Distance: 3,458 miles
Saddle Time: 31 days of riding; 33 days total
Terrain: Various. 100,000 feet of climbing.
Weather: Temperature 33F to 108F. Winds Calm to Heavy; Tail to Head. Sunny to Thunderstorms.
It’s done. I did it. Every Fantastic Inch. That’s what you call it when you don’t spend an inch of the ride in the SAG wagon. I did it all on the bike. I was the only one on the ride that did. I take some pride in that.
Though I have to commend some of the accomplishment to luck, I am struck by how much was actually in my control. I never got sick, not even a sniffle (I washed my hands obsessively; Efferdent in the water bottles); my knees and ankles stayed intact (I stuck to an ice and ibuprofen regimen to manage pain and swelling); only two days did I have to ride through an acute and extended energy debt (I recovered well—got the legs up, ate quickly and well in my post-ride glycogen window, ate continuously while riding).
Some of the folks offering encouragement before I left were really kind about telling me they were sure I would make it but couldn’t imagine going that far that quickly themselves because they weren’t as strong riders as I. Well, folks, having done it I can tell you that the main strength component was consistently the least important. You don’t fail to make it because you’re too slow or because the mountains are too high or too steep or the day is too long. You fail to make it because you do not choose to hydrate or eat right, because you don’t take care of your joints; because your attention lapses and you hit something that takes you down; because you chose the wrong equipment or weren’t prepared for it to break down. It is all controllable and doable by riders across the range of speeds, which isn’t to say that anybody does it right 100% of the time. The wild card for me was the equipment, and in particular my wheels. I was lucky in not having a spoke break because I didn’t have any spares and should have. That would have put me in the van for some miles.
The other thing that I would point out to the daunted is that you can’t help but become stronger over the duration of the ride. Yeah, you get tired, but much of it is neutralized by the inevitable increase in strength that comes with the mileage.
All of this is not to say that it’s not physically demanding. It is, and intensely, but the greater demand is the mental one. It starts with acceptance. This particular ride, the 113 mile per day average means that it really has to be all about the ride. There’s not much opportunity for leisure or sight-seeing or beers with the boys. The people who didn’t understand that they had signed up for this and accept it struggled. There is also a mental discipline that comes with riding large distances. Nobody rides a 150 mile day; you ride three 50 mile stretches; you ride from SAG stop to SAG stop. This is especially important if you’re suffering. The day after Blythe and the day into Las Vegas would have encompassed too much cumulative suffering if I had focused on the daily totals, but I can put up with anything for 10 miles.
So, would I do it again? If the question is would I ride 3500 miles in 33 days again, the answer is no. I’ve tackled the challenge in just the way I wanted to tackle it. I know now that I can do it and can’t get that excited about tackling it again. If the question is would I undertake another long distance bicycle tour, the answer is an emphatic yes. I would be thrilled to ride across a smaller country fast, or do this country on a longer duration tour that allowed for some leisure.
By way of endorsement, the company that I used, America by Bicycle, and the ride leader, Mike Munk, are the first place I would turn to do another ride. They’ve got a Ride the West tour that looks intriguing for some time in the future.
Some other insights / endorsements:
Specialized are the only cycling shoes. Everybody on the tour rode them because they are the only ones that offer enough support to keep the ankle from over-pronating when you are tired and climbing steep climbs.
Pearl Izumi shorts are the best for this kind of ride—expensive and worth it—but varying chamois placement is also important, so I also rode a pair of Castelli every third day. I threw away a pair of Louis Garneau and won’t use Descente for a long ride again.
Bontrager wheels do not hold up. My Shimanos did, and many other had success with Mavic Ksyriums. No tires will not puncture from radial wires on the interstate, but Armadillos and Gatorskins did hold up well.
Gearing. People with the lower gears go up the hills faster and get to the top in better shape. Period. All the folks who thought they were strong riding a 39 ring and 21 cog up the hills on their 40 mile club rides proved to be strong only for their 40 mile club rides. They saw a lot of me spinning by them every time the road turned up. Now I am going to the bike store this week to get rid of my climbing ring and move to a 50/34 chain ring and 11/25 cogset. I would be keeping the climbing ring if I climbed a lot of mountain passes even now, though. The granularity in the shifting outweighs the weight penalty in producing speed in my humble opinion.
Well, that’s it for me. I hope you enjoyed hanging out. Now I need to find a publisher, or employer, or pimp, or really any way of making the almighty dollar. Stay out of trouble. If you find yourself in Richmond, let’s go for a ride.
Andy
Monday, May 25, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Day 33: Keene, New Hampshire to Salisbury Beach, Massachussetts
Distance: 115 miles
Average Speed: 17.9 mph
Terrain: Hilly. 5000 feet of climbing. Don’t coasts usually have a plain?
Winds: Light and generally favorable. Warm.
First, sorry about the delay. I was busy late into the evening last night. Second, if you thought this was going to be the big “What Did It All Mean” final post, it won’t be that. That’s a bit more complex. A lot of what it all meant depends on what I do now, and I’m not up for thinking too deeply about that until after the Memorial Day weekend. I swear I will write it up and post it, though. That’s the real conclusion, and it should be a barn burner. I think it starts with a consideration of what happens when after spending 10 years of your life doing something that was hard for you only because you had to convince yourself you could stand doing it, you spend a month doing the hardest thing you could ever imagine loving.
Instead, I’m going to tell you about the day. After a 3 mile cruise through the town of Keene, we started climbing again and kept climbing. What the hell? This is no Carolina. Like 50 miles from the coast, and I’m doing a one mile 20% grade up the moronically named Joe English Road. Sounds more like a brand of undershirt to me. The lunch SAG came up in Manchester at about 70 miles. I was on my own off the front again so I was the first to discover that the road that was going to take us over the interstate no longer went over the interstate but instead terminated in a concrete barrier. I made the call to the ride leader, and he held everybody else at the lunch SAG until he could figure out a way to get them through. At one point, the following exchange occurred.
Mike: “Okay, you have to go north and find Candia Road to 121. Pull out your map and I’ll give you the turns.”
Andy: “Uh. That cue sheet you gave us today was like 5 pages long so I threw out the maps.” I was tired, and we were climbing. I wasn’t carrying anything I didn’t need.
Mike: “Gee. I guess that seems like a pretty dumb decision now.” Mike is good with wisdom like that.
Anyway, young first time mothers with baby carriages got me on a route that intersected me with the planned route. Being accosted by a man in lycra on a bike just isn’t that intimidating. I saw the tail end of the main group shoot through the rotary just as I was getting back on path.
Between getting unlost and it being the last half of the last day and sucking down gels at an unrationed rate, I was pure adrenaline the rest of the way. Well, almost. The route was still rolling like a mother through these lovely New England towns. I had passed everyone on the road and was feeling great. From mile 75 to mile 105, I think I averaged about 22 mph over rollers. I was out of the saddle with every rise and taking everything that went up as a power climb. I’ve never been this strong in my life. I was raging, and Sexybike felt light as a feather.
When I got to the rendezvous point, I had to wait 30 minutes for the next group in. We rode the last ten miles to the beach at tourist pace. And that is a fitting way to introduce the video.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Day 32: Amsterdam, New York to Keene, New Hampshire
Distance: 123 miles
Average Speed: 17.8 mph
Max Speed: 48.4 mph
Saddle Time: 6:51
Terrain: Mountainous. 7100 feet of climbing.
Winds: Light and generally favorable. Warm.
Oh, ladies. He just broke the news to me today. Tomorrow is our last day if you can believe it. Then he’s going to take me apart and put me in a box. He tells me that he’s going to check me as luggage while most of the other guys are shipping their bikes via ground transport. As if that’s supposed to make me feel better. And after all we’ve been through.
But we’ll still have these days. I’ll have these memories. There’s still tomorrow. It was just 32 days ago when he dipped my wheel in the Pacific Ocean, and I said, “Boy, what do you think you’re doing? That s--- is cold and corrosive. Get me out of here.” When he dips my wheel in the Atlantic tomorrow, I’ll know that it was all worth it.
We’ve bonded. We really have. When he had those down days between Gallup and Las Vegas, I think I made him feel better. I really did. And he kept me well maintained. He kept me clean (well, as clean as I like to be) and in good tires. He got me a new chain and cassette. And when your man buys you jewelry like that, you know it’s a special feeling.
Anyway, we’re about to get it done and get it done with class. I’ve never felt so strong. It’s like I’m a fine lump of high modulus potential energy. I can’t wait to get home to Richmond and show my fine form to the other ladies. Hell, I’d even do another cross country ride. But maybe a smaller country next time. This 33 day, cross-continent stuff is demanding. A girl’s gotta know when to say when.
He’s got this little video clip of the ride. All I can say is that it was one for the ages. Beautiful and huge. We rode up a few mountains. We went almost 50 mph down the other side of one and did an 11 mile descent down the other side of the other. We crossed the Hudson and Hoosic Rivers. We left New York, crossed Vermont, and wound up in New Hampshire.
Check out the video. I gotta put my boy to bed because tomorrow we’re gonna SLAY it! That is all.
Sexybike
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Day 31: Liverpool, New York to Amsterdam, New York
Distance: 119 miles
Average Speed: 18.3 mph
Terrain: Mostly flat, a couple of good hills. 1900 feet of climbing.
Winds: Light and generally favorable. Started chilly.
Should you ever develop a hankering to visit the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame, you’ll find it right here in Amsterdam. I was curious so I walked a couple of blocks to check it out. It’s a storefront in a downtown block of abandoned storefronts with abandoned second and third floors as well. The Hall of Fame induction ceremony is coming up this weekend, but it will take more than that to bring this dead town back to life. It perished just north of Albany and Schenectady, as corpse cold as the textile industry that was its mainstay. We’re staying at the America’s Best Value Inn, which strikes me as an imprecise use of language. It may be America’s Cheapest Inn, but Value implies the return of something in exchange for your coin. This establishment is on a par with the Blythe, California Super 8.
We continued our journey eastward on the general path of New York Route 5 today, sweeping through some small towns on some flatter roads and then dropping into and out of the Mohawk Valley. The route paralleled the Erie Canal for some stretches. The Erie Canal, inland canals in this country in general, amazes me. The amount of effort spent on the public works projects to support a transportation technology that was financially viable for just a few decades is amazing. With perfect hindsight you would say, “Damn, man, double down on the steam locomotive and stop this silly digging of ditches.” I suppose the irony is that the canal tow paths made such great rail beds when it came time to lay track. And of course now they also make great utility rights of way as well, not to mention the occasional park and mountain bike trail. I wonder how the calculators of such things assess the economic return on that investment. If anybody knows anything about how the Erie Canal paid off, chime in.
Today’s ride was something of a mixed bag. The first two thirds was a bit ragged, sore knees from the return to climbing yesterday, and it just felt like I wasn’t getting much of a return in speed for my efforts until lunch. After lunch the engine room started answering bells. The climb onto the southern heights over the Mohawk shocked the old legs back into life, and then I had some tailwinds that let me wind up the speed even over the lifts for the last 30 miles into town.
I’m glad I could rev it up for the last third because tomorrow we put on the crampons and go climbing—7100 feet across the Taconic and Green Mountains of New York and Vermont before crossing into New Hampshire. 123 miles. I’m looking forward. I got back on my ice and ibuprofen regimen today to keep the knees from barking for the next couple of hard days. I had gotten lax during the middle of the country. It turns out this ride begins and ends with a bang.
Average Speed: 18.3 mph
Terrain: Mostly flat, a couple of good hills. 1900 feet of climbing.
Winds: Light and generally favorable. Started chilly.
Should you ever develop a hankering to visit the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame, you’ll find it right here in Amsterdam. I was curious so I walked a couple of blocks to check it out. It’s a storefront in a downtown block of abandoned storefronts with abandoned second and third floors as well. The Hall of Fame induction ceremony is coming up this weekend, but it will take more than that to bring this dead town back to life. It perished just north of Albany and Schenectady, as corpse cold as the textile industry that was its mainstay. We’re staying at the America’s Best Value Inn, which strikes me as an imprecise use of language. It may be America’s Cheapest Inn, but Value implies the return of something in exchange for your coin. This establishment is on a par with the Blythe, California Super 8.
We continued our journey eastward on the general path of New York Route 5 today, sweeping through some small towns on some flatter roads and then dropping into and out of the Mohawk Valley. The route paralleled the Erie Canal for some stretches. The Erie Canal, inland canals in this country in general, amazes me. The amount of effort spent on the public works projects to support a transportation technology that was financially viable for just a few decades is amazing. With perfect hindsight you would say, “Damn, man, double down on the steam locomotive and stop this silly digging of ditches.” I suppose the irony is that the canal tow paths made such great rail beds when it came time to lay track. And of course now they also make great utility rights of way as well, not to mention the occasional park and mountain bike trail. I wonder how the calculators of such things assess the economic return on that investment. If anybody knows anything about how the Erie Canal paid off, chime in.
Today’s ride was something of a mixed bag. The first two thirds was a bit ragged, sore knees from the return to climbing yesterday, and it just felt like I wasn’t getting much of a return in speed for my efforts until lunch. After lunch the engine room started answering bells. The climb onto the southern heights over the Mohawk shocked the old legs back into life, and then I had some tailwinds that let me wind up the speed even over the lifts for the last 30 miles into town.
I’m glad I could rev it up for the last third because tomorrow we put on the crampons and go climbing—7100 feet across the Taconic and Green Mountains of New York and Vermont before crossing into New Hampshire. 123 miles. I’m looking forward. I got back on my ice and ibuprofen regimen today to keep the knees from barking for the next couple of hard days. I had gotten lax during the middle of the country. It turns out this ride begins and ends with a bang.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Day 30: Batavia, New York to Liverpool, New York
Distance: 121 miles
Average Speed: 17.8 mph
Terrain: Rolling to hilly. 3,780 feet of climbing.
Winds: Chilly crossing ones out of the north at 10-15 mph. Generally adverse. Tights and jacket for the whole way.
The name of the game today was beautiful scenery and a bruising ride. I had chilly weather and an adverse wind along with a ton of choppy climbing for the whole ride, and I soloed the whole thing. But oy, the sun shone like a revelation over the beautiful Finger Lakes region of upstate New York.
Let me give you the place names. They sing the song better than I can. It sounds like the best work of Charles Ives. Le Roy, Caledonia, Avon, Canandaigua, Geneva, Seneca Lake, Seneca Falls, Waterloo, Throop. These towns look like oldsters’ descriptions of the Good Old Days that have you going, “Yeah, right, whatever.” But seriously, here they are, at least until you open the doors of the houses. What a place to raise kids, or flowers, or moss, or, shit, anything. I definitely need to do some more leisurely cycling in New England and upstate New York.
I turned a curve on the road and dropped into a deep blue panorama of Seneca Lake. It’s like it was competing with the sky and winning. The wind had whipped ripples that were hurling around sunlight like kids with sparklers on Independence Day. I can’t wipe it from my eyes. I had dropped off my camera to shed weight at the first SAG stop, but I’m only half kicking myself. It would have missed the moment, and I don’t need to own it to have lived it.
I’m just south of Syracuse now. Three more days. I know what I said, but it’s okay to count down now, I think. I’m planning on soloing from here on in, or maybe pulling one or two riders along if they want to ride for real, but I’m not sitting up for them. No sketchy pacelines. A wreck is the biggest risk to not riding every inch at this point.
Also, it’s gone beyond making it now. It’s how I make it. I hope you can recognize this as pride more than bombast. I think my surprise is the differentiating factor. I’ve ridden strong throughout. I haven’t limped through it. I haven’t sucked wheels. I’ve done my own pulling the vast majority of the time. I’ve made my own pace. I’ve ridden 3100 miles now at the edge of my capacity 90% of the time. That’s how I want to finish it. I’m not fading. That’s how I will finish it. That’s honoring the experience. That’s honoring my good fortune in being able to have it.
That’s all I’ve got tonight. Thank you.
Average Speed: 17.8 mph
Terrain: Rolling to hilly. 3,780 feet of climbing.
Winds: Chilly crossing ones out of the north at 10-15 mph. Generally adverse. Tights and jacket for the whole way.
