no matter how steep the grade. I was a Cat 3 back then, of course.

I'm not quite sure what happened to me. I can't blame my getting fat, as I've weighed about the same amount since 2008. I can't say that I'm just generally slower, since I seem to be going better in TTs and can even kind of sprint now -- much better than I used to be able to, anyway.

And yet, at the Tour of the Catskills last weekend, I went out the back of the peloton about as fast as a newly minted, 36-year-old Cat 4 in his first open master's race. It was ugly, and on the rainy, long car ride home from the race I did what an anal-retentive Cat 2 would do -- I went crying to my coach.

Coach Scott reminded me that I did recently break my wrist, and that I hadn't done so many hard efforts in a row since before my injury. He also reminded me that I was climbing just fine in the spring, before the injury. He also brought out a coach's sharpest tool -- power data, pointing out that my numbers are below where they were, and that with more training, they would continue to get back on track, hopefully in time for GMSR.

OK, so maybe that's a little bit of an excuse, but I still don't buy it.

Back when I was good at climbing, a lot of my riding consisted of endless reps up and down Lake D, that glorious, 4-mile climb in Greenfield, NY. Since those days, I've done lots of other kinds of training, but none of it has measured up. I also didn't use a power meter or heart rate monitor in those days, and it was just fine. Some people say that you don't need to climb to be good at climbing, but I think I may finally have Coach Scott convinced that I do.

How can I tell? Last week he asked me about the longest hill in the area. Of course, having only lived here for nine months, I don't really know what the longest climb is. There are some great climbs on Blue Mountain, but those are a little far away for after work rides. The longest climb that I know of within after-work proximity is Reservoir Road, in Alburtis.

Instead of Lake D's 18 minutes, Reervoir is only about 8 minutes, which means -- yay! -- more reps. So it goes, and such is the price that I'm willing to pay to get my ass in shape. And, so it was that I spent last Tuesday morning riding up and down the grade, and then returned this evening. The thing about pointing your bike uphill is that it requires a specific combination of spin and torque to get the maximum speed. That's where I struggled at the Catskills -- I spun too much and couldn't go fast, or I tried to add torque and couldn't turn the pedals over fast enough.

So, I started to feel a little better tonight, though I could have done without the confused looks from the neighbors on the fourth and fifth laps. Is there hope for me to regain my past climbing skills? There are a lot of good climbers in the elite peloton, so probably not, but at least I can maybe get a little better.

Busy weekend, and best wishes for friends

2011-08-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

I've got two things to write about tonight: First of all, a little follow up to Thursday post, in which Acura Matt and I were harassed by a local driver.

Yesterday, the trooper who took our report called me back with a little follow up to the case. Apparently, after sending Matt and I on our way, he went to the man's house, where he found the perpetrator. The man claimed that he stopped short to avoid hitting an animal. What's more, he claimed that he left the scene because he was intimidated by Matt and me.

Besides the fact that I find it hard to believe that I could intimidate anyone, even an elderly man, I find his story about the animal hard to believe. So to, I suppose, did the trooper, who said he had a feeling he'd get that kind of bull shit when he found the guy. Still, even he doesn't believe the story, and I don't believe the story, and Matt doesn't believe the story, there's no way to prove it in either way. As such, the guy gets a citation for leaving the scene of an accident, a dressing down from the trooper, and nothing more.

On the one hand, I'm pleased that he was given a citation. On the other hand, it's pretty clear to me that Matt and I were the victims of an assault, one that could have sent either of us through the car's real windshield. And that would have sucked quite a bit. So, it would have been nice if the law had shown a little more vigor in teaching this motorist that harassing cyclists is not only uncool, but also unlawful.

On the upside, I will be getting the driver's address and insurance info. Perhaps we can start a database of trouble drivers? I'll need to recruit some tech help for that, but I'm good to contribute to the marketing!

Here's the second thing:

Over the weekend, I traveled to Saratoga Springs, and then on to New Hampshire with Steve and Lindy, to help our friends Jamie and Rachel celebrate their recent wedding. Aside from spending, like, a million hours in the car (I drove 1,200 miles between Aug. 5 and 14), I got the chance to spend time with some of my friends from Saratoga in a beautiful spot near Hanover, and listening to (and dancing to) some great live music. Really, it was a pretty great way to spend a Saturday evening.

Unfortunately, Steve turned the heat on (instead of the A/C) in the hotel room we were sharing, which made for a rather warm night, but it was otherwise a flawless weekend.

More than just a good time, Jamie and Rachel are one of the best couples I know, and their marriage was a long time coming (or so it seems to this outsider). Their wedding was very much their own celebration, without hardly a nod to traditional weddingisms (honeymoon suite? They stayed in the tree house. Yes, really) -- they just had fun with their friends and family, and we had fun with them. It was all pretty beautiful, and I had a lot of time to think about how happy I am for them on the drive home yesterday. Top two among weddings that I've been to, for sure, and I'm thinking positive thoughts and wishing for the best for the two of them.

Also, I hope that even thought they're married now, they'll still let me crash with them when I visit Saratoga!

Coincidentally, I saw the Hangover Part II tonight. You know that scene at the end when everything has worked out beautifully (aside from Ed Helms' face) and the wedding has occurred, and Mike Tyson has done his thing and everyone launches lanterns-as-hot-air-balloons over the sea? Well, we did that in New Hampshire, for real. I'm pretty sure the Pierces have done that before, and long before it was ever featured in crappy movies, though.

Road rage, up close

2011-08-11T20:29:00.000-07:00

I had a first today, a near-physical confrontation with a driver during an incident of road rage -- or maybe just rage against cyclists. It was around 1 p.m., toward the end of a very pleasant lunch ride with Acura Matt. We'd ridden a nice loop through Macungie, Longswamp, and Alburtis, and were rolling back toward Emmaus on Indian Creek Road at the end of our loop when a driver in a new, red sedan roared up behind us, laid on his horn, then swerved into the oncoming lane to pass, honking as he went.

I'm not positive, but I think, as usual, I took my hand off the bar to wave a friendly hello to the displeased driver. I like to do this when I can, as I think the demonstrated disinterest in a confrontation is both confusing and disarming to angry drivers. Unfortunately, it didn't work in this case. No sooner had the car merged back into our lane than the driver slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt directly in our path.

We weren't going too fast, but we didn't have a lot of room to stop, so we both slammed on our own brakes. Matt, who was riding closer to the edge of the road, slid off into the tweeters before coming to a stop alongside the car. I was to his left, and was a little less lucky, unable to stop before my shifter hit his trunk. It wasn't much more than a fender bender, but it was enough to cause some cosmetic damage to both my shifter and the car, as well as to dislodge the brake lever from its pivot (it snapped easily back into place).

There was an odd pause, until the driver emerged from the vehicle. It was an older man, and I was somewhat surprised by the aggression with which he came at us, appearing to want to start a fight. He was yelling, demanding to see our IDs, and yelling about the damage we'd caused to his car. Matt and I both drew our phones. He called 911 while I took a photo of the car's rear plate, all the while, the man kept yelling -- before getting back in his car and driving off. I believe that's called, "leaving the scene of an accident."

Meanwhile, Matt had reached an 911 operator, who sent a State trooper to take a statement from us, and from a witness who had seen the entire incident. I was pretty impressed by the police's response -- in addition to the officer who arrived promptly to take our statements, a second officer went to the driver's house, to try to locate him (he wasn't home). I am familiar with PA vehicle and traffic codes, as they pertain to cyclists, and it's pretty clear that Matt and I were riding in a manner consistent with the law -- riding two-abreast on the right side of our lane, without impeding the flow of traffic. In other words, riding along, minding our own business.

We'll see what charges come of it, hopefully the police will throw the book at this guy, but regardless, I'm mostly glad that neither Matt nor I were injured. The whole incident reminded me of the case of Christopher Thompson, a former doctor in California who pulled the exact same maneuver -- gravely injuring two cyclists in the process. That guy, though, received a five year prison sentence. I sort of doubt the punishment will be so severe in this case.

It goes to show, that even in a cycling-friendly area like this is, there are drivers all over who, for whatever reason, feel compelled to take their aggression out on us. We need to be safe out there. We also need to keep in mind, that when the inevitable confrontations do occur, we stand tall, stay cool, and resist the urge to weaken our standing in the eye of the law by turning to violence or other base instincts. In this case, it was impossible for either Matt or I to keep ourselves from yelling back at the man who had just attacked us with his car, but, despite being provoked, we did the right thing by calling proper authorities, rather than escalating the confrontation.

Oh, and getting the guy's tag number was an essential step that I highly recommend.

Thinking about death

2011-08-09T22:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve been thinking a little about mortality today. In part, this morbid topic has been on my mind because I spent about eight hours stuck in the Detroit airport, which, at times, made me wish I were dead. But mostly, it’s because the NYC Triathlon has been making headlines in the non-sporting press after two racers in Sunday’s event died, both apparently suffering heart attacks during the swim leg.

Of course, reading about those deaths brought back memories of Natalia Hogan, who died during the first bike race I ever helped to promoted, the short-lived Saratoga Criterium, in May of 2009. Like the two recent deaths, Natalia died of a heart ailment -- in her case, a pre-existing condition of which she was aware. She chose to continue her active lifestyle, playing ice hockey and racing triathlons, despite the risk. A period of reflection and examination is expected any time someone dies in what should be a safe, controlled environment. I’m still parsing Natalia’s death, more than two years after it happened – how quickly did the marshal call 911? Were our instructions not clear on that, most essential point? Did the heat that day exacerbate her condition? How come it took the ambulance so long to arrive? And once it did arrive, why did it take so long to depart? Should we have just put her, unconscious, in a car and driven to the Emergency Department? And now, in light of some of what’s been written about the recent deaths, I wonder if I would have let her race, had I known about her condition. Ultimately, I’m glad that decision wasn’t left up to me – besides not wanting to ever have to play God, I strongly believe in everyone’s right to make their own choices.

Life, as surely as it has a beginning, also has an end. Most of us don’t get much control over the end of our life – personally, I just hope to make the most of mine while I’m here, impact those around me in a positive way, and exit the scene without causing anyone too much grief. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask. Natalia got closer to choosing her own way out than many, and while I wish her death had been under different circumstances, I certainly respect the conscious decision she apparently made.

Grandpa Phil didn’t get to make that kind of a choice. He died shortly before I graduated high school, in 2003. Phil was pretty old, and, as far as I can remember, had enjoyed a life that consisted of making my Mom uncomfortable with sardonic humor, bickering with my grandmother over matters of extreme importance, such as the location of the Ketchup (“In the fridge! On the door!”), and of watching the Yankees play ball on TV from his the rocking chair in the Florida room – that’s living room in most parts of the country. Toward the end of his life, though, it was becoming harder and harder to distinguish the Bombers’ pin stripes; Phil had cataracts. The doctor could fix his eyes, but a pre-surgical stress tests revealed a more pressing issue: After a life of eating a healthy, Jewish diet of delicious saturated fats and sugars in the form of chopped liver, roast beef, pot roast, kinish, corned beef, potato kuggle, stewed prunes and matzah brei, the lining of his heart was pretty well coasted with fatty deposits. Doctors didn’t think he would survive the cataract surgery with his heart in such a state, or even if he would make it through another meal. Open-heart surgery followed soon thereafter and Grandpa never regained consciousness, dying after languishing in a hospital for about a month.

My Dad, grieving his Dad’s death, pointed out that grandpa would probably have preferred to have one more roast beef sandwich and die peacefully in his rocking chair, while telling Joe Torre how to do his job. But no one gave him the option – the doctors were too eager to extend his life, and men of his generation were not trained to question the doctor, as we are now.

So, he died, and probably a little before his time had come. Can we say the same thing for the two athletes who died over the weekend? Mabye. I don’t know anything about either of them, really, so I can’t say. But I can say that their deaths were not the fault of an event in which both were willing participants. To me, the tough talk coming out of certain Borough of Manhattan offices this week is fairly meaningless. You can’t blame a race or race organizer for these deaths any more than you can blame on a mountain the death of a climber who falls from a cliff, or gets swept away in a slide. The challenge was ahead of the climber, they did their best to meet it, but came a little short.

None of that makes it any easier on the bereaved, who are mourning the loss of loved ones. In our overly-litigious society, though, I hope that the parties involved aren’t too quick to sue. Both athletes knew the inherent risks of sport, you hope, and if they failed to see a doctor for a regular check up, well, that’s their business. The fact of the matter is that events in interesting places are cool and fun, and that’s why folks are willing to fork over $1,000 to swim in the sewage-tainted waters of the Hudson, and why thousands of runners will pee themselves while waiting to run over the Verrazanno Narrows bridge in the New York City Marathon. People die in that event, too, by the way.

And yet, these events persist, and triathlon, especially, will continue to grow, because people like the challenge. Is it supposed to kill you? No. Is that a risk in any sport? Of course, and anyone who believes otherwise is tragically out of touch with the realities of athletics. And what about Grandpa? For a man who’s proudest moment, aside from watching his great-grand children run around at various family gatherings, was helping to construct the battleship Arizona during World War II, watching baseball was a chief pleasure as he got on past 80. So maybe Dad was wrong – maybe his Dad was doing what he thought he wanted or needed in order to continue enjoying the life to which he’d become accustomed, just as those triathletes thought they were doing something they’d trained and prepared for.

