I haven't done this race in four years and I had forgotten how hard this course is. It shadows Sugarloaf Mountain and you would think that since it doesn't go up the mountain that it would be an easy flat course. This is quite to the contrary. This course is hard and can wear away a field.
We started with something close to 50 guys and finished with fewer than 30 and the lead group was down to 12 or 13. People out west talk about how only they have "real" climbs in their races but I argue that the east coast races are equally challenging. Admittedly in the Mid-Atlantic we are lacking the Rocky Mountains which eliminates the 2 hour long 6000 foot climb. However, the rolling courses like ours provide a lot of challenges because you can never get into a rhythm and spend your time adjusting to the newest climb, decent, turn, twist etc..., that just popped up in front of you.
This course had two challenging hills and a series of flat twisting descents. One of the hills was on the back side of this 12-mile course which wound its way through a forest. It wasn't that long of a climb but at the outset I knew that it would be the climb that would separate the field out and I knew that I had to be in the front. With two laps to go I looked back after we crested the hill and our field was destroyed. What had been 50 guys was down to 30. One of my teammates snuck away right there and solo'ed away for what would be a win 15 miles later. Another strong time trialist got off the front at some point during the final lap and stayed off too.
We crested the hill for the last time a lap later and then it got serious. With about 2 miles to go I joined a small group of two guys off the front. Another guy joined us and this group comprised a lot of the horsepower left in the race as it included the BAR leader and last year's MABRA road race champion. Unfortunately we couldn't get organized and the break got caught by what was an unorganized chase.
The finishing stretch was a 1-km long rise up to a hill top. The last 200 meters peaked out at over 18%. I was holding myself back about 4 guys deep at the 1-km mark. I knew that at 18% there was no way that I could hold a 200 meter sprint so I decided to wait for the 150 meter mark. That was a small mistake on my part and I should have waited for 100 or 75 meters. At 150 meters to go I jumped and put in a full 10 second sprint and looked up to find myself still 100 meters from the finish. I sat down in the saddle and started spinning. My sprint had given me a strong lead on the rest of the field but I lit every match doing so.
I dug deep and I kept going. I got passed by one guy, then two, then three. I just kept going and the finish seemed to not get any closer. Mercifully I crossed the finish line for my first top ten of the year. In fact looking back this might be my first top ten since catting up. I'm really happy about this result because it was on such a hard course and required every tool in the toolbox to be used.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
As If The Work Day Was Not Tough Enough
Since leaving the green hills of Mississippi behind for the urban jungle of D.C., I have become deeply involved in a niche law practice. I have had the great fortune of landing my dream job and am so wonderfully happy that I cannot imagine doing anything else. For the most part I practice admiralty, which sounds like an arcane phrase best reserved for life at court in England in which the Queen or P.M. would call for the The First Lord of the Admiralty. However it is a real life area of law.
In a nutshell, admiralty is the law surrounding events like this:
Or sometimes like this:
Or when your clients get particularly frisky you end up with moments like this:
None of these are particularly good situations and sometimes are rather tragic. However, they almost always lead to me getting involved and when that happens I am a pretty excited guy.
As in law and athletics sometimes you are forced to raise your performance to the level of your competition. My Grandfather, as most do, gave me many great pearls of wisdom. The most poignant of them was "never engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed foe."
With this logic, I cannot argue.
In a nutshell, admiralty is the law surrounding events like this:
Or sometimes like this:
Or when your clients get particularly frisky you end up with moments like this:
None of these are particularly good situations and sometimes are rather tragic. However, they almost always lead to me getting involved and when that happens I am a pretty excited guy.
As in law and athletics sometimes you are forced to raise your performance to the level of your competition. My Grandfather, as most do, gave me many great pearls of wisdom. The most poignant of them was "never engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed foe."
With this logic, I cannot argue.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Progress: It's not Just a Campaign Promise
The weird thing about progress in athletics is that if you work hard it actually finds you. The even weirder thing is that a good coach has a way of sneaking up and showing you how much you've progressed.
Adam was being his typical sneaky self this week and threw a pair of tough workouts at me early in the week. It came as a rather unpleasant surprise to me because I had grown used to the idea that the road season was coming to an end and that it was time to transition back to 5-hour endurance rides. You know the rides where you remind your friends that you only have to go fast to outrun the dog that chases you. Even in that situation you only have to beat one person in your group (sorry Joe, you were young and full of promise, but we had to leave you behind).
On Monday I go to check the calendar and there suddenly appears a set of intervals, darn it, a set of I-have-to-go-hard intervals. [For Kelly Longergan's sake, an interval is that point in time in a cycling workout where you have to ride hard for a while.] Normally these intervals were short in duration and few in number. This time, they weren't, they were triple the number and double the time that I had recalled. Despite that fact I still housed them and it didn't kill me.
Today it got worse. Today was the day when you have to suck it up and know that by doing this workout you are making yourself a stronger rider. I realized about half way through the workout that I had done it before. In fact I had done this exact workout about 2 months prior. At that time I failed miserably. I didn't complete one of the three sets. Today was a different story. I'm not going to say that it was easy or that there was never a time that I couldn't hold my pace, but I did the workout. I had improved by more than 150% and this was on legs that were worn from the day previous. This was evidence of that elusive goal of progress.
Today may be a sad day, however, because I fear my beaver might have departed this world. Of course by beaver I am referring to:
yes, the small woodland creature that populates rivers like the Potomac. Training routes are slowly created over time as you learn new roads and new areas. There are different routes of course: 1) long let's get lost on the back roads routes; 2) shorter let's get focused and ride a workout routes; 3) specialized routes for specific workouts; and 4) I hate the idea of riding today let's find a route that goes from my house to a coffee shop and back.
Today I was on my training route for doing a workout which required no stop lights and was close to the office so that I could get back easily once my legs cracked. It uses a road that follows the Potomac as it snakes it's way from suburbia into DC. It's a great road that most cars don't know about and as a result I love. Along this road a beaver normally sits and watches me ride by (I typically do loops on this road). I've seen this beaver maybe 6 times in a row now. I'm starting to think he/she was my first real groupee. However, today the beaver wasn't there and I am of course unnecessarily concerned.
It's strange what things you come to expect along the road. Adam and Ben once believed that there was no such thing as a living armadillo.
We had passed millions of armadillos on our rides but they were always the victims of road kill; likewise, with opossums (playing dead in the middle of the road is not a good defense mechanism by the way). We spend so much time out there and a great deal of it is by ourselves. I just find it funny to think of what we end up spending our time thinking about. This is the randomness that goes through my head. I hope my beaver is just busy building his dam.
Adam was being his typical sneaky self this week and threw a pair of tough workouts at me early in the week. It came as a rather unpleasant surprise to me because I had grown used to the idea that the road season was coming to an end and that it was time to transition back to 5-hour endurance rides. You know the rides where you remind your friends that you only have to go fast to outrun the dog that chases you. Even in that situation you only have to beat one person in your group (sorry Joe, you were young and full of promise, but we had to leave you behind).
On Monday I go to check the calendar and there suddenly appears a set of intervals, darn it, a set of I-have-to-go-hard intervals. [For Kelly Longergan's sake, an interval is that point in time in a cycling workout where you have to ride hard for a while.] Normally these intervals were short in duration and few in number. This time, they weren't, they were triple the number and double the time that I had recalled. Despite that fact I still housed them and it didn't kill me.
Today it got worse. Today was the day when you have to suck it up and know that by doing this workout you are making yourself a stronger rider. I realized about half way through the workout that I had done it before. In fact I had done this exact workout about 2 months prior. At that time I failed miserably. I didn't complete one of the three sets. Today was a different story. I'm not going to say that it was easy or that there was never a time that I couldn't hold my pace, but I did the workout. I had improved by more than 150% and this was on legs that were worn from the day previous. This was evidence of that elusive goal of progress.
Today may be a sad day, however, because I fear my beaver might have departed this world. Of course by beaver I am referring to:
yes, the small woodland creature that populates rivers like the Potomac. Training routes are slowly created over time as you learn new roads and new areas. There are different routes of course: 1) long let's get lost on the back roads routes; 2) shorter let's get focused and ride a workout routes; 3) specialized routes for specific workouts; and 4) I hate the idea of riding today let's find a route that goes from my house to a coffee shop and back.Today I was on my training route for doing a workout which required no stop lights and was close to the office so that I could get back easily once my legs cracked. It uses a road that follows the Potomac as it snakes it's way from suburbia into DC. It's a great road that most cars don't know about and as a result I love. Along this road a beaver normally sits and watches me ride by (I typically do loops on this road). I've seen this beaver maybe 6 times in a row now. I'm starting to think he/she was my first real groupee. However, today the beaver wasn't there and I am of course unnecessarily concerned.
It's strange what things you come to expect along the road. Adam and Ben once believed that there was no such thing as a living armadillo.
We had passed millions of armadillos on our rides but they were always the victims of road kill; likewise, with opossums (playing dead in the middle of the road is not a good defense mechanism by the way). We spend so much time out there and a great deal of it is by ourselves. I just find it funny to think of what we end up spending our time thinking about. This is the randomness that goes through my head. I hope my beaver is just busy building his dam.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Return to DC-- Crossing the Rubicon
[In the saga of Gateway Cup, if you are interested in knowing what happened, at U-City it's quite simple, sometimes you got nothing. Then there are times that you find yourself riding behind another set of idiots who crash uphill on a straight away. This time they broke my cleat and my race was over 20 minutes in. Lesson learned from that, McDonald's Sausage Egg McMuffins do not sit well with me while racing. I thought I learned that lesson earlier this season but it appears that I did not.]
Tropical storm Hannah made her way through DC yesterday. She brought with her a lot of rain, a little wind and a day off the bike. After being gone for two weeks I had a lot of chores around the house to do. It took me two days to get them done. Today, equipped with a new pair of shifters, a new fork, cables and housing on my bike I set out for my first long ride back on the roads of Montgomery County and elsewhere [thanks to Taylor for all of the above bike work.]
I have crossed some metaphysical Rubicon in my life. After some great and very unexpected success at work coupled with my results at Gateway I have a whole bunch of happy energy. I admit that top 20 finishes aren't what I train for but rather are the gateway to better things. Through Adam's help and my bullheadedness I feel that I have found something that I lost about two years ago-- racing form. Two bad years of terrible training and worse racing had worn me down to a dull lackluster unvarnished shine.
I'm hoping that my discovery of form with three races left on the road calendar is a great sign for the end of this season and the beginning of the coming season. I've found a great set of training partners (if Bodge ever forgives me...please?) and have finally figured out this whole training thing.
I found myself today riding back in on the Rock Creek Parkway. A little unusual for me because that's normally my way out of town on a Sunday but what fun would life be without a little change thrown in? The creek was swollen from the rain the day before and I was rolling along with the little rapids. I had gotten a late start today because I was visiting with a childhood friend for coffee this morning. So by the time I made it back to DC it was already after 3PM and the park was filled with little kids, picnics and couples lounging along the side of the road. It was picturesque and reminded me of a Seurat painting and my high school days at the Art Institute.
On longer slow rides by myself I listen to an IPod. It helps to pass the time and helps me forget about the klingon whose sucking my wheel all the way down McArthur Blvd (did you have fun going up the hill on Falls Rd there little buddy?). My IPod appears to have enough music on it right now to last about three hours before it starts repeating itself. If anyone has any suggestions about music to download I'm all ears.
On a side note, the new song by Kelly Pickler, while catchy and empowering to women and girls of all ages, doesn't really help me all that much while riding. This is just another example of how easily persuaded I can be and how ITunes might actually be too easy to work. At $.99 per song (in England that's just about free, right Ben?) it almost feels like their are no consequences. I'll be the first to admit that I enjoy her picture when it pops up on my IPod and the thought of her in red high heels is pleasant but it's just not cutting it when grinding out miles. I can almost hear Princess Lillian (and the Southern Belles she represents) quoting some age old adage right now..."only women of the night and little girls wear red heels." But you'll never hear me complain when a woman wears them.
I digress, a lot, well when I arrived back in the park today, J-Tims had popped up in my ear, and together we are definitely bringing sexy back. I'm sure that I could have been taken for an idiot riding down the street bobbing my headed to the beat, but darn it I was happy. It was warm, sunny and I was doing exactly what I love doing. It's a long trip from here back to the rider I was in Kansas. Six years and a lot of miles between then and now but I've finally found the same love that I had for the sport that I had back then. And this time I'm not letting go.
Tropical storm Hannah made her way through DC yesterday. She brought with her a lot of rain, a little wind and a day off the bike. After being gone for two weeks I had a lot of chores around the house to do. It took me two days to get them done. Today, equipped with a new pair of shifters, a new fork, cables and housing on my bike I set out for my first long ride back on the roads of Montgomery County and elsewhere [thanks to Taylor for all of the above bike work.]
I have crossed some metaphysical Rubicon in my life. After some great and very unexpected success at work coupled with my results at Gateway I have a whole bunch of happy energy. I admit that top 20 finishes aren't what I train for but rather are the gateway to better things. Through Adam's help and my bullheadedness I feel that I have found something that I lost about two years ago-- racing form. Two bad years of terrible training and worse racing had worn me down to a dull lackluster unvarnished shine.
I'm hoping that my discovery of form with three races left on the road calendar is a great sign for the end of this season and the beginning of the coming season. I've found a great set of training partners (if Bodge ever forgives me...please?) and have finally figured out this whole training thing.
I found myself today riding back in on the Rock Creek Parkway. A little unusual for me because that's normally my way out of town on a Sunday but what fun would life be without a little change thrown in? The creek was swollen from the rain the day before and I was rolling along with the little rapids. I had gotten a late start today because I was visiting with a childhood friend for coffee this morning. So by the time I made it back to DC it was already after 3PM and the park was filled with little kids, picnics and couples lounging along the side of the road. It was picturesque and reminded me of a Seurat painting and my high school days at the Art Institute.