The name of the game today was beautiful scenery and a bruising ride. I had chilly weather and an adverse wind along with a ton of choppy climbing for the whole ride, and I soloed the whole thing. But oy, the sun shone like a revelation over the beautiful Finger Lakes region of upstate New York.
Let me give you the place names. They sing the song better than I can. It sounds like the best work of Charles Ives. Le Roy, Caledonia, Avon, Canandaigua, Geneva, Seneca Lake, Seneca Falls, Waterloo, Throop. These towns look like oldsters’ descriptions of the Good Old Days that have you going, “Yeah, right, whatever.” But seriously, here they are, at least until you open the doors of the houses. What a place to raise kids, or flowers, or moss, or, shit, anything. I definitely need to do some more leisurely cycling in New England and upstate New York.
I turned a curve on the road and dropped into a deep blue panorama of Seneca Lake. It’s like it was competing with the sky and winning. The wind had whipped ripples that were hurling around sunlight like kids with sparklers on Independence Day. I can’t wipe it from my eyes. I had dropped off my camera to shed weight at the first SAG stop, but I’m only half kicking myself. It would have missed the moment, and I don’t need to own it to have lived it.
I’m just south of Syracuse now. Three more days. I know what I said, but it’s okay to count down now, I think. I’m planning on soloing from here on in, or maybe pulling one or two riders along if they want to ride for real, but I’m not sitting up for them. No sketchy pacelines. A wreck is the biggest risk to not riding every inch at this point.
Also, it’s gone beyond making it now. It’s how I make it. I hope you can recognize this as pride more than bombast. I think my surprise is the differentiating factor. I’ve ridden strong throughout. I haven’t limped through it. I haven’t sucked wheels. I’ve done my own pulling the vast majority of the time. I’ve made my own pace. I’ve ridden 3100 miles now at the edge of my capacity 90% of the time. That’s how I want to finish it. I’m not fading. That’s how I will finish it. That’s honoring the experience. That’s honoring my good fortune in being able to have it.
That’s all I’ve got tonight. Thank you.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Day 29: Dunkirk, New York to Batavia, New York
Distance: 85 miles
Average Speed: 19.9 mph
Terrain: 800 feet, but a hard 800 feet. Somehow, unfriendly winds seem to make the hills higher and steeper. I swear it’s not in my head. Little else is.
Winds: Seemingly swirling at moderate speed. On average neutral, I suppose.
A note on the Dunkirk Clarion Hotel: the place is rocking. The place is rocking in a really low rent kind of way. It appears to be the hub of social life in Dunkirk. We had a prom, graduation parties, and a raucous seafood buffet happening. Lots of drunks. Northern drunks are different than southern drunks somehow—all of the noise, none of the menace.
Today was pretty easy. It was two chilly club rides with a museum visit and lunch tucked in the middle.
Orchard Park, south of Buffalo, hosts a museum of the history of the bicycle. Pretty neat. It was similar to the museum in Kansas in that the gentleman that runs it may be the best artifact. He knows everything about his subject and possesses a wit whose flashier aspects he works to contain. You can see him working not to talk over everybody’s head or hurt anybody’s feelings with his barbs. The picture of the bike with a gun on it is from that place. What you’re supposed to do with it, I have no earthly. I’m envisioning lycra shorts with ammo pockets.
I had company today, which was nice. Sam has a nice burst of speed and wanted to have a go, which kept the average high and kept me warm in temperatures that started in the low 40s and never topped the low 50s.
Pulling out of Orchard Park I lost my temper with a chronically sketchy pace line rider who was in front and putting the rest of us at risk in traffic. I gave him a mouthful when we got to the edge of town and I finally had a chance to get past him him. Not good. Patience is key. Temper doesn’t work. It’s not like I’m going to change the way he rides. It’s judgment more than experience that he lacks. I wouldn’t have said anything, but I was feeling trapped with his clumsiness because of construction and traffic. It won’t happen again. I’ll just keep him away from me.
More importantly, it seemed symptomatic of a mode of thought and behavior from which I want to get away. Impatience, fluster, peacelessness. I’m kicking myself now for getting knocked off my rhythm by something of no real significance. He’s not even a bad guy, just a bit simple and impermeable.
Anyway, tomorrow’s another day, too hard for that kind of silliness. I’m beginning to look forward to driving, of all things.
Average Speed: 19.9 mph
Terrain: 800 feet, but a hard 800 feet. Somehow, unfriendly winds seem to make the hills higher and steeper. I swear it’s not in my head. Little else is.
Winds: Seemingly swirling at moderate speed. On average neutral, I suppose.
A note on the Dunkirk Clarion Hotel: the place is rocking. The place is rocking in a really low rent kind of way. It appears to be the hub of social life in Dunkirk. We had a prom, graduation parties, and a raucous seafood buffet happening. Lots of drunks. Northern drunks are different than southern drunks somehow—all of the noise, none of the menace.
Today was pretty easy. It was two chilly club rides with a museum visit and lunch tucked in the middle.
Orchard Park, south of Buffalo, hosts a museum of the history of the bicycle. Pretty neat. It was similar to the museum in Kansas in that the gentleman that runs it may be the best artifact. He knows everything about his subject and possesses a wit whose flashier aspects he works to contain. You can see him working not to talk over everybody’s head or hurt anybody’s feelings with his barbs. The picture of the bike with a gun on it is from that place. What you’re supposed to do with it, I have no earthly. I’m envisioning lycra shorts with ammo pockets.
I had company today, which was nice. Sam has a nice burst of speed and wanted to have a go, which kept the average high and kept me warm in temperatures that started in the low 40s and never topped the low 50s.
Pulling out of Orchard Park I lost my temper with a chronically sketchy pace line rider who was in front and putting the rest of us at risk in traffic. I gave him a mouthful when we got to the edge of town and I finally had a chance to get past him him. Not good. Patience is key. Temper doesn’t work. It’s not like I’m going to change the way he rides. It’s judgment more than experience that he lacks. I wouldn’t have said anything, but I was feeling trapped with his clumsiness because of construction and traffic. It won’t happen again. I’ll just keep him away from me.
More importantly, it seemed symptomatic of a mode of thought and behavior from which I want to get away. Impatience, fluster, peacelessness. I’m kicking myself now for getting knocked off my rhythm by something of no real significance. He’s not even a bad guy, just a bit simple and impermeable.
Anyway, tomorrow’s another day, too hard for that kind of silliness. I’m beginning to look forward to driving, of all things.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Day 28: Warren, Ohio to Dunkirk, New York
Distance: 139 miles
Average Speed: 20.9 mph
Terrain: 2220 feet. An occasional rise that was flattened by the tailwind
Winds: Strong tailwinds all day
Today was the easiest 139 mile day I’ve ever done (well, it’s only my second 139 mile day), and I did it solo. We were headed northeast from Ohio into the Erie, Pennsylvania area and up the shore of Lake Erie and the wind was coming out of the southwest at a steady 15 mph. It rained, and I didn’t care. It just took away the rolling resistance. You dream about days like this because going fast is fun and riding 139 miles slowly is a drag.
I owe the residents of Warren, Ohio an apology. The north part of their little town is fine. I’m still holding a grudge against the mouthbreathers in Akron and Canton, though. Erie was a happening place today. They had a local bike ride going on, a bunch of yard sales, a nice central square. The route kind of meandered through the city before putting us right on the shore of Lake Erie for the ride into Dunkirk.
Some random observations:
A good friend of mine, Todd, once made the claim in an Exeter, Pennsylvania Burger King that, “Lake Erie. That f------ humongous.” He was right, and the nuns giving us dirty looks were way out of line. Now that I think of it, what were nuns doing in a Burger King anyway?
I’ve lost 3 pounds over the ride. That’s good. I started it pretty whittled down and didn’t want to lose more until right at the end. Some folks have dropped quite a bit, though. Supposedly this is the week where people start getting gaunt.
There are a ton of vineyards on the shore of Lake Erie. I wouldn’t have thought they could take the hard winters, but there are a bunch of them. I didn’t sample the wines. Sexybike disapproves when I drink and pedal.
I punctured at mile 135 right at the Dunkirk line, right after the SAG van went by. I did the same thing in Springfield. There’s nothing like fixing a puncture in the rain ten minutes from your destination.
Now some video with narration in my ongoing efforts to please everybody.
Later.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Day 27: Wooster, Ohio to Warren, Ohio
Distance: 98 miles
Average Speed: 17.5 mph
Terrain: 2800 feet, no level roads
Winds: Light headwinds all day
Well, after yesterday today disappointed. I kind of struggled with keeping my head in the right place all day. I had some frustrations.
The weather was beautiful, but two nights of hotels without laundry facilities left me without a non-freestanding short sleeve jersey, so I went with a long sleeve provided at the beginning of the ride by America by Bicycle (the tour company). It had gone unused and unwashed. It had that scratchy polyester feeling and was too warm. That, and I looked like Captain America, and if you’ve learned one thing about me it should be that I may be the vainest motherscratcher on the planet. So I rode too warm and feeling scratchy. Strike one.
Then there were the roads. The terrain pissed me off. Up and down in irritating rhythm all day. The roads were all tore up, too. To the residents of the Canton-Akron-Warren area: Get your roads fixed; you live like barbarians. And also, screw you; learn to drive with some manners. I imagine them living in overheated homes with tacky ‘70s décor—plaid upholstery and avocado appliances. I imagine them dressed perpetually in oversize football jerseys that still can not cover their expansive guts. I hate them. But probably just for today. Strike two.
I was hoping for an easy day, maybe sitting in with a small group and going easy. Today was short; tomorrow is 137 miles into Dunkirk, New York. But I don’t think I could have gone as slow as the next fastest couple of riders. I don’t know how they didn’t fall down. Some of these guys can go with me, at least for a while. Either they’re tired or lazy. I think the countdown has begun and focus is suffering. I think I’ll be largely soloing from here on out, though I’d love to have some company. Strike three.
So that’s my whining. On the upside, the dogs showed some spirit, a bit of rage, and some solid tactics. The young dumb ones will try to chase you down from behind. I had one yesterday with some really sound endurance. He must have chased for a quarter mile. The pace wasn’t blazing, but he was certainly game. I had a couple of crafty ones today who knew how to work the angles. They’re more like a free safety closing the gap to a faster wide receiver to make a tackle. They’ll come at you quiet and at a lope and then really hit the gas as they close. I had one as well that was evidently snoozing in the yard across a ditch from the road until I got right up on her. Subterfuge! She suddenly jumped across the ditch and lunged at me. It was brilliant. These are the tactics I can see Mel employing, using her wits rather than her stubby little legs. She once got a squirrel using similar tactics.
Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. Tonight I’m in Ohio. Tomorrow I’m in New York. On no night am I in Pennsylvania. That kind of blows my mind. Later.
Average Speed: 17.5 mph
Terrain: 2800 feet, no level roads
Winds: Light headwinds all day
Well, after yesterday today disappointed. I kind of struggled with keeping my head in the right place all day. I had some frustrations.
The weather was beautiful, but two nights of hotels without laundry facilities left me without a non-freestanding short sleeve jersey, so I went with a long sleeve provided at the beginning of the ride by America by Bicycle (the tour company). It had gone unused and unwashed. It had that scratchy polyester feeling and was too warm. That, and I looked like Captain America, and if you’ve learned one thing about me it should be that I may be the vainest motherscratcher on the planet. So I rode too warm and feeling scratchy. Strike one.
Then there were the roads. The terrain pissed me off. Up and down in irritating rhythm all day. The roads were all tore up, too. To the residents of the Canton-Akron-Warren area: Get your roads fixed; you live like barbarians. And also, screw you; learn to drive with some manners. I imagine them living in overheated homes with tacky ‘70s décor—plaid upholstery and avocado appliances. I imagine them dressed perpetually in oversize football jerseys that still can not cover their expansive guts. I hate them. But probably just for today. Strike two.
I was hoping for an easy day, maybe sitting in with a small group and going easy. Today was short; tomorrow is 137 miles into Dunkirk, New York. But I don’t think I could have gone as slow as the next fastest couple of riders. I don’t know how they didn’t fall down. Some of these guys can go with me, at least for a while. Either they’re tired or lazy. I think the countdown has begun and focus is suffering. I think I’ll be largely soloing from here on out, though I’d love to have some company. Strike three.
So that’s my whining. On the upside, the dogs showed some spirit, a bit of rage, and some solid tactics. The young dumb ones will try to chase you down from behind. I had one yesterday with some really sound endurance. He must have chased for a quarter mile. The pace wasn’t blazing, but he was certainly game. I had a couple of crafty ones today who knew how to work the angles. They’re more like a free safety closing the gap to a faster wide receiver to make a tackle. They’ll come at you quiet and at a lope and then really hit the gas as they close. I had one as well that was evidently snoozing in the yard across a ditch from the road until I got right up on her. Subterfuge! She suddenly jumped across the ditch and lunged at me. It was brilliant. These are the tactics I can see Mel employing, using her wits rather than her stubby little legs. She once got a squirrel using similar tactics.
Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. Tonight I’m in Ohio. Tomorrow I’m in New York. On no night am I in Pennsylvania. That kind of blows my mind. Later.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Day 26: Marysville, Ohio to Wooster, Ohio
Distance: 105 miles
Average Speed: 20.5 mph
Terrain: 4000 feet
Winds: Moderately favorable all day
Man, what a great day of riding. Incredibly diverse—lots of climbing, lots of speed, lots of weather, feeling absurdly strong. Today will likely be in my top five for the whole trip. Remember how when you were ten and your best friends would stop by your house to see if you wanted to come out and ride bikes and your mom would let you? That’s what it felt like all day for 105 miles for me. I’m going to ramble a bit so watch out.
First, we started with a rain delay. We never cancel a ride, but there was a front rolling through Marysville from 6:00 to 7:00 so why not just wait until 8:30 when the rain and lightning has let up a bit? Besides, on the back end of that front we would be getting some decent tailwinds. I know, you’ve heard me bitch about headwinds enough that I have to offer equal time to favorable winds. Today was a favorable wind day. Anyway, I went back to my room at the lovely Super 8 and copped an extra hour of sleep.
A thought on motels: the presence of a number in a motel chain name, eg. “8” or “6”, does not bode well for quality or luxury.
I rolled out at 8:30 into a light rain. By mile 8 I was fully warmed up, down to shorts, jersey, and arm warmers and screaming down the road. By mile 15, I had caught back up to the weather front and was getting fully dumped on. But you know, it wasn’t cold, there wasn’t a headwind, and I had an hour more sleep than usual. I felt incredible. Besides, there is a maximum to how wet you can get. When the SAG stop came up at mile 28, I wasn’t ready to stop, but I had to anyway because there was a big Bridge Out barrier that I would have crashed through otherwise.
Road tip for cyclists: water bottles become little germ cesspools on a long tour where germs circulate amongst a group and immune systems are in shambles. How do you avoid getting sick from your bottles? Fill them with warm water and drop in an Efferdent tab. I’ve been really fortunate in not catching anything, and I ascribe it partially to this.
Some other riders came in while I was at the stop, and I rolled out with three other guys—Ron, Tom, and Sam. There were some hills right out of the SAG so I went ahead and dropped those three, but kept them within sight until they could sort themselves out. This is kind of a game that a cyclist in front can play, applying a hard effort and then sitting up until the group behind breaks up a bit with the efforts. The goal is to pull out the rider that you want to ride with so that you can go faster than you would by yourself. Sam’s a wheel sucker despite being quick, and Tom wouldn’t be able to go with it for long and can be kind of negative sometimes. But Ron brings a ton of power over the flats and will bury himself, and he looked determined to try to latch on and hang in. I sat up, got him on my wheel, did a long pull so he could recover from the chase, and then we raged for the next 35 miles over flat to rolling terrain. I don’t think we dropped below 21 mph during that stretch. I did more of the pulling, but I would not have gone as fast on my own. As we were accelerating the sun came out and the day warmed up. We seperated when the hills started for real at mile 70. Ron’s a horse, not a mountain goat, and his power doesn’t necessarily translate to hill climbing. With that mercilessness typical of cycling, I rode off when he couldn’t help any more.