See, you really can’t pick your moment.

Programing note: I'm traveling in North and South Carolina on Wednesday, and will be home late, so no blog post tomorrow.

Back in the swing of things: Tour of the Catskills

2011-08-08T18:33:00.001-07:00

While racing this weekend's Tour of the Catskills, I decided that I might just quit the sport.

OK, I probably won't quit the sport, but it was the kind of racing that makes me wonder why I do what I do, and think seriously about getting myself down graded to a 3. Or a 4. Or maybe I'll just say fuck it all and become a track sprinter. Probably not, though, I like the road too much.

Things didn't start poorly: I did pretty well (for me, anyway), in the opening day's time trial, and beat all three of my team mates. But then I got dropped on the first climb in Saturday's 96-mile road race. I'd been in the peloton for all of six miles, and couldn't manage to hang on when the road turned skyward. It was truly pathetic, and I've scarcely felt less like a bike racer.

Still, there was one more day, so I soldiered on, riding with others who were having similarly crappy days. Eventually, it started raining, and then we turned into a soggy collection of unworthies just in time to scale the punishing heights of Devil's Kitchen, a steep, winding Catskill ascent with sustained grades skywards of 28 percent. Once over the top, mercifully, it was only a short hop to the finish line in Tannersville.

After flogging the others off the back, and putting myself out to about my limit for a ride of that length, I managed to miss the 20-percent time cut by about a minute. I knew it was going to be close, and pushed myself about as hard as I could to get up the Kitchen, and was a bit perplexed when I looked back and saw two of the others I'd been riding with walking up the climb. Thankfully, I had a 26 on my bike, and made it up the climb without dismounting. Of course, the officials took pity upon us pathetic, dropped riders, and allowed everyone to start the next day, even though we all technically should have been out. In retrospect, I'm not sure if I should really feel thankful about that.

On walking up the climb: it's one thing for a beginner to walk up a climb, but I never would have thought I'd see it in an elite race. I've never previously done a race where just staying on your bike is an accomplishment. I suppose there's a first for everything. Actually, it was a day for two firsts, as I've never before had to worry about missing a time cut at a stage race, so that was fun.

But still, I had some excuses at my disposal -- I recently broke my wrist and am still on the comeback swing, I hadn't eaten properly in the morning before the race, I didn't get a good warm up, the climb came much earlier in the stage than I'd anticipated, etc. And, since the officials had taken mercy on me and allowed me to continue racing, I assured myself and my team mates (who all did much better than me on Saturday) that Sunday would be better, and that I'd fix all of my mistakes.

Of course, it didn't go better.

Actually, it did go better, but not much better. On Sunday, I did fix pretty much all of my previous day's mistakes, ate a better breakfast, did a good warm up, and carefully reviewed the stage profile. I survived the initial flurry of attacks to get to the top of the descent down Route 23, and survived the descent, although I (purposefully) missed the breakaway. At the bottom of the descent, I was able to sit comfortably in the peloton, which was rolling along at a quick, but not absurd, pace. Then we hit the day's first KOM, which was, like, a million miles long, and seemed to climb into the sky. I made it about halfway up before getting spat out the back, for a grand total of about 26 miles raced.

See, better than the day before, but not by much. I didn't summon the gumption to finish another stage off the back, and instead did a second trip up the first KOM, and rolled back to the parking lot in time to watch the finish. I had lots of company dropping out of what was, unquestionably, a really difficult race. But still, it's clear that I have a lot of work to do if I ever want to be competitive at the elite level of this sport. Weekends like this are discouraging, for sure, but I suppose the name of this game is coming back from a discouraging weekend, and getting right back into the swing of training.

Tour of the Catskills delay

2011-08-07T21:21:00.000-07:00

I got home from the Tour of the Catskills at 11, and have made good use of my time this evening unpacking and cleaning up a bit, but I have not left time for blogging. Apologies, but I'll return to the blog in full tomorrow.

Hope everyone had a good weekend!

Shark Week?

2011-08-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

Earlier this evening, I was at a friend's house (another friend is house/dog sitting, so, as tradition dictates, everyone moved in to take advantage of the beer and cable -- don't worry this is part of friend #2's compensation) watching Shark Week. I'd been hearing a lot about Shark Week all week. Although I've never seen any Shark Week programing, I'd certainly heard of it.

Now that I've seen a few minutes of it (a segment in which Andy Samberg both sat at a half-submerged desk AND donned a diving bell, and in which the sharks may or may not have been CGI creations), I can safely say that I haven't been missing much.

Here's the thing: I don't have a great interest in marine biology during the other 51 weeks of the year and no amount of promos could change that during this week. Of course, it's possible that I'm just resisting the pop culture, as usual. Or maybe I'm just sticking to one of my most basic, most important beliefs, which is that pretty much anything you can do that doesn't involve watching TV is what you should do. But seriously, who gives a fuck about an ugly fish that some producer in a booth decided to name "Chunk?"

Apparently it works for the Discovery Channel, though, and good for them. For me, though, it's just more TV.

In light of that, when Tracey Jordan says on 30Rock, "So, here's some advice I wish I woulda got when I was your age: Live every week like it's Shark Week," I suppose he's saying that we should spend every week in front of the TV? No thanks!

Of course, there's another possibility, pertaining to Urban Dictionary's first definition of "Shark Week." For Jordan, this has certain other implications, which likely don't pertain to TV at all (or maybe they do, depending on Angie's mood.

Campaigning: Tour of the Catskills

2011-08-03T19:03:00.000-07:00

Supplies for the siege
Stage Racing is like a regular race,
with more stuff

Two years ago, working as a political reporter covering hotly-contested City Council elections, I would have defined a campaign thusly: "A loose conglomerate of qualified and unqualified blabermouths attempting cooperation to advance a cause." You might say that I was a bit jaded by the political scene I'd been covering for a while, and certainly found myself loosing patience for the alleged politicians I was covering. (OK, some were more legitimate than others, but none will be going to the White House any time soon).

These days, I'm more accustomed to hearing the word in reference to military actions by our government in an ever-increasing number of locales -- fitting, as dictionary.com defines the word as, "military operations for a specific objective." A variant on my politic-themed definition is the third entry.

Urban Dictionary defines the same word this way: "The ability to pick up a person of the opposite sex; [sic] to have game."

Since I clearly won't be mountain any of the above types of campaigns any time soon, I've been looking for a different type of campaign, one at which I can be more successful. Fortunately, this weekend offers a good opportunity: Three of my team mates and I will launch a campaign at the Tour of the Catskills. I haven't done a proper stage race since my catastrophic run at the Tour of the Catskills in 2009 -- held in the fall that year -- and I'm looking forward to returning to the concept this year.

In many ways, it really is a campaign -- the four of us will head up to the race Friday, along with our team manager. We'll be sequestered in hotel rooms for pretty much the entire weekend (aside from when we're racing, of course), and will be working, single-mindedly toward bringing home some kind of result. As in a political or military campaign, you progress can be measured in small pieces: Maybe you score some KoM points on one stage, maybe you advance on GC in another stage. Of course, only one person can win at the end, but, maybe you achieve some other goal along the way, learn something about yourself as a racer, or about your opponents.

Mostly though, the atmosphere is one totally dedicated to racing -- there are no social obligations, there's no laundry or grocery shopping, just the race. Of course, I wouldn't rate our chances at overall victory too highly, especially having perused the start list, but hopefully we can advance our cause, at least a little.

The next big move

2011-08-02T20:18:00.000-07:00

Over drinks with a friend on Monday, I realized that I've been living in my apartment overlooking the triangle in Emmaus for eight months, which means that I've lived here longer than the last place I lived in Saratoga Springs. It also means that I'm flirting with a year, which would make it the place I've lived second-longest since graduating college.

These realizations instantaneously set my internal clock spinning: If it's been eight months, and it's going on a year, then it must be time to move. Ostensibly, moving is a pain in the ass, but it also has some advantages: A fresh perspective; the chance to part with a bunch of crap that you don't need, don't use, and don't want; and you get to bond with all the friends you press into service.

Truly, I'm mostly interested in saving money. My second-story apartment is really nice, with great light (thanks to huge windows), and high ceilings that make it feel light and open. Also, it's across the street from the VFW Hall and the bike shop, and there's a small room that provides adequate space for my bikes. In perfect world, the appliances would work, there wouldn't be any ugly white carpets, and I could happily live here for the foreseeable future. But it costs more money per month, in rent and utilities than I would like to spend.

So, where does that leave me? Well, thinking about my options, mostly. Housing in Emmaus is surprisingly not as cheap as I would like it to be (OK, maybe it's not that surprising), so I'll be hunting for a bargain. The search is really just starting, but I did find a lead on a two-bedroom in Vera Cruz, which is over the mountain from Emmaus. Moving to that side of the mountain would mean that I can no longer walk to work, the VFW Hall, or the bike shop. Of course, I could still ride to all those places, but it would take longer, and likely result in more car trips.

A year ago, I don't think I would have considered living anywhere not attached to a far reaching, impermeable swath of asphalt, but Vera Cruz isn't that far from town, and I've lived in cities for so long, that I'm thinking a change might be good. Also, there's a lack of outdoor space here -- and plenty in Vera Cruz.

Also, in order to save money, I'm likely going to be looking for a roommate. I've lived alone for a while now, so I anticipate that going back to sharing a home will come with its challenges. But, my last roommate relationship was a very positive experience, so I have high hopes.
So, you know, we'll see.

PA State Road Championships

2011-07-31T18:31:00.000-07:00

115, shit. That's pretty high for standing still on the start line. Is my shoe loose? No, it's OK. Oops, time to go, better start the clock. Uhg, my brakes sound like shit. I'm going to scare everyone. God damn, this is sketchy. "CAR!" I can't believe I haven't fixed these brakes yet, the sound terrible. That turn looks sandy, here, we, go. OK, stay on that wheel. Wow, single file already, what's it been? Three miles? Yup, three miles. Good God, we're going fast. They know it's 85 miles, right? They couldn't keep this pace up the whole time, could they? OK, another roller, at least I final got the shifting dialed. Until that f-ing cable breaks. I'll probably make it another week, right? Maybe I should change it before Catskills. Nah, it'll be fine. Wow, my seatpost is creaking. This bike is probably about done. Yeah, it's had a good run, I'll figure something else out for next year. I just hope nothing brakes today. Wait, is that breaks? I can't remember. Fuckin' A, I need to focus here. Are we still going fast? Yup. Wow, how long can this possibly keep up? Wow, there are a lot of guys behind me. Is it really single file? This is serious. I wonder if this is harder than Hilltowns last week. I think it might be. That one had a bigger climb, though. God damn, why am I in the big ring? This isn't a rolling hill. Matt said it was all rolling hills. Oh well, I'm OK, I'm OK, just stay on that wheel. Stay on that wheel. Stay on that wheel. OK, stand up, Go. Sprint mutherfucker, sprint. And down. Calm down. Shift gears. Wow, hard turn. The rolling enclosure's pretty nice, I kinda wish more races would give us the whole road. Yeah, but I guess I'm still sketchy on these descents. What did I tell Dan yesterday? Descends like a feather? Descends like a feather in an updraft? Yeah, that's about right. I feel bad for the guys behind me. Oh well, it's there fault for getting behind me. Wait, I guess it would be their fault. I should probably focus a little more. Is that sweat? Yup, sure tastes like it. It's pretty early to be sweating like this. How early is it anyway? Wow, still not even 8. Why is it so early? At least I'll get home early. How much longer is this race anyway? Oh, just about 75 miles. No biggie. Huh, I guess that means the lap is almost over. Wait, really? I haven't had anything to drink at all, have I? Maybe I did. No, that was last week. I should probably start drinking. Jesus, it's so fast, though, I don't want to take my hands off the bar. Damn, and the pavement sucks. Wow, if I don't have a get soon I'm going to run out of gas. There's a lot of mile ahead of me. Lots of racers behind me, I need to eat. OK, feedzone, I guess now's the time. I can toss this wrapper here, right? That's what the feedzone's for, right? OK, need some water, too. I really hope three bottles is enough today. I wish I had a girlfriend. Then I wouldn't have to carry this bottle on my back. That'd be nice. This was a bad day to forget my towel. There are way more women here than normal. I wonder how many of them are racing, seem to be a lot on the side of the road. This road's still scary. Damnnit, how are we still going this fast. How long's it going to keep up for? Who's driving it? God, I don't know anyone. I should race in PA more. Wait, there's Ryan. I know him. Maybe I'll ask him how he's doing. No, I'll save it. Too much work to get up there. Actually, maybe I should move up, that climb is coming soon, right? God, I wish these guys would slow down. Can I keep this up? I don't know, maybe another lap. If I can make it halfway, that'd be good, right? Jesus, what's wrong with me? Of course I can make it. I can make it. Just get back onto that wheel. It's right there, just six inches and you'll be OK. Fuck, Ryan's right in there. If he's not getting dropped I can't. either? I think that sentence would be better if I put either on the end of it. I'll try it later. OK, UP! Harder man, harder. You can do it. Just get on there and chill. My stomach does not feel great. That's why I don't like early races. So hard to fuel for it. Maybe I need to burp. Yeah, that'll make me feel better. Gotta wait until I'm not breathing so hard. When's that gonna be? Man, this hill is so fast. Maybe I should race with an 11. I think SRAM makes an 11-21, right? I'll have to check the website when I get home. Do people really race on compacts? That Cervelo would have been good today, on these fucking potholes, but man, that compact wouldn't have done it. I wonder if people would have noticed the new bike. People at Hilltowns liked it, and it was just on top of the car. I guess Ian's riding that new bike. No one seems to care about that. That's pretty nondescript though. pretty nondescript, though. Yeah, that needs a comma. Jesus, stop writing and focus. Write later, race now. Are we going uphill again? I wonder if there are any flat roads around here. Every race should have at least one flat stretch, right? Actually, this race is kinda like that race in Albany, except harder. Should I go to that race this year? I wonder when it is, anyway. GMSR is going to kill me. Those fucking hills... I wonder if anyone else is going up for that? That's a long drive, it'd be nice to have company. Would've been nice to have company this morning. Ah, whatever. The tunes were good.