On longer slow rides by myself I listen to an IPod. It helps to pass the time and helps me forget about the klingon whose sucking my wheel all the way down McArthur Blvd (did you have fun going up the hill on Falls Rd there little buddy?). My IPod appears to have enough music on it right now to last about three hours before it starts repeating itself. If anyone has any suggestions about music to download I'm all ears.
On a side note, the new song by Kelly Pickler, while catchy and empowering to women and girls of all ages, doesn't really help me all that much while riding. This is just another example of how easily persuaded I can be and how ITunes might actually be too easy to work. At $.99 per song (in England that's just about free, right Ben?) it almost feels like their are no consequences. I'll be the first to admit that I enjoy her picture when it pops up on my IPod and the thought of her in red high heels is pleasant but it's just not cutting it when grinding out miles. I can almost hear Princess Lillian (and the Southern Belles she represents) quoting some age old adage right now..."only women of the night and little girls wear red heels." But you'll never hear me complain when a woman wears them.
I digress, a lot, well when I arrived back in the park today, J-Tims had popped up in my ear, and together we are definitely bringing sexy back. I'm sure that I could have been taken for an idiot riding down the street bobbing my headed to the beat, but darn it I was happy. It was warm, sunny and I was doing exactly what I love doing. It's a long trip from here back to the rider I was in Kansas. Six years and a lot of miles between then and now but I've finally found the same love that I had for the sport that I had back then. And this time I'm not letting go.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Gateway Cup: The HIll
If the Gateway Cup has a queen stage, the Giro de la Montagna would be that stage. It's been happening in the same neighborhood for over two decades and everyone there has come to expect and enjoy watching the race. The race has adapted to the neighborhood too. It starts later in the day so that everyone can go to the small Italian-American church and after lunch they can turn to watching some top notch racing.
The Hill is a perfect little Italian neighborhood and reminds me a lot of some of the places on the southside of Chicago where my Mom grew up. The grass out front of the stoops of the little houses is perfectly manicured and lush. I was watching another race and heard a passerby remark to the owner of the house I was sitting in front of how nice her grass was. The woman who owned the house seemed to beam with pride when she heard that, as if someone had just told her that she had won the lottery.
The last time I did this race I was joined by a blonde-haired New England woman of Italian decent. It was her first trip to St. Louis and she fell in love with the neighborhood. At one point in time she turned to me and said that "we" could move there and just be so very happy. That's the kind of neighborhood The Hill is, a warm and inviting place where you forget about cell phones, traffic and political corruption. The race through it however is not that kind.
It's a four corner race with narrower streets than the two previous days. Aptly named there is a long slow hill that rises up on the backside of the course and that you quickly descend on the finishing stretch. Along the backside someone was nice enough to string a sprinkler along a telephone wire which stretched over the road. When you passed under it the cold water which came down gave you a refreshing "take your breadth away" shower.
This race was a battle of survival, not from the fast pace, but from the million crashes that seemed to happen for no good reason. No doubt the guy who won was the guy who didn't crash. The crash that I got involved in was going up the hill. I'm not sure what manner of stupid one has to be to crash while going up a straight-away on a hill, but the two guys right in front of me where that manner of stupid. I saw it slowly develop for about 30 feet. One guy leaned into the other. Then shoulders came together, elbows followed and finally handlebars locked. I looked to my left and to my right for an escape but there were guys on either side of me. When the two in front of me went down I joined them.
The field dodged us but a few others joined in the fun. A spectator asked if I was "ok." I responded by saying yes just "fine," but that I was going to have to get a beer from him after the race was over to be "good." A quick smile on his face and I took off to cut the course and head for the pit. The pit was located at the bottom of the finishing stretch where the field would pass with the most speed. This made it a little hard to get back into the race at the front. About 2/3s of the field passed me before I was able to get up to speed. I spent the next 10 minutes fighting through crashes (I counted a total of 7) and corners to get back to the front.
My plan had been to slingshot into the first spot through corner 3 at the top of the hill and then jump going into corner 4 for the sprint. It's still a good 400 meters from there to the finishing line but it was all downhill from there and it would be hard for a lot of people to come around me. I took the outside line in corner 3 and found myself rubbing elbows with a guy who thought he could go even wider than the road would allow. A 4 inch tall curb separated the pavement from the grass and he found himself dancing along it scratching his carbon wheels up for good measure. A little angered by this and all the other crashes I started my sprint for the front from midpack. A top 20 finish in another 140+ person field made me fell good and helped ease the pain of a cut up elbow.
Still missing the elusive victory story I resigned to try again the next day.
The Hill is a perfect little Italian neighborhood and reminds me a lot of some of the places on the southside of Chicago where my Mom grew up. The grass out front of the stoops of the little houses is perfectly manicured and lush. I was watching another race and heard a passerby remark to the owner of the house I was sitting in front of how nice her grass was. The woman who owned the house seemed to beam with pride when she heard that, as if someone had just told her that she had won the lottery.
The last time I did this race I was joined by a blonde-haired New England woman of Italian decent. It was her first trip to St. Louis and she fell in love with the neighborhood. At one point in time she turned to me and said that "we" could move there and just be so very happy. That's the kind of neighborhood The Hill is, a warm and inviting place where you forget about cell phones, traffic and political corruption. The race through it however is not that kind.
It's a four corner race with narrower streets than the two previous days. Aptly named there is a long slow hill that rises up on the backside of the course and that you quickly descend on the finishing stretch. Along the backside someone was nice enough to string a sprinkler along a telephone wire which stretched over the road. When you passed under it the cold water which came down gave you a refreshing "take your breadth away" shower.
This race was a battle of survival, not from the fast pace, but from the million crashes that seemed to happen for no good reason. No doubt the guy who won was the guy who didn't crash. The crash that I got involved in was going up the hill. I'm not sure what manner of stupid one has to be to crash while going up a straight-away on a hill, but the two guys right in front of me where that manner of stupid. I saw it slowly develop for about 30 feet. One guy leaned into the other. Then shoulders came together, elbows followed and finally handlebars locked. I looked to my left and to my right for an escape but there were guys on either side of me. When the two in front of me went down I joined them.
The field dodged us but a few others joined in the fun. A spectator asked if I was "ok." I responded by saying yes just "fine," but that I was going to have to get a beer from him after the race was over to be "good." A quick smile on his face and I took off to cut the course and head for the pit. The pit was located at the bottom of the finishing stretch where the field would pass with the most speed. This made it a little hard to get back into the race at the front. About 2/3s of the field passed me before I was able to get up to speed. I spent the next 10 minutes fighting through crashes (I counted a total of 7) and corners to get back to the front.
My plan had been to slingshot into the first spot through corner 3 at the top of the hill and then jump going into corner 4 for the sprint. It's still a good 400 meters from there to the finishing line but it was all downhill from there and it would be hard for a lot of people to come around me. I took the outside line in corner 3 and found myself rubbing elbows with a guy who thought he could go even wider than the road would allow. A 4 inch tall curb separated the pavement from the grass and he found himself dancing along it scratching his carbon wheels up for good measure. A little angered by this and all the other crashes I started my sprint for the front from midpack. A top 20 finish in another 140+ person field made me fell good and helped ease the pain of a cut up elbow.
Still missing the elusive victory story I resigned to try again the next day.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Gateway Cup: Riding for the Brewery
The largest American-owned brewery in St. Louis is for a beer known as Schlafly's. It's a crisp no nonsense beer that pours easy and goes down great with a french dip at any restaurant in U-City. The brewery in which this beautiful amber liquid is brewed served as the site of the second day of racing at the Gateway Cup.
The course was a lot more technical than the first night. It was a little more than a mile figure 8 loop which formed the shape of a bowl. Each end was up a small hill and the middle, where the 8 came together, was down a pair of fast downhills. The top of one side of the course was a minefield of potholes, ruts and manhole covers which would take their toll on my arms and knock my handlebars down a few mm by the end of the day.
The backside of the course was up a long chip & seal road (slag for those in the South) which was literally strewn with remnants of bottles drank at the night-before's party. Having lived in college towns for the better part of a decade I've become used to broken glass just not in the middle of my crit courses. Beer bottle throwing is an art mastered by a great many fraternity pledges and perfected by their seniors. In fact in colleges in the South Eastern Conference I have heard that competitions are occasionally held. A few houses are rumored have applied to the IOC to make this a competition in the 2012 Olympics. However, I digress.
The race started off weird. A crash in the final corner of the previous race sent one of the riders to the hospital. However, it took a long time for them to clear the road so my field sat at the start line for a while. We sat so long that the officials called upon us to take a neutral lap. I cut the course and returned to the start finish line but many people didn't move. Suddenly the calls from the back of the group, i.e., the former front of the group because they had done a full lap, began in earnest complaining of how this was unfair. The officials responded by making everyone do another neutral lap. Both of these laps were probably the fastest of the whole race...so much for neutral.
I ended up in the middle of the pack. I knew that in order to make this a good race I would have to get to the front quickly. It's another one of those moments in a race were I looked inside and said, aw hell this is gonna hurt for a while. The whistle went and I clipped in. I hit the first two corners like a bald eagle aiming for a salmon in a river. I chopped a dozen people in the first corner and took the sidewalk line on the second corner. By the time we reached the third and fourth corners I was riding in about 15th wheel. I was gassed from the effort but happy that I had found the front.
140+ guys started this race and only about 50 would finish. The field would get ragged going around this figure 8. A lot of accelerations and the heat took its toll on the field. A small break of 3 got up the road and was joined by 2 others shortly. I missed out on this one and am kicking myself for that. I tried to bridge to the group of 2 but when I moved going up the chip & seal backside of the course. I ended up pulling the entire field. So I sat up and waited for another move or for the finish.
With 5 to go I got into an elbowing contest with a douchebag from a St. Louis team. Since we were so far from the finish and only riding in about 15th wheel I let him have it. It wasn't like that particular corner was going to be the end all of the race. He gave me a smile, like he had just won a big pink elephant at a carnival. I thought to myself "you douchebag, what are trying to prove?" The last laugh was all mine because he bit it hard on the final corner of the race and opened up a huge opportunity for me in doing so.
There is an old lesson that I learned back in my early Jed-Adam-Ben-Kansas days: there is always room on the inside. I took the inside corner as we lined up for the field sprint in the last two corners. In the final one my new best friend went down and slid to the outside blocking a whole crowd of people. I went inside and accelerated. It was a long drag race down to the finish line. In the end I took 13th in the field sprint. I was satisfied with that finish after a hard day of racing.
Afterwards I joined the HRRC/Trek guys for a couple beers and a few co-eds at the Tap Room. All-in-all a solid day of racing.
The course was a lot more technical than the first night. It was a little more than a mile figure 8 loop which formed the shape of a bowl. Each end was up a small hill and the middle, where the 8 came together, was down a pair of fast downhills. The top of one side of the course was a minefield of potholes, ruts and manhole covers which would take their toll on my arms and knock my handlebars down a few mm by the end of the day.
The backside of the course was up a long chip & seal road (slag for those in the South) which was literally strewn with remnants of bottles drank at the night-before's party. Having lived in college towns for the better part of a decade I've become used to broken glass just not in the middle of my crit courses. Beer bottle throwing is an art mastered by a great many fraternity pledges and perfected by their seniors. In fact in colleges in the South Eastern Conference I have heard that competitions are occasionally held. A few houses are rumored have applied to the IOC to make this a competition in the 2012 Olympics. However, I digress.
The race started off weird. A crash in the final corner of the previous race sent one of the riders to the hospital. However, it took a long time for them to clear the road so my field sat at the start line for a while. We sat so long that the officials called upon us to take a neutral lap. I cut the course and returned to the start finish line but many people didn't move. Suddenly the calls from the back of the group, i.e., the former front of the group because they had done a full lap, began in earnest complaining of how this was unfair. The officials responded by making everyone do another neutral lap. Both of these laps were probably the fastest of the whole race...so much for neutral.
I ended up in the middle of the pack. I knew that in order to make this a good race I would have to get to the front quickly. It's another one of those moments in a race were I looked inside and said, aw hell this is gonna hurt for a while. The whistle went and I clipped in. I hit the first two corners like a bald eagle aiming for a salmon in a river. I chopped a dozen people in the first corner and took the sidewalk line on the second corner. By the time we reached the third and fourth corners I was riding in about 15th wheel. I was gassed from the effort but happy that I had found the front.
140+ guys started this race and only about 50 would finish. The field would get ragged going around this figure 8. A lot of accelerations and the heat took its toll on the field. A small break of 3 got up the road and was joined by 2 others shortly. I missed out on this one and am kicking myself for that. I tried to bridge to the group of 2 but when I moved going up the chip & seal backside of the course. I ended up pulling the entire field. So I sat up and waited for another move or for the finish.
With 5 to go I got into an elbowing contest with a douchebag from a St. Louis team. Since we were so far from the finish and only riding in about 15th wheel I let him have it. It wasn't like that particular corner was going to be the end all of the race. He gave me a smile, like he had just won a big pink elephant at a carnival. I thought to myself "you douchebag, what are trying to prove?" The last laugh was all mine because he bit it hard on the final corner of the race and opened up a huge opportunity for me in doing so.
There is an old lesson that I learned back in my early Jed-Adam-Ben-Kansas days: there is always room on the inside. I took the inside corner as we lined up for the field sprint in the last two corners. In the final one my new best friend went down and slid to the outside blocking a whole crowd of people. I went inside and accelerated. It was a long drag race down to the finish line. In the end I took 13th in the field sprint. I was satisfied with that finish after a hard day of racing.
Afterwards I joined the HRRC/Trek guys for a couple beers and a few co-eds at the Tap Room. All-in-all a solid day of racing.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Gateway Cup: Racing at Night
Now to begin the process of telling the stories of four days of racing and the tomfoolery that comes along with it. From Lawrence, KS it is a short four hours to St. Louis and the site of the Gateway Cup. The weekend is comprised of four crits in and around St. Louis. Each one offers its own unique challenges and come custom made for someone.