I am going to make this trip without SAG-ging an inch. That’s the goal. It’s going to happen. I need a few things to go right, but I am accountable for everything—my machine, my health, my legs, my choices. If I get sick, that’s my fault. If I get hit, that’s my fault. I’m paying close attention to Sexybike. “EFI”—Every Fantastic Inch, according to the tour company. My “F” stands for something different. I’m the only rider not to spend a mile in the SAG van, and I’m not going to. I’ve gotten superstitious about it. I won’t even look at the damn thing.
The last 35 miles was all up and down. The infamous Ohio 603 features long ramps over 12% on dead straight roads that you can see coming from a mile away as well as sharp descents into sharp ascents where you clear the top out of the saddle in the top gear and pulling negative g-forces. The roads all the way into Wooster do the same thing—rapid climbing, rapid descending, tight turning. You use every bit of your range and every bit of your bike. I used every gear on Sexybike over the last 35 miles.
I know I said the winds were moderately favorable today, but that 20.5 average is legitimate. My last 30 miles, with the hills, were faster than my first 30. My legs are like alien beings whose absurd strength I can no longer contain. They’re like the fuzzy little creatures in that crappy movie of the mid-80s Gremlins. Whatever you do, don’t get them wet.
Average Speed: 20.5 mph
Terrain: 4000 feet
Winds: Moderately favorable all day
Man, what a great day of riding. Incredibly diverse—lots of climbing, lots of speed, lots of weather, feeling absurdly strong. Today will likely be in my top five for the whole trip. Remember how when you were ten and your best friends would stop by your house to see if you wanted to come out and ride bikes and your mom would let you? That’s what it felt like all day for 105 miles for me. I’m going to ramble a bit so watch out.
First, we started with a rain delay. We never cancel a ride, but there was a front rolling through Marysville from 6:00 to 7:00 so why not just wait until 8:30 when the rain and lightning has let up a bit? Besides, on the back end of that front we would be getting some decent tailwinds. I know, you’ve heard me bitch about headwinds enough that I have to offer equal time to favorable winds. Today was a favorable wind day. Anyway, I went back to my room at the lovely Super 8 and copped an extra hour of sleep.
A thought on motels: the presence of a number in a motel chain name, eg. “8” or “6”, does not bode well for quality or luxury.
I rolled out at 8:30 into a light rain. By mile 8 I was fully warmed up, down to shorts, jersey, and arm warmers and screaming down the road. By mile 15, I had caught back up to the weather front and was getting fully dumped on. But you know, it wasn’t cold, there wasn’t a headwind, and I had an hour more sleep than usual. I felt incredible. Besides, there is a maximum to how wet you can get. When the SAG stop came up at mile 28, I wasn’t ready to stop, but I had to anyway because there was a big Bridge Out barrier that I would have crashed through otherwise.
Road tip for cyclists: water bottles become little germ cesspools on a long tour where germs circulate amongst a group and immune systems are in shambles. How do you avoid getting sick from your bottles? Fill them with warm water and drop in an Efferdent tab. I’ve been really fortunate in not catching anything, and I ascribe it partially to this.
Some other riders came in while I was at the stop, and I rolled out with three other guys—Ron, Tom, and Sam. There were some hills right out of the SAG so I went ahead and dropped those three, but kept them within sight until they could sort themselves out. This is kind of a game that a cyclist in front can play, applying a hard effort and then sitting up until the group behind breaks up a bit with the efforts. The goal is to pull out the rider that you want to ride with so that you can go faster than you would by yourself. Sam’s a wheel sucker despite being quick, and Tom wouldn’t be able to go with it for long and can be kind of negative sometimes. But Ron brings a ton of power over the flats and will bury himself, and he looked determined to try to latch on and hang in. I sat up, got him on my wheel, did a long pull so he could recover from the chase, and then we raged for the next 35 miles over flat to rolling terrain. I don’t think we dropped below 21 mph during that stretch. I did more of the pulling, but I would not have gone as fast on my own. As we were accelerating the sun came out and the day warmed up. We seperated when the hills started for real at mile 70. Ron’s a horse, not a mountain goat, and his power doesn’t necessarily translate to hill climbing. With that mercilessness typical of cycling, I rode off when he couldn’t help any more.
I am going to make this trip without SAG-ging an inch. That’s the goal. It’s going to happen. I need a few things to go right, but I am accountable for everything—my machine, my health, my legs, my choices. If I get sick, that’s my fault. If I get hit, that’s my fault. I’m paying close attention to Sexybike. “EFI”—Every Fantastic Inch, according to the tour company. My “F” stands for something different. I’m the only rider not to spend a mile in the SAG van, and I’m not going to. I’ve gotten superstitious about it. I won’t even look at the damn thing.
The last 35 miles was all up and down. The infamous Ohio 603 features long ramps over 12% on dead straight roads that you can see coming from a mile away as well as sharp descents into sharp ascents where you clear the top out of the saddle in the top gear and pulling negative g-forces. The roads all the way into Wooster do the same thing—rapid climbing, rapid descending, tight turning. You use every bit of your range and every bit of your bike. I used every gear on Sexybike over the last 35 miles.
I know I said the winds were moderately favorable today, but that 20.5 average is legitimate. My last 30 miles, with the hills, were faster than my first 30. My legs are like alien beings whose absurd strength I can no longer contain. They’re like the fuzzy little creatures in that crappy movie of the mid-80s Gremlins. Whatever you do, don’t get them wet.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Day 25: Richmond, Indiana to Marysville, Ohio
Distance: 105 miles
Average Speed: 17.5 mph
Terrain: 1810 feet, all of it steep
Winds: Crosswinds blowing like they were mad at me for the first 85; then blowing into town on a strong tail wind
I’m trying something a bit different with this post in response to feedback. I may have some technical details to work out (you may need to turn down your speakers), but I’m tired now. I got in before 3:00 but had to spend about three hours at a bike shop on repairs. Let me know what you think. Me? I like text. But you know me; I’m a textual animal.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Day 24: Lebanon, Indiana to Richmond, Indiana
Distance: 104 miles
Average Speed: 17.8 mph
Terrain: 800 feet of climbing, but it seemed like more than yesterday.
Winds: Light headwinds all day
I know you’re thinking, “How many days does he have to go?” I know and could tell you, but I’m not going to because it’s a dangerous way to think. You add them up, you don’t subtract. With subtraction comes hubris, and we all know what comes after that. I just keep riding until I run into an ocean. Occupy the moment, pay attention, take care of body and bike, don’t think too hard, don’t fuck up. That’s how you ride a bike across the country.
It was a pretty straightforward day, not too hard. We spent the first half making our way through the suburbs of Indianapolis. That was slow riding, lots of stop signs, much navigation. I think everybody was feeling the loss of the hour from the time zone change because frankly we were riding like a bunch of private school girls. We hit the country roads just before midway, and I jumped off on my own and rolled into Richmond solo. It felt like a sort of homecoming somehow.
Barb and Dave and my Aunt Norma were here waiting to take me to dinner. My folks are up visiting family, and Richmond, Indiana, is just across the border from their ancestral lands in Ohio. I’m glad Norma came out with them. She is class. Right after my folks moved to Roanoke and I was a whelp of 18 or so staying with them for a while, Norma came down and helped my mom out with some depression issues. By extension she helped me out. I appreciated it at the time, but I was pretty much just pissed off usually so I appreciated it more as one of the few things that didn’t piss me off than as a unique contribution. 21 years later, thank you, Norma. It was important.
The second half of this ride it’s been nice having visitors. During the first half family concerns made me some pretty faulty company, and it was important to maintain a newly established routine until I was stronger and smarter about this. That routine is so engrained now that visits are a welcome diversion. Techa came out to Springfield for the rest day. We kicked it around that town and made of it the most happening place in the galaxy. Oddly enough, Sexybike threw her bearing the day Techa left. Now whether Techa tampered or Sexybike suffered a fit of jealous pique I don’t know. Suffice it to say relations between those two have been strained for a while. Here we are; Techa’s the good looking one:
Average Speed: 17.8 mph
Terrain: 800 feet of climbing, but it seemed like more than yesterday.
Winds: Light headwinds all day
I know you’re thinking, “How many days does he have to go?” I know and could tell you, but I’m not going to because it’s a dangerous way to think. You add them up, you don’t subtract. With subtraction comes hubris, and we all know what comes after that. I just keep riding until I run into an ocean. Occupy the moment, pay attention, take care of body and bike, don’t think too hard, don’t fuck up. That’s how you ride a bike across the country.
It was a pretty straightforward day, not too hard. We spent the first half making our way through the suburbs of Indianapolis. That was slow riding, lots of stop signs, much navigation. I think everybody was feeling the loss of the hour from the time zone change because frankly we were riding like a bunch of private school girls. We hit the country roads just before midway, and I jumped off on my own and rolled into Richmond solo. It felt like a sort of homecoming somehow.
Barb and Dave and my Aunt Norma were here waiting to take me to dinner. My folks are up visiting family, and Richmond, Indiana, is just across the border from their ancestral lands in Ohio. I’m glad Norma came out with them. She is class. Right after my folks moved to Roanoke and I was a whelp of 18 or so staying with them for a while, Norma came down and helped my mom out with some depression issues. By extension she helped me out. I appreciated it at the time, but I was pretty much just pissed off usually so I appreciated it more as one of the few things that didn’t piss me off than as a unique contribution. 21 years later, thank you, Norma. It was important.
The second half of this ride it’s been nice having visitors. During the first half family concerns made me some pretty faulty company, and it was important to maintain a newly established routine until I was stronger and smarter about this. That routine is so engrained now that visits are a welcome diversion. Techa came out to Springfield for the rest day. We kicked it around that town and made of it the most happening place in the galaxy. Oddly enough, Sexybike threw her bearing the day Techa left. Now whether Techa tampered or Sexybike suffered a fit of jealous pique I don’t know. Suffice it to say relations between those two have been strained for a while. Here we are; Techa’s the good looking one:
The forecast promises rain and headwinds tomorrow. It’s interesting but changes nothing. I’ve got multiple demands for video with narration, so I may try to pull that one off tomorrow. It may be a composition in drips and voice.
Evening, y’all.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Day 23: Tuscola, Illinois to Lebanon, Indiana
Distance: 124 miles
Average Speed: 18.5 mph
Terrain: 1200 feet of climbing. I’ve seen mattresses with more contour.
Winds: Moderate, mostly from the north. More adverse than neutral or helpful.
First, like a spoiled NBA phenom I dedicate today’s ride to my godkid Jack Kardian, who is turning 3 today. Happy birthday, Jack!! All positive energy and tailwinds to you, kiddo.
A long day today. Beyond the riding I stopped in a little town called Danville, Indiana, that has an old school bike shop with drawers and drawers or random spare parts, one of which was a cone that would fit my rear hub. It took about an hour, but I’m back on my own wheel now. Sexybike was thrilled. Yesterday she was looking like Tina Turner before she discovered fishnet stockings, and she was looking at me like I was Ike. Ride Leader Mike was huge in helping me get this accomplished. It did mean, though, that I was on the road from about 7:30 to 5:45.
For the first third everybody was braindead and missing half the turns. Me and another lad took a flyer off the front of the confusion and stayed away to the first SAG stop. Then I waited for Mike to ride the second third, and that’s when we stopped to get my wheel fixed. The last 40 I soloed into Lebanon, where I shot right by the motel into downtown Lebanon where the locals turned me around and pointed me in the right direction.
Riding with Mike is a reminder that boys on bikes will always be boys on bikes. We’ll start out chatting about how we’re going to do a reasonable pace, but then he’ll do a turn just fast enough to begin to hurt a little, so I’ll have to crank it up a notch higher on my turn. This will go on until we’ve got a screaming pace going. I mean, the guy’s older than God. I can’t blink. And he won’t blink because he’s got the competitiveness of a bike racer and retired Air Force colonel. By the time I got to the last third and he ducked out to do SAG, my legs were pretty cooked, and I had 40 miles to go.
Anyway, it’s almost 9:00 now. I lost another hour today crossing into Eastern Time, and I need my sleep so I’m going to shut this down.
I’m going to close with a quick clip of what dorks do when they cross another state line:
Average Speed: 18.5 mph
Terrain: 1200 feet of climbing. I’ve seen mattresses with more contour.
Winds: Moderate, mostly from the north. More adverse than neutral or helpful.
First, like a spoiled NBA phenom I dedicate today’s ride to my godkid Jack Kardian, who is turning 3 today. Happy birthday, Jack!! All positive energy and tailwinds to you, kiddo.
A long day today. Beyond the riding I stopped in a little town called Danville, Indiana, that has an old school bike shop with drawers and drawers or random spare parts, one of which was a cone that would fit my rear hub. It took about an hour, but I’m back on my own wheel now. Sexybike was thrilled. Yesterday she was looking like Tina Turner before she discovered fishnet stockings, and she was looking at me like I was Ike. Ride Leader Mike was huge in helping me get this accomplished. It did mean, though, that I was on the road from about 7:30 to 5:45.
For the first third everybody was braindead and missing half the turns. Me and another lad took a flyer off the front of the confusion and stayed away to the first SAG stop. Then I waited for Mike to ride the second third, and that’s when we stopped to get my wheel fixed. The last 40 I soloed into Lebanon, where I shot right by the motel into downtown Lebanon where the locals turned me around and pointed me in the right direction.
Riding with Mike is a reminder that boys on bikes will always be boys on bikes. We’ll start out chatting about how we’re going to do a reasonable pace, but then he’ll do a turn just fast enough to begin to hurt a little, so I’ll have to crank it up a notch higher on my turn. This will go on until we’ve got a screaming pace going. I mean, the guy’s older than God. I can’t blink. And he won’t blink because he’s got the competitiveness of a bike racer and retired Air Force colonel. By the time I got to the last third and he ducked out to do SAG, my legs were pretty cooked, and I had 40 miles to go.
Anyway, it’s almost 9:00 now. I lost another hour today crossing into Eastern Time, and I need my sleep so I’m going to shut this down.
I’m going to close with a quick clip of what dorks do when they cross another state line:
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Day 22: Springfield, Illinois to Tuscola, Illinois
Distance: 83 miles
Average Speed: 19.6 mph
Terrain: 900 feet of climbing. Sometimes pancakes have a lump of butter. This didn’t even have that.
Weather: Light tail to quartering tail most of the way.
Remember me whinging about the day after the last rest day when we did 135 miles of climbing into Las Vegas, New Mexico? Yeah, this wasn’t that. This was either a rolling rest day or a wind sprint. I took it as a wind sprint.
That 19.6 mph average is motel to motel and includes an 8 mile leisurely rollout from Springfield. Then we pulled together a paceline of 5 or 6 guys and ripped off the next 30 at an average of maybe 21 mph. Then Sexybike pooped a rear wheel bearing, and I had to wait for the mechanic’s van. Mike (Ride Leader/Mechanic) pulls up in the van, gives it a look and tells me I’m going to have to SAG the rest of the way in today. In the time it took me to gather my strength for a lunge at his throat, he’s got my cogset on a replacement loaner wheel that is getting slapped into my dropouts and is having a hearty laugh at my expense. F------ sadist.
I time trialed my way into the lunch stop in hopes of hooking into the group before they pulled out from lunch and managed to do that. I really felt good soloing into that stop so when we rolled out of lunch I rode off the front of the paceline when my turn came up. Pretty much I just kicked it up from 21 to 23 mph and looked back to see who was going to go with it. Well, nobody did. A quick left, a quick right, me drilling it out of each turn to try to keep myself out of their sights, and when the road straightened back out they were maybe a quarter mile back. I had pretty much resolved that I was going to sit up if they pulled any closer, but they never did. I held that gap for about 4 miles and then it started stretching out and then they were out of sight on the straight roads, too. The last 25 miles I must have averaged a high 22 mph / low 23 mph. God, it was fun. I love that kind of riding.
Sexybike seems pretty nonplussed by her mechanical issue. It won’t keep me from riding for the next few days, but it will take some work to get a new rear hub axle together out here. She likes it when I scurry, the little drama queen.