Time spent wisely?

2011-07-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

The trouble with bike racing is that it can lead to misguided use of time. Setting aside the amount spent riding (a.k.a., training), and racing, and traveling to and from races, there's all the time where you're unable to do other things because you're resting ahead of a race.

Although I certainly complain about all that from time to time, I really like the structure that cycling gives my life. What I don't like is that I sometimes find myself doing things that come pretty close defying any perceptible logic and reason. For instance, I spent two hours riding around in the rain this evening. That's tow hours when, if I weren't so stuck to my coach's carefully planned training schemes, I could have been inside, dry and doing something more fun with my time -- or, at the very least, vacuuming my apartment.

So it goes. On the upside, this weekend's race, the PA State championships (which, unlike the NY State Championships, appears to actually be a race that people care about), starts at the ungodly hour of 7:15 a.m. The upshot, besides an absurdly early alarm, is that despite the race's 84-mile length, and it's located only an hour from home, I have a reasonable shot of being home from the race before noon. I can honestly say two things about that: 1) What the fuck am I going to do with my afternoon? Guess I'll final get to vacuum. and 2) I'm really looking forward to not spending an absurd amount of time in the car, after last weekend's tour of New England.

Of course, the respite is brief. Next Friday I'll be heading back up north of the Tour of the Catskills, which should be an incredibly difficult race, and good prep ahead of the Green Mountain Stage Race -- which I'm hoping to able to race this year, after missing it in 2010.

Here's a non sequitur on a topic that's likely to show up in a future post: I hardly ever ride with music. Aside from making it harder to keep an ear open for that 16-wheeler trying to run you off the road, I also find that music distracts me from two things: The many thoughts bouncing around in my head that get sorted out on rides, and whatever pace I'm trying to maintain on the bike. However, even if my ears are nearly always unadorned with headphones, there's nearly always music in my head when I ride, and a race never passes when I don't have some track, usually one I heard on the radio in the car on the way to the race, playing on loop. On Saturday, at the Tour of the Hilltowns, it was Nicki Minaj's Super Bass. Go ahead and laugh, but it's better than two weeks ago, when I was annoyed to find that I couldn't stop hearing Toto's Africa.

On second thought, maybe I should keep these things to myself.

Tour of the HIlltowns, returning to racing

2011-07-27T20:09:00.001-07:00

I'm back from a four day jaunt to New England and upstate New York, and I'm pleased to report that things up north are progressing will, despite my absence.

While on this road trip, I went through at least three tanks of gas, visited friends from high school, college, and my life in Saratoga, and, most importantly, rolled over many of my favorite Saratoga County roads in some great company. But, more on all that later.

I also raced the Tour of the Hilltowns, the New England regional championships, in Windsor, Mass., on Saturday. Between being given clearance to ride and this past weekend, I participated in two Thursday night crits and a race in Prospect Park. I've now realized that none of that was really racing. By that, of course, I mean that it was shockingly hard.

I've raced Hilltowns every year since upgrading to 2, and every year has reminded me of why I like racing bikes: The chance to find my limits. The 97-mile race went exactly as I thought it would go (more or less). It was fast from the gun--so fast that I was spinning out my biggest gear, a 12x52--and we completed the first 30 hilly miles in about 70 minutes. Somehow, I managed to hang on, even when the group accelerated over some medium climbs, which I can only assume my fitness is rebounding.

It was a very hot day, and most people were racing with an extra bottle tucked into a pocket. To supplement that, we were all getting water from the official's vehicle and taking bottles of neutral water, most of which was immediately poured over our heads to aid the evaporative cooling. The first lap, on a shortened course, went by really quickly. The second lap, over a longer distance, contained both a fearsome descent down some of the worst pavement I've raced over (including roads we traversed in this year's Rapha Gentleman's Race), and then a long, steep climb back out of a valley. The pace going to the top of the descent was nutty, as positioning was key for anyone who had aspirations of doing well. For my part, I just wanted to survive a little longer, and was pleased to not get dropped before the long downhill.

I fully expected not to make it up the climb with the leaders. In fact, I was fairly confident that with my legs still in comeback mode, I'd get dropped. That happened, but with the added caveat that moments before hitting the climb, I slammed into a particularly sharp pothole, which caused my handlebar to slip. I tried to get a tool to fix it from the officials, but it wasn't happening, so I set out up the climb with my lever hoods pointing in a downward, instead of forward, direction. I mostly did the climb on the bar tops, which were still in the same place, but not being able to stand up certainly slowed things down for me.

So it goes.

Up ahead, the big guns, including pros from the Jelly Belly, Jamis, Team Type 1 teams and probably others that I didn't notice, along with some of the strongest New England amateur teams were fighting it out. Done racing but still 30 miles from my car, I was happy to come across Vinnie Scalia, who was also dropped (although he was dropped after heroic efforts at the pointy end of the race). We enjoyed some conversation over the following miles, eventually reaching the finish line as the last two finishers. One the way, we enjoyed a rather lengthy water stop during which I was able to procure a multi tool, with which I fixed my handlebar.

If nothing else, it was certainly an interesting day on the bike, and, as Vinnie pointed out, a good day of training ahead of the Tour of the Catskills, which is now just a little more than a week away. Hopefully I'll manage to climb a little better then.

Hot night at the races

2011-07-21T20:33:00.000-07:00

It's been really, really hot here in the Lehigh Valley. Tuesday was the cool day, with temperatures in the 90s. Today, it reached 100, or possibly hotter. The kind of day where you break a sweat walking from the office across the street to our workshop. It was certainly a hot day for a bike ride, let alone a bike race.

And yet, it was Thursday, so I rolled over to the training crit with some others from the Emmaus crew. The ride over was really, really hot. I was kind of prepared for it, having shoved an extra bottle of water into my pocket. It was a good thing, as I ran through a whole bottle during the 7-mile ride to Trexlertown.

Riding through the hot air made me feel like I was trying to push my bike through a swimming pool. So, we started racing, and now there were 50 of us trying to push our bikes at high speeds through the thick air. It was not a super awesome feeling. We all did our best to race our bikes, but the speeds felt markedly slower than in previous weeks. I can't speak for others, but for me, it was the kind of night where, no matter how hard I thought I was pushing the pedals, the speed didn't seem to go above 22 mph.

Once the race was over, I stood around with the others from Emmaus dripping sweat off the tip of my nose and watching a pool of sweat form on the blacktop beneath my bike -- a sight usually reserved for the indoor months of winter (or of broken wrists).

Mercifully, it had cooled down during the race, and the ride home was more pleasant. I'm grateful for the opportunity to take a dip in Bill's pool afterward, it was sorely needed.

Tomorrow's not looking any more promising, with temperatures again forecast to hit the 100-degree mark. It makes me grateful that temperatures for Saturday's Tour of the Hilltowns are *only* going to be in the mid- to upper-80s. That certainly puts things in perspective.

Broken bones come and go

2011-07-20T19:09:00.000-07:00

Yet more good news in the ongoing saga of my broken wrist: After seeing Dr. Stansbury for the fifth time since the original injury occurred, I've been given the all-clear and declared nearly healed. What does this mean? While my mobility is still not 100-percent, it's close and getting closer. In fact, it's close enough that I no longer need to wear my brace to ride. I will, however, have to continue physical therapy for a little bit longer as the joint continues to gain strength.

Most importantly, this means the odd shading -- and lack of shading -- on my hand, fingers, thumb, wrist, and forearm will finally start to meld back into a healthy tan, and my arm hair, which is apparently black, will turn translucent again. It's funny, the ways in which breaking your wrist effects your life beyond the mere rending of bones.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, Coach Scott broke his elbow in a bike race last weekend. After berating Scott for following my lead when he should have seen the error in my ways, I offered some advice that he gave me when I broke my wrist: Take advantage of your time off of the bike; do things you wouldn't ordinarily have time to do, and enjoy the summer -- to the fullest extent your injury allows.

It was very good advice. I don't know what Scott will be able to do. I mostly took advantage of my time off the bike by exploring some local hiking trails, tubing on a local river, and partying like it was November. Good times, while it lasted. I hope Scott does the same. Mostly, though, I hope Scott heals quickly -- even quicker than me, if at all possible.

One interesting thing the doctor mentioned in parting today, and which will skew in Scott's favor, was that when he was a resident in medical school -- probably about 20 years ago -- the type of plate he implanted in my wrist didn't exist. Without that type of hardware, I would just be getting my cast off and starting a three-month rehabilitation program. I'm pretty glad to have missed out on six weeks in a cast during the hottest time of year, to say nothing of the misery of difficult rehab. He also took a minute to extol the benefits of exercise, commenting that fit patients tend to heal much faster than "couch potatoes." Clearly, I found the right doctor -- though I am glad not to have to see him again!

Back to donating blood

2011-07-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

I donated blood today, an honest pint of A+. Donating blood is something I started doing in college, and have tried my best to make it a regular habit since then.

I've been fairly fortunate in that there have always been blood drives in relative proximity to wherever I happen to be: In college, I used to have to walk across campus to the athletic center. While working at The Saratogian, the blood drives were either directly across the street in City Hall (this was convenient for other reasons too), or a block in the other direction, at the library. Either way, it's always been a fairly easy way to spend an hour over lunch.

More importantly, as someone who enjoys good health (broken bones notwithstanding), giving blood is an easy way that I can help those who have less fortune with their health. It's a personal issue, as well. While no one in my immediate family has required a blood transfusion (that I know of ), there are many in my larger circle of family and friends who have needed to borrow a pint or two from blood banks, and if my blood can help one of them, or anyone else, then it's an hour well spent, once every six weeks.

All of that being said, I had to interrupt my regular donating schedule when I got a tattoo in 2009 -- banks won't take your blood is you've had ink in the last 12 months, just in case you develop Hepatitis from a dirty needle. Fortunately, the needle wasn't dirty, and I was able to resume donating around the same time I moved here to Pennsylvania, and Rodale often has blood drives right in the building. Unfortunately, I missed a few opportunities because of travel, but I was finally able to make the drive today.

I've noticed a few differences between New York and Pennsylvania in the eight months that I've lived here, and that continued today. While the general donation procedures were the same as in New York, I noticed that the questions that were somewhat repetitive in NY, were repeated somewhat less in PA.

Most interestingly, though, while there's a wide range of phlebotomists in the world, and while I've met quite a few of them, I have to say that the woman who took my blood today was among the least professional. Case in point: After swabbing my arm, applying a tourniquet, and laying the lines and bag along my arm, Katy Perry's song Fireworks came on the radio, and suddenly the woman about to stick a needle in my arms started dancing, telling me about how she knows the song backwards and forwards on Guitar Hero.

OK, that's fine. I can't relate, but whatever.

I was a little surprised to find her suddenly tapping a rhythm on arm, "Cause baby you're a ... needle stick." Interesting approach, I guess, but I hope she was confident that she was going to hit that vein among all the Guitar Hero reenactments.

Was it worth it? Of course.

SPA:CX, 2012!

2011-07-18T19:49:00.000-07:00

It's nearly the end of July, which means that, in addition to getting back to racing, it's time to start planning for the 2012 edition of Spa:CX. (You can "like" us here.) The date is Oct. 23, the Bike Reg page will be up soon, and of course I'll provide a link as soon as it is. Brownie points with the promoters for registering early!

Great things are in the work for this year's race, in addition to returning to the ECCC 'cross series for the second year, we'll also be re-jiggering the course to get a longer lap at the challenging loop off the back of the Saratoga Race Course. One area that we'll be paying particular attention to is the run up -- even with all that sand, it was still too easy in 2010. With two years under our collective belts, we'll also have registration down to a science, addressing on of last year's chief concerns.

Tell your support crew to start planning their costumes, the Run What You Brung will be back for its second year, and kids can race and ride on the kid's course all day.