The first race is Lafayette Park which is done at night. The course is a flat 1-mile four corner course. It takes the term not technical and raises it to the next level. It's wide open and the corners are all 90 degrees...oh and did I mention it was flat? It's the kind of course where you can push 30+ mph without actually being clipped into your pedals.
Every time I've done it, the race has ended in a field sprint, but that sure didn't stop me and others in the field from jumping off the front like mad men. About 20 minutes into the race a small break of two was about 5 to 10 seconds up the road. They rang the bell for a prime and it seemed destined that those two would fight it out on the next lap for the prize.
I had been riding at the front of the 140 man field and jumped about half way into the lap. I bridged the gap within 5 seconds and just rode right past the two leaders like they were waiting in line for ice cream. I took the corner-next-to-last fast and then took a quick look over my shoulder to see who I had brought with me. To my surprise no one was on my wheel. I had gotten clean off the front and had 100 meters on the field going into corner four. It was a quick sprint up to the start/finish line and I took me a prime.
Looking back at my cycling life, it turns out that this was the first contested prime that I had ever won. I have no idea how I've made it this far without winning one before but the omen was great. I stayed off the front for another lap before being swallowed by the field. I sat in for 10 to 15 minutes and then found myself in a small break dangling off the front by about 5 bike lengths. I jumped the break and got clear again. However, again the field swallowed me up a lap or so later. At least I heard the announcer say my name this time, which would have made Mom and Dad happy.
Racing at night is an odd experience. The course is lit at each corner with huge flood lights but in the middle of each stretch only street lights show the way. You go from dark to light and back to dark again rapidly. It gives off the impression of moving in a giant strobe light. However in this one you get to hook handlebars and dodge potholes; oh and try to go fast too.
I sat back in the field and waited for the field sprint. With a course like this one it has to be assumed that a field sprint will decide the race. In order to get away someone has to be some kind of strong and determined, it would take almost a herculean effort to do it. With 140 guys chasing you down and frankly nowhere to separate yourself from the field with anything other than pure power, it just makes it too easy to get caught.
With 3 to go I was swamped in. I fought and scraped and dug to try to find any room to move up. Holes would open and close in the field quicker than one could react. Suddenly with 1 lap to go the field paused for a second. I shot to the front and around 30 guys. I realized at that moment I was a player in this race again and not just along for the ride. I prepared myself for the fact that it was about to get stupid fast. I looked inside myself for a second and said...aw hell it just hurts for a second anyways.
I took the final corner in good position but had chosen the outside line. Almost every single lap up until that time, the outside line was the better one. This was not that time. With only about 10 guys in front of me in my line I took to the sprint. One by one they started popping under the pressure of 300 meters of massive wattage. I just couldn't get around enough of them and the sprint went to the guys who took the inside line.
My prime covered my entry costs and was a great sign of things to come. Plus racing ended that night just as the little bars that flanked the park closed which made for endless entertainment as we cleaned up and headed for the hotel.
The first race is Lafayette Park which is done at night. The course is a flat 1-mile four corner course. It takes the term not technical and raises it to the next level. It's wide open and the corners are all 90 degrees...oh and did I mention it was flat? It's the kind of course where you can push 30+ mph without actually being clipped into your pedals.
Every time I've done it, the race has ended in a field sprint, but that sure didn't stop me and others in the field from jumping off the front like mad men. About 20 minutes into the race a small break of two was about 5 to 10 seconds up the road. They rang the bell for a prime and it seemed destined that those two would fight it out on the next lap for the prize.
I had been riding at the front of the 140 man field and jumped about half way into the lap. I bridged the gap within 5 seconds and just rode right past the two leaders like they were waiting in line for ice cream. I took the corner-next-to-last fast and then took a quick look over my shoulder to see who I had brought with me. To my surprise no one was on my wheel. I had gotten clean off the front and had 100 meters on the field going into corner four. It was a quick sprint up to the start/finish line and I took me a prime.
Looking back at my cycling life, it turns out that this was the first contested prime that I had ever won. I have no idea how I've made it this far without winning one before but the omen was great. I stayed off the front for another lap before being swallowed by the field. I sat in for 10 to 15 minutes and then found myself in a small break dangling off the front by about 5 bike lengths. I jumped the break and got clear again. However, again the field swallowed me up a lap or so later. At least I heard the announcer say my name this time, which would have made Mom and Dad happy.
Racing at night is an odd experience. The course is lit at each corner with huge flood lights but in the middle of each stretch only street lights show the way. You go from dark to light and back to dark again rapidly. It gives off the impression of moving in a giant strobe light. However in this one you get to hook handlebars and dodge potholes; oh and try to go fast too.
I sat back in the field and waited for the field sprint. With a course like this one it has to be assumed that a field sprint will decide the race. In order to get away someone has to be some kind of strong and determined, it would take almost a herculean effort to do it. With 140 guys chasing you down and frankly nowhere to separate yourself from the field with anything other than pure power, it just makes it too easy to get caught.
With 3 to go I was swamped in. I fought and scraped and dug to try to find any room to move up. Holes would open and close in the field quicker than one could react. Suddenly with 1 lap to go the field paused for a second. I shot to the front and around 30 guys. I realized at that moment I was a player in this race again and not just along for the ride. I prepared myself for the fact that it was about to get stupid fast. I looked inside myself for a second and said...aw hell it just hurts for a second anyways.
I took the final corner in good position but had chosen the outside line. Almost every single lap up until that time, the outside line was the better one. This was not that time. With only about 10 guys in front of me in my line I took to the sprint. One by one they started popping under the pressure of 300 meters of massive wattage. I just couldn't get around enough of them and the sprint went to the guys who took the inside line.
My prime covered my entry costs and was a great sign of things to come. Plus racing ended that night just as the little bars that flanked the park closed which made for endless entertainment as we cleaned up and headed for the hotel.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Walking Down Memory Lane
I've reached the furthest west on my road trip and have placed my feet on the solid ground of Lawrence, KS and the hallowed halls of my alma mater. It's been four years since I was here last. It was early Spring then and I really didn't get the opportunity to get back to and enjoy a lot of the sites that I had enjoyed while I was in college. This time I'm not letting that opportunity go by.
Alot of this road trip has been about retracing steps. Whether I actually thought about this when I came up with the idea or not is question, it's been about looking back at where I came from and maybe, just maybe, looking at where the road heads from this point on out. My path has been a twisted one and required many different roads. Literally it's take me down I-88, I-80, I-35, I-70, I-40, I-20, I-85, I-81, I-66 and I-95. That's the path from Chicago to Kansas to Mississippi and then to DC. However, figuratively, there's a lot of country roads, some made of gravel and some of red dirt, that have helped along the way.
My path hasn't really gone all that far-- from Naperville to the top of Mt. Oread, to the Grove and now to Adams Morgan. A common thread I'm sure can be found somewhere therein. However, I'm not sure what it is but I encourage Mr. Coles to create a testable hypothesis that eventually will come to an answer that none of us can understand but it would make a lot of sense. I've second guessed a lot of my decisions to move to or from various places. I try to play it out in my mind...how each different change would have affected the outcome. Would I be in the same place? Would I be just as good? Or just as bad?
Lawrence does hold a special place in my heart. I have a special affinity for it unlike any other place that I have been. It's the only place where hippies freely mix with trust fund babies and where I could meet so many random but fabulous people. It's a one of a kind town and to be honest I lucked upon it. When I was deciding where to go to college I am sure that Kansas was nowhere on my radar until one day a random coach named Zhawn showed up at a meet in Alabama. Thankfully I actually swam well that day.
Sitting here now, with hindsight on my side, I wonder if I enjoyed my college days to the fullest. If I used that time as well as possibly could have. Could I have done more? Should I have tried harder at doing X? Or less at Y? Should I have dated this girl or that one? If you ask Chad what he thought of my girlfriends during college I'm sure you'd get a couple crazy stories. So basically please don't ask him. After all these thoughts I pause and think to myself, sure I could have done it different but I had so much fun the way I did it, why would I want to change a thing.
Alot of this road trip has been about retracing steps. Whether I actually thought about this when I came up with the idea or not is question, it's been about looking back at where I came from and maybe, just maybe, looking at where the road heads from this point on out. My path has been a twisted one and required many different roads. Literally it's take me down I-88, I-80, I-35, I-70, I-40, I-20, I-85, I-81, I-66 and I-95. That's the path from Chicago to Kansas to Mississippi and then to DC. However, figuratively, there's a lot of country roads, some made of gravel and some of red dirt, that have helped along the way.
My path hasn't really gone all that far-- from Naperville to the top of Mt. Oread, to the Grove and now to Adams Morgan. A common thread I'm sure can be found somewhere therein. However, I'm not sure what it is but I encourage Mr. Coles to create a testable hypothesis that eventually will come to an answer that none of us can understand but it would make a lot of sense. I've second guessed a lot of my decisions to move to or from various places. I try to play it out in my mind...how each different change would have affected the outcome. Would I be in the same place? Would I be just as good? Or just as bad?
Lawrence does hold a special place in my heart. I have a special affinity for it unlike any other place that I have been. It's the only place where hippies freely mix with trust fund babies and where I could meet so many random but fabulous people. It's a one of a kind town and to be honest I lucked upon it. When I was deciding where to go to college I am sure that Kansas was nowhere on my radar until one day a random coach named Zhawn showed up at a meet in Alabama. Thankfully I actually swam well that day.
Sitting here now, with hindsight on my side, I wonder if I enjoyed my college days to the fullest. If I used that time as well as possibly could have. Could I have done more? Should I have tried harder at doing X? Or less at Y? Should I have dated this girl or that one? If you ask Chad what he thought of my girlfriends during college I'm sure you'd get a couple crazy stories. So basically please don't ask him. After all these thoughts I pause and think to myself, sure I could have done it different but I had so much fun the way I did it, why would I want to change a thing.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Rogue Racing 2: Tour of Oak Brook
The cycling world of Illinois descended upon the quaint upper class suburb of Oak Brook. You know your suddenly not in the ghetto cyclist world when the pace car for your race is a Lamborghini or when you get to park your car on the nearby polo fields:
A slightly smaller race than Downers Grove, about 40 guys lined up for a 3.2 mile loop that was to be done a bazillion times. I grossly underestimated this course, the heat and the tenacity of flat land racing in the Midwest. However, that doesn't mean that I went down without a fight. Oh no, I was going to live up to my rap as the Rogue Warrior or as I am known in certain towns in North Carolina-- the Thunderbird.
The first couple laps I sat in as we went around. A pair of small power hills were on the back side of an otherwise flat flat flat road course. With the tailwind we could easily push 30+ mph into the finishing stretch. I followed a couple moves in laps 5-7 but nothing seemed to stick. I'm not sure how I was getting marked by the field, as I'm sure almost no one in Chicago remembers me from my Cat 5 days when I last raced there; but I was definitely marked.
Three guys had gotten off the front, one of whom was a member of the largest squad represented. They were content to let them get a couple hundred meters on the field and not push the pace. However, when I jumped to bridge that gap suddenly the field sprang to life. I crossed the gap in quick time but the field was so animated that they dragged us back in. With 6 laps to go I had had enough of this and was not content to sprint it out at 40 mph. So coming over a little rise into the head wind section I jumped. I got clear and stayed clear-- han solo.The backstretch of the course was full of little twists and turns through multi-million dollar McMansions (honestly, McDonald's corporate headquarters is in Oak Brook's neighboring suburb aptly named Oak Brook Terrace). So I got out of sight quick. Up the two power climbs and into the long finishing stretch. However, once I got there the field saw me, turned up the pace and dragged me back in. I had been off the front for over 3 miles and had lit most of my matches doing so.
I retired to the field and resigned myself to the field sprint to come. With about half a mile left in the race the pace went to ludicrous. My early moves weighed heavily in my legs and then I exploded. Someone luckily was there to take this picture of the moment:
On a positive note, the stars and bars of NCVC/Inova Health System are distinctive enough that the Illinois boys who I was with remembered seeing them a couple years previous in another race. So I must give mad props to the likes of Greg Abbott for pushing through the jersey change when he did.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Rogue Racing: Downers Grove
For close to two years prior to moving to DC I raced by myself and for myself. No teammates. No support. It's a lonely world when you race without a team; when you race as the rogue warrior in the field. You have to be quick and take risks and fend for yourself. I've come to count on my teammates. A little help now and again chasing down a break or making sure that no one chases you down for a while. My trip back to Illinois is without teammates and I was quite alone in this race. As with the next four races in this season and in the terms of Leon Turner, if I am to win I am going to have to do so "han solo."
Downers Grove is a quick race. It makes the shape of a figure eight with four corners uphill and four corners downhill. There were close to 90 guys in the race at the time the whistle was blown. As is my tendency I started at the back of the field and would have to work my way to the front. With that many corners and only .8 of a mile worth of a course there wouldn't be much time to pass on any straight aways.
Downers Grove is a quick race. It makes the shape of a figure eight with four corners uphill and four corners downhill. There were close to 90 guys in the race at the time the whistle was blown. As is my tendency I started at the back of the field and would have to work my way to the front. With that many corners and only .8 of a mile worth of a course there wouldn't be much time to pass on any straight aways.I started picking my way through the field in the corners and found it pretty easy to move up. The pace was moderate and quite unlike any crit I've ever been in because the speed was even. Normally, the accelerations make a crit a competition in whose heart rate can peak and come back to normal the fastest. By normal of course I mean something like 120-140 bpm.
The first downhill corner started on a wide open four lane road and fed into a three lane road. It was 90 degrees and perfect for carrying speed and moving up in the field. At about the half way point I came to realize that this race was going to come down to a field sprint. A couple guys tried to go early but the field was so big and no team was willing to take control so every break got run down quickly.
I road in the top 20 most of the race and my plan was to use that wide open corner to move up in the final lap into the top 10 and then up into the top 5 by the final corner and sprint it from there. The plan was working perfectly until I ran smack into the slowest moving object in the entire field just as I passed through that first downhill corner. I had to scrub a lot of speed and then move back into the field. Instead of being in the top 10 I was in the top 30. I was a little angry and suddenly put into a defensive mode. There was a quarter mile left to go and I was nowhere near where I wanted to be.