Now, I would like to issue a challenge to you. Please explain in 100 words or less the road numbering system of rural Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. Extra credit will be given to any entrant that can also offer an explication of the perverse logic that would lead to such a system.
Another thing about the roads in this part of the world: There are many four way intersections of county roads at which no traffic signs are presented—no Yields, no Stops. To a certain extent I really enjoy the acceptance of mayhem that this entails. It’s kind of libertarian, right? I mean, the locals know. They don’t need to be confined with a bunch of silly rules. They can work it out amongst themselves. But if you’re not from here, watch out. Just because you don’t have a stop sign, doesn’t mean the other guy does.
Hannah had a good time at prom. She also did well on her AP History exam on Friday. I’m happier she enjoyed prom. It seems the harder task.
Here's a picture of me doing what I do, moments ago:
Average Speed: 19.6 mph
Terrain: 900 feet of climbing. Sometimes pancakes have a lump of butter. This didn’t even have that.
Weather: Light tail to quartering tail most of the way.
Remember me whinging about the day after the last rest day when we did 135 miles of climbing into Las Vegas, New Mexico? Yeah, this wasn’t that. This was either a rolling rest day or a wind sprint. I took it as a wind sprint.
That 19.6 mph average is motel to motel and includes an 8 mile leisurely rollout from Springfield. Then we pulled together a paceline of 5 or 6 guys and ripped off the next 30 at an average of maybe 21 mph. Then Sexybike pooped a rear wheel bearing, and I had to wait for the mechanic’s van. Mike (Ride Leader/Mechanic) pulls up in the van, gives it a look and tells me I’m going to have to SAG the rest of the way in today. In the time it took me to gather my strength for a lunge at his throat, he’s got my cogset on a replacement loaner wheel that is getting slapped into my dropouts and is having a hearty laugh at my expense. F------ sadist.
I time trialed my way into the lunch stop in hopes of hooking into the group before they pulled out from lunch and managed to do that. I really felt good soloing into that stop so when we rolled out of lunch I rode off the front of the paceline when my turn came up. Pretty much I just kicked it up from 21 to 23 mph and looked back to see who was going to go with it. Well, nobody did. A quick left, a quick right, me drilling it out of each turn to try to keep myself out of their sights, and when the road straightened back out they were maybe a quarter mile back. I had pretty much resolved that I was going to sit up if they pulled any closer, but they never did. I held that gap for about 4 miles and then it started stretching out and then they were out of sight on the straight roads, too. The last 25 miles I must have averaged a high 22 mph / low 23 mph. God, it was fun. I love that kind of riding.
Sexybike seems pretty nonplussed by her mechanical issue. It won’t keep me from riding for the next few days, but it will take some work to get a new rear hub axle together out here. She likes it when I scurry, the little drama queen.
Now, I would like to issue a challenge to you. Please explain in 100 words or less the road numbering system of rural Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio. Extra credit will be given to any entrant that can also offer an explication of the perverse logic that would lead to such a system.
Another thing about the roads in this part of the world: There are many four way intersections of county roads at which no traffic signs are presented—no Yields, no Stops. To a certain extent I really enjoy the acceptance of mayhem that this entails. It’s kind of libertarian, right? I mean, the locals know. They don’t need to be confined with a bunch of silly rules. They can work it out amongst themselves. But if you’re not from here, watch out. Just because you don’t have a stop sign, doesn’t mean the other guy does.
Hannah had a good time at prom. She also did well on her AP History exam on Friday. I’m happier she enjoyed prom. It seems the harder task.
Here's a picture of me doing what I do, moments ago:
Day 21: REST DAY!!! Springfield, Illinois
Distance: Inches
Average Speed: Glacial
Terrain: I almost tripped over a curb.
Weather: Sunny. Breezy.
Usually the second Rest Day happens in Champaign, but the University of Illinois held their graduation this weekend so that was out. Instead, we got Springfield, and fortunate we were. The place has really classed up since Rod Blogojevich split town.
A piece of trivia that I’m about 60% sure is correct: Springfield is the most commonly used place name in the United States.
Now here’s the best thing about Springfield: They give away beer on Saturdays in the city square. That’s right. Midwesterners are just giving away free beer on spring weekends. They had an event here on Saturday called the Fat Ass 5K. It’s a charity event for Multiple Sclerosis. Ostensibly there is some running involved, but people are really coming for the sausages, doughnuts, beer, and Celtic music. What can I tell you? Midwesterners are funny. And largish. After I ordered the first beer I stood there for a second waiting for someone to take my money. When nobody did I slunk sheepishly away. The second time I waited a half second, and the third time I didn’t wait at all. Then I went back to the downtown hotel and took a nap. Can you imagine giving away beer in a Southern town. It would never work. The rednecks would tear the place up.
On a more wholesome note I stopped at the Lincoln Museum as well. Save your money if you’re ever in Springfield. Nothing interesting, just the old mythology presented in a more condescending way.
It was quite a relaxing day. You’ll recall that I didn’t fare too well on the day following the last rest day in Albuquerque. That was a 135 mile day of climbing into Las Vegas, New Mexico. I don’t have the same concerns this morning as we’ve got 83 miles of flat to Tuscola, Illinois.
By all accounts the days really starting ticking down rapidly now. The last two days look pretty formidable, but unless the headwinds really blow the terrain and the distances look less daunting for the eastern section than they did for the first third of the ride.
Time to go get some breakfast. Happy Mother’s Day, you mothers!!
Average Speed: Glacial
Terrain: I almost tripped over a curb.
Weather: Sunny. Breezy.
Usually the second Rest Day happens in Champaign, but the University of Illinois held their graduation this weekend so that was out. Instead, we got Springfield, and fortunate we were. The place has really classed up since Rod Blogojevich split town.
A piece of trivia that I’m about 60% sure is correct: Springfield is the most commonly used place name in the United States.
Now here’s the best thing about Springfield: They give away beer on Saturdays in the city square. That’s right. Midwesterners are just giving away free beer on spring weekends. They had an event here on Saturday called the Fat Ass 5K. It’s a charity event for Multiple Sclerosis. Ostensibly there is some running involved, but people are really coming for the sausages, doughnuts, beer, and Celtic music. What can I tell you? Midwesterners are funny. And largish. After I ordered the first beer I stood there for a second waiting for someone to take my money. When nobody did I slunk sheepishly away. The second time I waited a half second, and the third time I didn’t wait at all. Then I went back to the downtown hotel and took a nap. Can you imagine giving away beer in a Southern town. It would never work. The rednecks would tear the place up.
On a more wholesome note I stopped at the Lincoln Museum as well. Save your money if you’re ever in Springfield. Nothing interesting, just the old mythology presented in a more condescending way.
It was quite a relaxing day. You’ll recall that I didn’t fare too well on the day following the last rest day in Albuquerque. That was a 135 mile day of climbing into Las Vegas, New Mexico. I don’t have the same concerns this morning as we’ve got 83 miles of flat to Tuscola, Illinois.
By all accounts the days really starting ticking down rapidly now. The last two days look pretty formidable, but unless the headwinds really blow the terrain and the distances look less daunting for the eastern section than they did for the first third of the ride.
Time to go get some breakfast. Happy Mother’s Day, you mothers!!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Day 20: Quincy, Illinois to Springfield, Illinois
Distance: 100 miles
Average Speed: 17.8 mph
Terrain: Rolling for first half. Then flat. 3700 feet of climbing.
Weather: Light head. Soaking rain for middle 60 miles.
I woke up today to fog. We stopped for breakfast after 14 miles. When we came out, it was pouring rain so we decided to ride another 86. These things just don’t happen at home.
I was wrong about other folks wanting to push it going into the rest day. The only change from yesterday to today was that I didn’t want to push it either. I sat in with at least one other rider for the vast majority of the day. When I wasn’t doing that I was chasing back onto a group. It was one of those days where irritating little interruptions kept happening in the last 40 miles. First, I had to stop for a natural break and to shed my rain jacket. Nobody sat up; I had to chase. Then I dropped my water bottle. Nobody sat up; I had to chase (I wouldn’t have waited either. That’s my own dumbass fault). Then just into Springfield I punctured with like 3 miles through town to go until my rest day could begin. Now that is irritating.
There is a weird etiquette to when you sit up and wait for the other guy and when you just keep rolling around here. Essentially, it’s selfish. If you want help pulling, wait. If not, go. When I’m the one with the issue, though, nobody waits because everybody assumes that I’ll just chase on if I want to, and a lot of the time nobody wants to go at my pace anyway even after I chase on. That, and I spend more time than the others doing flyers.
No great wisdom today. The corn isn’t up at all here yet. It’s been way too wet to get the equipment into the fields. The farmers don’t sound worried really. Or at least not excessively. Farmers not bitching about the weather would be unnatural. It sounds like they’ll take the rain so long as the delays don’t get too bad.
I was thinking a bit about Lincoln today. I was heading into Springfield after all. It didn’t resolve itself into anything terribly structured. It just went something like, here’s a man who acted with absolute moral conviction. After 40 years of weak presidents since Jackson, he picked the absolute hardest course at the worst time and brooked no compromise to that course. The union must be maintained. Slavery must be abolished. He decided that one morning in the shower. It took five minutes. The only thing left was the how of it, and politics thrives in the how. When politics drifts into the what, that’s when we have failures. I don’t know, you think about this great, lonely figure acting absolutely morally and correctly and effectively even with bad information and then you think about this Texas rube living off of his daddy’s good name and struggling to even stay engaged with the issues because he’s so lazy and stupid. Whither the great women and men that will honor their endowment? Huh?
Hannah’s prom picture because I can:
Average Speed: 17.8 mph
Terrain: Rolling for first half. Then flat. 3700 feet of climbing.
Weather: Light head. Soaking rain for middle 60 miles.
I woke up today to fog. We stopped for breakfast after 14 miles. When we came out, it was pouring rain so we decided to ride another 86. These things just don’t happen at home.
I was wrong about other folks wanting to push it going into the rest day. The only change from yesterday to today was that I didn’t want to push it either. I sat in with at least one other rider for the vast majority of the day. When I wasn’t doing that I was chasing back onto a group. It was one of those days where irritating little interruptions kept happening in the last 40 miles. First, I had to stop for a natural break and to shed my rain jacket. Nobody sat up; I had to chase. Then I dropped my water bottle. Nobody sat up; I had to chase (I wouldn’t have waited either. That’s my own dumbass fault). Then just into Springfield I punctured with like 3 miles through town to go until my rest day could begin. Now that is irritating.
There is a weird etiquette to when you sit up and wait for the other guy and when you just keep rolling around here. Essentially, it’s selfish. If you want help pulling, wait. If not, go. When I’m the one with the issue, though, nobody waits because everybody assumes that I’ll just chase on if I want to, and a lot of the time nobody wants to go at my pace anyway even after I chase on. That, and I spend more time than the others doing flyers.
No great wisdom today. The corn isn’t up at all here yet. It’s been way too wet to get the equipment into the fields. The farmers don’t sound worried really. Or at least not excessively. Farmers not bitching about the weather would be unnatural. It sounds like they’ll take the rain so long as the delays don’t get too bad.
I was thinking a bit about Lincoln today. I was heading into Springfield after all. It didn’t resolve itself into anything terribly structured. It just went something like, here’s a man who acted with absolute moral conviction. After 40 years of weak presidents since Jackson, he picked the absolute hardest course at the worst time and brooked no compromise to that course. The union must be maintained. Slavery must be abolished. He decided that one morning in the shower. It took five minutes. The only thing left was the how of it, and politics thrives in the how. When politics drifts into the what, that’s when we have failures. I don’t know, you think about this great, lonely figure acting absolutely morally and correctly and effectively even with bad information and then you think about this Texas rube living off of his daddy’s good name and struggling to even stay engaged with the issues because he’s so lazy and stupid. Whither the great women and men that will honor their endowment? Huh?
Hannah’s prom picture because I can:
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Day 19: Kirksville, Missouri to Quincy, Illinois
Distance: 97 miles
Average Speed: 18.8 mph
Terrain: Hilly for first 80%. Dead flat on the floodplain. 3400 feet of climbing.
Winds: Light tail to cross
Land of Lincoln! Out of Missouri! Crossing the Mighty Miss!
Question: To look at the old mansions in the center of Quincy, this place was once flush for real. I was expecting a beat to shit rustbelt town on the river, but it’s definitely not that. What was the source of the largesse? Anybody know? Post a comment.
It was kind of a weird riding day today. First, we had to improvise a route across the river because the ferry we intended to use was busted. So for the second half of the day we had a SAG van running around ahead of the group painting arrows on the road. Second, I was the only one that felt like going hard today. After yesterday there were some dead legs, and we’ve got a rest day coming up after tomorrow’s ride into Springfield. I think folks were taking it easy today to recover for going hard tomorrow and then recover from that over the rest day. Whatever the case, I had the creeping sensation over the second half of the day that I had outrun the SAG van and was about to do a Huck Finn down the river and double the distance getting back.
Anyway, I didn’t. It was tough terrain for most of the day. The Great Plains are a ripoff. They’re more like the Barely Plains.
Second question: Why do the people of Missouri have a Southern accent? Fakers! I was going to call a waitress on it, but then I thought, “What if she’s an alien? What if they’re all aliens working with bad information?” I decided not to trifle.
Going scattershot here. So, I finished off Missouri and found myself on a bridge going across the Mississippi. Now you got to understand this is a big river, and this bridge has no shoulder and only two lanes heading east, and it’s pretty darn busy. I couldn’t wait for the rest of the group or the SAG van. They were like an hour behind me. I understand this is no club ride and we’re riding roads one doesn’t usually ride, but I was looking at this thing going, “Huh. Really?” What you do is you gobble a gel and sprint for it. The problem is you’ve got 90 miles in some beat legs and that sprint isn’t going to be so sprint-like. This is an instance where you rely on adrenalized terror with which I’m richly supplied and gun it. I swear I hit the midpoint doing like 26 mph. The problem is this mother doesn’t have the arch of a regular bridge. It just keeps going up until you’re in Quincy. I don’t really know why I hadn’t sussed that out before I started this foolish venture, but on the other hand I can’t imagine that any of you are all that surprised that I didn’t. By the time I hit the end of the bridge all of the adrenaline had dribbled out of my terror, and I was out of the saddle pumping out a brisk 13 mph and wondering who the hell had run off with all of Sexybike’s low gears. Anyway, I guess in Illinois they’re used to dealing with the weirdness of the Missouri aliens because nobody ran my ass down and here I am clacking away.
Hannah’s got her junior prom tomorrow. I feel pretty bad about not being there. I would feel worse if I had any doubt at all that she can beat the shit out of her date. By such small favors….
Night all. Tornado warning here. It should have been in Kansas.
Average Speed: 18.8 mph
Terrain: Hilly for first 80%. Dead flat on the floodplain. 3400 feet of climbing.
Winds: Light tail to cross
Land of Lincoln! Out of Missouri! Crossing the Mighty Miss!
Question: To look at the old mansions in the center of Quincy, this place was once flush for real. I was expecting a beat to shit rustbelt town on the river, but it’s definitely not that. What was the source of the largesse? Anybody know? Post a comment.
It was kind of a weird riding day today. First, we had to improvise a route across the river because the ferry we intended to use was busted. So for the second half of the day we had a SAG van running around ahead of the group painting arrows on the road. Second, I was the only one that felt like going hard today. After yesterday there were some dead legs, and we’ve got a rest day coming up after tomorrow’s ride into Springfield. I think folks were taking it easy today to recover for going hard tomorrow and then recover from that over the rest day. Whatever the case, I had the creeping sensation over the second half of the day that I had outrun the SAG van and was about to do a Huck Finn down the river and double the distance getting back.
Anyway, I didn’t. It was tough terrain for most of the day. The Great Plains are a ripoff. They’re more like the Barely Plains.
Second question: Why do the people of Missouri have a Southern accent? Fakers! I was going to call a waitress on it, but then I thought, “What if she’s an alien? What if they’re all aliens working with bad information?” I decided not to trifle.