We're also going to be making a few other changes, including commemorative numbers and Spa:CX merchandise -- who wouldn't love a "Don't blow it" mug for their morning coffee? A Spit and Spat mouse pad? Of course, we'll have a great assortment of prizes from our new and returning sponsors. Stay tuned for more announcements in the coming months.

I'm back to blogging, and back to racing

2011-07-17T19:04:00.000-07:00

Well, that was a long, unexplained absence from the blog.

Let me apologize. The reason for my unplanned break from regular updates was a business trip to Monterey, California (yes, again), where I attended an event with Specialized Bicycles, at which they launched there new bikes and products for 2012.

While a trip like that certainly came with plenty of notice, I had thought that I'd have time to blog while away. Such, obviously turned out not to be the case. between sitting in classroom sessions learning about new technologies, riding the new products, and socializing with other members of the cycling media, there was no time leftover for GBBM.

Anyhow, I got home at about 2 a.m. last Thursday morning, got up and went to work, then jumped on a 2:30 p.m. bus to head into the city for a Tour de France viewing party, sponsored by Bicycling Magazine. After the party (which was legitimized by a bar fight over a well-inked woman), and after drinks with some of our NYC-based co-workers, the PA crew and I again got home at about 2 a.m.

After work on Friday, I headed briefly to The Velodrome, then drove into the city to race in Prospect Park on Saturday morning. When I finally got home after racing and riding away most of the afternoon, it was time to eat a burrito then chill with some of my high school friends.

So, I may not have been blogging, but I've certainly been keeping busy.

Of all of those many activities, the one I'm most excited to write about tonight is, of course, Saturday's race in Prospect Park. Although I did enter a training race last week, this was my first real race back since my injury. It felt pretty fast to me, but I was able to do my usual Prospect Park thing, which is to move around the pack, advance (and sometimes attack on the hill), and generally stay near the front.

Although there were a few small moves, including one that I got in with about three laps to go, and lasting about half a lap, but nothing was sticking. With two laps remaining, it was clear that the race was coming down to a field sprint, and all the usual suspects were heading to the front of the peloton. So, Roberto, Sergio and I did the same, and were in a good position as we headed out on the bell. As the least skilled bunch sprinter of the three of us, I position myself as the set up man, with Roberto to handle the final lead out for Sergio.

I wound up hitting the front a little early, and put in a big pull to the top of the climb, then swung off, having emptied my (still recovering) tank. Roberto took over, and lead out the sprint, and Sergio held on to take 7th place. Roberto crossed in 14th. Considering that the three of us hadn't raced together in a while, it was a pretty good effort. Plus, $70 was more than adequate for lunch.

Good times, it felt really great to be back racing, and to see that I was not only fit enough to sit in, but still fast enough to participate in the race. The real challenge, of course, will come this coming weekend, when I head up to Massachusetts for the Tour of the Hilltowns. Attacking in Prospect Park is one thing, if I can hang in on the major Berkshire climbs, then I'll really know that I'm back.

One thing is clear, though, I'm back to blogging, and happy to be here!

Back to racing

2011-07-07T19:43:00.000-07:00

In the 37 day history of my wrist injury, I've twice gone against medical advice where exercise is concerned. The first time was relatively soon after surgery, when I engaged in some secret training, which left my cast sweaty and my body sore. The second time was this evening, when I went out to the Thursday Night crit for my first race effort since the Tour of Somerville. Although I'm not really supposed to be racing, I did, of course, wear my very stylish brace, which takes a lot of the strain off of the still-injured joint.

It was the first hard effort I've done in a long time, and while it felt pretty good to blow everything out of my legs, it was also clear that I have some work ahead of me to get back into racing form. To put in the parlance of Phil Liggett, my box of matches currently contains far fewer matches than it ordinarily does.

The good news, however, is that matches contained therein appear to be just as bright and hot as ever.

In English, what I'm trying to say is that I found I was able to race more or less effectively, and even got myself some points (even if one of those points came by way of sketchy line changes -- sorry Paul!). And yet, when there was a big split about halfway through the race, I found that I was unable to get on any of the wheels I needed to be on, and made a hasty retreat off the back, where I joined the grupetto.

So, it wasn't exactly the best night of racing, but, I didn't crash (on either side, but especially not on my right side), I got a good sense of where my fitness is at, and the work that needs to be done. Also, it was fun to see people I haven't seen in a while, though a race is never the best time to catch up.

The race was also my first chance to put the new Cervelo S5 through its paces. I'll certainly need more time to figure out how the bike rides, but after a few miles, I can say that the quality of its ride is pretty similar to Bicycling Magazine Editor's Choice-winning Cervelo S3 -- which is to say that it feels very efficient, but still takes the edge off rough pavement. One of the key differences, of course, is the aero features of the new frame, which are hard to notice on a test ride, but surely make the bike faster. We'll have a full report in the November issue of the magazine, and I'll be showing the bike off around the Lehigh Valley for the next three weeks, or so, before we send it out to another member of the test staff in California.

Putting my Tour knowledge to use

2011-07-06T21:18:00.000-07:00

It's been a long day, so I'm offering one of my trademarked super-short blog posts tonight. Earlier, at trivia at the Bethlehem Brew Works, there were five questions pertaining to the Tour de France, and related matters. Clearly, this was my moment to shine -- and a shining moment of which I could be more vocally proud than that time I had to admit to watching Star Trek.

I'm pleased to say that I got all five of the questions right, and we were the only team to do so.

The answers to the five questions were:

1) Yellow
2) U.S.
3) 3,000km
4) Wouter Weylandt
5) 21

Can anyone not on tonight's trivia team figure out the five questions? At the very least, the first and last should be easy to most GBBM readers. No. 2 could be the answer to a few questions, so I'll say that the question pertained specifically to Monday's stage.

Although this fun of correct answers put us into fourth place out of, like, a million teams, we did not correctly answer the final question, and didn't win. So it goes, trivia is a cruel game. Good night!

July 4: What's this holiday about?

2011-07-05T19:00:00.000-07:00

When I got home last night, after spending seven hours driving home from spending the long July Fourth weekend on Cape Cod (totally worth it!!) it was to, in the words of Francis Scott Key, "... rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air..."* It was a very dramatic trip to the grocery store with those fireworks booming in the background.

I can't remember ever thinking about it previously, but I guess I have a sort of love-hate relationship with the Fourth of July. I mean, I love the the day off and have made good use of it over the past couple years, but find the traditional means of celebrating a bit, shall we say, off message. Right? I mean, Independence Day was a singularly awesome moment in our nation's history. We said "fuck you," to the British, and backed up bold words with guns, brawn, and bravery. It was a moment not dissimilar to the revolution currently ongoing in Libya. But I can hardly imagine any American -- fat on hamburgers, drunk on Bud and blinded from reality by "reality" TV -- taking a similar stand on any matter today.

Maybe that's an indication that things are better than they were in 1776. I mean, surely they are better, most of us now receive representation in exchange for our taxes. But, I do find myself wishing that we had a holiday that better paid tribute to our Founding Fathers' heroics. From where I'm sitting, it's hard to see how eating burgers and watching faux bombs bursting overhead represents patriotism on that order -- unless the course the point is to take an America-loving communion using the (literal) flesh of the fat of our land in place of a wafer.

I supposed this isn't out of line with similar celebrations in other western countries, but there's still some kind of a disconnect between the awesome moment that was, and the just-another-holiday that is.

Of course, since I've been writing this, I've been trying to think of a more appropriate celebration to honor John Hacock and his 55 co-signers, and haven't come up with anything appropriate. Should we have a blood letting on a statue of Thomas Jefferson? Burn an effigy to King George III (and piss off our British neighbors in the process)? Perhaps we should re-enacting the signing of the Declaration -- every neighborhood can have their own ceremony.

At the risk of becoming the next target of Joseph McCarthy's Committee on Un-American Activities, I will admit that I have not been feeling especially patriotic recently, and I suppose that's where this tirade is coming from. It's because, in the past ten years, I've seen my country get involved in two wars that I do not support, while countless social injustices remain unaddressed here at home. What the hell kind of representation is that? The Founding Fathers wouldn't have stood for it, so I find myself wishing their holiday made an attempt to achieve their level of care for the United States of America.

*10 points to anyone who correctly identifies my grammatical correction to Key's punctuation.

Back in the saddle

2011-06-29T19:47:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I did something that I haven't done since Memorial Day: went for a bike ride.

It was awesome.

I was admittedly nervous about going to see the doctor this afternoon, concerned that he might tell me that I'm still not allowed to ride outside, but, that was not the case. Instead, he said that as long as I wear my brace and take it easy, I can ride my bike -- outside.

Of course, I wasted no time in getting kitted up, and meeting Matt and Erin to get out for a ride. It also happens to be Erin's birthday, so the ride was sort of a double celebration. We headed over to a local rail trail, which made for a relaxing ride full of lots of nice discussion.

After dropping Erin back at home and picking some raspberries, Matt and I rolled over Chestnut Hill, and I discovered that my legs did retain some of their fitness over the past month. I can't say that I'm entirely surprised, but I was nervous that I'd be sucking wind and struggling to turn over the pedals at a leisurely pace. Such was not the case.

Of course, I wasn't really thinking about fitness tonight. I was really thinking about how wonderful it was to be outside, rolling along area roads with good company. I don't think I realized how much I'd missed it, and what a great way it is to spend the afternoon. I can't wait for more rides, and I don't think I'll ever take a simple ride for granted again.

On a quick programming note, I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon for Cape Cod for the July Fourth holiday, so I'll be taking a break from the blog until Tuesday, July 5, when I'll return with regular updates.

Have a great holiday weekend, and enjoy your ride!

Getting ready for my close up

2011-06-28T19:47:00.000-07:00

I spent five hours of my day today at media training at Rodale's NYC office. Although I've had two TV appearances in my day (one on behalf of Bicycling, one on behalf of The Saratogian), I had not previously had any formal training, so it was a day well spent in my view.

I've often joked that I have a better face for Radio, or, when I was feeling particularly down on myself, a voice for print. While I still do believe that I have a voice for print, I do also see the fun in TV. Today's session was held in the even that myself, or any of the other editors who attended the session get the chance to appear on a morning TV news show, or something to that effect.

Among all the important lessons I learned today, the most significant for me is probably the need to make yourself bigger than you are in real life: bigger smile, bigger energy, bigger arm movements, etc. This is hard for me, because wearing an exaggerated smile doesn't come naturally to me, but in reviewing the video of our mock interviews, the difference was clear.

As I said to our PR manager on the way out of today's training, I just hope I get the chance to use my new-found skills sooner, rather than later.

Pain from the past

2011-06-27T18:48:00.000-07:00

Now that it's been nearly a month since I shattered my wrist on the streets of Somerville, I've finally been able to start parsing the experience. A lot of people have asked if it hurt, and the truth of that matter is that, while it was a very painful, I think it was less painful than other injuries I've suffered, especially any time I've injured my ribs.

In any event, I don't remember this crash for being particularly painful, as much as I remember it for the odd sensation of trying to pull on my handlebar, and not being able to tighten my grip at all. My fingers just wouldn't tighten around the right lever hood, as they have done so often. That was minutes after crashing -- fleeting moments in which I still thought the crash was little more than a momentary setback that would send me to the pit, and then back into the race.

Not being able to grip the bar, was what made me realize that I was done racing. The swelling that followed shortly was a hint that I'd managed to injure myself pretty badly.

I've been thinking about the crash more and more, as my wrist continues to heal, and I've remembered an entirely different sensation: The raw feeling of my palm on pavement.

Crashes are funny that way; I have no memory of another racer's chainring biting my ankle during the crash, even though the punctures bled for hours afterwards; and although I thought I'd hit my head on the ground, there's no evidence of that on my helmet. I know why I broke my wrist, though: The side of my right glove was shredded, completely pulverized by the asphalt. I'm glad I was wearing gloves, as the skin on my hand survived with only a minor abrasion.

When I was a kid, I remember skinning my knees from time to time. Some of those injuries were caused by a collision with the ground, in which a palm smacked against the road. The feeling of that collision is very specific, it's a combination of the sting caused by a baseball caught in a bare hand and rubbing your skin with fine grit sandpaper.

I always came away trying to shake the sting out my hand, amazed that a blood-less injury could be so painful -- even if the pain was fleeting.

This sensation, or the memory of it, came to me the other night when I was getting ready for bed. I'm not sure exactly why, as I can't remember hitting my hand in that manner any time recently. And yet, there it was, a real as the scar on my forearm -- the pain of which now feels much less real to me.

Upgrades for a Sunday evening

2011-06-26T20:19:00.000-07:00

I wasn't sure how I felt about the color
Until I realized it would be covered by bar tape
It's a good thing, it would have clashed with the organge

Since there's no way I'll be able to return to the road without having lost some fitness after four weeks inside, no matter how many hours I spend on the rollers, I'm taking other steps to ease my transition back to health.

Having done everything I can reasonably do to keep my own weight at a reasonable level, I've now looked to my bike to save some more -- as any good roadie would. So, for the foreseeable future, I'll be testing an EC90 SLX3 carbon handlebar and matching EC90 SL stem. (I also have an Easton EC90 SL seat post, to round out the suit.)