Two more corners followed and I moved up a little and I could still sprint for the top 15 which is how deep the field was paid. I was still in contention. All the way up to the final corner when two guys got tired of racing their bikes and decided to lay them down right in front of me. I rode between them and reaccelerated but by the time I got up to speed it was too late and the field had rode by my. It was a disappointing finish for such an incredible race.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
A Homecoming
I left the comfort of the mid-Atlantic and the lush valleys of Virginia for the vast plains of the Midwest. I followed through on a plan I dreamt up several months ago which in and of itself is quite amazing. I've been in Chicago for about 4 days (minus a one day trip to Houston) and raced a hard race on Sunday (which I'll write about when I get the pictures downloaded). I normally don't bring a bike with me to Chicago because most of my trips are short and involve some bizarre legal battle.
Today I went out in search of an old route. I knew that the powers that be have been building a lot along the route I intended to ride but I didn't know that the old roads that I used are now just gone. Not blocked off or fallen in to disrepair but literally gone. The pavement has vanished and has been replaced by either housing or wild grass. What was once beautiful open fields and farms have been replaced by endless subdivisions with computer generated names which inspire "happiness" or "upper-middle-class ambition."
My least favorite such subdivision is Shenandoah. The subtitle was "the beautiful meadow." I've searched quite a bit to find that meaning for the word Shenandoah and have never found that meaning. Rather most agree that the word Shenandoah is derived from a Native American phrase which means "Beautiful Daughter of the Stars." I find it ironic that the word for a beautiful mountainous valley in VA has been applied to a disgusting aluminium siding filled subdivision which borders a railroad track in the vast emptiness of former sod farm country. Granted the soils maybe equal in fertility, the views are definitely different.
In the world of $4.00 or more per gallon gas prices, I am utterly dumbfounded by the fact that the exurbs of Chicago continue to grow so radically. You would think that economic natural selection would drive these people back into the hubs of local cities or at least off my bike routes. Of course my greatest concern is not the pocket books of the idiots who populate these areas, but the fact that it makes it just that much more difficult for me to find open roads to ride on. Of course, no one consults the cycling community when they launch these less than ambitious building projects.
Today I went out in search of an old route. I knew that the powers that be have been building a lot along the route I intended to ride but I didn't know that the old roads that I used are now just gone. Not blocked off or fallen in to disrepair but literally gone. The pavement has vanished and has been replaced by either housing or wild grass. What was once beautiful open fields and farms have been replaced by endless subdivisions with computer generated names which inspire "happiness" or "upper-middle-class ambition."
My least favorite such subdivision is Shenandoah. The subtitle was "the beautiful meadow." I've searched quite a bit to find that meaning for the word Shenandoah and have never found that meaning. Rather most agree that the word Shenandoah is derived from a Native American phrase which means "Beautiful Daughter of the Stars." I find it ironic that the word for a beautiful mountainous valley in VA has been applied to a disgusting aluminium siding filled subdivision which borders a railroad track in the vast emptiness of former sod farm country. Granted the soils maybe equal in fertility, the views are definitely different.
In the world of $4.00 or more per gallon gas prices, I am utterly dumbfounded by the fact that the exurbs of Chicago continue to grow so radically. You would think that economic natural selection would drive these people back into the hubs of local cities or at least off my bike routes. Of course my greatest concern is not the pocket books of the idiots who populate these areas, but the fact that it makes it just that much more difficult for me to find open roads to ride on. Of course, no one consults the cycling community when they launch these less than ambitious building projects.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Roadside Distractions
Six races left to go on the season. It's that time of the year where I start to think about the next season. I think about things that I did well this year and things that I can improve on. However, I cannot let those thoughts get to me because the races to come are pretty tough and my chances are good. Tomorrow is my last day of work before my vacation begins. I've been looking forward to these two weeks off since I went to North Carolina back in what seems like another lifetime.
There is a racing website that talks about daily distractions. Basically it's about cycling and hot chicks that either race or find themselves along our race courses. The best/worst that I've been personally witness to were the "townies" oiled up and in bikinis at the Hagerstown crit this summer. Their "site" on the side of the road made it easier to throw down 600-700 watts through the corner away from those "beauties."
Yesterday I was out on my daily constitutional a/k/a/ my training ride. I was putting in a pretty good steady state workout where I ride at a wattage in a decently elevated range and hold it for a while. Yesterday my workout was a pair of 25 minute intervals. About halfway into the second one I found myself going up a steady incline and passed a bus stop. This particular time a girl was standing there who flagged me down as I passed. As a good American I stopped to help.
She was lost, really lost. The strangest thing about this situation was that she really didn't know where she wanted to go. She gave me three different locations that she "needed" to go to and was terribly unsatisfied by any of my suggestions, which typically ended with "well you can walk there in about 30 minutes or you can stay here and wait for a bus that probably won't come for an hour."
I really think she wanted to hitch a ride on my handlebars. Honestly, she was just big enough that she could probably have done so without adding 60 lbs. Fully grown she wasn't as tall as me when I was sitting on my top tube. I left her on the side of the road to head off to the Giant which was about 7 blocks away. I had grown so frustrated with her indecision that I thought maybe someone there could figure it out. I gave her directions, let her make two phone calls on my cell and offered to wave down a cab. None of these made her happy.
I headed off to finish my interval after about ten minutes. I hope for her sake that she found what she was looking for. Any cyclist will tell you that there are a lot of fun things on the side of the road. You'd be amazed by the random articles of clothing, magazines, furniture and in a couple cases (back in Mississippi) appliances. Once in Texas I ran across a great new baseball hat. Jed, of course has the best road side find--a wrapped porn DVD. However, the one thing that amazes me is the number of times I run across a single shoe on the side of the road. I mean you would imagine that unlike a glove or a t-shirt that you would probably miss a shoe if it fell off while you were driving, right?
There is a racing website that talks about daily distractions. Basically it's about cycling and hot chicks that either race or find themselves along our race courses. The best/worst that I've been personally witness to were the "townies" oiled up and in bikinis at the Hagerstown crit this summer. Their "site" on the side of the road made it easier to throw down 600-700 watts through the corner away from those "beauties."
Yesterday I was out on my daily constitutional a/k/a/ my training ride. I was putting in a pretty good steady state workout where I ride at a wattage in a decently elevated range and hold it for a while. Yesterday my workout was a pair of 25 minute intervals. About halfway into the second one I found myself going up a steady incline and passed a bus stop. This particular time a girl was standing there who flagged me down as I passed. As a good American I stopped to help.
She was lost, really lost. The strangest thing about this situation was that she really didn't know where she wanted to go. She gave me three different locations that she "needed" to go to and was terribly unsatisfied by any of my suggestions, which typically ended with "well you can walk there in about 30 minutes or you can stay here and wait for a bus that probably won't come for an hour."
I really think she wanted to hitch a ride on my handlebars. Honestly, she was just big enough that she could probably have done so without adding 60 lbs. Fully grown she wasn't as tall as me when I was sitting on my top tube. I left her on the side of the road to head off to the Giant which was about 7 blocks away. I had grown so frustrated with her indecision that I thought maybe someone there could figure it out. I gave her directions, let her make two phone calls on my cell and offered to wave down a cab. None of these made her happy.
I headed off to finish my interval after about ten minutes. I hope for her sake that she found what she was looking for. Any cyclist will tell you that there are a lot of fun things on the side of the road. You'd be amazed by the random articles of clothing, magazines, furniture and in a couple cases (back in Mississippi) appliances. Once in Texas I ran across a great new baseball hat. Jed, of course has the best road side find--a wrapped porn DVD. However, the one thing that amazes me is the number of times I run across a single shoe on the side of the road. I mean you would imagine that unlike a glove or a t-shirt that you would probably miss a shoe if it fell off while you were driving, right?
Sunday, August 10, 2008
An Ode To the Master
My cycling career began one day sitting on the porch in front of an aged loft in Topeka, KS. I swam throughout college and when my eligibility expired I was left in the midst of a quarter life crisis. I had swum for close to 20 years by that point. I was even thinking about going beyond college to try for a spot on a national team. I was a much better long course swimmer than I ever was in short course and I had found a great home in Ft. Lauderdale with an excellent coach.
When everything went sideways in my life in the Spring of 2001 I was lost. The athletic department at Kansas decided to cut both the men's swimming and tennis programs at the same time. I was devastated. I mounted a campaign to right the wrong and invested all my time and energy into undoing the injustice that I felt had occurred. When it was all said and done I was burned out of the idea of swimming and was out of shape and there was no coming back in time to compete that Summer.
So I bought a bike. No real good reason why I bought a bike. However, I went out the very first day on my new bike in a black pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. I spent that Summer getting my legs into shape and learning all about bike racing. I was obsessed. I read every magazine I could and watched every movie ever made about cycling...all three. I signed up for Downers Grove as a Cat 5. Downers Grove is the national championship crit...not at the Cat 5 level but it's a big race none the less. So all of the area Cat 5s were gunning for it and this was my first race.
It rained that morning and the course is terrible in the rain. A set of concrete brick crosswalks in the middle of corners otherwise made of asphalt which turns the course into ice when wet. I went down twice in a 20 minute race. Once in the final corner in which I sled out and landed head first into a hay bale. Amazingly I got back up on a bike two days later.
In the process of crashing my bike that day I put a nasty dent into my wheel set. I needed to get that fixed but I knew nothing of bike shops in Kansas which was where I was heading. I somehow got in touch with the KU Cycling Club and a man named Jed got back to me. The next thing I knew this monster of a mountain man from New Mexico by way of Montana and Topeka was showing me the roads around Topeka and dropping me like nobody's business on an easy training ride.
So there we sat, Jed and I, on his porch talking about bike racing. It was from that day that I knew bike racing was something a world apart. The rest is somewhat a short history. I feel that it's ironic that on many of my training rides I pass this site:
When everything went sideways in my life in the Spring of 2001 I was lost. The athletic department at Kansas decided to cut both the men's swimming and tennis programs at the same time. I was devastated. I mounted a campaign to right the wrong and invested all my time and energy into undoing the injustice that I felt had occurred. When it was all said and done I was burned out of the idea of swimming and was out of shape and there was no coming back in time to compete that Summer.
So I bought a bike. No real good reason why I bought a bike. However, I went out the very first day on my new bike in a black pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. I spent that Summer getting my legs into shape and learning all about bike racing. I was obsessed. I read every magazine I could and watched every movie ever made about cycling...all three. I signed up for Downers Grove as a Cat 5. Downers Grove is the national championship crit...not at the Cat 5 level but it's a big race none the less. So all of the area Cat 5s were gunning for it and this was my first race.
It rained that morning and the course is terrible in the rain. A set of concrete brick crosswalks in the middle of corners otherwise made of asphalt which turns the course into ice when wet. I went down twice in a 20 minute race. Once in the final corner in which I sled out and landed head first into a hay bale. Amazingly I got back up on a bike two days later.
In the process of crashing my bike that day I put a nasty dent into my wheel set. I needed to get that fixed but I knew nothing of bike shops in Kansas which was where I was heading. I somehow got in touch with the KU Cycling Club and a man named Jed got back to me. The next thing I knew this monster of a mountain man from New Mexico by way of Montana and Topeka was showing me the roads around Topeka and dropping me like nobody's business on an easy training ride.
So there we sat, Jed and I, on his porch talking about bike racing. It was from that day that I knew bike racing was something a world apart. The rest is somewhat a short history. I feel that it's ironic that on many of my training rides I pass this site:
I once tried to send Jed a pix of a stuffed moose and he responded to me saying: "My name is Jed. I live in South Carolina. I have a hound dog named Red. What makes you think my phone can receive pictures?"
So, as I get ready to go and race at Downers Grove for the first time since meeting this mountain man I reflect on how much we all need him back in the sport...come back Jed we need you.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Mane 'n Tail
A rather large supporter of mine gave me a gift recently. My workouts are whooping my butt and have left me with some pretty tired and sore legs. In fact sometimes it's been a little rough getting into and out of my car. However that's bike racing, right? Riding until your legs are about ready to blow up?
I remember one particularly windy Sunday morning back in Lawrence. The group was coming back into town from Tonganoxie on a flat stretch of road. I've always fancied myself a break-away rider. I'm not really the best in the field sprint and thought, in fact still think, that if I can get up the rode I can hold off the field just long enough to stick it for a win. I drove Adam and Ben nuts with theories and strategies of how to create a successful breakaway. They might have even thought I could do it someday. Then I would do something stupid like crash on a group ride and all my street cred was gone.
This grey early spring day in Kansas was no exception. The group kept ramping the pace up little bits at a time. Adam was in the pace line with me along with most of the big guys in town. One at a time the field got smaller as guys popped off the back. My head was down and my vision was definitely getting a little redder as I went into oxygen debt. Just when I thought I was going to blow up, Adam jumped the field for the city limit sprint. From somewhere deep down inside I found the last bit of effort to cover the jump and found his wheel.
A minute or two later he looked back at me and shouted, "Rob, look back...that's how you make a successful breakaway." I looked back and we were free and clear from the field and they were nowhere in sight. I learned my lesson that day. If you're going to go out on your own to win a race you're going to need to put yourself through serious hell.
I've been putting myself through the ringer these last couple of months to get to where I need to be and my legs have suffered. Needless to say I've woken up many mornings lately in a bit of pain, which brings me back to my gift. When given to me I was told that it wasn't made for cyclists but it really works on tired legs...well tired horse legs. I was given a jar of Mane 'n Tail which is Icy Hot for horses. So I tried a little tonight for the first time. I put it on my legs about two hours ago. It took a little while to feel it but my legs have been on fire now for two hours. Seriously thinking of just sticking them in the freezer right now.
I mean the stuff has to be working right? At least I don't feel the soreness any more.