Going scattershot here. So, I finished off Missouri and found myself on a bridge going across the Mississippi. Now you got to understand this is a big river, and this bridge has no shoulder and only two lanes heading east, and it’s pretty darn busy. I couldn’t wait for the rest of the group or the SAG van. They were like an hour behind me. I understand this is no club ride and we’re riding roads one doesn’t usually ride, but I was looking at this thing going, “Huh. Really?” What you do is you gobble a gel and sprint for it. The problem is you’ve got 90 miles in some beat legs and that sprint isn’t going to be so sprint-like. This is an instance where you rely on adrenalized terror with which I’m richly supplied and gun it. I swear I hit the midpoint doing like 26 mph. The problem is this mother doesn’t have the arch of a regular bridge. It just keeps going up until you’re in Quincy. I don’t really know why I hadn’t sussed that out before I started this foolish venture, but on the other hand I can’t imagine that any of you are all that surprised that I didn’t. By the time I hit the end of the bridge all of the adrenaline had dribbled out of my terror, and I was out of the saddle pumping out a brisk 13 mph and wondering who the hell had run off with all of Sexybike’s low gears. Anyway, I guess in Illinois they’re used to dealing with the weirdness of the Missouri aliens because nobody ran my ass down and here I am clacking away.
Hannah’s got her junior prom tomorrow. I feel pretty bad about not being there. I would feel worse if I had any doubt at all that she can beat the shit out of her date. By such small favors….
Night all. Tornado warning here. It should have been in Kansas.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Day 18: St. Joseph, Missouri to Kirksville, Missouri
Distance: 145 miles
Terrain: 6800 feet climbing, constant rolling, wound up at the exact same altitude as we started
Average Speed: 19 mph
Winds: Lightly favorable for most of the day, moderately strong cross winds during the rain
You are not going to believe what that bastard put me through today. 145 miles? Are you kidding me? He had me screaming down hills at 41 mph one minute and racing down my gears to climb the next cliff at 10 mph. And it happened over and over again. I got rained on steadily between mile 77 and 109. I rode on terrible shoulders. I had trucks screaming by 18 inches away and honking. You should have seen me when I got back. I was filthy. It was embarrassing. He tells me that today was the hardest day, and everything else will seem easy by comparison. I said, it better be unless you want to experience a catastrophic failure of my down tube.
Still, I've never done a 145 mile day before. I wouldn't have had it in me before this trip. It kind of feels like I've accomplished something. As for him, he did kind of take care of me, cleaning and oiling and such, when I got into Kirksville, even though he's snoozing now. None of that "rode hard and put up wet" nonsense for me. My man takes care of me when the chips are down. He even complimented me on my smooth shifting. And don't tell him I said so, but I believe the little guy is going to make it. Maybe he's got a little more moxie than I gave him credit for. And you should see his legs. Oh, ladies, I do like a good set of legs, and he is sporting cannons now. Again, if he hears I said that I'll hunt you down.
Well, I gotta go let my lube settle in. Tomorrow we cross the Mississippi, and I don't want to have any squeaks when I reenter civilization. We might have some video tomorrow, with narration even. Today was just too long to carry it.
'Night, y'all.
Sexybike
Terrain: 6800 feet climbing, constant rolling, wound up at the exact same altitude as we started
Average Speed: 19 mph
Winds: Lightly favorable for most of the day, moderately strong cross winds during the rain
You are not going to believe what that bastard put me through today. 145 miles? Are you kidding me? He had me screaming down hills at 41 mph one minute and racing down my gears to climb the next cliff at 10 mph. And it happened over and over again. I got rained on steadily between mile 77 and 109. I rode on terrible shoulders. I had trucks screaming by 18 inches away and honking. You should have seen me when I got back. I was filthy. It was embarrassing. He tells me that today was the hardest day, and everything else will seem easy by comparison. I said, it better be unless you want to experience a catastrophic failure of my down tube.
Still, I've never done a 145 mile day before. I wouldn't have had it in me before this trip. It kind of feels like I've accomplished something. As for him, he did kind of take care of me, cleaning and oiling and such, when I got into Kirksville, even though he's snoozing now. None of that "rode hard and put up wet" nonsense for me. My man takes care of me when the chips are down. He even complimented me on my smooth shifting. And don't tell him I said so, but I believe the little guy is going to make it. Maybe he's got a little more moxie than I gave him credit for. And you should see his legs. Oh, ladies, I do like a good set of legs, and he is sporting cannons now. Again, if he hears I said that I'll hunt you down.
Well, I gotta go let my lube settle in. Tomorrow we cross the Mississippi, and I don't want to have any squeaks when I reenter civilization. We might have some video tomorrow, with narration even. Today was just too long to carry it.
'Night, y'all.
Sexybike
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Day 17: Topeka, Kansas to St. Joseph, Missouri
Distance: 89 miles
Average Speed: 19.5 mph
Terrain: Rolling for first 2/3rd. Hilly for last 1/3rd.
Today was all about the day coming up tomorrow. The mileage was light, the terrain was moderate. Don’t do too much work, get in early, rest. That was the credo for today because tomorrow will be a bear, the longest day of the journey at 145 miles and over 6800 feet of climbing, none of it on those long mountain pass grades that I fell in love with in California. Two years ago someone counted the grade changes on tomorrow’s leg on their Garmin and came up with over 240. The whole route is steep, short ups and downs. Tomorrow’s route goes through a place called Thousand Hills State Park, for Christ’s sake. The joke circulating around here is that Missouri used to be bigger than Alaska, but somebody had to scrunch it all up to wedge it into the contiguous states. Enough about tomorrow. I’m actually looking forward to it because I have no sense whatsoever.
I did the needful today. I stretched my legs in a fast pace line for the first third doing turns with the ride leader who does maybe forty miles a day and a racer named Jay for whom today was the last day. At the first SAG stop I knocked that off and sat on a pretty fast paceline and let Jay and Karen, another low mileage staffer, pull. After the first 2/3rd we had an average speed of 20.8 and had spent some miles in the Missouri terrain. The last 1/3rd I rolled in comfortably with a guy named Ron. It was a good day. I got a taste of the terrain for tomorrow and didn’t work very hard.
A couple of random things:
First, a recovery tip. Lie on your back on your bed with your butt against the headboard and your legs straight up against the wall. Spend some time there reading a book, doze off, whatever. Getting the legs way up helps with flexibility and gets them fresh for the next day.
Second, bike maintenance. I was complaining today how my tires had not held up at all. I had only had them for less than two months, and they were destroyed. The ride leader said, “Andy, how may miles have you ridden over the last few weeks?” The answer is almost 2000 since this ride started. Duh. Equipment gets torn up at this mileage over these roads at an amazing rate. Bike shops on the route are highly valued. At least we’re off the interstates now.
A little video now. Topeka is Hannah’s dream city so I thought I’d pull together some footage of our egress from that city as well as the moment I finally got out of Kansas.
Average Speed: 19.5 mph
Terrain: Rolling for first 2/3rd. Hilly for last 1/3rd.
Today was all about the day coming up tomorrow. The mileage was light, the terrain was moderate. Don’t do too much work, get in early, rest. That was the credo for today because tomorrow will be a bear, the longest day of the journey at 145 miles and over 6800 feet of climbing, none of it on those long mountain pass grades that I fell in love with in California. Two years ago someone counted the grade changes on tomorrow’s leg on their Garmin and came up with over 240. The whole route is steep, short ups and downs. Tomorrow’s route goes through a place called Thousand Hills State Park, for Christ’s sake. The joke circulating around here is that Missouri used to be bigger than Alaska, but somebody had to scrunch it all up to wedge it into the contiguous states. Enough about tomorrow. I’m actually looking forward to it because I have no sense whatsoever.
I did the needful today. I stretched my legs in a fast pace line for the first third doing turns with the ride leader who does maybe forty miles a day and a racer named Jay for whom today was the last day. At the first SAG stop I knocked that off and sat on a pretty fast paceline and let Jay and Karen, another low mileage staffer, pull. After the first 2/3rd we had an average speed of 20.8 and had spent some miles in the Missouri terrain. The last 1/3rd I rolled in comfortably with a guy named Ron. It was a good day. I got a taste of the terrain for tomorrow and didn’t work very hard.
A couple of random things:
First, a recovery tip. Lie on your back on your bed with your butt against the headboard and your legs straight up against the wall. Spend some time there reading a book, doze off, whatever. Getting the legs way up helps with flexibility and gets them fresh for the next day.
Second, bike maintenance. I was complaining today how my tires had not held up at all. I had only had them for less than two months, and they were destroyed. The ride leader said, “Andy, how may miles have you ridden over the last few weeks?” The answer is almost 2000 since this ride started. Duh. Equipment gets torn up at this mileage over these roads at an amazing rate. Bike shops on the route are highly valued. At least we’re off the interstates now.
A little video now. Topeka is Hannah’s dream city so I thought I’d pull together some footage of our egress from that city as well as the moment I finally got out of Kansas.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Day 16: Abilene, Kansas to Topeka, Kansas
Distance: 109 miles
Climbing: 2800 feet according to the ride book, but I’m going to stop reporting that stat because it’s definitely wrong. There wasn’t a level piece of road to be found today.
I’m kicking myself for not bring a camera today. I was thinking, “Jesus, another day in Kansas. When does this freaking state end?” Man, was I full of crap. The stretch of Kansas Route 4 between Abilene and Topeka may have been the nicest riding road thus far. There was lots of terrain with these lush green hills rolling up and down as the road twists, rises, and meanders through it. The morning was crisp, but not cold, and a stage designer had been brought in to artfully place patches of fog here and there through the valleys, but in a way that didn’t mute the azure sky. We had herds of buffalo hanging out on the hills, two buzzards drying their wings on the roof of an abandoned house, and a weiner dog chasing me with the determination of a doberman. The entire morning reminded me of the ride up Forgedale Road between Oley and Dryville near Hannah’s house. It goes uphill so you have to work, but it’s so beautiful that you wouldn’t have it go by faster.
I did the entire ride off the front again, just to have some solitude to absorb it and because I was feeling absurdly strong. After the lunch break at 77 miles, I time trialed the remaining 32 miles into Topeka.
Ron posted me this question the other day what my book was about—seems a fair question but one for which I haven’t really refined the pithy one paragraph elevator pitch yet. I was thinking about coming up with that on today’s ride but didn’t, didn’t really try too much to tell you the truth. What I did think about was the process of writing the book and how it changed me, the space I needed to get into to make it go. I put my emotions in a very different place than they had ever been before, and I was ruthless with them. It was necessary for the writing, but it spilled out everywhere. It forced me to a much deeper level of honesty than I had ever plumbed, where silence and suppression possess the force of a lie and are untenable even had I the will to maintain them.
Now here’s the kicker. The genie doesn’t go back in the bottle. I don’t want it to. We walk around all day mouthing these data and facts and communicating about this objective world that runs in black and white while all the action, all the truths that anybody really gives a shit about, are happening in silence. I’m working on making that silence go away in my own life. It’s a pretty clumsy process, I have to tell you. Techa has seen it, some other people.
Most importantly, Hannah has seen it. I hope she can look beyond my stumblings with the process of becoming to see that this ability to communicate feelings is the best and truest way to be enriched by other people and the world around us. It’s the best offer we can make, the most honest thing we can do, the most direct way we have to get down to the stuff that actually matters. And Lord it feels good.
Later.
Oh, wait. One other thing. I’ve got a few photos, but if you want to see the good photos, go to the website being run by the ride leader, Mike, at www.bamacyclist.com.
Climbing: 2800 feet according to the ride book, but I’m going to stop reporting that stat because it’s definitely wrong. There wasn’t a level piece of road to be found today.
I’m kicking myself for not bring a camera today. I was thinking, “Jesus, another day in Kansas. When does this freaking state end?” Man, was I full of crap. The stretch of Kansas Route 4 between Abilene and Topeka may have been the nicest riding road thus far. There was lots of terrain with these lush green hills rolling up and down as the road twists, rises, and meanders through it. The morning was crisp, but not cold, and a stage designer had been brought in to artfully place patches of fog here and there through the valleys, but in a way that didn’t mute the azure sky. We had herds of buffalo hanging out on the hills, two buzzards drying their wings on the roof of an abandoned house, and a weiner dog chasing me with the determination of a doberman. The entire morning reminded me of the ride up Forgedale Road between Oley and Dryville near Hannah’s house. It goes uphill so you have to work, but it’s so beautiful that you wouldn’t have it go by faster.
I did the entire ride off the front again, just to have some solitude to absorb it and because I was feeling absurdly strong. After the lunch break at 77 miles, I time trialed the remaining 32 miles into Topeka.
Ron posted me this question the other day what my book was about—seems a fair question but one for which I haven’t really refined the pithy one paragraph elevator pitch yet. I was thinking about coming up with that on today’s ride but didn’t, didn’t really try too much to tell you the truth. What I did think about was the process of writing the book and how it changed me, the space I needed to get into to make it go. I put my emotions in a very different place than they had ever been before, and I was ruthless with them. It was necessary for the writing, but it spilled out everywhere. It forced me to a much deeper level of honesty than I had ever plumbed, where silence and suppression possess the force of a lie and are untenable even had I the will to maintain them.
Now here’s the kicker. The genie doesn’t go back in the bottle. I don’t want it to. We walk around all day mouthing these data and facts and communicating about this objective world that runs in black and white while all the action, all the truths that anybody really gives a shit about, are happening in silence. I’m working on making that silence go away in my own life. It’s a pretty clumsy process, I have to tell you. Techa has seen it, some other people.
Most importantly, Hannah has seen it. I hope she can look beyond my stumblings with the process of becoming to see that this ability to communicate feelings is the best and truest way to be enriched by other people and the world around us. It’s the best offer we can make, the most honest thing we can do, the most direct way we have to get down to the stuff that actually matters. And Lord it feels good.
Later.
Oh, wait. One other thing. I’ve got a few photos, but if you want to see the good photos, go to the website being run by the ride leader, Mike, at www.bamacyclist.com.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Day 15: Great Bend, Kansas to Abilene, Kansas
Distance: 129 miles
Climbing: 1100 feet
Average Speed: 18.9 mph
Winds: Mild headwinds, 5-10 mph at the start, nothing to speak of at the end
Where to start? It was a rider’s day, a quiet Sunday morning rolling through a green Kansas that is only infrequently that color. I felt good, really good, after sitting in moderately paced groups over the last two fairly short days. Even with the headwinds, I felt like I got some recovery done, so today I ripped it up.
I did the first 70 miles off the front by myself. Cyclists out there will know the sound of bike tires whizzing over blacktop that is wet, but not wet enough to send a spray up your butt and back. I love riding on those roads. The sound absolutely hypnotizes me, and the tires just want to roll. It was Sunday morning so the traffic was quite light and I could hear the birds doing their thing over the fields. I was wrapped in my own little cocoon of motion. I wasn’t pushing it hard, just kind of spinning along at around 17.5 mph, enjoying the solitude.
I rolled into lunch about ten miles ahead of everyone else. With winds forecasted to turn to come from the north at about the same time as our turn to the north, I decided to hang up there until help arrived to “break wind” with me. Ha ha. Bike joke. Sexybike sighs. The crew out here refers to it as homesteading, as in waiting around at a SAG stop so long that I could clear land, plant crops, and have a harvest. I’m glad I waited, because the last 60 miles were a blast.
We passed the half way point of our cross country journey midway between Roxbury and Gypsum on Kansas State Route 304 and had a little ceremony. Wow. Sexybike celebrated by emptying a tire from a slow leak from a side wall puncture. I was concerned this was the beginning of some kind of labor dispute until she reassured me that I was the labor, she the management, and I needed to get the tire fixed because she wanted to ROLL! I think she’s still a little freaked about her Dodge City run-in. The ride leader, Mike, got me changed out because he has raised puncture repair to such a fine art that watching an amateur do it now causes him physical pain.
He and I spent the next 15 miles chasing onto the group, doing maybe 22 mph. He did by far the better part of the pulling while I held on. Granted, he was just starting his day’s ride while I was about 90 miles in, but still, this cat is giving away like 21 years to me. He also leaves a great wheel to ride.