I just spent my evening installing the new bar and stem, replacing the 3T parts I had previously. I was surprised at how long it took, a side effect, I suppose, of not working at a bike shop any longer. Although my wrenching skills remain, they are somewhat diminished. Also, using my left hand for many right-handed tasks slowed the work about.

The EC90 stem looks blocky on its own
But looks surprisingly fine on the bike
The whole thing is pretty light

I was happy to discover, however, that although the bar tape was ruined in my crash at Somerville, the aluminum handlebar wasn't damaged, as can happen sometimes. I used to advocate against carbon bars, having once seen a friend's bar crack in half on a group ride after he hit a particularly large pot hole. (We were in a pace line, there was carnage.) But my own experience with broken handlebars is limited to aluminum, and I've had positive experiences with carbon bars on test bikes recently, so we'll give it a shot. I've also noticed, while gingerly riding to and from work with my broken wrist, that bumpy pavement is really painful for the injury. Perhaps the shock-absorbing traits of carbon will help smooth the ride for my wrist.

Incidentally, $265 does seem like a lot for a handlebar, but, maybe it will do some pedaling for me, or something.

Not content to only address the front end of the bike, I also replaced my Fizik Arione, which was also damaged in the crash (not to the point of being unusable, but certainly to the point of being unsightly) with an Airone CX, which as the same shape, but thinner padding and lighter weight. Some of my colleagues have called it an "ass hatchet," but others love it. I guess saddles are somewhat subjective -- we'll see what I think. I'm not super excited about the white leather (with black landing strip down the center), but I do have to admit that it looks pretty good on my bike. We'll see how it looks after the winter.

Lessons from reporting

2011-06-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my brother today about a post he had put up on a blog he just started. After our talk, he decided to take the post down for revision, but it served to get me thinking about a story I covered in the first six months of my time as a city reporter at The Saratogian.

Although I left the newspaper under less-than-ideal circumstances, I remain proud of a lot of the work I did while there, in both the News and Sports departments. One story, though, stands out.

My brother's post was inspired by an episode of To Catch a Predator, an NBC Dateline shoot off that uses hidden cameras to catch suspected child molesters in the act. Eric argued, in his post, that being on a registry of sex offenders was overly harsh punishment, and he pointed to low incidence of recidivism as evidence that sex offenders can be reformed. While I'm not sure if that's a fair or valid argument, I certainly don't feel that the registries are too harsh of a punishment. If anything, I feel it's important that institutions, particularly those serving children, do more to research existing registries and not hire known pedophiles.

Is this an issue? Let's get back to that story, from 2008. The story went that a city school bus driver named Douglas Conrad was arrested for "forcible touching," in February 2008 after abusing two boys in his apartment. It later turned out that the story of how those two boys came to be in the apartment was more a story about broken homes than anything else, but it's hard to ignore the fact that Conrad was in contact with dozens of children ever day on his bus route. Especially in light of the fact that he was flagged as a "person representing a danger to children," after allegedly molesting two six year old boys in 2002 in another upstate towns. He would have been charged then, had there been physical evidence. Since there wasn't, he was placed on a registry maintained by the New York State Office of Children and Family Services.

Unfortunately, while the registry exists so that the public can make sure someone they might hire to take care of their children isn't a known pedophile, schools are barred from checking the registry by the same law that directs the state to maintain it, because they people on the list are not convicted of a crime. Of course, while schools were barred from checking the list religious groups were not, and Conrad shouldn't have been able to get involved in a youth group at our local Mormon tabernacle. Incidentally, Conrad's room mate was also charged in relation to the same victims.

It all made for lots of good stories, bold-faced headlines, and an AP award for spot news reporting for me, but profiting off the victims of pedophilia aside, it was a lesson in the power of the illness that drives this particular type of criminal activity and also a lesson in ineffectual state laws.

Most of all though, the lesson I learned from following that story, came toward the end of it all when I was finally able to interview the two victims and their mother. What I learned in that meeting, a lesson I shared with my brother today, is that pedophilia is not a crime of statistics like robbery, bank robbery or identity theft, it's a crime of emotion. I've never seen To Catch a Predator, but I imagine that it's a little over the top. It probably trumpets the evil of the men ensnared, without giving proper voice to the underlying disease. I agree with my brother insofar as the need for balance in discussing these kinds of hard issues, but, apparently it's a tough thing to achieve on either end of the spectrum.

Incidentally, not having to worry about child molesters on a daily basis is a fringe benefit of working at Bicycling.

Adapting to different rigors

2011-06-21T20:27:00.000-07:00

Since getting my cast off last Wednesday, I've been back on the bike nearly every day. I spent the first two days using my trainer, thinking that would put the least strain on my still-healing wrist.

But, there was a flaw in the plan: a trainer is the closest thing I know to intolerable torture. I made it two days on the trainer, a grand total of four hours. Had I not had a better option, I probably would have called it a season and hung my bike up again until I was cleared to ride outside, sometime in July. Even when it's balls cold outside, in the dead of winter, the trainer is hardly tolerable. When it's warm out and light out after 8 o'clock, I just can't summon that level of will power.

The better option, of course, are my rollers. Even though the net result (a whole lot of pedaling without going anywhere) is the same between the two indoor training devices, the way the bike moves on the rollers feels much more natural, much more like being on the road. When I stand on the roller the bike swings from side to side, just like it would on the road, and the quiet bearings mean that most of what you hear is the sound of the drivetrain -- not a loud resistance unit.

I spent most of the winter riding my rollers, and getting back onto them over the past week hasn't felt so terrible. But I wasn't always so into the rollers. Back in college, I spent three winters in a row sweating it out on a trainer. At the time I remember thinking, when the season's first races were approaching and the roads in Saratoga were still bound with snow, "how is this going to translate to the road?"

Often, it didn't, and the bike didn't feel natural until I'd gotten some miles on pavement. Rollers help to solve that problem. It's not the same as riding outside, but it's much closer, and for that I'm grateful -- and I fully anticipate that when I am cleared to ride outside again, in a few weeks, the bike will feel just as natural as it did in the moments before I crashed on Memorial Day.

Appreciating another sport: Sailing

2011-06-20T19:35:00.000-07:00

I apologize for not posting yesterday. I'd gone into the city to wish my Mom and Brett happy birthdays, and to spend Father's Day with my Dad. I wound up getting home around midnight, and just couldn't summon an enthusiasm to start writing. Fortunately, the late-night drive home and the preceding day left me with something different to write about tonight: sailing.

Sailing is something that I grew up with, almost to the same extent to which I grew up riding bikes. When I was 6 years old, my Dad bought an Oday Mariner, a 21-foot daysailer that he kept on Cape Cod. For most of my childhood, and, indeed nearly until I graduated from high school, we spent the month of August on Cape Cod, sailing the little boat up and down Wellfleet Harbor, and anchoring to swim and lunch at various beaches accessible only by boat. On a few memorable occasions, my Dad and brother and I even packed up a tent to camp (probably illegally) in the National Seashore.

Of course, we also spent requisite hours stranded by the tide and bickering about the usual matters that a family trapped in close quarters bickers about. Once, we sailed through the middle of a school of dolphins, and could hear their underwater snickers, squeals and barks as the boat became a giant, floating sounding board. Once, my Dad returned from a singlehanded jaunt claiming to have seen a whale. And once, my Mom fell overboard. Don't worry, once we'd stopped laughing, we fished her out -- she was wet, but also laughing.

There were lots of great memories, but beyond a few anecdotes I mostly remember the pleasure of sitting on the high side of the boat, skimming along the clear water as the hull gently lifted itself up over the swells then eased back down; hearing the gurgle of the water pushing against the bow and seeing it arc up against the smooth fiberglass gunwales before melting in a foamy rush back into the surface of the bay (I could still watch this never-ending cycle in a trance for hours); feeling the centerboard vibrating in its trunk when the wind increased and the speed picked up from an amble to a jog; and the sound of the wind whistling in the rigging, the bull whip snap when the sail luffed against a puff of wind, and the squeak of the rigging's salty bearings when Dad adjusted the sails.

Thinking about it now, what I love about sailing -- experiencing all of those those feelings and sounds as you rely on nature to move across the landscape -- is similar to some of what I love about cycling: The places you go and the experience of getting there. Of course, I also love the competitive nature of cycling, and my sailing experience was almost entirely absent of competitive elements -- while we entered a few casual races, we were not yacht club people venturing out to take the gun every weekend, and were never serious about racing Ariel -- as the boat was named, after Disney's The Little Mermaid.

Sailing is different for me now. Obviously, time is precious with bike racing sucking up most of what I don't spend working. But, more importantly, things changed in 2004: My parents were no longer supporting me and were nearly done supporting my brother. And my Dad was several years into a second, more lucrative career that allowed him to fulfill a long-held dream to buy a larger boat -- a much larger boat. The J/37 is, as you might have guessed, 37-feet long and designed to be an efficient boat equipped for, and capable of, longer cruises at a respectable clip. It's allowed my parents to take a few trips lasting up to several weeks around Long Island Sound and New England. One of these years, Dad's going to make good on his threat to sail down to the Caribbean. What's more, because the boat is moored on Long Island's North Shore, it's much more accessible than a boat that lives on Cape Cod, and it gets sailed regularly from spring to fall.

Much as you might buy a new bike while telling your old bike that, "it's OK, I'll still ride you in the rain," Ariel saw intermittent use for a few years, but mostly sat on a trailer. Last week, my Dad sold that boat to someone who will actually use it, which is good, though I couldn't help but feel that we'd just sent our dog to a farm upstate where it can run and bark and be free. 21 years after buying it, the old Mariner had depreciated only $250, a remarkable return on investment, considering the many happy hours we spent sailing it.

The sale made sense for my Dad, to whom the little boat represented a liability, and wasn't used anyway. For me, though, it was a little sad. While the bigger boat offers opportunities for grander adventures, it also removes you from the water. You can't dip your hand over the side and feel the cool saline slide past your fingers. Jumping overboard for a swim has to be done with greater care, lest you get run over by a passing barge, or be unable to clamber back aboard in the event that no one put the ladder down. The boat's diesels is noisy and smelly when it's operating and the VHF radio emits a constant constant chatter -- about where the party is, where the wind is, when the race is starting, and all manner of other matters -- that stands in the way of finding any peace in the aural experience of being on the water.

Of course, the boat still moves like a boat, but everything is somehow muted -- dulled by distance. The towering sails still snap in the breeze and the rigging hums when the boat reaches just the right tilt and you start cruising along. But the leather-wrapped steering wheel doesn't kick against your hand like the wood tiller would when an odd swell hit the rudder hanging off the transom. Digital displays and beep and blink take the guess work out of wind direction and speed, and the depth of the water. At times, an automatic helm will even steer for you -- requiring you just to keep a look out. All of these things, I'm told, are necessary for safely executing longer trips, but for a casual sailor like me, it makes the experience feel more remote, less connected to the nature of it.

One thing remains the same, of course: When I went sailing with my parents yesterday, we were still members of a family held in each other's company, on a boat in the middle of a wide body of water. With nothing else to do, save occasionally adjust a sail or tweak our course, we were left to talk. We talked about my recent injury and subsequent surgery, we talked about the Velodrome, we talked about my parent's plans for their house, we talked about my brother's job search, we talked about Anthony Weiner and we talked about all manner of other things. We talked so much that the missing sounds and feelings of being on the water mattered much less to me than the the feeling of being lucky to be in each one another's company by the time we made it back to the mooring.

In regard to Contador, props to the UCI

2011-06-16T19:52:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I remember offering my own thoughts on the politics of professional bike racing here on the blog. In general, I don't think that I'm any great expert on cycling -- more of an average fan (OK, maybe I'm slightly more engaged than your average fan) than an expert commentator on the sport. That's why I'm more likely to stick to writing about things of which I have greater knowledge, namely amateur racing and my own cycling (and lately, orthopedics).

But tonight, I'm inclined to mention a press release issued by the UCI today, which encourages athletes and fans to treat Alberto Contador, "like every other rider who takes the start of the Tour de France."

To that, all I can add is a health, agnostic, "amen!"

Yes, I am a little squeamish about the thought of a guy who may have cheated (OK, he probably cheated) at the race in 2010 enter the race -- but, as the UCI astutely points out, he is innocent until proven guilty. So, unless he is proven guilty, he remains the defending champion and should be allowed the opportunity to defend his title.

Plus, even if I am an Andy Schleck fan from way back (like, 2009), I have to admit that Contador is a pretty impressive bike racer -- and that's what the Tour de France is all about, watching the best of the sport fight for the sport's most prestigious crown. Having Contador on the sidelines would deprive spectators of that spectacle.

I'm also of the mind that Contador has been unfairly treated by the media, at least in the US. Remember all those 2009 promos on Versus that pitched Lance as some kind of saint and Contador as some kind of demon? Yeah, that wasn't cool. It wasn't as though Contador came to the race solely to win in the name of loving cancer -- he came to win a race that he'd won before, while Lance was an interloper on an ill-fated attempt to recapture past glories while standing in the way of his own team mate.