I remember one particularly windy Sunday morning back in Lawrence. The group was coming back into town from Tonganoxie on a flat stretch of road. I've always fancied myself a break-away rider. I'm not really the best in the field sprint and thought, in fact still think, that if I can get up the rode I can hold off the field just long enough to stick it for a win. I drove Adam and Ben nuts with theories and strategies of how to create a successful breakaway. They might have even thought I could do it someday. Then I would do something stupid like crash on a group ride and all my street cred was gone.
This grey early spring day in Kansas was no exception. The group kept ramping the pace up little bits at a time. Adam was in the pace line with me along with most of the big guys in town. One at a time the field got smaller as guys popped off the back. My head was down and my vision was definitely getting a little redder as I went into oxygen debt. Just when I thought I was going to blow up, Adam jumped the field for the city limit sprint. From somewhere deep down inside I found the last bit of effort to cover the jump and found his wheel.
A minute or two later he looked back at me and shouted, "Rob, look back...that's how you make a successful breakaway." I looked back and we were free and clear from the field and they were nowhere in sight. I learned my lesson that day. If you're going to go out on your own to win a race you're going to need to put yourself through serious hell.
I've been putting myself through the ringer these last couple of months to get to where I need to be and my legs have suffered. Needless to say I've woken up many mornings lately in a bit of pain, which brings me back to my gift. When given to me I was told that it wasn't made for cyclists but it really works on tired legs...well tired horse legs. I was given a jar of Mane 'n Tail which is Icy Hot for horses. So I tried a little tonight for the first time. I put it on my legs about two hours ago. It took a little while to feel it but my legs have been on fire now for two hours. Seriously thinking of just sticking them in the freezer right now.
I mean the stuff has to be working right? At least I don't feel the soreness any more.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Fly New Kicks
I was thinking back on my training this season and came to the conclusion that I cannot recall the last time my form developed quite as quickly or as sharply. In May of this year I was nowhere. My form was gone and my desire was less. Blame it trial in New Orleans, cold weather or my lack of enthusiasm to put in the miles and the effort needed at the time. However, somewhere along the line everything clicked again and my focus returned.
The problem is that I appear to have gone and broken myself, temporarily. My knee has slowly started giving me troubles over the past couple of days. It culminated on Saturday with pain so deep that I almost wanted to cry. However, following strictly the Topeka Rules of Cycling, I banished that thought from my mind as I would have clearly gotten my butt kicked when I voyage there later this Summer. Coach Adam and I have been working on figuring out what the problem is that caused my pain. However, in an effort to be good to myself and in the hope that money can buy happiness, I went out and bought a new pair of Time RS Carbon shoes. Now I'm officially super fly.
I had rode the greatest pair of shoes, Specialized Road Pro Carbons, for a long time. They actually replaced my original shoes which were hideous Italian made mistakes. I remember the day in Tuscaloosa that those shoes finally died. I was getting ready for a ride and went to pull on one of the straps and the whole damn thing just came off in my hand. In order to do a short ride that day I actually ended up getting a roll of packing tape and wrapping my entire shoe thick enough to hold my foot in the pedal.
Well my fancy new Time shoes have made me happy. They match the team kit (red/white/black) because everyone knows it's not necessarily how fast you are but how fast you look. They also are really comfortable and allow me to feel the pedals. I'm just going to have to figure out how to fix my brokeness first before the last races scheduled for the end of August.
The problem is that I appear to have gone and broken myself, temporarily. My knee has slowly started giving me troubles over the past couple of days. It culminated on Saturday with pain so deep that I almost wanted to cry. However, following strictly the Topeka Rules of Cycling, I banished that thought from my mind as I would have clearly gotten my butt kicked when I voyage there later this Summer. Coach Adam and I have been working on figuring out what the problem is that caused my pain. However, in an effort to be good to myself and in the hope that money can buy happiness, I went out and bought a new pair of Time RS Carbon shoes. Now I'm officially super fly.
I had rode the greatest pair of shoes, Specialized Road Pro Carbons, for a long time. They actually replaced my original shoes which were hideous Italian made mistakes. I remember the day in Tuscaloosa that those shoes finally died. I was getting ready for a ride and went to pull on one of the straps and the whole damn thing just came off in my hand. In order to do a short ride that day I actually ended up getting a roll of packing tape and wrapping my entire shoe thick enough to hold my foot in the pedal.
Well my fancy new Time shoes have made me happy. They match the team kit (red/white/black) because everyone knows it's not necessarily how fast you are but how fast you look. They also are really comfortable and allow me to feel the pedals. I'm just going to have to figure out how to fix my brokeness first before the last races scheduled for the end of August.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Turn Left and Go Fast: Hunny Bop Crit
To date I have not been offered a spot with Denny Hamlin's No. 11 FedEx Toyota team. That's ok by me. I'm sure they are just waiting for next year to offer me a spot in NASCar as I am sure it would be very intimidating for me to roll up at Daytona next year on my Cannondale for my debut.
In order to prove that I am fast and have skills in turning left, I attended the Hunny Bop crit this weekend. The naming of a bike race is truly an art form, especially since they shift around in the calendar so much. I cannot count the number of Bunny Hop or Turkey Trot races which are actually held nowhere close to Easter or Thanksgiving. Thankfully the promoters of the Hunny Bop realized this and renamed their race.
The scene was set: 50 riders, 75 minutes, 100 degrees. The race was pleasant simple and easy...then we hit the first corner and that all changed. It was a wide open crit with plenty of room to move around and no need to hit your brakes through the corners. A flurry of attacks went up the road quick but nothing stayed away for very long. At about the 30 minute mark a strong break emerged with one of my teammates in it and the pace slowed just a bit, which was fortunate because I'm pretty sure we were about to go to plaid.
The break got about 30 seconds on the field and I thought it was gone. Then suddenly the gap came down...28 seconds...25 seconds...8 seconds...caught. The field ramped the pace back up and the attacks started all over again. I covered a jump and lit about every match I had. Right as I was about to snap I looked up and the guy sat up. I licked all my wounds and slid back into the field and the safety of the draft.
With about 5 to go I found myself in 6th wheel with my head down, in the drops, on the tip of the saddle and my vision going to red. I'm only hoping that there was at least one guy behind me who was having half the trouble I was with the pace. I stayed there for about a lap when the pace let up just enough for the leading train to get swallowed up by the advancing field. Cracked in two and with a teammate in a good spot for the sprint, I rolled in with the field and counted it a solid day of racing.
In order to prove that I am fast and have skills in turning left, I attended the Hunny Bop crit this weekend. The naming of a bike race is truly an art form, especially since they shift around in the calendar so much. I cannot count the number of Bunny Hop or Turkey Trot races which are actually held nowhere close to Easter or Thanksgiving. Thankfully the promoters of the Hunny Bop realized this and renamed their race.
The scene was set: 50 riders, 75 minutes, 100 degrees. The race was pleasant simple and easy...then we hit the first corner and that all changed. It was a wide open crit with plenty of room to move around and no need to hit your brakes through the corners. A flurry of attacks went up the road quick but nothing stayed away for very long. At about the 30 minute mark a strong break emerged with one of my teammates in it and the pace slowed just a bit, which was fortunate because I'm pretty sure we were about to go to plaid.
The break got about 30 seconds on the field and I thought it was gone. Then suddenly the gap came down...28 seconds...25 seconds...8 seconds...caught. The field ramped the pace back up and the attacks started all over again. I covered a jump and lit about every match I had. Right as I was about to snap I looked up and the guy sat up. I licked all my wounds and slid back into the field and the safety of the draft.
With about 5 to go I found myself in 6th wheel with my head down, in the drops, on the tip of the saddle and my vision going to red. I'm only hoping that there was at least one guy behind me who was having half the trouble I was with the pace. I stayed there for about a lap when the pace let up just enough for the leading train to get swallowed up by the advancing field. Cracked in two and with a teammate in a good spot for the sprint, I rolled in with the field and counted it a solid day of racing.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
MABRA Crit Championship: Exploring Scenic Hagerstown
Saturday saw another 14 minutes of anaerobic racing smashed in the middle of an hour long crit. It was a good course with a little bit of technical thrown into a hammer fest. Turn two was over 90 degrees and it came off a little twist of the road in the opposite direction you might want to drive your bike. A pair of crashes in that corner testified to exactly how quick things can get out of control.
The first 15 minutes of the race reminded me of that time that I hated life. I started in the back of the field because . . . I don't know that's where I have a tendency of starting when I cannot get into my pedals and feel like a Cat 5. Just as I was about to think of hitting the pool for a afternoon of suntanning, a hole opened up and I rode straight up to the front of the field. Once I was there life was a heck of a lot easier.
A big 'ol crash happened on the flat finishing straight two inches in front of me. Somehow I rode around flaying arms, wheels, water bottles and bodies. A quick compliment from a fellow bike race and we were off again. Somehow a field of 50 shrunk quickly to 35. With about six to go I rolled off the front and got about 20 meters on the field. I took a peak down at the PowerTap and made a quick calculation abut how long I could hold my wattage. However, in the time it took to do that math the field swallowed me up.
I regrouped and prepared for another assault with about 2 or 3 to go because I was bound and determined not to be in the field if it came to a field sprint as my positioning this year has just been off. Sadly, at 3 to go we were strung out single file and it stayed there till the very end. As has been my habit this year I was way off target in my position and just rolled in with the field.
A couple good lessons came out of this race. I shouldn't be afraid of seeing power numbers over 500 watts because I can hold that and repeat that effort. It's always better at the front of the field. And, it's about time that I start finding ways to get in better position and take advantage of my form that looks like it is slowly coming into its own.
The first 15 minutes of the race reminded me of that time that I hated life. I started in the back of the field because . . . I don't know that's where I have a tendency of starting when I cannot get into my pedals and feel like a Cat 5. Just as I was about to think of hitting the pool for a afternoon of suntanning, a hole opened up and I rode straight up to the front of the field. Once I was there life was a heck of a lot easier.
A big 'ol crash happened on the flat finishing straight two inches in front of me. Somehow I rode around flaying arms, wheels, water bottles and bodies. A quick compliment from a fellow bike race and we were off again. Somehow a field of 50 shrunk quickly to 35. With about six to go I rolled off the front and got about 20 meters on the field. I took a peak down at the PowerTap and made a quick calculation abut how long I could hold my wattage. However, in the time it took to do that math the field swallowed me up.
I regrouped and prepared for another assault with about 2 or 3 to go because I was bound and determined not to be in the field if it came to a field sprint as my positioning this year has just been off. Sadly, at 3 to go we were strung out single file and it stayed there till the very end. As has been my habit this year I was way off target in my position and just rolled in with the field.
A couple good lessons came out of this race. I shouldn't be afraid of seeing power numbers over 500 watts because I can hold that and repeat that effort. It's always better at the front of the field. And, it's about time that I start finding ways to get in better position and take advantage of my form that looks like it is slowly coming into its own.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Sweet Home Chicago
I was able to go home twice within the last two weeks. It was great to see Mom and Dad and to have some decent pizza. I've missed being home but haven't missed the craziness that is Chicago traffic. Mayor Daley, in his infinite genius has put palm trees on the Oak St. beach.
That's literally a palm tree in front of The Drake hotel and the John Hancock building. I've spent a lot of time staying at The Drake which is just a great hotel. The rooms are huge and very plush. I mean you literally fall into the beds which is such a good feeling. My legs have been absolutely murdered these last couple of weeks.
Coach Adam and I have been trying to improve my crit riding ability and my power coming off the corners. At the crit in Tour of Washington I was putting out over 600 watts once a lap and that ate away at my legs (not to mention the random ambulance that was outside of the corner for half the race). This weekend is the MABRA Crit Championships and we'll see if my power has improved.
I feel that it's become a lot easier to put up bigger numbers repetitively and I'm hoping that it shows this weekend. When I first started training with a PowerTap I was impressed to see a number over 1000. I thought that it was crazy but now I hit those numbers two or three times a day during my normal workouts. I'll have to really open it up some day and see what my top number is now.
Monday, July 07, 2008
DC Cycling Has Been Invaded...
...by bike riding Fred's like this dude and to me they are known as the Klingons. You guys know who you are. Yes you, the dude who wears his Primal Fear kit and the clip on aero bars on your insanely expensive Trek that you have no business owning. The same guy who hits Rock Creek Park like it's stage three of Le Tour and sucks my wheel while I'm heading out of the park like I'm on Cipo's lead-out train of old.Seriously dude, I don't know you. I didn't set out to ride with you. I don't want to ride with you. You are literally just the guy I passed right before a stop light and you should disappear just as quickly. What's sad and worse is that honestly I fear that the klingon gets some kind of Saturday-morning-world-championship joy out of riding my wheel.
If your goal is ride with me to prove your fredhood, why don't you try riding the next 60 miles with me. You know the one's I do after I leave you in the park. Don't worry, I know you're probably confused by a lot of this so I went online and ordered a book on how to speak klingon and I am listening to audio tapes so in the future I can say get dropped in your native language.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Hill with a Chapel, North Cackalacky
I always attempt to pay great attention to detail, so in titling this post I sought out sources for the correct spelling of Cackalacky. I consulted the internet's more reliable sources including ghettodictionary.com but eventually settled on the spelling above from wikipedia. A side-note, wikipedia should never be used in Court as a source for anything.
Let's not kid ourselves, Chapel Hill has legit riding. I spent the last half of the week in the carolina blue paradise that is UNC. As it is less than a 5 hour drive and only about a 1 hour flight I opted for the former and brought the bike with me. I wish there was some mathematical formula that would indicate when I should fly somewhere or when I should drive there. Some formula which says that the aggrevation of going to the airport, getting through security, waiting for the flight, dealing with annoying passengers and trying to leave the airport equals X number of hours of driving. So all you would do is add that total to the flight time and see which is shorter.