We hung out a bit at the next SAG under a nice gazebo while the neighbors smoked vast expanses of meat in a converted propane tank. It was that kind of day, a day you might as well be on a bike ride as anywhere else, and I wasn’t in the mood to hurry to get anywhere in particular, which you wouldn’t know from the last 30 miles into Abilene.
We raged it, doing an average of around 23 mph with Sam and Jay joining Mike and I in a superfast paceline. One of the nicest things about this ride is discovering how I can ride. After a 70 mile solo flyer into a light headwind, I can still do mile long turns at the front of a paceline doing 24 mph at mile 120. I couldn’t do that two weeks ago, and that feels good.
Sorry this post is a rider dorkout, but it was a rider’s night.
No wise parting words tonight. So long.
Climbing: 1100 feet
Average Speed: 18.9 mph
Winds: Mild headwinds, 5-10 mph at the start, nothing to speak of at the end
Where to start? It was a rider’s day, a quiet Sunday morning rolling through a green Kansas that is only infrequently that color. I felt good, really good, after sitting in moderately paced groups over the last two fairly short days. Even with the headwinds, I felt like I got some recovery done, so today I ripped it up.
I did the first 70 miles off the front by myself. Cyclists out there will know the sound of bike tires whizzing over blacktop that is wet, but not wet enough to send a spray up your butt and back. I love riding on those roads. The sound absolutely hypnotizes me, and the tires just want to roll. It was Sunday morning so the traffic was quite light and I could hear the birds doing their thing over the fields. I was wrapped in my own little cocoon of motion. I wasn’t pushing it hard, just kind of spinning along at around 17.5 mph, enjoying the solitude.
I rolled into lunch about ten miles ahead of everyone else. With winds forecasted to turn to come from the north at about the same time as our turn to the north, I decided to hang up there until help arrived to “break wind” with me. Ha ha. Bike joke. Sexybike sighs. The crew out here refers to it as homesteading, as in waiting around at a SAG stop so long that I could clear land, plant crops, and have a harvest. I’m glad I waited, because the last 60 miles were a blast.
We passed the half way point of our cross country journey midway between Roxbury and Gypsum on Kansas State Route 304 and had a little ceremony. Wow. Sexybike celebrated by emptying a tire from a slow leak from a side wall puncture. I was concerned this was the beginning of some kind of labor dispute until she reassured me that I was the labor, she the management, and I needed to get the tire fixed because she wanted to ROLL! I think she’s still a little freaked about her Dodge City run-in. The ride leader, Mike, got me changed out because he has raised puncture repair to such a fine art that watching an amateur do it now causes him physical pain.
He and I spent the next 15 miles chasing onto the group, doing maybe 22 mph. He did by far the better part of the pulling while I held on. Granted, he was just starting his day’s ride while I was about 90 miles in, but still, this cat is giving away like 21 years to me. He also leaves a great wheel to ride.
We hung out a bit at the next SAG under a nice gazebo while the neighbors smoked vast expanses of meat in a converted propane tank. It was that kind of day, a day you might as well be on a bike ride as anywhere else, and I wasn’t in the mood to hurry to get anywhere in particular, which you wouldn’t know from the last 30 miles into Abilene.
We raged it, doing an average of around 23 mph with Sam and Jay joining Mike and I in a superfast paceline. One of the nicest things about this ride is discovering how I can ride. After a 70 mile solo flyer into a light headwind, I can still do mile long turns at the front of a paceline doing 24 mph at mile 120. I couldn’t do that two weeks ago, and that feels good.
Sorry this post is a rider dorkout, but it was a rider’s night.
No wise parting words tonight. So long.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Day 14: Dodge City, Kansas to Great Bend, Kansas
Distance: 85 miles
Climbing: 200 feet
Average Speed: 17 mph
Winds: Mild headwinds, 5-10 mph all day
Great Bend. Hmmm. Great Bend. Great Bend? I mean, it’s okay, but Great Bend. Maybe more like Pretty Darn Good Bend. That might be a bit more exact. Yeah, I can’t really endorse it beyond that, but I can comfortably go that far. Pretty Darn Good (A Little Bit Soggy) Bend. That might be more like it.
Well, when I got up this morning in Dodge City, Sexybike was bouncing off the walls, back pedaling, pulling wheelies, scattering lubricant, that kind of thing. I said, “Sexybike, what’s wrong?” Predictably, she said nothing because I’m not crazy, and I don’t hear bicycles talk, and if they told me to do illegal or harmful stuff I certainly would not do that. But anyway, something was clearly wrong, and I quickly acceded to her demand to get the heck out of Dodge. I did manage to delay her long enough to get this little photo, though we could just begin to hear the sirens do their thing in the background as I snapped it.
I was yanking her back by the handlebars all the way down the road. I don’t know what the brazen little hussie got herself into last night, but let’s face it, if you’re going to get up to no good, what better place to do it than Dodge City. The posse was nipping at her cog set, but I wouldn’t give her her lead. I needed a rolling rest day, and if that meant she had to get her due, then that was just going to be what had to happen. Somebody’s got to hold her accountable to her lawlessness.
Thank God, by the time we reached Kinsley, the posse had given up the ghost, whether through fatigue or just the realization that nobody had thought to plant a tree in this whole freakin’ state to string up an uppity girlbike we’ll never know. Whatever the case I got my rolling rest day, sitting in a paceline with four other blokes, stopping at the various attractions along the way, Pawnee Rock on the Sante Fe Trail, a community parade in a little town right after the lunch SAG. 
The place I want to tell you about, though, is Kinsley. Kinsley claims to be the midpoint of the continental United States, equidistant between New York and San Francisco. It’s a farm community, not a prospering one, of 1600 souls. Ten years ago, there were 2100 here, but they can’t get the kids to stay anymore. The farms have gone corporate, businesses have closed. There’s nowhere to work.
We visited a little museum that had been opened just the day before, literally for the first time ever. It held a preserved sod house, artifacts of farm life donated by residents who had doubtless moved on to communities that weren’t dying and were eager to clean the closets rather than pay the movers. It was run by this elderly gentleman, friendly and chatty like you wouldn’t believe, desperate to hold onto something, desperate to have somebody care about what was disappearing. He was determined that we should sign in, as if each name added would add a day to the relevance of his community and his life. Really, it was a nothing museum. Nothing in it told as rich a story as this gentleman’s presence there, his futile desire that the thumbprint of his community and himself should not fade from the earth.
I’m getting jammed up even writing about this. God, it was so sad, so raw and human, too true. It’s not orderly. This place had no future, just a past and the gouges of scrambling and graceless fingernails in the present. Can a life be the same? Can my life be the same?
I’m trying. I’m trying really hard. Have a great night.
Climbing: 200 feet
Average Speed: 17 mph
Winds: Mild headwinds, 5-10 mph all day
Great Bend. Hmmm. Great Bend. Great Bend? I mean, it’s okay, but Great Bend. Maybe more like Pretty Darn Good Bend. That might be a bit more exact. Yeah, I can’t really endorse it beyond that, but I can comfortably go that far. Pretty Darn Good (A Little Bit Soggy) Bend. That might be more like it.
Well, when I got up this morning in Dodge City, Sexybike was bouncing off the walls, back pedaling, pulling wheelies, scattering lubricant, that kind of thing. I said, “Sexybike, what’s wrong?” Predictably, she said nothing because I’m not crazy, and I don’t hear bicycles talk, and if they told me to do illegal or harmful stuff I certainly would not do that. But anyway, something was clearly wrong, and I quickly acceded to her demand to get the heck out of Dodge. I did manage to delay her long enough to get this little photo, though we could just begin to hear the sirens do their thing in the background as I snapped it.
I was yanking her back by the handlebars all the way down the road. I don’t know what the brazen little hussie got herself into last night, but let’s face it, if you’re going to get up to no good, what better place to do it than Dodge City. The posse was nipping at her cog set, but I wouldn’t give her her lead. I needed a rolling rest day, and if that meant she had to get her due, then that was just going to be what had to happen. Somebody’s got to hold her accountable to her lawlessness.
Thank God, by the time we reached Kinsley, the posse had given up the ghost, whether through fatigue or just the realization that nobody had thought to plant a tree in this whole freakin’ state to string up an uppity girlbike we’ll never know. Whatever the case I got my rolling rest day, sitting in a paceline with four other blokes, stopping at the various attractions along the way, Pawnee Rock on the Sante Fe Trail, a community parade in a little town right after the lunch SAG.
The place I want to tell you about, though, is Kinsley. Kinsley claims to be the midpoint of the continental United States, equidistant between New York and San Francisco. It’s a farm community, not a prospering one, of 1600 souls. Ten years ago, there were 2100 here, but they can’t get the kids to stay anymore. The farms have gone corporate, businesses have closed. There’s nowhere to work.
We visited a little museum that had been opened just the day before, literally for the first time ever. It held a preserved sod house, artifacts of farm life donated by residents who had doubtless moved on to communities that weren’t dying and were eager to clean the closets rather than pay the movers. It was run by this elderly gentleman, friendly and chatty like you wouldn’t believe, desperate to hold onto something, desperate to have somebody care about what was disappearing. He was determined that we should sign in, as if each name added would add a day to the relevance of his community and his life. Really, it was a nothing museum. Nothing in it told as rich a story as this gentleman’s presence there, his futile desire that the thumbprint of his community and himself should not fade from the earth.
I’m getting jammed up even writing about this. God, it was so sad, so raw and human, too true. It’s not orderly. This place had no future, just a past and the gouges of scrambling and graceless fingernails in the present. Can a life be the same? Can my life be the same?
I’m trying. I’m trying really hard. Have a great night.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Day 13: Liberal, Kansas to Dodge City, Kansas
Distance: 83 miles
Climbing: 300 feet
Average Speed: 13 mph
Winds: Strong headwinds, 20-30 mph all day
Stick ‘em up!! Draw! No, you draw! That’s right, kids. I rolled into Dodge City with a six-shooter on my hip. Mind, a light-weight carbon six-shooter, but a six-shooter none the less. We lunched in Meade where the Dalton Gang hid out after the silliness at the OK Corral. The main drag in Dodge City is called Wyatt Earp Boulevard.
I wish I had better words to explain the feeling you get when you roll into a new town after one of these days. No matter how beat you are, you get a little bounce to the pedal stroke when the city limit sign goes by. There’s more traffic to play with. You know that the shower and a meal are near to hand. Today, they were both hot. It’s not that you don’t love what you’re doing, but it is extreme, and you need the stacking up of accomplishments to keep you motivated. For me, that’s the feeling I get rolling into Dodge, literally today.
Chilly and cloudy today. Maybe five days a year the winds here blow out of the northeast. Today was one of them and they blew like a mother. It turned what was supposed to be an easy day into another slog. Truly, a dead headwind is much easier than a quartering headwind. With a wind coming from dead ahead, only the guy up front has to fight it and only briefly. With a quartering headwind everybody has to fight it. Today we had both but more quartering. That said, I rode it smarter than yesterday, sitting in a rotating pace line with four other guys, swapping off 1 to 2 mile pulls. I was never out of my middle chain ring. I am feeling a cumulative fatigue kind of dragging at me, and I’m hoping to use a couple of days in Kansas to recover a bit. I don’t know if I did that today with the winds, but I don’t feel like I added to any deficit.
Now, because those Kardian kids demand it, age appropriate video.
Also, I’ve caught up with most of the comments, so check those out.
Climbing: 300 feet
Average Speed: 13 mph
Winds: Strong headwinds, 20-30 mph all day
Stick ‘em up!! Draw! No, you draw! That’s right, kids. I rolled into Dodge City with a six-shooter on my hip. Mind, a light-weight carbon six-shooter, but a six-shooter none the less. We lunched in Meade where the Dalton Gang hid out after the silliness at the OK Corral. The main drag in Dodge City is called Wyatt Earp Boulevard.
I wish I had better words to explain the feeling you get when you roll into a new town after one of these days. No matter how beat you are, you get a little bounce to the pedal stroke when the city limit sign goes by. There’s more traffic to play with. You know that the shower and a meal are near to hand. Today, they were both hot. It’s not that you don’t love what you’re doing, but it is extreme, and you need the stacking up of accomplishments to keep you motivated. For me, that’s the feeling I get rolling into Dodge, literally today.
Chilly and cloudy today. Maybe five days a year the winds here blow out of the northeast. Today was one of them and they blew like a mother. It turned what was supposed to be an easy day into another slog. Truly, a dead headwind is much easier than a quartering headwind. With a wind coming from dead ahead, only the guy up front has to fight it and only briefly. With a quartering headwind everybody has to fight it. Today we had both but more quartering. That said, I rode it smarter than yesterday, sitting in a rotating pace line with four other guys, swapping off 1 to 2 mile pulls. I was never out of my middle chain ring. I am feeling a cumulative fatigue kind of dragging at me, and I’m hoping to use a couple of days in Kansas to recover a bit. I don’t know if I did that today with the winds, but I don’t feel like I added to any deficit.
Now, because those Kardian kids demand it, age appropriate video.
Also, I’ve caught up with most of the comments, so check those out.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Day 12: Dalhart, Texas to Liberal, Kansas
Distance: 113 miles
Climbing: 550 feet
Average Speed: 16.2 mph
Winds: Moderate tailwinds up to mile 30, then turning to heavy cross and head winds of 20+ mph
Alright, class, who can tell me the claim to fame of Liberal, Kansas? Anyone? Anyone? That’s right Bobby Sue. This is where the Wizard of Oz was set.
The producers left the wind when they split town. It pretty much did a 180 degree turn over the course of 30 minutes today, and what started as a fast, easy day slowed to something approximating the Bataan Death March.
One of the best things about this trip so far is that I am going to places that I would never go under any other circumstances. I’d never been to the Texas panhandle; I’d never been to Oklahoma; I’d never been to Kansas. And today I was in all three. You wouldn’t know one state from the other today. The landscape is uniformly flat and entirely agricultural. I mean, these farms are massive. You don’t even see the farmhouses. What you do see are these tiny towns with populations of 1800 souls that spring up every 25 miles or so. They are built around the grain elevators that are the dominant feature of the landscape. You can see them from 15 miles out, and almost immediately after you leave town you can see the next one on the horizon. On a bike it seems to take forever to reach them. They just sit there out of reach, taunting you, as you slog through the wind.
Now for the pictures.
Here you have local color from Conlen, Texas, on Highway 54. It’s one of those towns I mentioned.
Climbing: 550 feet
Average Speed: 16.2 mph
Winds: Moderate tailwinds up to mile 30, then turning to heavy cross and head winds of 20+ mph
Alright, class, who can tell me the claim to fame of Liberal, Kansas? Anyone? Anyone? That’s right Bobby Sue. This is where the Wizard of Oz was set.
The producers left the wind when they split town. It pretty much did a 180 degree turn over the course of 30 minutes today, and what started as a fast, easy day slowed to something approximating the Bataan Death March.
One of the best things about this trip so far is that I am going to places that I would never go under any other circumstances. I’d never been to the Texas panhandle; I’d never been to Oklahoma; I’d never been to Kansas. And today I was in all three. You wouldn’t know one state from the other today. The landscape is uniformly flat and entirely agricultural. I mean, these farms are massive. You don’t even see the farmhouses. What you do see are these tiny towns with populations of 1800 souls that spring up every 25 miles or so. They are built around the grain elevators that are the dominant feature of the landscape. You can see them from 15 miles out, and almost immediately after you leave town you can see the next one on the horizon. On a bike it seems to take forever to reach them. They just sit there out of reach, taunting you, as you slog through the wind.
Now for the pictures.
Here you have local color from Conlen, Texas, on Highway 54. It’s one of those towns I mentioned.
And here you have the entryway into the panhandle of Oklahoma. That little panhandle bitched me up but good today. The winds were really firing for the whole stretch.
And hear you have Sexybike hamming it up as we enter Kansas. I had to explain to hear that we are in Kansas now and will be for the next several nights. She kept wanting to use that Judy Garland line from the movie, but no way I’m letting that bitch call me Toto.