So, while Contador is not my favorite racer, and, frankly, I found that his win at the Giro made for a boring race. BUT, he has every right -- maybe even a responsibility -- to be at the Tour, and as fans of the sport, it's our job to treat the athletes as sportsman. For making that plea, the UCI deserves commendation.

No more splint, my elbow returns, wrist to follow

2011-06-15T19:09:00.000-07:00

In recent days, I'd joked that removing the splint would be like opening a present
This is what I found underneath
It isn't pretty, clearly

By far, the most trying aspect of my ongoing broken wrist saga was getting the stitches removed this afternoon. I don't know if it was because the wound revealed when Dr. Stansbury removed the splint I'd worn continuously since surgery was much larger than I'd anticipated, or if it was because the neatly sewn wound looked so alien there on the underside of my forearm, or if it was something else entirely.

Whatever it was, the procedure, which was only mildly painful, sent my heart racing, caused my face to flush, my breath to shudder in my lungs, and my whole body to start sweating. All that in the span of about three minutes. I know that people have different kinds of reactions to medical procedures, but given that I regularly donate blood, that I've become rather adept at treating the various wounds I've received in the course of racing, and that I went into surgery with a distinct calm on June 2, I wouldn't have bet on myself to all but pass out from something as simple as getting some sutures pulled.

And yet, there I was, with my knit-shut wrist laying atop a pillow on my lap when the room seemed set to start spinning. Fortunately, the physician's assistant noticed my distress and suggested I lay down while she removed the last couple stitches. Once on my back, I immediately started to feel better. But, I'm glad it's done with.

The plate and pins, viewed from above
This was taken today, shows the healing is underway
The hardware will be staying with me

In better news, the doctor feels that the plate he installed is doing its job, and my wrist is healing. Of course, "healing" does not mean the same thing as "healed." Not only is my wrist still swollen, but it's still painful to grasp certain things or to put too much pressure on the joint. Even so, the splint I woke up with after surgery, which went up above my elbow, served its purpose and is no longer necessary.

In its place, I have a much smaller splint that stabilizes my wrist, but which I can take off to shower -- no more garbage bag showers for me! The upshot of showering, of course, is that I've finally been able to wash off the green antiseptic paint applied to my arm during the procedure, which pretty much everyone mistook for some kind of green-tinged bruising. I've also been able to unbend my elbow, which is very stiff after being immobilized for nearly two weeks. Not as stiff as my wrist, or course, but missing a few degrees of motion.

With the use of my elbow, I've finally been able to ride. Indeed, I spent two hours sweating on my trainer this evening. While I'm very happy to be able to exercise again, I can already tell that the next two weeks or month (whatever's needed for my wrist to finish healing) will be torturous. It was so nice today, and it just so happened that as I was leaving to go see the doctor, my co-workers were returning from what must have been a beautiful lunch ride.

As grateful as I am to be on my way to being healthy, and to be out of the restricting splint, envy doesn't begin to describe the feeling of seeing other cyclists enjoying our sport's high season while I'm stuck indoors.

The worst cast ever

2011-06-13T19:56:00.000-07:00

As I write this, I have about 36 more hours of cast time, it's been two weeks since I broke my wrist. In that time I had surgery, enjoyed a visit with my Mom, engaged in some bad (for racing season) behavior, spent lots of time walking around on the local trails, and have lived in perpetual fear of the day I climb back on the scale and see how much weight of gained during this period of relative inactivity.

If everything goes to plan, the cast will come off on Wednesday, at which time I'll be able to reach my handlebars again, and can ride my trainer while my wrist continues to heal.

Not being able to ride during a really nice part of the year has certainly been frustrating, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that I enjoyed the extra free time I've had recently. If nothing else, it's left me thinking a lot about my injury, and other injuries I've had in the past.

This is the first that's significantly impacted my ability to do stuff, which makes it the most severe, I suppose, and I've also realized that it has also been the most debilitating. In order to take that title, it had to be worse than an injury I sustained in 2002, when I broke my right thumb while skiing at Killington.

Although it was a relatively minor break, it occurred nearly on the eve of my departure for the High Mountain Institute, in Leadville, CO, where I studied during the spring semester of my junior year in high school. The first two weeks of that semester were to be spent backpacking in Utah, so I was given a choice: Wear a relatively (to a cast) comfortable splint, skip the backpacking trip and start the semester late, or go for the cast and take it with me into the back country for two weeks.

Obviously, I chose the cast. At the time, I thought being in a cast was a pain in the ass, mostly because I couldn't use my right thumb, but it wasn't that big of a deal. I could still do everything that my peers could do -- pitch a tarp, light a Whisperlight, load and unload my pack and scramble up and down the walls of the canyons surrounding Jacob's Chair. I even figured out how to tie my boots with only one thumb. Plus, my peers were all impressed by my ability to do all that while wearing the cast.

Incidentally, I was pretty into my 35mm SLR back in those days, and I don't have any easily post-able photos of me and that cast, but I did find a photo taken on a windy day in the Adirondacks a year later, in which I am carrying said camera:

Anyhow, the key difference between the cast that I schlepped all over Utah and my current cast is the number of joints it immobilized: That first one immobilized my wrist, metacarpals and thumb. This one immobilizes my wrist and elbow. In 2002, I thought not being able to use my thumb was the worst thing imaginable, but I didn't have to do things like work at a computer, ride a bike, drive, wash dishes or shower. Maybe I would feel differently if I had needed to do those things.

With those tasks now set out before me each day, I have to say that this current cast is the more debilitating of the two, due to the relatively great impact on my ability to do things on a day-to-day basis. Even if takes the worst injury title, it still loses in one other area: Although I've sweat into this one over the past 10 days, there is nothing like the smell of a cast that was worm for two weeks of backpacking in the middle of a Utahan winter.

Bike race support -- the next-best thing

2011-06-12T19:50:00.000-07:00

Since I can't race my bike (or even ride it), I spent my Sunday serving as a support crew for Matt, as he raced the Stoopid 50, a 50-mile trail race at Roth Rocks, near State College, PA. Although I have several friends (OK, just two) who regularly contest marathon-type mountain bike races, this was the first time I'd been to one.

It's been a long time since I was in charge of supporting a rider, so I took some time on Saturday to think about the most important aspects of the job. That seemed to be to make sure my rider got to the race on time. To that end, Matt and I joined several friends at The Fun House to see Start Making Sense, a Talking Heads cover band on Saturday evening. Matt left the bar a little after 1 a.m. while I stayed until close at 2 a.m. because the band was rockin' and because it was my turn on DD duty and my passengers were having too much fun to leave. So, I hit the sack around 3 a.m. To make the three hour drive in time to be ready for the 9 a.m. start, we needed to leave Matt's house by 5 a.m.

Clearly my support crew career was off to a good start.

Most people would spend time preparing for 50 miles
Matt decided to race on Friday
Works for me

Predictably, I slept through by alarm (which was set for 4:15 .m.), waking up only when Matt called me at 4:55 a.m. to politely say, "Where the fuck are you?" So, I hauled ass over to Allentown and we hit the road 30 minutes late.

Getting ready to fight for position on the start line
The race started en masse, but broke up quickly
Apparently, 50 miles on dirt is harder than on a road bike

Fortunately, the drive didn't take quite as long as we thought, and we got to the race in plenty of time. Having fulfilled the day's first mission (on two hours of sleep, nonetheless!), I let the promoters know that I was happy to help with any tasks that needed doing -- provided it required only one arm. Once the race started, I hoped in a truck going to set up the feed station. We set up tables, water, food, and other supplies, then organized the 300 "drop bags" -- Ziplocks filled with whatever supplies the racers thought they might need to finish the 50-mile race.

Proud at the finish
Muddy but still smiling
Matt put in a solid ride at the 50

Once the racers started coming through the feed station for the first time (at mile 14 -- they passed by again at mile 34) other volunteers and I stayed busy handing the bags to the racers, being sure to keep them all carefully organized by number. It was a busy assignment, and the five hours I spent in the feed station flew by, even when it rained and while getting chewed on by bugs.

Eventually, I caught a ride back to the finish, arriving just after Matt crossed the line in 6 hours, 30 minutes -- 30 minutes faster than he expected. Matt Morrison, another Emmaus resident, had an even faster ride, finishing in 5 hours flat.

I returned to my support role at the finish -- driving Matt to a fun-looking bar in State College (their Coke is not to be missed), and then getting us home safely.

The problem with being a supporter for a racer instead of being a racer is this: It makes you want to race. I don't even ride mountain bikes, but now I want to race the 50 next year. The trouble being, or course, I would be a beginner incapable of keeping up with the fast guys at the front of the race. That's not a real concern, though. Overall, I was happy to spend the day supporting my friend, and helping out the 300-odd other racers. It's fulfilling in a different way than racing, but still a day well spent. And how am I still awake?

Side note: My cast is getting more disgusting by the day.

Things I'm embarrassed to watch on TV

2011-06-09T19:28:00.000-07:00

With my arm immobilized, I've been left to find ways to entertain myself without leaving the apartment, or, indeed, without leaving the couch.

Once I'm done with that, I've taken to getting more out of my Roku. Sadly, there is a limited quantity of television worth watching available through said device, especially now that TV shows worth watching have wrapped up for the year.

So, I've been watching a lot of Flashpoint. Ostensibly, it's a show about a SWAT team in Toronto, but these guys have got to be the worst SWAT team ever conceived of by the tastemakers who come up with this schlock. Instead of using the shiny guns, baton, and shields they carry around in their preposterous fleet of black SUVs, the team does its best to act as therapists for the bad guys they meet each week, counseling them to a peaceful resolution. Lame!

Is it so bad it's good? I don't know, it may just be bad. There are two seasons available on Netflix instant, and I assumed the show would have been canceled after that, but apparently it's still in production and has received good ratings -- or at least commercial success.

Some of the show's success, it seems, comes from an attempt to deal with the challenges of being in a high-stress job like being on a SWAT team. That's great, but I have a hard time swallowing any kind of realism attached to a SWAT team whose leader carries on to a man with a gun about letting a hostage "choose" to leave. That's just not how it works.

So why am I wasting my time? I was a big fan of Just Shoot Me! back in the day, and I was curious to see what old Elliot Dimauro was up to these days. It took me three episodes to figure out that the whole sensitive guy act worked better in a sitcom than on an action-drama. Still, once I was ten episodes in, I couldn't stop. (Incidentally, the fictional workplace that produced Blush Magazine turns out to be much closer to the reality of working at a magazine than I could possibly have imagined.)

Another day of suffering in a cast

2011-06-08T20:40:00.000-07:00

One week from today I will be cast free. I'm really looking forward to that day.

You know what's worse than having to wear a cast? Having to wear a cast while walking home from work in 95-degree heat.

To add insult to injury, I developed a sweet blister on the pad of my left foot today. I'm not sure if it's from last night's secret training, or just from making a poor foot wear decision for this morning's walk in to work. Either way, I'm now in even more pain when I walk around, which is just sweet.

Hopefully the soreness will dissipate a little more tomorrow. For anyone wondering, Coach Scott was not pleased with my secret training plans. I guess I won't try that again.

Taking a different approach, today's secret training consisted of eating too much bad food at an Iron Pigs game. For someone who doesn't really like baseball, I've certainly been to a lot of games this season. In other words: God damn, I can't wait to get this damn cast off.

Secret training

2011-06-07T20:26:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my neighbor, I went out on a secret training mission after work tonight. I'm calling it secret training because some readers would not approve. Also, it's a gray area as to whether or not my doctor would approve. I called to ask about secret training on Monday, and haven't heard from him, so I assumed that it wasn't an urgent concern of his -- and I have to do something until I can ride again! Anyhow, I'm not at liberty to discuss the particulars, but thanks to said training, I've now given myself an injury that may prove more debilitating than my broken wrist.

No, I haven't broken any more bones. Instead, I strained my thighs so badly that I've been limping around town and stumbling like a drunk down the stairs in my building. The injury, in the words of Jean Girard, "is one of ignorance and pride!"

It's true, of course. There were others involved in this secret training, and I couldn't let them train harder or faster than me. But, because said training had nothing to do with bikes, my body really wasn't up to the task I asked of it, hence the new injury. So it goes, I'll feel better in a day or two, likely in time to hurt myself all over again. I just hope my sweaty cast dries out before then!

Unrelated note: For anyone keeping score, I've now convinced two (3) people that I broke my arm in a bar fight; a CVS pharmacist, a trivia DJ, and a barfly. Perhaps I look more menacing than I feel?

Coach puppet

2011-06-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

So, may arm is really sore from typing all day, while wearing a cast. It's so sore that it's nearly driven me to drink. I'm holding off that urge, though, in the interest of avoiding any unnecessary calories. Yes, this is what happens when a roadie can't ride for an extended period of time.

Fortunately, Ray Alba has come to my rescue by helping to launch a new, very entertaining blog. Check it out here.

This is what you you'll find over on Coachpuppet.com:

Yes, that is THE Ray Alba making his big (little) screen debut.

Wrist repaired

2011-06-05T18:51:00.000-07:00

When extolling the benefits of modern orthopedics Dr. Stansburry convince me, rather easily, that a plate was needed to repair the shattered bones in my wrist.