Something strange about NC roads. Not sure how it happens but all of a sudden they have a habit of turning to gravel for a short distance and then right back to beautiful pavement. Riding there really reminded me of the roads back in Jackson. The hills weren't that bad and the terrain was full of tall pine and small farms. There however seems to be an obsession with naming things boro: carrboro, tarboro, greensboro, hillsborough, etc...
After riding I hit up Spanky's and the Carolina Brewery, two local establishments. The former had a great burger and the latter had a pretty decent selection of beverages. I became intwined in a conversation with a New Zealander about sports and hush puppies. He had never heard of a hush puppy before and was confused about what it was. He didn't seem all that impressed with our explanation either. The bartender, a guy from Boston who does a local radio show, joined in and tried to explain. Looking back on that I see the irony of two guys not from the South trying to explain to someone not from America what a Southern staple is. No doubt it probably left him perplexed and heading for the nearest airport back down under.
All this time at UNC got me thinkng about the old days back on Mt. Oread. I decided while taking pictures around campus that I would pack up the soon to be new car and head on out to Lawrence for some much needed R&R and to get back to my roots. So in August I'm point the car west and rolling down 'ol 70. I'm not coming back until I'm satisfied. Or I run out of annual leave.
Let's not kid ourselves, Chapel Hill has legit riding. I spent the last half of the week in the carolina blue paradise that is UNC. As it is less than a 5 hour drive and only about a 1 hour flight I opted for the former and brought the bike with me. I wish there was some mathematical formula that would indicate when I should fly somewhere or when I should drive there. Some formula which says that the aggrevation of going to the airport, getting through security, waiting for the flight, dealing with annoying passengers and trying to leave the airport equals X number of hours of driving. So all you would do is add that total to the flight time and see which is shorter.
Something strange about NC roads. Not sure how it happens but all of a sudden they have a habit of turning to gravel for a short distance and then right back to beautiful pavement. Riding there really reminded me of the roads back in Jackson. The hills weren't that bad and the terrain was full of tall pine and small farms. There however seems to be an obsession with naming things boro: carrboro, tarboro, greensboro, hillsborough, etc...
After riding I hit up Spanky's and the Carolina Brewery, two local establishments. The former had a great burger and the latter had a pretty decent selection of beverages. I became intwined in a conversation with a New Zealander about sports and hush puppies. He had never heard of a hush puppy before and was confused about what it was. He didn't seem all that impressed with our explanation either. The bartender, a guy from Boston who does a local radio show, joined in and tried to explain. Looking back on that I see the irony of two guys not from the South trying to explain to someone not from America what a Southern staple is. No doubt it probably left him perplexed and heading for the nearest airport back down under.
All this time at UNC got me thinkng about the old days back on Mt. Oread. I decided while taking pictures around campus that I would pack up the soon to be new car and head on out to Lawrence for some much needed R&R and to get back to my roots. So in August I'm point the car west and rolling down 'ol 70. I'm not coming back until I'm satisfied. Or I run out of annual leave.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Rocky Mountain High: Cycling in the West Part 1
After returning from a whirlwind adventure of bike racing, weddings and other things that often times leave me with that awstruck look of the white elephant sticker that Adam Mills and Ben Coles once put on my helmet I am ready to recount the events of the last month. My dearest friend Smiff-dog:
was recently wed. I voyaged out to the land of Pikes Peak for my first tour of the "inter-mountain west." The first day I arrived in C-Springs it was 70 degrees. The next morning it snowed:
However, undaunted I put on what warm cycling clothes I had and rode into the mountains (keep in mind the next leg on my tour was LA). These were my first rides with the new power tap. I can imagine only that the results might be a little skewed by the lack of any air at all in Colorado. I think I saw a lot of mph that were less than 10 as I ascended roads that back home should normally gave me no pause...and likely at this time of year a sun tan.
I am bound and determined this year to get down to climbing weight for my assaults up Middlebury and Appalachian Gaps. I am returning to Vermont to conquer the latter climb which destroyed my legs and made me rethink giving up pools and Ft. Lauderdale for a bike and the open random road. Labor Day Weekend, which is strangely not that far away, will be my final racing weekend of the season. I have decided to try my hand at the Green Mountain Stage Race which goes over the same climbs that I did my senior year of college at cycling nationals. Amazingly what cracked me that day wasn't the two tall climbs but a smaller wall of a climb which shredded the field.
However my excursion to Colorado was not without its share of shenanigans:
It is a pleasure to see the greatest among equals that is Brian Michael "Knight" Murphy. As you can tell time has not changed the myth of this man. He still is a giant who lives with us. An unequaled master of his domain. And still the only man in this world that I know who is loved so very much by women twice his size.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Car Shopping
The other night I started the final step in the process of replacing my aging yet wonderful Pontiac. The old car has performed so well for so long. Who cares that the windows stopped working or that the a/c ran out of juice or that the transmission slips anytime you step on the gas too hard. These are all just luxuries.
Princess Lillian joined me in my car buying escapade. We went up to the local Volkswagen dealership because I've had a long running crush on the German automaker's products. We made it there shortly after 7PM about an hour from closing and were greeted by a cheery and young salesman who was eager to show us around.
Young Salesman, making an assumption that Princess and I were a couple, started making comments about "our" purchase. The comments were enhanced when he came to learn that she owns a Jetta. When he found that out he said that we could buy "his and her" Jettas. Neither Princess nor I wanted to correct him because we figured he would just get embarrassed and feel dumb. We exchanged knowing glances but let it pass.
After our tour of the lot we went inside the dealership to start talking money. Lill's job that night was to not let me buy a car, this task she performed well. She also had intended to remain virtually silent but this she did until it burst in her. Channeling her mother and mine, she began asking questions about safety features. She beat Young Salesman about the head with questions of airbags and crumple zones until he almost could not handle it. Having satisfied her born-on-the-bayou urges she relaxed into an observer role.
Young salesman began his harder sell and the comments about "our relationship" grew more obvert. I'm guessing it didn't help/hurt the situation that Princess wears a ring on her left hand that could (in the right dim light) look like a wedding band.
Incentives started to be discussed-- recent college grad, good credit, having a good hair day etc... , then Young Salesman got to owner loyalty. I've driven a GM car since the turn of the century, so I was out. But Princess is a Jetta owner and he was about to use that leverage. When he asked us if "we atleast live together" you could see her face get red and terror in her eyes of "out of wed-lock what would my grandmother think?"
I thought about playing this game out to the end and seeing how much owner loyalty would get me; but then I started to think of how I was going to prove that her and I lived together...because we clearly don't. On top that Princess hates public displays of affection and I'm sure this would top the list. Therefore, I had to explain to him that weren't married or dating. The look on Young Salesman's face was priceless. Sadly, one can only have that kind of fun so many times. I wonder how much I can get that car for now?
Princess Lillian joined me in my car buying escapade. We went up to the local Volkswagen dealership because I've had a long running crush on the German automaker's products. We made it there shortly after 7PM about an hour from closing and were greeted by a cheery and young salesman who was eager to show us around.
Young Salesman, making an assumption that Princess and I were a couple, started making comments about "our" purchase. The comments were enhanced when he came to learn that she owns a Jetta. When he found that out he said that we could buy "his and her" Jettas. Neither Princess nor I wanted to correct him because we figured he would just get embarrassed and feel dumb. We exchanged knowing glances but let it pass.
After our tour of the lot we went inside the dealership to start talking money. Lill's job that night was to not let me buy a car, this task she performed well. She also had intended to remain virtually silent but this she did until it burst in her. Channeling her mother and mine, she began asking questions about safety features. She beat Young Salesman about the head with questions of airbags and crumple zones until he almost could not handle it. Having satisfied her born-on-the-bayou urges she relaxed into an observer role.
Young salesman began his harder sell and the comments about "our relationship" grew more obvert. I'm guessing it didn't help/hurt the situation that Princess wears a ring on her left hand that could (in the right dim light) look like a wedding band.
Incentives started to be discussed-- recent college grad, good credit, having a good hair day etc... , then Young Salesman got to owner loyalty. I've driven a GM car since the turn of the century, so I was out. But Princess is a Jetta owner and he was about to use that leverage. When he asked us if "we atleast live together" you could see her face get red and terror in her eyes of "out of wed-lock what would my grandmother think?"
I thought about playing this game out to the end and seeing how much owner loyalty would get me; but then I started to think of how I was going to prove that her and I lived together...because we clearly don't. On top that Princess hates public displays of affection and I'm sure this would top the list. Therefore, I had to explain to him that weren't married or dating. The look on Young Salesman's face was priceless. Sadly, one can only have that kind of fun so many times. I wonder how much I can get that car for now?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Cajun Seasoning-- Riding in the Big Easy
By invitation of a federal judge and necessity of my employment, I recently had the opportunity to spend eleven days in the Crescent City. I've been to New Orleans a number of times over the past two years and a couple times before the storm, but this time I brought my bike with me. I had been forewarned that New Orleans left a lot to be desired when it comes to variety of places to ride but was determined to make it work.
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The first day in town, I road down a local bike shop and asked the folks there for suggestions on place to ride and they gave me just one-- the levee. Ok, in reality they gave me two suggestions, the levee and the Natchez Trace. However, since I didn't want to drive a hundred and fifty miles into Mississippi for a daily training ride, I opted for the levee.
New Orleans has a great river levee that runs for about twenty miles from downtown up the river. It's bone flat, overly exposed and curves back and forth. As the levee curves you go from headwind to tailwind and back again. You're speed literally changes from 15 mph to 30 mph in the course of half a mile. The river was high this time of year. It was a good five to ten feet above the level of the homes on the other side of the levee. Something about that just unnerved me.
I was amazed by how flat the city really is. The biggest elevation change was a pothole on St. Charles Ave. Riding on the levee you get a great view of the passing ships up and down the Mississippi River. They are huge vessels, some as long as a couple football fields.
I took the opportunity to have my own American Flyers moment. I spotted a large Greek vessel a couple hundred meters, a headwind and gave him the current in his favor (because I believe in a fair fight). Then I went to work on him. He was no match for my speed. It took me about five miles but I took him and his steam powered engine down. It was like my own personal tribute to Casey Jones and the battle of man versus machine. And in the case man won.
Feeling a little high on my fitness right now, the question for me now is who's next:
The first day in town, I road down a local bike shop and asked the folks there for suggestions on place to ride and they gave me just one-- the levee. Ok, in reality they gave me two suggestions, the levee and the Natchez Trace. However, since I didn't want to drive a hundred and fifty miles into Mississippi for a daily training ride, I opted for the levee.
New Orleans has a great river levee that runs for about twenty miles from downtown up the river. It's bone flat, overly exposed and curves back and forth. As the levee curves you go from headwind to tailwind and back again. You're speed literally changes from 15 mph to 30 mph in the course of half a mile. The river was high this time of year. It was a good five to ten feet above the level of the homes on the other side of the levee. Something about that just unnerved me.
I was amazed by how flat the city really is. The biggest elevation change was a pothole on St. Charles Ave. Riding on the levee you get a great view of the passing ships up and down the Mississippi River. They are huge vessels, some as long as a couple football fields.
I took the opportunity to have my own American Flyers moment. I spotted a large Greek vessel a couple hundred meters, a headwind and gave him the current in his favor (because I believe in a fair fight). Then I went to work on him. He was no match for my speed. It took me about five miles but I took him and his steam powered engine down. It was like my own personal tribute to Casey Jones and the battle of man versus machine. And in the case man won.
Feeling a little high on my fitness right now, the question for me now is who's next:
That's right Denny Hamlin. You and the No. 11 FedEx Toyota are going down. Just you wait till Richmond in a couple weeks. When you look in your review mirror it's gonna be me and my NCVC Cannondale CAAD 9 bump drafting you all the way through the final corner. When I get down in the drops you've got no chance. (P.S. FedEx please sponsor me-- I'm fast)
The Saga Continues
For reasons that escape belief, I have been given a driver's license, a USCF license and license to practice law. The first one I rarely use. The second one I use every weekend. The third one I use daily and it pays the bills that the second one incurs. This blog is my continuing journey from obscure town to obscure town, roadway to roadway and sometimes from emergency room to emergency room in pursuit of illusive cycling glory.
I have the rare fortune of having a bike, a bike box (thanks Taylor) and a camera (thanks Mom and Dad). I have also been blessed with a job that sends me from the Atlantic to the Pacific and all places inbetween. Put the lot of them together and I'm hoping that it makes for some stories and a few good pictures.
I have the rare fortune of having a bike, a bike box (thanks Taylor) and a camera (thanks Mom and Dad). I have also been blessed with a job that sends me from the Atlantic to the Pacific and all places inbetween. Put the lot of them together and I'm hoping that it makes for some stories and a few good pictures.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Aren't we in Need of a Wow
I swang by the protest on the National Mall yesterday not to lend my voice to a cause but to experience it. It was a hodge podge of causes and events. People milling about protesting whatever cause they felt like protesting with only the consensus that they weren't happy with what was going on in the world and felt like raising their voices.
I'm not sure how many folks were down there. The official count was 50,000 but all of them weren't there when I was there. I rode around trying to find the focus, the center of this mini-universe, but could only find the masses. I guess in the end I was slightly unimpressed.
This leads me to the title line, aren't we in need of a wow? By that I mean aren't we supposed to be impressed with something? Impressed by our leaders, the events in our lives and the people we put faith in. Too often being ok is confused for mediocrity and that is genuinely dangerous. Mediocrity is a term that means nothing to me. It is the absence of feeling, a total sense of numbness.
Numbness is only ok if you intend on avoiding pleasure and pain-- if you intend on doing nothing except living and dying. I cannot tolerate a lack of motion, a lack of passion or a lack of feeling. I am as guilty as the rest in that sometimes I make my decisions based on avoiding pain or discomfort. However, in the moment, making a decision based on what will be the least painful is making a decision to do nothing. Risk something and you might be rewarded, risk nothing and you'll never be disapointed because you'll have nothing. For me, I'll take the former.
I'm not sure how many folks were down there. The official count was 50,000 but all of them weren't there when I was there. I rode around trying to find the focus, the center of this mini-universe, but could only find the masses. I guess in the end I was slightly unimpressed.