One note here. According to my route guide I don’t have Wifi access in the next two motels (Dodge City and Great Bend). I’ll write up the posts, but you may not see them until Sunday night from Abilene, Kansas.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Day 11: Tucumcari, New Mexico to Dalhart, Texas
Distance: 96 miles
Climbing: 750 feet
Average Speed: 23.5 mph
Winds: Tailwinds, maybe 10 – 15 mph
I have to tell you, Dalhart is fascinating. It sits high up in the Texas panhandle as an object lesson of economies of scale in food production. This place is all about beef. Massive feed lots line Route 54 heading into town. There are cattle as far as the eye can see, and believe me, the eye can see pretty damn far. All those cattle must have stamped out all the hills. Trains howl down the tracks and trucks stampede down the road delivering the bovines to their final destination. It's all a pretty powerful encouragement to vegetarianism, but I still had barbecue for dinner.
Unfortunately, some of the people who hang out with all those cattle are lowlife redneck assholes, one of whom nailed my riding companion, Sam, in the back with a beer bottle just as we were coming into town. I didn’t get a license plate and we couldn’t catch him, but if somebody out there should come across a redneck this evening, I’d be perfectly comfortable with you expressing my rage upon his person.
As for the ride, today was practically a rolling rest day. It was the first day of the trip under 100 miles, and that tailwind and the flat terrain made that 23.5 mph average easy to achieve. I started out of Tucumcari with a short pace line that got reduced to the ride leader Mike, Jay (who is now in form and kicking my ass), and myself. I hung with those two guys for maybe 35 miles before getting pooped out the back. They’ve got that racer top end speed that I don’t have. Even afterwards, though, the pace stayed really high. I rolled into Texas just before lunch, and found something stereotypically Texan about the bullet holes in this sign.
At our lunch Sexybike took the opportunity to catch up on a little local history. I have to tell you she’s turning into quite the little Pygmalion. I’m so proud of her now, classing up and showing some intellectual curiosity. I think this trip is really expanding her horizons.
What else? We’ve had our first hospital visit for saddle sores, though my ass remains in manageable shape. I never thought I’d see the day when I described a 23.5 mph, 96 mile ride as a rolling rest day, but there you go. If we’d had more people in the pace line we could have gone at a four hour century pace. It’s all about the wind out here.
Tomorrow, we cross the Oklahoma Panhandle and head into Kansas, where we remain for an eternity. Evening, folks.
Climbing: 750 feet
Average Speed: 23.5 mph
Winds: Tailwinds, maybe 10 – 15 mph
I have to tell you, Dalhart is fascinating. It sits high up in the Texas panhandle as an object lesson of economies of scale in food production. This place is all about beef. Massive feed lots line Route 54 heading into town. There are cattle as far as the eye can see, and believe me, the eye can see pretty damn far. All those cattle must have stamped out all the hills. Trains howl down the tracks and trucks stampede down the road delivering the bovines to their final destination. It's all a pretty powerful encouragement to vegetarianism, but I still had barbecue for dinner.
Unfortunately, some of the people who hang out with all those cattle are lowlife redneck assholes, one of whom nailed my riding companion, Sam, in the back with a beer bottle just as we were coming into town. I didn’t get a license plate and we couldn’t catch him, but if somebody out there should come across a redneck this evening, I’d be perfectly comfortable with you expressing my rage upon his person.
As for the ride, today was practically a rolling rest day. It was the first day of the trip under 100 miles, and that tailwind and the flat terrain made that 23.5 mph average easy to achieve. I started out of Tucumcari with a short pace line that got reduced to the ride leader Mike, Jay (who is now in form and kicking my ass), and myself. I hung with those two guys for maybe 35 miles before getting pooped out the back. They’ve got that racer top end speed that I don’t have. Even afterwards, though, the pace stayed really high. I rolled into Texas just before lunch, and found something stereotypically Texan about the bullet holes in this sign.
At our lunch Sexybike took the opportunity to catch up on a little local history. I have to tell you she’s turning into quite the little Pygmalion. I’m so proud of her now, classing up and showing some intellectual curiosity. I think this trip is really expanding her horizons.What else? We’ve had our first hospital visit for saddle sores, though my ass remains in manageable shape. I never thought I’d see the day when I described a 23.5 mph, 96 mile ride as a rolling rest day, but there you go. If we’d had more people in the pace line we could have gone at a four hour century pace. It’s all about the wind out here.
Tomorrow, we cross the Oklahoma Panhandle and head into Kansas, where we remain for an eternity. Evening, folks.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Day 10: Las Vegas, New Mexico to Tucumcari, New Mexico
Distance: 110 miles
Climbing: 2800 feet, but I swear there was more
Ah, he’s back. The routine kicked back in this morning, and I found my legs, thank God. After three 135 mile days in a row, and after yesterday in particular, today was fairly short and easy. I had time to stop along the way and snap some pictures and get some video, none of which came out. Sexybike ascribes it to operator error, but I’m pretty sure she’s in cahoots with all of my devices. Let me tell you, she’s a bit snooty about being in Tucumcari, the pretentious little cosmopolite. I did catch her reading an information board about the Canadian Escarpment, though. It’s nice to see her trying to improve herself.
As for the ride, we left Las Vegas onto a 35 mile cruise over a mesa. It rolled a bit, nothing too serious, but the skies were lowering, lots of cloud cover and an occasional spitting rain. This mesa can get souped in by fog, and the temperature was just two degrees above the dew point. I wanted to get a jump on the weather so I rolled out early with another guy who descends like a bomb. There was more down than up today. We made it across the mesa and down a three mile drop off it. We’re talking some lonely road here, no houses to be seen, very little traffic. The cattle looked very droll and slightly condescending, but they don’t know about their future what I know so I didn’t let resentment build.
After that it was some more rolling type terrain with a bit of a headwind. There were one or two serious climbs along the way, one of which has earned the title of the Wall. It’s only 0.7 miles at 10% with some lifting terrain as you approach, but it’s dead straight, and it just sort of looms there over you wondering what your punk ass is going to do about it. The road actually turns at the base to go over it. That’s right. Some fool actually had to work at it to make the road go up it.
The lunch stop came at about 78 miles. This was where the wind kicked up, maybe 15 mph flat into my face for the remaining 32 miles with some pretty substantial rollers to boot. I went off with three other guys to get some help punching through it, but within a few miles I was on my own, resigned to slogging my way into town. From behind me came a train of riders with the hammer down that I was able to hook into, and the last 17 miles into town went a lot faster than I was planning, though I had very little to contribute to the pace making after being off the front for much of the day. When we hit town, there was a low rider dog tied up in a front yard and barking baritone at me. It reminded me of Mel. What is it with low riders? What is their rage against cyclists? My theory: it's the lycra.
It feels good to be back in the groove, keeping it very simple. Tomorrow should be an easy day, our first day under 100 miles as we penetrate the Texas panhandle and Central Time Zone. That almost sounds dirty, doesn’t it? Well, I have been away from home for a long time.
Climbing: 2800 feet, but I swear there was more
Ah, he’s back. The routine kicked back in this morning, and I found my legs, thank God. After three 135 mile days in a row, and after yesterday in particular, today was fairly short and easy. I had time to stop along the way and snap some pictures and get some video, none of which came out. Sexybike ascribes it to operator error, but I’m pretty sure she’s in cahoots with all of my devices. Let me tell you, she’s a bit snooty about being in Tucumcari, the pretentious little cosmopolite. I did catch her reading an information board about the Canadian Escarpment, though. It’s nice to see her trying to improve herself.
As for the ride, we left Las Vegas onto a 35 mile cruise over a mesa. It rolled a bit, nothing too serious, but the skies were lowering, lots of cloud cover and an occasional spitting rain. This mesa can get souped in by fog, and the temperature was just two degrees above the dew point. I wanted to get a jump on the weather so I rolled out early with another guy who descends like a bomb. There was more down than up today. We made it across the mesa and down a three mile drop off it. We’re talking some lonely road here, no houses to be seen, very little traffic. The cattle looked very droll and slightly condescending, but they don’t know about their future what I know so I didn’t let resentment build.
After that it was some more rolling type terrain with a bit of a headwind. There were one or two serious climbs along the way, one of which has earned the title of the Wall. It’s only 0.7 miles at 10% with some lifting terrain as you approach, but it’s dead straight, and it just sort of looms there over you wondering what your punk ass is going to do about it. The road actually turns at the base to go over it. That’s right. Some fool actually had to work at it to make the road go up it.
The lunch stop came at about 78 miles. This was where the wind kicked up, maybe 15 mph flat into my face for the remaining 32 miles with some pretty substantial rollers to boot. I went off with three other guys to get some help punching through it, but within a few miles I was on my own, resigned to slogging my way into town. From behind me came a train of riders with the hammer down that I was able to hook into, and the last 17 miles into town went a lot faster than I was planning, though I had very little to contribute to the pace making after being off the front for much of the day. When we hit town, there was a low rider dog tied up in a front yard and barking baritone at me. It reminded me of Mel. What is it with low riders? What is their rage against cyclists? My theory: it's the lycra.
It feels good to be back in the groove, keeping it very simple. Tomorrow should be an easy day, our first day under 100 miles as we penetrate the Texas panhandle and Central Time Zone. That almost sounds dirty, doesn’t it? Well, I have been away from home for a long time.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Day 9: Albuquerque, NM to Las Vegas, NM
Distance: 135 miles Climbing: 8100 feet
Average Speed: 16.5 mph
The best part of the day was the scenery. The worst part was my lame riding. First the scenery:
We rose up out of the valley in which Albuquerque sits, and you could see the climate and ecosystems change right before your eyes. After the brown, arid last few days, green began to make her appearance as we headed through a splendid valley surrounded by tree-covered mountains and roofed by an enormous blue sky. This was up the Turquoise Trail (Route 14) heading into Santa Fe. Even when we hit I-25 for the ride from Santa Fe to Las Vegas the scenery was impressive. I may have to come back to the Santa Fe area of New Mexico. It's truly gorgeous.
Now for the riding. I had a very off day. I struggled with the elevation. We were over 8000 feet and today was the first day that I felt the thin air. It started pretty much right off the bat with the climb out of Albuquerque. The second thing that conspired against me was the rest day yesterday. I know it seems kind of crazy, but the body gets into a rhythm. Even though I was mentally exhausted and wanted that rest day, my body rebelled at not getting what it had become used to. This morning when I hit reset, I think it said, "Quoi?" Between the elevation and coming off a rest day, I couldn't get the engine room to answer the bell all day. The last miles were a slog, and I was slow throughout. Hopefully, I get straightened out for tomorrow.
I understand you're roasting back east. Today was sunny with highs in the high 60s here. Tomorrow I cross the 1000 mile mark. I'll be seeing you soon. Good night.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Day 8: REST DAY!!!
Distance: F--- THAT!!!
Average Speed: A Slow Stroll
Yesterday we finished the western leg of the ride. Over seven days we had three over 130 miles and none under 100 miles. We had some beautiful climbs, incredible scenery, a tailwind speed day, and a couple of hard long days that were really more just about getting from A town to B town. I am completely undisappointed, completely challenged, and really satisfied with my performance thus far.
The body is holding together well. Ankles and knees are getting iced every other night, more as a prophylactic measure than due to any pain. I think I did well to coddle the ankle toward the end of my training. I owe Techa and the diners of Enoteca Sogno on Broad Street an apology for ruining their antipasta with the stench on Ben Gay following a number of hard training rides. It is allowing me to ride pain-free, though.
You know, when I signed up for the Fast Ride I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the pace day after day after day. That has turned out not to be the case. I’m one of the stronger riders, and I feel like I’m still getting stronger. Again, preparation paid off. A bunch of guys are riding into some really strong legs now. While I may have been off the front for much of the first section, I suspect that that won’t continue for long. Everyone is getting better, getting stronger. Jay and Sam both have enough pace to put some hurt on me. Ron is a locomotive. Everyone is determined.
Other folks I ride with at home could do this ride. I’m thinking about the hard men in RABA that crank out the mileage. They could do this. So could the strong, fast guys. Both groups would find it challenging but would be successful doing it. It’s not because I’m a super strong rider that I can do this. That’s just not the way it works. The ability to find a rhythm is a lot more important. Ride, eat, sleep, repeat. Keep it simple. You can’t come here thinking you’re going to be keeping up with work email. You can’t get worked up about the little things. It’s too long and too hard. You have to keep it simple, and dare I say it, pure. You have to be patient.
One insight I’ve gained over the first seven days is that this is no club ride. Everything is bigger, longer, higher, harder. Leg fatigue will not stop me; the inability to keep my joints together could. One needs to hold oneself accountable for both. If my ankle doesn’t hold up, that’s my fault, not an act of nature. I went hard when I should have gone easy. I went dumb when I should have gone smart. We are not riding quiet, deserted, two lane country roads with no cars. I’ve been scared a couple of times. We’ve had one rider go the emergency room when she had to beat back a feisty guardrail with her head outside Sedona. Weather conditions are a given—interesting but they don’t change what needs to be done.
There is no option not to go on a given day. You have to work around the conditions and how you feel. I started Day 3 feeling the worst starting a bike ride than I have ever felt, and I was facing 115 miles into a moderate headwind. You’ll remember that Day 2 was 130 miles across the desert in 104 degree temperatures. After I got into Blythe that day I could not stop cramping, and for the first time in my life I vomited in multiples following a ride. Ron and I had gone hard down the highway, and no matter how great the SAG crew there was just no way I was not going to hurt that evening. Sorry for the long set up to the simple point that I was prouder of the ride I did on Day 3, crawling over the route, staying out of pacelines, and trying not to draw down my reserves further, than I was of making it through Day 2 strongly. I felt that way doubly when I saw the 11,000 feet of climbing and beautiful scenery on Day 4.
Some other advice:
Tweezers. Bring them. You’ll need them to pull out the wires that puncture your tires on the interstate.
Carmex. A must. Breathing desert air heavily over seven hours has left my lips a chapped mess of gristle.
Tires. Bring the slow, heavy, thick ones. These roads are no place for racing tires. Punctures kill a pace much more surely than slow tires. I didn’t take this advice. I’m fixing that today.
Thanks for following. Tomorrow we go to Las Vegas! New Mexico.
Average Speed: A Slow Stroll
Yesterday we finished the western leg of the ride. Over seven days we had three over 130 miles and none under 100 miles. We had some beautiful climbs, incredible scenery, a tailwind speed day, and a couple of hard long days that were really more just about getting from A town to B town. I am completely undisappointed, completely challenged, and really satisfied with my performance thus far.
The body is holding together well. Ankles and knees are getting iced every other night, more as a prophylactic measure than due to any pain. I think I did well to coddle the ankle toward the end of my training. I owe Techa and the diners of Enoteca Sogno on Broad Street an apology for ruining their antipasta with the stench on Ben Gay following a number of hard training rides. It is allowing me to ride pain-free, though.
You know, when I signed up for the Fast Ride I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the pace day after day after day. That has turned out not to be the case. I’m one of the stronger riders, and I feel like I’m still getting stronger. Again, preparation paid off. A bunch of guys are riding into some really strong legs now. While I may have been off the front for much of the first section, I suspect that that won’t continue for long. Everyone is getting better, getting stronger. Jay and Sam both have enough pace to put some hurt on me. Ron is a locomotive. Everyone is determined.
Other folks I ride with at home could do this ride. I’m thinking about the hard men in RABA that crank out the mileage. They could do this. So could the strong, fast guys. Both groups would find it challenging but would be successful doing it. It’s not because I’m a super strong rider that I can do this. That’s just not the way it works. The ability to find a rhythm is a lot more important. Ride, eat, sleep, repeat. Keep it simple. You can’t come here thinking you’re going to be keeping up with work email. You can’t get worked up about the little things. It’s too long and too hard. You have to keep it simple, and dare I say it, pure. You have to be patient.
One insight I’ve gained over the first seven days is that this is no club ride. Everything is bigger, longer, higher, harder. Leg fatigue will not stop me; the inability to keep my joints together could. One needs to hold oneself accountable for both. If my ankle doesn’t hold up, that’s my fault, not an act of nature. I went hard when I should have gone easy. I went dumb when I should have gone smart. We are not riding quiet, deserted, two lane country roads with no cars. I’ve been scared a couple of times. We’ve had one rider go the emergency room when she had to beat back a feisty guardrail with her head outside Sedona. Weather conditions are a given—interesting but they don’t change what needs to be done.