Having now been through surgery and a few days of recovery (first few of many), I can attest that the doctor was right as far as repairing the damage goes. I'm in a lot less pain than I was when I crashed my bike on Monday, or even when I went in for surgery on Thursday morning.

The most noticeable symptom of my injury, even more so than the swelling, was the pain I experienced when moving my hand or when trying to manipulate objects. I'm happy to report, thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, that I can now, without pain, clip my finger nails, carry a bowl of cereal, and squeeze a tube of toothpaste. Minor achievements, I know, but it certainly makes me feel as though the surgical repair to my bone was successful. And I'm grateful for that.

Unfortunately, there were some things that the good doctor was less than forthcoming with, namely that following the surgery I'd not be in a "splint," but in a hard, restrictive dressing that immobilizes my hand, wrist, elbow, and everything in between (OK, technically speaking, it may be a splint, but it might as well be a cast for all intents and purposes -- and I had dreams of showering without a garbage bag!) Secondly, they don't tell you before surgery that when you wake up you hand will have been painted with some kind of pernicious green antiseptic that won't wash off. Yes, just thing the surgery patient wants to see as they began to shake off an anesthesia haze: An appendage that's apparently about to fall off from lack of oxygen.

Fortunately, there was a nurse on hand to explain that my hand was not going to fall off.

So far, I've spent more consecutive days off of my bike than I can ever remember spending off my bike since I went to Europe in 2006 and didn't ride at all for six weeks. Am I going crazy? Actually, I feel surprisingly calm about the whole thing. I did nothing for most of last week, but went for two nice, semi-vigorous walks on the South Mountain trails on Saturday and Sunday, which felt nice.

I've also been watching way more TV than is healthy for me, but it's been a long time since I've had to come up with something for myself to do that didn't involve two wheels, and I haven't quite got the hang of it yet. Hopefully I'll do better next weekend. As I said to Matt earlier today, I cannot wait to go back to work tomorrow.

I don't think I'll be able to ride at all for two weeks, until the elbow-bonding splint comes off. After that, assuming the healing is going well, I'll have a smaller splint that should allow me to ride a trainer. I'm hoping to back to riding outside in early July. In the mean time, I'm thinking of taking a summer training trip to somewhere really cold, in order to make the coming trainer rides more season-appropriate.

Watch this space to see me lose it over the next six weeks...

Managing the pain

2011-06-01T20:42:00.000-07:00

Apparently, there were a bunch of questions that I was supposed to ask about the surgery, but I don't know what they are. Of course, my Mom, who's hear to help me out for a couple days, is chiefly concerned with how long the surgery will take.

That's certainly a justified question, I guess I should have asked. Oh well.

Think of me tomorrow morning; I'll be coming out of surgery (however it long it may take) with a plate in my wrist, and will setting off airport metal detectors for the foreseeable future.

I'm not taking pain killers at the moment, as the anesthesia nurse I met with this morning told me that I couldn't take ibuprofen any more, since it acts as a blood thinner. Instead, she recommended Vicodin, which is sitting on my kitchen counter. My arm hurts a lot, but I can't bring myself to take that level of medication for this level of pain.

Have I ever mentioned that I'm typically extremely averse to taking medications of any kind? Of course, I'll be singing a different tune tomorrow.

I think this goes without saying, but I won't be posting any thing to the blog tomorrow night. Hopefully I'll be back in business in time for a surgery recap on Sunday evening.

Knife bound

2011-05-31T20:14:00.000-07:00

I think I'm going to grow a wrist beard. OK, not that kind. I think I'm just not going to shave until I'm cleared to ride outside. Based on today's trip to the ER and the subsequent visit to the sports orthopedist/former Tour of Somerville winner, it looks like I'll be out of racing action for six weeks. Hopefully I'll be able to ride a trainer indoors before then, but the prognosis is not excellent.

I was hoping to post my x-rays on the blog tonight, but the disc they gave me doesn't seem to want to work with either of my apple computers. So, it will have to suffice for me to tell you that I sustained a fairly sever injury to my wrist, resulting in fracture to my distal ulna (? or something like that), which is bad enough to require surgical intervention. I'll go under the knife on Thursday, and have a plate inserted on my wrist. After which, I'll be recovering for a few weeks.

As you can imagine, the news has hit me like a ton of bricks. No riding? For weeks on end? At the solstice? Fuck my life.

I'm very lucky that my Mom is free to come out to Emmaus and take care of me while I'm under the influence of anesthesia, and hopefully I'll find ways to manage when my arm is cast, following the surgery, I understand that I'll be wearing a fairly intensive splint for about two weeks following surgery. Just wonderful.

I'll have plenty of time to parse all this in the coming weeks. I'll also have time to think about my beard, as I'm thinking of not shaving until some pre-determined milestone later this summer: Maybe when I'm cleared to ride outside. Maybe it's when I'm cleared to pedal my trainer. Either way, it should be a pretty good act of protest to against my injury. Also, based on the amount of trouble I have brushing my teeth, I imagine that shaving would be even harder.

Injured in action at the Tour of Somerville

2011-05-30T18:50:00.000-07:00

Of the thing I broke this weekend, my car's antenna may have the greatest lasting effect on my life, because I don't see myself getting it fixed anytime soon -- even though the antenna motor, trying to retract the broken aerial, makes a really annoying noise. Also like other things I broke, the car's antenna didn't break intentionally. Unfortunately, of things I broke this weekend, the antenna has already proven to be less painful.

You see, the other thing I broke (or, at least, badly damaged) is my right wrist.

While racing the Tour of Somerville earlier today I was involved in one of a few pile ups. Although I popped right up from the crash (which may or may not have been caused by someone coming out of their pedal on the long, uphill homestretch), when I went to change gears on the way to the pit, I found that pushing again the shift lever caused excruciating pain.

"No problem," I thought. "I'll put it in the 16 and keep racing."

I did just that when I got to the pit, and after straightening my mangled saddle I was set to jump back into the race. Unfortunately, I couldn't even grasp the right lever hood, let alone hang onto it the way you need to in order to generate any kind of power. I made it about four pedal strokes before coasting to the side of the road and retiring from the race. In all, I raced for about 20 minutes.

Which, I feel compelled to point out, is longer than I raced at the Tour of Somerset hills on Saturday, when badly skipping gears killed my race before we even made it through the neutral roll out. What a great weekend. Probably the worst race experience since Fitchburg in 2008. In retrospect, I'm very glad I did the Derby on Sunday, where I was third behind Kuklis and Jackie Simes. Without that, this weekend would be nothing more than a bummer of a story about failed attempts at racing.

What I don't understand is how 120 guys can race safely though tight turns at 30+ miles per hour -- and somehow manage to crash on the straightaway. Argh.

Anyhow, I'm sitting here with ice on my softball-sized wrist planning an early-morning trip to the ER. Typing is fairly painful, even with all the ibuprofen in my system, so I'm going to call that a blog post, and present you with some bloody photos:

Somerville is known for having lots of crashes
I took this photo shortly after arriving
I thought the preparedness was funny

I posted the photo on facebook
This may have sealed my fate
The ambulance was staffed by keystone EMTs

This was my second-bloodiest crash
Even so, the pain in my wrist is distracting me from everything else
I don't even really feel that banged up, aside from the wrist, of course

The chain ring (not mine) that bit my ankle created the most impressive of the wounds
It was also the least painful
I didn't even notice it until someone else pointed it out

My right knee
Is torn up
But there's no inflammation

The key stone EMTs were really excited to use all their toys on me
Here's the splint they fashioned for me
I wore it for 20 minutes, until it was time to take off my jersey

I'll spare you the photo of the road rash on my hip and ass. Just know that this was the bloodiest crash I've had since 2009. It's also the first time I've broken a bone while racing (or otherwise) since 2006. This one, though, may prove to be the first injury that takes me off the bike for any amount of time -- or at least relegates me to the rollers, which, in June, is the same thing.

I got everything bandaged up after showering
Here's the pile of bandage wrappers
Good thing I have a well stocked medicine cabinet

Here's the injured wrist
As of now, I've got next to no range of motion
And the swelling doesn't look bad...

... until you see my uninjured wrist
Normal sized and all
Hopefully the prognosis won't be too bad tomorrow

Having fun at the races

2011-05-26T19:52:00.000-07:00

Coach Scott, if you're reading, please stop reading now.

OK, now that we're alone: Earlier tonight, on what was scheduled to be a day off, I headed over to the Thursday night crit with the usual Emmaus suspects. Since it was supposed to be a rest day, I resolved to sit in and enjoy the race.

Of course, I'm not good at sitting in. Instead, I went off the front with Yozell for the third or fourth sprint, and after an awesome lead out from him, I was first across the line for five points. Sweet. Some time after that (or maybe it was before), I got on the right end of the field and came into the sprint in good position, but when Bill was just ahead of me at the line, I sat up so he could take the fourth-place points. A couple laps later, there was a split that sent about 15 people off the front. Having been at the back trying to sit in, I missed the move. It should have been a good thing, as being well out of contention would have been conducive to resting.

Sadly, sitting in really isn't in my nature, so I jumped off the front with three others. We were making good progress, but the gap was just a little to large for us. My hopes were briefly buoyed when I looked back to see Marty Nothstein on my wheel, apparently having bridged up to us (it turned out that Yozell had dragged him across), but Marty is still in a building phase, and wasn't able to contribute much to the chase. We made it about half way to the leaders, closing to within 15 seconds (or so) -- but could get no farther. After spending about four laps off the front we were reabsorbed into the field.

At that point, I did manage to sit in for a few laps, until the bell, when I took off (again) with Yozell on the hill. Apparently, although points only go four deep, if there are enough people off the front, the officials will sometimes award a point at the bell for whoever wins the field sprint. So, Yozell let me roll across first (I guess I had more points than him), but this was not a night on which we were eligible for points. So, I finished the night with 5 points, good enough for eighth place.

One the way home, we all talked about how cool it is to be able to ride from work directly to a fast, fun, generally safe race populated by cyclists ranging from new racers to Marty Nothstein and everyone in between. That's pretty cool, if you ask me.

Switching on the AC

2011-05-25T19:50:00.000-07:00

Last week it rained. This week, the rain finally stoped and the sun come out. This afternoon, when I left the office at five to pedal for a couple hours after being inside all day, I was surprised to discover that it was quite warm out.

Oddly enough, I'd nearly shoved a vest into my pocket for the ride, a habit cultivated over a chilly, rainy spring. I'm glad I didn't, as there was, for the first time on an afternoon ride in recent weeks, absolutely no need for it.

Of course, the warm ride was only a prelude to what turned out to be a stifling apartment. Even having left my windows open to try and get some breeze going through the place, it was warm at home. At first, I tried to just open the windows wider.

Unfortunately, when there's no breeze, there's no breeze, no matter how wide the windows are open. I tried to suck it up for a while, in stoic fashion. Eventually, I could stand it no longer, and switched on the central air.

I was loath to do this for a few reasons:
-It's expensive
-It uses a lot of energy (see above)
-With only one thermostat, it cools the entire apartment, even rooms that don't need to be cooled, or which are unoccupied

And yet, it was warmer than 80 degrees in here when I turned the AC on. Now, it's down to a comfortable 72 and I'll be able to sleep soundly. Of course, that sleep will only come if I'm able to get over the feeling of guilt I have over using the AC. Am I being a little crazy about this? Yes. At least this system is a lot quieter than a window unit.

In other news, here's a photo from Saturday's Rapha Gentleman's Race:

It actually captures the experience pretty well.

So tired

2011-05-24T20:43:00.000-07:00

This is all I'm saying tonight:

Armstrong in the news, still

2011-05-23T19:31:00.000-07:00

Parents pretty much always have the best intentions. That, of course, is why Mom called me with a trill of excitement on Sunday evening to ask if I'd seen 60 Minutes, "they had this segment about Lance Armstrong, did you know that he doped?!?"

I had to ask my Mom if she knew where I worked. When she confirmed that she did, I had to ask if she understood that Bicycling is a magazine about bicycling, and that Lance Armstrong used to be a bicycle racer. It was a little obnoxious of me, but, honestly Mom! Even if my TV doesn't have any stations and even if I didn't work at the country's largest best-read magazine, it would have been difficult to have missed all of 60 Minutes' promotional efforts ahead of their interview with Tyler Hamilton.

Things being what they are, we were well aware of the coming segment, and had been talking about the news in the office for about a week. The general consensus of the latest Lance story is that this news cycles wasn't entirely surprising, since many of Armstrong's former team mates have been subpoenaed by a grand jury investigating allegations of the mis-use of public funds this year. Everyone at work also seems to agree that while Hamilton has some credibility issues, he's probably telling the truth (and can you blame the guy? I certainly wouldn't want to risk jail time for perjury, omerta be damned.) As damaging as his testimony may be to Armstrong, testimony from George Hincapie will likely hurt more. Hincapie was on all of Armstrong's tour-winning teams, and was closer to him than most other racers.

I feel bad for Hincapie for having to testify against a friend -- but I think he made the right choice. After all, the truth will set you free. And, as a family man still enjoying a successful career as a bike racer, Hincapie has a lot to lose by going to jail.