This leads me to the title line, aren't we in need of a wow? By that I mean aren't we supposed to be impressed with something? Impressed by our leaders, the events in our lives and the people we put faith in. Too often being ok is confused for mediocrity and that is genuinely dangerous. Mediocrity is a term that means nothing to me. It is the absence of feeling, a total sense of numbness.
Numbness is only ok if you intend on avoiding pleasure and pain-- if you intend on doing nothing except living and dying. I cannot tolerate a lack of motion, a lack of passion or a lack of feeling. I am as guilty as the rest in that sometimes I make my decisions based on avoiding pain or discomfort. However, in the moment, making a decision based on what will be the least painful is making a decision to do nothing. Risk something and you might be rewarded, risk nothing and you'll never be disapointed because you'll have nothing. For me, I'll take the former.
Friday, January 26, 2007
The Post Express
In an effort to stay in front of the curve, or better put, to desperately seek to stay "hip" in the DC scene, I've started reading the Post Express everyday. The Express is the free version of the Washington Post that is available at just about every bus stop and metro station in greater DC. It's phenomenal because it gives you the headline news version of the top events of the day. I supplement it with CNN, SI and Drudge at lunch and then I know what's going on in the world or at least I can pretend like I do which is more important than anything else.
It typically takes me the whole ride in on the bus to read most of the stories in the Express, minus the lifestyle section because frankly I could honestly care less about women's fashion, crappy local bands, and what was today's topic--oh yeah the "slim suit." I don't even know what that is, but I'm sure it was terrible. The last couple of pages are the human interest stories and celebrity gossip. That section gets read when I hit the last two stops before mine and I'm always left with the same thought...who cares about celebrities?
The Express is top quality because the headlines for the one or two paragraph blurbs about Justin, Nicole or Paris are always a touch condescending and normally pretty damn funny. The fact remains . . . why do these people even deserve one or two paragraphs? I struggle to find one thing that 99% of celebrities do to provide value to anyone's life. There are exceptions but for the large part the only thing a celebrity does that makes them interesting to me is act or perform. It's just a shame that all the junk that ends up in the newspapers and on tv has nothing to do with their acting or performing and everything to do with the rest of the train wreck they call their lives (i.e. that Lindsay chick who has been in-and-out of rehab).
I think if we paid as much attention to the in-work lives of our elected officials and decisionmakers as we did to the out-of-work lives of irrelevant celebrities there would be a heck of a lot more accountability for bad or poor decisions. But why should we worry about the economy, foreign policy and other pertinent social issues when we can spend our time worrying about who said what on Grey's Anatomy?
It typically takes me the whole ride in on the bus to read most of the stories in the Express, minus the lifestyle section because frankly I could honestly care less about women's fashion, crappy local bands, and what was today's topic--oh yeah the "slim suit." I don't even know what that is, but I'm sure it was terrible. The last couple of pages are the human interest stories and celebrity gossip. That section gets read when I hit the last two stops before mine and I'm always left with the same thought...who cares about celebrities?
The Express is top quality because the headlines for the one or two paragraph blurbs about Justin, Nicole or Paris are always a touch condescending and normally pretty damn funny. The fact remains . . . why do these people even deserve one or two paragraphs? I struggle to find one thing that 99% of celebrities do to provide value to anyone's life. There are exceptions but for the large part the only thing a celebrity does that makes them interesting to me is act or perform. It's just a shame that all the junk that ends up in the newspapers and on tv has nothing to do with their acting or performing and everything to do with the rest of the train wreck they call their lives (i.e. that Lindsay chick who has been in-and-out of rehab).
I think if we paid as much attention to the in-work lives of our elected officials and decisionmakers as we did to the out-of-work lives of irrelevant celebrities there would be a heck of a lot more accountability for bad or poor decisions. But why should we worry about the economy, foreign policy and other pertinent social issues when we can spend our time worrying about who said what on Grey's Anatomy?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Ice It's the New Gravel
Something is inherently wrong with me, I know this in my heart and many people have told such. It snowed in DCland this past weekend. C-Dog and I were out there on Sunday for two hours in 26 degrees, just long enough for us to hit the first flurries and for our water bottles to freeze. Then on Tuesday, after the streets were supposed to be cleared and I was convinced that there would be work to go to, I returned to my outdoor riding plan. Little did I know that despite the 35 degree high of the day before, there was still snow and ice left on the ground.
Why there was snow or ice befuddles me. The DC area only got hit with maybe 1/10th of an inch of snow, but the rules of the world change once you cross into Maryland (where my rides often take me). It's true, and other's likely would agree with me, that once you enter into Maryland everything changes. In Maryland, I've crossed paths with foxes that talk to me and inform me of upcoming traffic and deer that suggest an alternate route. Also, in Maryland the rules of physic don't apply freezing happens at a different temperature and a full and the brakes on cars don't work while the horns do. I don't try to understand it, I just accept it.
Needless to say the snow and ice were an unwelcome surprise. It reminded me of the days back in Kansas where gravel road riding was the only way to go. For us Kansans it's not that we chose to ride gravel roads it was just that we didn't have any other options. Thankfully, I have been trained for all types of road conditions.
There was a race not to long ago where I found myself passing in the gravel on the side of the road. The part that shocked me was not that I was doing it but that others were impressed by that fact. I'm guessing from now on I'll have to pass in the snow too.
On Saturday (in two days) there is going to be a "Vietnam-era sized" protest on the National Mall. Now, I'm not much into talking about the merits of the protest, but I will of course have to end my morning ride with a tour of the Mall. I think that it should be a new rule that whenever presented with a "Vietnam-era sized" protest all rides should end with a tour of said protest. Hopefully this one won't have the same level of anti-climax as the million man march.
Why there was snow or ice befuddles me. The DC area only got hit with maybe 1/10th of an inch of snow, but the rules of the world change once you cross into Maryland (where my rides often take me). It's true, and other's likely would agree with me, that once you enter into Maryland everything changes. In Maryland, I've crossed paths with foxes that talk to me and inform me of upcoming traffic and deer that suggest an alternate route. Also, in Maryland the rules of physic don't apply freezing happens at a different temperature and a full and the brakes on cars don't work while the horns do. I don't try to understand it, I just accept it.
Needless to say the snow and ice were an unwelcome surprise. It reminded me of the days back in Kansas where gravel road riding was the only way to go. For us Kansans it's not that we chose to ride gravel roads it was just that we didn't have any other options. Thankfully, I have been trained for all types of road conditions.
There was a race not to long ago where I found myself passing in the gravel on the side of the road. The part that shocked me was not that I was doing it but that others were impressed by that fact. I'm guessing from now on I'll have to pass in the snow too.
On Saturday (in two days) there is going to be a "Vietnam-era sized" protest on the National Mall. Now, I'm not much into talking about the merits of the protest, but I will of course have to end my morning ride with a tour of the Mall. I think that it should be a new rule that whenever presented with a "Vietnam-era sized" protest all rides should end with a tour of said protest. Hopefully this one won't have the same level of anti-climax as the million man march.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Now it's too Damn Cold to Ride
I fight the impulse to stay in bed on many a morning and then I fight the impulse to just ride the trainer inside rather than voyage out into the cold world of pre-dawn life. This morning the impulse to stay inside won out. I pulled up on the temperature this morning and it read 28 in the District with 18 out in the suburbs. I decided that was just a little too cold for me to ride.
In Kansas we had the Tilford-Topeka-cold-weather-riding rules. When the temperature dips below 32 degrees you are to ride only 1 mile per degree. So if it's 30 degrees you do 30 miles. However, at some point in time it just becomes stupid to get all dressed for the cold and ride for only a few miles. I figure that point is somewhere around the point where it takes as long to get dressed for the ride as it does to ride the ride.
I know some may think I'm a pansy for following this rule, but I was told never to argue with the Tilford-Topeka rules. I do break them on occassion, like when I was in Chicago for Christmases past and rode in 20 degree weather for 40 miles or until my left foot freezes. However, in the pre-dawn world I'm not going to fight against the rules. It just seems like it's colder when there is no sun out, 25 degrees is just a lot colder at dawn than it is at noon.
So I've labored to create my own personal local rules based on the aforementioned ones. Therefore, the local DC rules are as follows. During daylight rides I will ride until my foot freezes. After it freezes I'll turn around and ride tempo home. However, during pre-dawn rides the rule is that the 2 hour 15 minute daily ride will be standard until the temps dip below 30 degrees. At 29 degrees I will stay inside and ride the trainer, as much as I hate it. If it dips below 15 degrees I'm not going anywhere and that includes to work. If it is below 0 degrees I'm not even getting out of bed.
Wind chill does not count. Wind chill is the weak man's way of saying it's colder than it actually is. For anyone who disagrees with me try living in Chicago for a winter.
In Kansas we had the Tilford-Topeka-cold-weather-riding rules. When the temperature dips below 32 degrees you are to ride only 1 mile per degree. So if it's 30 degrees you do 30 miles. However, at some point in time it just becomes stupid to get all dressed for the cold and ride for only a few miles. I figure that point is somewhere around the point where it takes as long to get dressed for the ride as it does to ride the ride.
I know some may think I'm a pansy for following this rule, but I was told never to argue with the Tilford-Topeka rules. I do break them on occassion, like when I was in Chicago for Christmases past and rode in 20 degree weather for 40 miles or until my left foot freezes. However, in the pre-dawn world I'm not going to fight against the rules. It just seems like it's colder when there is no sun out, 25 degrees is just a lot colder at dawn than it is at noon.
So I've labored to create my own personal local rules based on the aforementioned ones. Therefore, the local DC rules are as follows. During daylight rides I will ride until my foot freezes. After it freezes I'll turn around and ride tempo home. However, during pre-dawn rides the rule is that the 2 hour 15 minute daily ride will be standard until the temps dip below 30 degrees. At 29 degrees I will stay inside and ride the trainer, as much as I hate it. If it dips below 15 degrees I'm not going anywhere and that includes to work. If it is below 0 degrees I'm not even getting out of bed.
Wind chill does not count. Wind chill is the weak man's way of saying it's colder than it actually is. For anyone who disagrees with me try living in Chicago for a winter.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
On This Occassion
It's the start of a whole new year, which is even better than the start of a new week. Thank God that New Year's Eve has now passed. Slowly, I'm getting a sense that Jan. 2 is a much better holiday than the others. If for no other reason than suddenly the pressure to make the proceedings days the "best days of the year" is gone.
I recently received the pleasure of the beloved LullaBelle. Lulla serves to remind me of the pleasures of slowing down one's life to the point where you can actually enjoy the joy of taking a deep breadth. I spend most of my day hustling to and fro from one file to another spending minimal time on each task yet endeavoring to obtain maximal output. This of course is an impossibility, just as trying to get wireless service free from my neighbors.
So much rides on the moment to moment existence that I don't pause enough to enjoy the overarching joys of Lulla's company or anyone else's company as a matter of fact. I think that my resolution this year should be about this: don't try to make each moment great or filled with meaning, but rather enjoy each moment for what it is. There is nothing special about one Saturday night over one Tuesday afternoon. They all have the opportunity of being the best of our lives. Take pleasures when and where they come.
I resolve to enjoy the life that I have and not the life that I imagine I should have because someone on tv tells me that I should. What is your resolution?
I recently received the pleasure of the beloved LullaBelle. Lulla serves to remind me of the pleasures of slowing down one's life to the point where you can actually enjoy the joy of taking a deep breadth. I spend most of my day hustling to and fro from one file to another spending minimal time on each task yet endeavoring to obtain maximal output. This of course is an impossibility, just as trying to get wireless service free from my neighbors.
So much rides on the moment to moment existence that I don't pause enough to enjoy the overarching joys of Lulla's company or anyone else's company as a matter of fact. I think that my resolution this year should be about this: don't try to make each moment great or filled with meaning, but rather enjoy each moment for what it is. There is nothing special about one Saturday night over one Tuesday afternoon. They all have the opportunity of being the best of our lives. Take pleasures when and where they come.
I resolve to enjoy the life that I have and not the life that I imagine I should have because someone on tv tells me that I should. What is your resolution?
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
My Favorite Poem
[IF]
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
--Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
--Rudyard Kipling
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Nite Riddin' Part II
I planned on doing an hour and half of riding this morning and didn't want to take the usual trip down McArthur Blvd, so I changed venue to the Rock Creek Park. Normally I leave the park for weekend rides or on the way back in, but this morning I thought I'd be adventurous.
I've been riding in the early morning hours for about a year or so but never have I been in such a dark place before. The park is in a ravine with cliffs on either side of it. It's like the countryside except it's in the middle of DC. It was just an area of the city where they couldn't build houses because the terrain was too steep so they turned it into a twisty and turning road that is closed to traffic some days of the week.
The natural lay of the land and the tall trees block out most of the light coming from the city, so it's pitch black most evenings. This morning was no exception. Even my helmet-mounted little lights were no match to the darkness. I'm sure it didn't hurt that I have taken to wearing orange tinted glasses for these rides. I tried going without sunglasses but ended up getting little pieces of junk in my eyes quite often that were annoying so I adopted the orange glasses.
It was an amazing ride, through this darkness. I'm looking back on it as if it was a dream. I might not have been too awake at the time so it could have been one. I'm looking for to the end of daylight savings time now and the reemergence of the sun for my rides. I typically ride for about an hour before sunrise. I'd like to get that changed so that I can go without the helmet light for a little while. Plus, it's darn cold at that time with the sun.
Curious thought of the day: Do we speak truth to power more often than power speaks to truth?
I've been riding in the early morning hours for about a year or so but never have I been in such a dark place before. The park is in a ravine with cliffs on either side of it. It's like the countryside except it's in the middle of DC. It was just an area of the city where they couldn't build houses because the terrain was too steep so they turned it into a twisty and turning road that is closed to traffic some days of the week.