There is no option not to go on a given day. You have to work around the conditions and how you feel. I started Day 3 feeling the worst starting a bike ride than I have ever felt, and I was facing 115 miles into a moderate headwind. You’ll remember that Day 2 was 130 miles across the desert in 104 degree temperatures. After I got into Blythe that day I could not stop cramping, and for the first time in my life I vomited in multiples following a ride. Ron and I had gone hard down the highway, and no matter how great the SAG crew there was just no way I was not going to hurt that evening. Sorry for the long set up to the simple point that I was prouder of the ride I did on Day 3, crawling over the route, staying out of pacelines, and trying not to draw down my reserves further, than I was of making it through Day 2 strongly. I felt that way doubly when I saw the 11,000 feet of climbing and beautiful scenery on Day 4.
Some other advice:
Tweezers. Bring them. You’ll need them to pull out the wires that puncture your tires on the interstate.
Carmex. A must. Breathing desert air heavily over seven hours has left my lips a chapped mess of gristle.
Tires. Bring the slow, heavy, thick ones. These roads are no place for racing tires. Punctures kill a pace much more surely than slow tires. I didn’t take this advice. I’m fixing that today.
Thanks for following. Tomorrow we go to Las Vegas! New Mexico.
Day 7: Gallup, NM to Albuquerque, NM
Distance: 137 milesAverage Speed: 19.5 mph
Winds: 30 mph, rear quartering to hard cross
Climbing: 4250 feet
I have to start by saying I’m preoccupied tonight. I was preoccupied today. I’m out here playing, and the person I love most in the world is going through a rough patch. Sorry to be a downer, but truly I have found over the last few months that the mental and physical are inextricably linked and that a 137 mile ride happens largely in the mind. That meant that today was bound to be tough, and it certainly was.
Rolling out of Gallup was pretty chilly. It was the first time I broke out the leggings and full fingered gloves on this ride. I knew I wasn’t going to be good company for anyone so I spent the first 105 miles or so off the front and by myself. Winds howled and were never neutral. Little stretches of 25 mph; longer stretches of 15 mph. We crossed the Continental Divide, so now we’re definitely flowing east.
At mile 105 we hit a stretch of I-40 construction where the shoulder was cut off and had to be SAG-ged across a four mile stretch. I’ve kind of developed this goal of not SAG-ging a single itch of this trip so this was a bit disappointing, but the SAG crew absolutely made the right call—way too dangerous. I’ve got a bit of riding to do around Albuquerque tomorrow anyway so I’ll make up the mileage, and it wasn’t an especially scenic four miles. Then it was a climb and a booming descent into Albuquerque, straight as piss and windy as hell. The cross winds were a bit scary on all the descents. It turns out it’s windy in the West. There were a couple of times today I had to be in the drops with my knees tight around the frame to keep Sexybike from getting blown out from under me. Christ, I’d never hear the end of it.
I’ve got a fairly busy rest day planned tomorrow. Bike shop, Old Town Albuquerque, laundry. I’ll be posting some of my insights accumulated over the western section of this ride, too, including the importance of tweezers and Carmex and something on the folks with whom I’m riding.
I want you all to be happy so do that, please.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Day 6: Winslow, Arizona to Gallup, New Mexico
First, the numbers. Today was all about the numbers.
Distance: 135 miles
Climbing: 3300 feet
Saddle time: 6 hours 10 minutes
Average speed for the non-mathematically inclined: 21.8 mph
See that average speed? Not too shabby, huh. It certainly set things to right with Sexybike. Think about it--21.8 mph over 135 miles. Hmmm.
Okay, there's a catch. We galloped into Gallup in the jaws of a 30 mph tailwind. Hannah, that pun's for you. It followed us the entire way. We were barreling down the shoulder of I-40 in echelon for about 100 miles. I have sand and dust in every crevice and gear of Sexybike and myself.
All that said, it was still a hard ride for me. Pace can hurt in some sneaky ways, and it was just long. I also didn't ride it terribly smart. I worked the middle bit too hard, sat on the front too much, that kind of thing. I'm hoping tomorrow isn't too hard, but I suspect crossing the Continental Divide on another 135 mile day will not be a piece of cake.
After tomorrow we have a rest day in Albuquerque. Lord, I will be ready. I will be visiting a bike shop for sure. I have punctured at least once every day but one this week. Little wires from the radial tires that trucks shred along the interstate are everywhere. I need some tougher tires and some other stuff. I will also be treating myself to the first beer of this trip.
I'm sorry I've got no pictures or video, but it was not a terribly photogenic day--all moonscape and poverty. Really, it was all just about going fast.
I'm going to go now. We lost an hour crossing into the Mountain time zone, and I'll need that hour of sleep for tomorrow.
Distance: 135 miles
Climbing: 3300 feet
Saddle time: 6 hours 10 minutes
Average speed for the non-mathematically inclined: 21.8 mph
See that average speed? Not too shabby, huh. It certainly set things to right with Sexybike. Think about it--21.8 mph over 135 miles. Hmmm.
Okay, there's a catch. We galloped into Gallup in the jaws of a 30 mph tailwind. Hannah, that pun's for you. It followed us the entire way. We were barreling down the shoulder of I-40 in echelon for about 100 miles. I have sand and dust in every crevice and gear of Sexybike and myself.
All that said, it was still a hard ride for me. Pace can hurt in some sneaky ways, and it was just long. I also didn't ride it terribly smart. I worked the middle bit too hard, sat on the front too much, that kind of thing. I'm hoping tomorrow isn't too hard, but I suspect crossing the Continental Divide on another 135 mile day will not be a piece of cake.
After tomorrow we have a rest day in Albuquerque. Lord, I will be ready. I will be visiting a bike shop for sure. I have punctured at least once every day but one this week. Little wires from the radial tires that trucks shred along the interstate are everywhere. I need some tougher tires and some other stuff. I will also be treating myself to the first beer of this trip.
I'm sorry I've got no pictures or video, but it was not a terribly photogenic day--all moonscape and poverty. Really, it was all just about going fast.
I'm going to go now. We lost an hour crossing into the Mountain time zone, and I'll need that hour of sleep for tomorrow.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Day 5: Cottonwood, Arizona to Winslow, Arizona
Distance: 107 milesClimbing: 3890 feet
First, let me tell you this. It is through the application of the most delicate realpolitik that I have reached an accomodation with my ass. It seemed almost ready to rebel against the saddle sores this morning so we got down to brass tacks, figuratively speaking only. I wore my most comfortably padded shorts knowing full well that they have a small tear in the back that would potentially offend those of more delicate sensibilities. My ass reciprocated by stopping its howling today. We have achieved a kind of detente.
Second, let me tell you this as well. The best thing about Winslow, Arizona is....Well, to tell you the truth nothing comes to mind. Unless you're an Eagles fan. I effing hate the Eagles.
But we're only sleeping here. The rest of the day was spectacular. We rolled into Sedona and the Red Rocks area as the sun was rising behind it. Color and shadow and contour combined in sublime combinations that broke down and reassembled anew as perspective changed with the passing of the miles. Truly these are our cathedrals, the American cathedrals. These places--Sedona, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon--they are our Chartres, our Notre Dame. I'll take these monuments to God over the human vanities perpetrated in her name any day.
Then we rose up a stunning climb out of Oak Creek Canyon to get to the road to Flagstaff. The picture is looking down at a small section of that climb. I didn't count the switchbacks, but they were more than several. Flagstaff was our high point of the day, over 7000 feet. The climbing is really comfortable, well worth the views, and I never thought I would say that.
Then we hit the interstate. I know riding down the interstate doesn't sound all that scenic, and I have to tell you that between Flagstaff and Winslow, there's a whole bunch of nothing. For you cyclists, though, imagine a slightly downhill 55 mile stretch of road that you're riding in one direction with a 25 mph tail wind. You never have to turn back into the wind and the only thing to look out for is the debris on the ground. I think a group of us must have averaged at least 25 mph for the stretch. We had a three man echelon zooming down the highway shoulder between the dirt and the rumbles. That's the second bit of video below.
I appreciate all the comments. I'm trying to address them a bit in the posts. If you're on Blogspot as anonymous, I can usually figure out who it is, but leave a name if you're willing to be identified.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Day 4: Wickenburg, Arizona to Cottonwood, Arizona
Distance: 103 miles
Climbing: 8750 feet
Max Speed: 46 mph
A wonderfully scenic day today. We got out of the hard core desert and into the mountains over three mountain passes and three great descents. I have to admit, I’d about had it with the desert.
First on the day was Yarnell pass. Yarnell is sort of the boundary between desert and mountain air. I swear the temperature dropped 10 degrees on the top of that mountain pass and the air picked up that celery snap.
Then came the pass into Prescott. Great climb, great descent. I got an early start out of lunch so I could stop by a bike shop there to pick up some water bottle cages for my saucy little minx. I understand she got a bit uppity with you yesterday. I got her these big, industrial strength bottle cages. I could have gone with the carbon, but no way. Not with her attitude. See how she likes that.
Next was the pass into Jerome. I summited at the high point for the day at 7023 feet and then dropped off the mountain like a stone down a technical descent. It was one of those where a bike can go a lot faster than a car. Jerome is this old copper mining town hanging off the side of a mountain overlooking a stunning valley panorama. The video is a three minute bit from that descent around some switchbacks and such. I think it came out pretty well.
I feel great tonight. This old flatlander is pretty satisfied with his legs over all that climbing. Slopes ramped up to 8% for pretty long stretches. It’s not all that bad. You just find a low gear and tap out a cadence. I also feel like I’m riding into some good legs, not necessarily speed legs, but endurance and climbing legs.
Alright. I’m out. I have to find more food. See ya.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Day 3: Blythe, California to Wickenburg, Arizona
Distance: 115 miles
Climbing: 3360 feet
Temperature: 101 F
Average Speed: 14.8 mph
Do you believe that average? I was disgusted so I'm taking over the blog tonight. He says he just wanted to do a recovery ride because he felt shitty after yesterday and has a lot of climbing around Flagstaff tomorrow. He does look a lot more chipper, but I still think he's full of crap.
I've been doing my best to get that boy through, but he won't appreciate it. Do you know what he did to me? For the first time in my life, I've got duct tape stuck to me. Duct tape! It's just embarrassing. He shattered one bottle cage, and his second is about to fall apart, so he's got it taped on there. Not only does he buy me shitty bling, but then he slaps some tape over it, right in front of all the other girls. He treats me like a lot lizard just because I've got a few miles on me. No way he would be doing that if I was some pretty little Cervelo or Pinarello. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about here. He says he'll replace those cages at the bike shop in Flagstaff, and you better believe I want the full carbon treatment. Can I get a "hell yeah"?
He says he really appreciates all your comments. He finds them really motivating. I don't know why you bother, to tell you the truth. And why are you getting all the gratitude? I'm the one that's gotta smell his stinky ass crossing the desert all day.
And another thing, he promised video yesterday. Well, he's disappointing us there, too. It turns out the batteries died. He's replaced them now and promises sparkling footage of some hair-raising descents tomorrow, but we'll see.
I have to sign off before I put myself in a state.
Good night.
Sexybike
Climbing: 3360 feet
Temperature: 101 F
Average Speed: 14.8 mph
Do you believe that average? I was disgusted so I'm taking over the blog tonight. He says he just wanted to do a recovery ride because he felt shitty after yesterday and has a lot of climbing around Flagstaff tomorrow. He does look a lot more chipper, but I still think he's full of crap.
I've been doing my best to get that boy through, but he won't appreciate it. Do you know what he did to me? For the first time in my life, I've got duct tape stuck to me. Duct tape! It's just embarrassing. He shattered one bottle cage, and his second is about to fall apart, so he's got it taped on there. Not only does he buy me shitty bling, but then he slaps some tape over it, right in front of all the other girls. He treats me like a lot lizard just because I've got a few miles on me. No way he would be doing that if I was some pretty little Cervelo or Pinarello. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about here. He says he'll replace those cages at the bike shop in Flagstaff, and you better believe I want the full carbon treatment. Can I get a "hell yeah"?
He says he really appreciates all your comments. He finds them really motivating. I don't know why you bother, to tell you the truth. And why are you getting all the gratitude? I'm the one that's gotta smell his stinky ass crossing the desert all day.
And another thing, he promised video yesterday. Well, he's disappointing us there, too. It turns out the batteries died. He's replaced them now and promises sparkling footage of some hair-raising descents tomorrow, but we'll see.
I have to sign off before I put myself in a state.
Good night.
Sexybike
Day 2: Palm Springs, California to Blythe, California
Distance: 134 miles
Climbing: 3350 feet
Temperature: 104 F, that’s right, 104
Average Speed: Unknown, but faster than yesterday. Accidentally reset my computer about 60 miles in.
Today was what you would call a hard day—long and very hot. Only 3 of us weren’t riding in the van for most of the day. It was a 42 mile rollout from Palm Springs, maybe 25 miles of very gradual climbing through a lovely box canyon, and about 70 miles on I-10 and a frontage road into Blythe. All was through a baking desert. And when I say desert, I mean parched, lifeless, and relentless.
The SAG team did yeoman’s work keeping us watered up on that stretch of I-10. I definitely wouldn’t have made it without them. Like a tree I must be watered. I’ve got video of the box canyon, but the time is getting a bit late so I won’t be pulling it together until tomorrow.
I’m concentrating on recovering right now. I’m hurting a bit—crampy, sore, thoroughly antisocial. The physical definitely impacts my mood. I’m planning on soft pedaling most of the way tomorrow. I definitely don’t want to go as hard as today. I don’t know that I could even if I so desired.
But enough bitching. I did something really hard today. I pushed myself and tested myself and proved something to myself. Someone made the comment today that he had nothing to prove, and he may not. And it may just be a phrasing to indicate that he knows what his limits are. But I don’t. And I don’t feel that way. I feel like I’ve got something to prove practically every day. Otherwise, isn’t it just the slow death of stasis and non-discovery? To struggle against mighty obstacles seems the most human of endeavors. I want to be a human, a living, struggling, occasionally failing one.
My second thought: despite it being a hard day on the bike, at no point in time did I say to myself that I’d rather be shilling credit cards right now, not even a little bit. A hard day on the bike is better than the best day at work.
Climbing: 3350 feet
Temperature: 104 F, that’s right, 104
Average Speed: Unknown, but faster than yesterday. Accidentally reset my computer about 60 miles in.
Today was what you would call a hard day—long and very hot. Only 3 of us weren’t riding in the van for most of the day. It was a 42 mile rollout from Palm Springs, maybe 25 miles of very gradual climbing through a lovely box canyon, and about 70 miles on I-10 and a frontage road into Blythe. All was through a baking desert. And when I say desert, I mean parched, lifeless, and relentless.
The SAG team did yeoman’s work keeping us watered up on that stretch of I-10. I definitely wouldn’t have made it without them. Like a tree I must be watered. I’ve got video of the box canyon, but the time is getting a bit late so I won’t be pulling it together until tomorrow.
I’m concentrating on recovering right now. I’m hurting a bit—crampy, sore, thoroughly antisocial. The physical definitely impacts my mood. I’m planning on soft pedaling most of the way tomorrow. I definitely don’t want to go as hard as today. I don’t know that I could even if I so desired.
But enough bitching. I did something really hard today. I pushed myself and tested myself and proved something to myself. Someone made the comment today that he had nothing to prove, and he may not. And it may just be a phrasing to indicate that he knows what his limits are. But I don’t. And I don’t feel that way. I feel like I’ve got something to prove practically every day. Otherwise, isn’t it just the slow death of stasis and non-discovery? To struggle against mighty obstacles seems the most human of endeavors. I want to be a human, a living, struggling, occasionally failing one.
My second thought: despite it being a hard day on the bike, at no point in time did I say to myself that I’d rather be shilling credit cards right now, not even a little bit. A hard day on the bike is better than the best day at work.
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