Anyone who doesn't have their head in the sand has long since come to terms with the fact that Armstrong doped his way to seven Tour de France wins. And, as both of my editors pointed out on national TV today, a lot of others tried to do the same. So, can you blame Armstrong for doping? I guess that's a personal decision, but I've always had a hard time forgiving liars, no matter how much good they've done.

The Rapha Gentleman's Race -- Team Bicycling still friends

2011-05-22T19:14:00.000-07:00

Team captains receive final instructions
The race started at finished at the Velodrome
A lot can happen in 135 miles

I'll just come right out and say it: I have never felt so worked over after a bike race as I feel after yesterday's Rapha Gentleman's Race.

Not my legs, as you might expect from 135 miles and 11,500 feet of climbing, but the rest of my body; arms, shoulders, neck, and ribs (of all things.) How come? Let me put it to you thusly; When Team Bicycling Magazine's six members reached an intersection, we didn't bother reaching for our queue sheets. Instead we just turned onto whichever road was the steepest or in the worst condition -- that road always proved to be the right direction. And they just kept coming.

To put it another way, we traversed lots and lots of rough dirt roads, which, while fun, exacted a physical toll on me and the other cyclists participating in the event. At least I didn't break any bones (there were a few, and not for a lack of trying on my part), and I hope that those who did heal quickly.

Team Bicycling rolls along in the early miles
At one point, we actually thought we'd be able to "drill it" for the last 40 miles
HA!

But enough whining. Owing to the impressive cumulative racing category (1.3) of our six riders, we were the last of the 21 teams to start, rolling off the line at 9:30, two hours after the first team started. During the two hours before our start, I had the chance to watch many of the other teams take off. Participants ran the gamut from portly seekers setting off on tandems to the carbon wheeled set embodied by the BH Garneau team, who were so serious, and, in the words of Sean Smith, (an honorary Bicycling team rider for the day) "out for blood." What did that mean on the road? Whenever they got to pavement they would take if in a paceline at a furious pace, only to come screeching to a halt at the next intersection to discuss directions.

I'll hold off on poking too much fun because I feel bad that one of their riders broke his collar bone, and because we may have accidentally led them off course a couple times -- and also because I accidentally took one of their riders to the pavement when I lost my chain and hit the deck around mile 50 -- but myself and my team mates all agreed that this team (which started directly ahead of us, and with whom we rode for about 40 miles) was too serious for our tastes. I ran into Eben Weiss on the course, who said succinctly, "New York's too serious." Seriousness can pay off, I guess -- before their rider was injured, these guys were well ahead of us and certainly would have been faster -- they just wanted it more.

By contrast, in a very brief, informal team meeting before our start, one of our riders asked what the team's goal was for the day. Did we want to win? Were we just going to cruise? Everyone kind of looked at each other, shrugged, and issued a collective "meh." Having a fun day on the bike and still being friends at the end of the day was the only real goal.

To that end, I can say that we may have pushed the limits of friendship at a couple points, particularly between miles 90 and 120 (at mile 100 I thought to myself, "that was the hardest century I've ever done."), when we faced two really challenging climbs up and over Blue Mountain, followed by an endless series of rollers. The rollers didn't end at the 120th mile, but by then we could smell the stable and the promise of beer and food that wasn't wrapped in foil put extra juice in our legs.

Despite the large time gaps between teams, we passed other riders all day, and had the chance to talk to many other cyclists. Some people got lost, some people suffered on the climbs, some people didn't enjoy the rough descents, but everyone was wearing a salt-streaked jersey and a smile.

Beyond that smile, the race rewards the six-man teams on two scales: The team with the fastest time on course wins an award, and the first two teams to reach the finish are also rewarded. The second team home, in my opinion, had the chance to earn the best prize: 21 cases of beer. So, even though I'd contributed my own "meh" to our team meeting, I did want to try to win the beer. We had, of course, a formidable task to do that, needing to pass 19 of the 20 teams that started ahead of us, the first of which had started two hours ahead.

Despite slowing to a near crawl for some of those middle miles, we nearly won the beer. Upon completing a lap and a half around the velodrome at the finish, we learned that we were the third team home, a very well coordinated tandem team and the boys from Moots having ridden in ahead of us. Our consolation prize was having set the day's fastest time -- a mere 8 hours and 23 minutes ride time, about 8 hours and ~~45 minutes~~ 55 minutes if you include our four stops to refuel.

It's all in a day's work
We were about 90 minutes slower than we thought
I guess we were too optimistic

It was a good day on the bike, to be sure, and it would have been great regardless of our time on the course. Still, knowing that we'd spoken with our legs, were still speaking to each other, and had lived to ride again another day made the finish line beers taste even better than they would have otherwise.

For this weekend, a gentlemanly "race"

2011-05-19T19:59:00.000-07:00

36 hours from this moment I'll be 90 minutes into a 134-mile team time trail with five other hardy souls. The race, contested over a combination of dirt and paved roads is an exercise in fortitude and suffering, is known as the Rapha Gentleman's Race.

Why would I want to spend seven (or more) hours pedaling my bike? Well, it's really only a couple hours longer than my average weekend ride. Of course, it's sort of a race, in so far as the first team to finish (start times are staggered) wins jerseys and the second team to finish wins 504 beers (that's 21 cases, if you're keeping score.) The team with the fastest time, however, wins their entry fee back.

In my case, I'll be doing my best to steer my team, Team Bicycling, toward finishing second as I can do more with 84 bottles of beer than I can with $0 (because Bicycling is an event sponsor, our entry was comped.)

Unfortunately, finishing second (or third, or fourth, etc...) will not be easy. I haven't spent a lot of time studying the course, but from a quick survey and from anecdotal evidence culled from my co-worker who helped to plan the course, it should be really challenging. Allegedly, we will face 134 miles of steep, rolling hills and shitty dirt roads. The roads, I would think, will be even shittier after the rain we've had this week.

So, that should be fun.

No really, I'm looking forward to it.

When I first heard about the event, and was compelled to be a part of Team Bicycling, I was less than enthusiastic. 134 miles? On a day when I could be suffering my ass off in Delaware? Or supporting one of my team's most important sponsors?

But the more I thought about it, the more it did sound like fun. You know; I like riding bikes. I like riding my bike on dirt roads. I like events to which I can ride my bike. Most of all, I like the prospect of winning beer--which I would then take to a friend's birthday party on Saturday evening, and during which I fully plan to inconspicuously fall asleep on a cozy piece of floor in a quiet corner (after enjoying some beers, of course.)

Joining me on this foolhardy adventure will be a Bicycling columnist, a super fast track sprinter and master of embrocation, a cycling phenom who went from cat 5 to 1 in a season, a recent Tour de Ephrata winner (not Bobby Lea, the other one), and a going places fast mountain bike racer. I thought we had a reasonably strong team (when averaged out, our cumulative racing category is 1.3), but I didn't think we were going to be hot-and-heavy favorites.

Apparently we are hot-and-heavy, though. Start times are staggered, with promoters deciding which teams are most likely to post fast times. Slow teams start first, beginning at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday. We start last, at 9:30. I'm honored to be part of such a powerful team, and I'm looking forward to seeing how well we can go on Saturday.

Feel free to take an over/under on our finishing time.

I think the rain is getting to me

2011-05-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

I am feeling extremely tired today.

Maybe it's because of the rainy weather we've been having.

Maybe it's because both the Giro D'Italia and Tour of California are going on and keeping tabs on both is hard.

Maybe it's because I didn't sleep enough over the weekend and overextended myself on Monday and Tuesday evenings.

Maybe it's because it's either uncomfortably warm or uncomfortably cool in my bedroom.

Maybe it's because I haven't been able to sleep more than three hours at a stretch in weeks.

Maybe it's because I refuse to drink coffee.

Maybe it's because of some other factor that I haven't considered.

In any case, all of those factors led to today being the kind of day on which I was looking for excuses not to ride. Coach Scott had compelled me to rest anyway, suggesting that I probably shouldn't ride the Derby.

Fine with me.

I managed to motivate to join a couple co-workers on a very nice and relaxing lunch ride that saw us get back to the offices just as it started to rain.

The rain didn't last long though, and I was left with the decision about how to get in the rest of my riding. The Derby was certainly out of the question, although close study of radar maps seemed to indicate that there was a likely break in the rain during the ride.

What did I do? I watched the Tour of California until it started raining, then rode my rollers for an hour, rounding out my recovery day.

Is it lame to ride indoors in May? Yes. Was it extremely restful? Yes. Did it give me the opportunity to watch a bad movie? You know it!

More to the point, when I did three-15 minute sub-threshold intervals last night on Limeport Pike, it was moist and windy out. It was misty by the time I finished the workout, and starting to rain by the time I was heading back to town. Fortunately, I'd brought along a rain jacket. Even so, I've never loved riding in the rain.

So, having done my roller penance tonight, I'm hoping that there'll be a break in the rain tomorrow, letting the training crit go forward as planned. Riding the rollers for an hour once was manageable. Riding it two nights in a row in May could send me into an unrecoverable cycle of despair.

Now, if I could just figure out a way to get to bed at a reasonable hour.

Rule No. 37, and violations thereof

2011-05-17T20:14:00.001-07:00

In general, I like rules. Rules in my personal life keep my from buying ice cream at the grocery store, which helps keep me at race weight. Rules in cycling keep us in the peloton safely on the right side of the road; and make sure that no one pees in an inappropriate place. I think we can all agree that those are all good things.

One of my most brilliant college professors, the one who graded on her own scale, (in which NBAA was the equivalent of an A -- a lesson I learned after scratching my head for a few days over the odd letters written on the back of my paper) declared that the most important reason to study and understand the rules of grammar was to be able to artfully disregard those rules when circumstance called for it. Sometimes you just need to write run on sentences. Sometimes you need to employ a one word paragraph.

In cycling, there are similar reasons for which one might need to violate certain rules. This is not to advocate for racing over the double yellow when not enjoying a full road closure, but there are other rules that may warrant violation. In particular, I've been thinking recently about Rule No. 37, which dictates that the arms of your sunglasses must always be placed over (and not under) the straps of your helmet.

Even before reading the Velominati's cycling rules, I long positioned my sunglasses over my helmet straps, just because it's more comfortable to let the straps lay flat against your face, rather than forcing them to bend over your glass's temple pieces. But, until recently, I've been a relatively brand-loyal helmet wearer, owning a string of Grio and Bell helmets, which all have straps naturally inclined to stay close to your face.

That's all changed now that team Champion System Racing has picked up a new sponsor in the form of Specialized from whom we purchased S-Works Prevail helmets for the 2011 season. This helmet's straps do not lay flat against your face, but eminent in the middle of the polystyrene foam that forms a bicycle helmet's protective layer, about a 1/4-inch away from your face.

Thus, placing your glasses over the straps forces them to bend at an odd angle, which, in turn, makes the helmet fit in a rather uncomfortable way. So, I've found a reason to break the rules. Of course, I don't think this is a great reason to violate such a long-standing regulation. Instead, I'd rather see Specialized revise their helmet to come into compliance, but I have a feeling that such revisions may take a little more time.

Dodging the weather

2011-05-16T20:22:00.000-07:00

After a slow start to my Sunday, I finally made it home at about 4 in the afternoon. It had been pouring in Brooklyn, but looked deceptively nice in Emmaus. So, I figured I could dash off to get groceries before heading out for a short ride.

As it turned out, I should have reversed the order of operations. Aside from misplacing my car in the Wegman's parking lot, my trip to the grocery store was uneventful. Back at home, I spent a few minutes scrutinizing radar maps before deciding that I could sneak in an hour before the rain hit. In general, I don't like riding in the rain, but I'd rather get wet than miss a chance to ride.

Heading south from town, I rode through Vera Cruz, passing a woman out for a ride. "Think we'll stay dry?" I asked as I passed -- storm clouds were gathering overhead by this time, but still seemed to be at least one valley over. Moments later, I turned onto a new (to me) road, Schoolhouse Lane, which turned out to be a fun, twisty descent that changed a few times from pavement to dirt. The lane connected Zionsville (or somewhere near there) to Limeport Pike, and it was still sunny when I landed on the Pike. Not wanting to be out for more than an hour, I turned left (where I knew where I'd wind up), heading east.

A few minutes later, the temperature started to drop, and the sky darkened. A few minutes further down the road, the skies opened on me, and a few drops quickly turned to a steady downpour. I'd thought about bringing a rain jacket, but opted for a light vest instead. Figuring the vest would be better than nothing, I pulled it on and kept pedaling. I was soaked, of course, in short order.

The rain let up after a bit and I got a great view of South Mountain shrouded in clouds and lit from behind. I didn't get to savor the view for too long, as it started raining again in short order, causing me to put my head down and pedal for home. I hit a little hail just as I was reaching the edge of Emmaus, and then spent a few minutes in the hallway wringing out my socks before getting into the shower.

So, I got rained on, but I was still happy to have been able to pedal for a few hours. Judging on the forecast, that won't be the last time I ride in the rain this week. When the going gets rough out there, I'll just try to keep all those miserably cold winter rides, and think about how much worse it could it be.