The natural lay of the land and the tall trees block out most of the light coming from the city, so it's pitch black most evenings. This morning was no exception. Even my helmet-mounted little lights were no match to the darkness. I'm sure it didn't hurt that I have taken to wearing orange tinted glasses for these rides. I tried going without sunglasses but ended up getting little pieces of junk in my eyes quite often that were annoying so I adopted the orange glasses.
It was an amazing ride, through this darkness. I'm looking back on it as if it was a dream. I might not have been too awake at the time so it could have been one. I'm looking for to the end of daylight savings time now and the reemergence of the sun for my rides. I typically ride for about an hour before sunrise. I'd like to get that changed so that I can go without the helmet light for a little while. Plus, it's darn cold at that time with the sun.
Curious thought of the day: Do we speak truth to power more often than power speaks to truth?
Saturday, October 21, 2006
No I don't Want to Ride With YOU
This is my view on the order of priority of those people allowed on the roadways, each category has a quota and only if the category does not use it's quota would the next group have a chance to put some people on to the roads:
1. cyclists
2. pedestrians
3. buses drinking hardworking people to and from work
4. rollerbladers
5. people driving to and from work
6. everyone else except for soccer moms
7. buses in general
8. soccer moms
9. trucks
10. cabbies
The last group should never be allowed to be on the roadways unless its late at night and people need to get home from bars in my neighborhood then they'll magically appear and take you home. Otherwise, they are not allowed.
1. cyclists
2. pedestrians
3. buses drinking hardworking people to and from work
4. rollerbladers
5. people driving to and from work
6. everyone else except for soccer moms
7. buses in general
8. soccer moms
9. trucks
10. cabbies
The last group should never be allowed to be on the roadways unless its late at night and people need to get home from bars in my neighborhood then they'll magically appear and take you home. Otherwise, they are not allowed.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Travel Bug
The last few days have been an interesting mix of interesting. What does that mean? I have no idea but sounded good in my head. I walked home from the metro a different way today, through the little dog park by my house. However, that's not what I was referring to. They (the powers that be) warned me that my section of the Dept of Justice travels more than any other section. . . I didn't believe them but now I know it's going to be true. My world tour for the next month is as follows:
Nov 8-11: Honolulu, HI
Nov 15-16: Troy, NY
Thanksgiving: Mom and Dad are coming here
Nov 27-28: Miami, FL
Dec. 4-8: Columbia, SC
Not bad for the frequent flyer miles huh? I'm thinking if I rack up enough of them I'll go some place warm and sunny. Maybe Detriot, MI. Ok, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, which right now are St. Louis Cardinal's Fans.
A new book of music arrived this week. I picked up a copy of sheet music for Dierks Bentley's CD "Modern Day Drifter." I'm going to figure out this thing one way or the other. It's one of those guitar/piano/vocal books, so the guitar chords are written small and above the vocal's treble, or at least that's what I think, tell me if I'm wrong Papa Smurf. I think I can actually play a few bar chords, look at me with the F and Dsus chords going on now. The tips of my fingers are numb from playing so I'll take a break from the excitement.
Wow how random are these thoughts.
Nov 8-11: Honolulu, HI
Nov 15-16: Troy, NY
Thanksgiving: Mom and Dad are coming here
Nov 27-28: Miami, FL
Dec. 4-8: Columbia, SC
Not bad for the frequent flyer miles huh? I'm thinking if I rack up enough of them I'll go some place warm and sunny. Maybe Detriot, MI. Ok, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, which right now are St. Louis Cardinal's Fans.
A new book of music arrived this week. I picked up a copy of sheet music for Dierks Bentley's CD "Modern Day Drifter." I'm going to figure out this thing one way or the other. It's one of those guitar/piano/vocal books, so the guitar chords are written small and above the vocal's treble, or at least that's what I think, tell me if I'm wrong Papa Smurf. I think I can actually play a few bar chords, look at me with the F and Dsus chords going on now. The tips of my fingers are numb from playing so I'll take a break from the excitement.
Wow how random are these thoughts.
Monday, October 16, 2006
In Defense of Byram
Having lived for a year in one of the most treasured spots of the South, I must rush to its defense. When I told my parents that I was going to move into an apartment in Byram, MS they were at first confused. Largely because the entire community was the size of my dormitory at KU and secondly because no one in my family had ever heard of it before. I think the latter is a result of the former but that's neither here nor there. After visiting Byram, my Mom remarked..."well atleast it's not Pearl."
After living in the metropolis of Byram, the bourgeoning burg if you may, I grew to love it. Everyone talks about Madison and Ridgeland and Brandon but no one gives Byram the credit its due. Therefore, as of today I am beginning the campaign to get Byram listed as one of the top ten towns in the United States. That's right, you better watch out Naperville...Byram is coming after you.
Growing up in the aforementioned Naperville, IL (currently the number two place to live in the US) I know a thing or two about what makes a city a great place to live. First things first, Byram needs to make a few modest improvments. I'd say start with turning the Jackson Dragway into the Byram Motor Speedway and hold a NASCar race there once a season would get Byram on the map. Second, someone has to bulldoze the trailers by the Pearl River in order to make way for the San Antonio-style (or Naperville-style if you may) Riverwalk complete with 5-star hotels and restuarants.
All these capital improvements will undoubtedly bring in big business, but Byram needs to stay close to its roots--the small town culture and easy lifestyle that makes it Mississippi's diamond in the rough. After the new ivy-league level college is built on the bluffs overlooking Lake Dockery, there needs to be area retained for just green space. A place for families to go to on a Sunday afternoon and picnic or fly kites. That's why I propose leveling the town of Jackson and returning it to the rolling hills and meadows that it once was.
All these things for starters should help to realize my dream. The aforementioned was just slightly satirical.
After living in the metropolis of Byram, the bourgeoning burg if you may, I grew to love it. Everyone talks about Madison and Ridgeland and Brandon but no one gives Byram the credit its due. Therefore, as of today I am beginning the campaign to get Byram listed as one of the top ten towns in the United States. That's right, you better watch out Naperville...Byram is coming after you.
Growing up in the aforementioned Naperville, IL (currently the number two place to live in the US) I know a thing or two about what makes a city a great place to live. First things first, Byram needs to make a few modest improvments. I'd say start with turning the Jackson Dragway into the Byram Motor Speedway and hold a NASCar race there once a season would get Byram on the map. Second, someone has to bulldoze the trailers by the Pearl River in order to make way for the San Antonio-style (or Naperville-style if you may) Riverwalk complete with 5-star hotels and restuarants.
All these capital improvements will undoubtedly bring in big business, but Byram needs to stay close to its roots--the small town culture and easy lifestyle that makes it Mississippi's diamond in the rough. After the new ivy-league level college is built on the bluffs overlooking Lake Dockery, there needs to be area retained for just green space. A place for families to go to on a Sunday afternoon and picnic or fly kites. That's why I propose leveling the town of Jackson and returning it to the rolling hills and meadows that it once was.
All these things for starters should help to realize my dream. The aforementioned was just slightly satirical.
Caught in the Endless Hell of the Voice Mail Jungle
Probably the most annoying aspect of the modern world is the automated call directory. You know the one I'm talking about, the press 1 for this, 2 for that and eventually you need to give up and just press zero repetitively. I tried this trick recently and to my horror the creators had found a way to confound me even further. They replaced the zero feature on their answering system with a repeat key. So each time I pressed zero it just repeated the bloody message. I pressed zero so many times that the system eventually hung up on me.
So there I was pissed with no one to yell at except for the answering system which I am apparantly unable to crack. Finally, I got someone on the line. I tried to explain to this fine example of failed education that I was a government attorney authorized to practice in his Court but that the filing system was not allowing me to do so. He was so confused by my answers that I am not in the system, no I'm not licensed in his State, but that I was really a lawyer and yes the United States Attorney General did deem it fit that I practice before his Court.
Alas, he passed me on to another person and a new system of voice messages. I left a message for a new and hopefully more intelligent human being but I doubt I'll ever hear from them regarding this and will eventually find myself right back in the same tangled web of messages and options. Technology was supposed to make life more efficient, but I see this example of technology just makes the people we actually talk to on the phone dumber.
So there I was pissed with no one to yell at except for the answering system which I am apparantly unable to crack. Finally, I got someone on the line. I tried to explain to this fine example of failed education that I was a government attorney authorized to practice in his Court but that the filing system was not allowing me to do so. He was so confused by my answers that I am not in the system, no I'm not licensed in his State, but that I was really a lawyer and yes the United States Attorney General did deem it fit that I practice before his Court.
Alas, he passed me on to another person and a new system of voice messages. I left a message for a new and hopefully more intelligent human being but I doubt I'll ever hear from them regarding this and will eventually find myself right back in the same tangled web of messages and options. Technology was supposed to make life more efficient, but I see this example of technology just makes the people we actually talk to on the phone dumber.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
We Could be Heroes
Two months after arriving in the nations capital city I have caught my breath long enough to realize that it's been two months. In two months I have deposed a stripper, taken a boat ride on the Hudson, interviewed a law enforcement officer overlooking a bay in the Keys and talked opposing counsel into dismissing my client from an action.
This is not to mention the countless federal tax dollars I have spent on tasks that I can no longer justify to even myself. However, I'm healthy, happy and all around in good spirits, despite the two-time failure of my furniture company to deliver a couch I ordered in August. However, you know what they say-- third time is the charm.
DC is how I remember it was, for the most part. A lot has changed but the White House is still in the same place and DuPont Circle is impossible to navigate in anything but by bike. I just filled my gas tank up for the first time in two months, which utterly depressed me. I love public transportation, where else in the world can you get to see the wonders of modern society but please don't forget to bring a book as your fellow travellers are not comfortable with you staring at them.
My neighborhood is the greatest place in the world. There is so much life, color, noise, music etc... I never imagined such a vibrant place. I want to take it all in all the time, but sadly I have to go to work sometime. DC is home.
This is not to mention the countless federal tax dollars I have spent on tasks that I can no longer justify to even myself. However, I'm healthy, happy and all around in good spirits, despite the two-time failure of my furniture company to deliver a couch I ordered in August. However, you know what they say-- third time is the charm.
DC is how I remember it was, for the most part. A lot has changed but the White House is still in the same place and DuPont Circle is impossible to navigate in anything but by bike. I just filled my gas tank up for the first time in two months, which utterly depressed me. I love public transportation, where else in the world can you get to see the wonders of modern society but please don't forget to bring a book as your fellow travellers are not comfortable with you staring at them.
My neighborhood is the greatest place in the world. There is so much life, color, noise, music etc... I never imagined such a vibrant place. I want to take it all in all the time, but sadly I have to go to work sometime. DC is home.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Nashville Star 2
I told you all that I was serious, now I can prove it:
Thanks to Papa Smurf's instructions (thank you by the way) I've been picking up my ability to play a little bit at a time. I'm thinking of picking up a new book of music that has some easy melodies. I've gone through the first set of callouses on my fingertips and I think things are getting better.
The best I've gotten so far was a compliment from my Mom who said "that sounds good . . . and I'm not saying that just because I'm your mother." Oh and it's only been in the 70s in Chicago. I went out on the town on Friday night and got a little crazy. I had two drinks before leaving so I was already socially inappropriate when I met my cousin's college friends. It only got worse from there.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Nashville Star
I was really serious when I said I wanted to become a country star. So I went out and bought an accoustic guitar. I've learned a bunch of chords, but can someone please tell me how to work the whoel tablature thing.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Jury Duty
So I was compelled to perform my civic duty today. I showed up at 9:45 and sat around till the late afternoon. There were three trials set for the day. All of them arrived at a settlement sometime after lunch. So a 180 jurors sat around for a full work day reading books, magazines and taking short naps. I wish there was a better way to do this, but I cannot offer a single suggestion.
I took a book from home to read today, "I owe Russia $1200" by Bob Hope. It was a book from my grandmother's library and it was an interesting read. I think it was written sometime in the late 60s and its view of the world was markedly different. In particular there was this section about Korea. It described South Korea as barely subsistant and agricultural. It described poverty and bleakness. Then it described the industrial north. Absolutely amazing how things have changed.
I took a book from home to read today, "I owe Russia $1200" by Bob Hope. It was a book from my grandmother's library and it was an interesting read. I think it was written sometime in the late 60s and its view of the world was markedly different. In particular there was this section about Korea. It described South Korea as barely subsistant and agricultural. It described poverty and bleakness. Then it described the industrial north. Absolutely amazing how things have changed.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
My Stay is Over
I finally did it. I picked up and left Mississippi. I've taken a tremendously roundabout route but I'm back home in Chicago for much needed r&r and to restart my training schedule. We loaded up a u-haul with all my worldly possession and just set out east bound on I-40. Driving that u-haul had to be the most difficult and stressful drive of my life. I'm used to my little car that can weave in-and-out of traffic and is easy to manuever all over big cities, but not this truck. Driving it anywhere, but flat open road was tricky.
I'm now a homeowner as well. I signed my life away. I felt like a kid on his birthday. Everyone was just watching me open up my new present. However, this time I had to pay for my gift. It's strange, all I'm interested in doing right now is fixing the place up. I've found myself looking at different types of wood, paint, furniture etc... I went to an Ikea and I thought to myself that it's the adult version of Toys r' Us. I cannot wait to go to Home Depot and Loews. I've have all sorts of little projects in mind including re-doing the bathroom, adding closet and storage space and woodworking. I've crossed the line and don't know how to get back.
It's r&r time for me.
I'm now a homeowner as well. I signed my life away. I felt like a kid on his birthday. Everyone was just watching me open up my new present. However, this time I had to pay for my gift. It's strange, all I'm interested in doing right now is fixing the place up. I've found myself looking at different types of wood, paint, furniture etc... I went to an Ikea and I thought to myself that it's the adult version of Toys r' Us. I cannot wait to go to Home Depot and Loews. I've have all sorts of little projects in mind including re-doing the bathroom, adding closet and storage space and woodworking. I've crossed the line and don't know how to get back.
It's r&r time for me.
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