You Did What?!

This has been a bad week for riding.

Or I’ve been slack.

One or the other, but I’m going with the first one.

Today I got home late but was still determined to squeeze in a ride.  With the sun ominously low in the sky, I set out for a twelve mile ride, that being all I had time for.  Since the ride was so short, I decided I was going to go as hard as I could and just rip the route up.

It only took about a third of a mile for my legs and the wind together to tell me that, while I should still feel free to go as hard as I could, I wouldn’t be ripping anything up, except possibly my legs and maybe my self esteem.

Still, it’s a ride, right?

Now I had a choice to make.  I could ride the route clockwise, in which case I would get the worst of the wind at the beginning and the end, or I could ride it counterclockwise and get the worst of the wind in the middle of the ride.  (I think that’s all backwards for our friends in the other hemisphere.)

I would have liked the second option if it wasn’t for the fact that it would have put me on the busiest road for the longest time during the worst traffic.

Let’s see…setting off into the wind or dramatically increasing my chances of getting splatted by a car…wind it is.

Four miles of headwind, right turn, unpleasant crosswind for a bit and then here comes the right turn that will put the wind at my back.  Ahead of me is a car waiting to turn left onto the same road I want to turn right onto.  There is no other traffic, so why is that car simply sitting in the road waiting to turn instead of  actually turning?

Is the driver waiting for the guy on the bike?

Sort of. 

In fact, she waited a good thirty seconds, until I was almost in the turn, and then she turned right across my path.  Oh, boy.  I turn after her, and she takes off down the road.  I watch the car grow smaller and smaller and then bigger and bigger as she slows down. 

What the heck?

(There is no need to cue the music from Jaws here.)

With a very nice wind behind me, I catch up with her.  She is doing 21 point something or other mph, and, as I am closing in on her, cars are coming up behind me and passing me and then passing her, and then there I am, drafting off of this car.

I don’t want to be drafting off of this car.  First of all, drafting off of a stranger is…how shall we put it…fundamentally unwise.  Second of all, I’m interested in riding hard and getting stronger, and drafting isn’t going to get me there.

Then, in unique experience for me, I feel like I can pass this car and leave her behind.  Perhaps putting myself in front of this particular driver isn’t the wisest move in the world, either, but I do it.  As I am passing her, I notice that, despite her slow speed, she isn’t looking for anything.  In fact, she has her face resolutely and apparently immovably pointed straight ahead.

I think to myself, “You’re driving a car and you just got passed by a guy on a bicycle!  And not only a guy on a bicycle, but by me.  Is this one of the signs of the apocalypse?”

I hit 25 mph (tailwind!) and I’m off.  I never see my friend in the car again.  I get nearly two blessed miles of that tailwind, and then it’s another right turn and the going gets harder and another right turn and I’m into the headwind again for another few miles, but I’m still going as hard as I can, which is not quite the same effort as it was at the beginning of the ride, I can tell you.

Pretty soon I’m back home, and, as it turns out, I have clocked my highest average speed for a ride since I got back on the bike.  Now, I now guys who could surely trim as much as five or even ten minutes off my time, but I’m happy with it.  It’s one more sign of improving fitness.

Nice.

Everyone Knows It's Windy...

Oh, look at that flag, standing proudly out against the sky.  What a pretty and patriotic display that…

Uh-Oh.  Wait a minute.  Does that mean that I’m about to get hit by a crosswind?

Yes.  Yes, it does.

Except that I don’t think the wind is just cross.  I think it’s flat out ticked off.

No, no.  The wind is my friend.  It’s talking to me.

“Don’t you want to get stronger?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I can help you with that.”

Oof.  2 long miles in the crosswind.  Oh, but now I’ve turned and am in a tailwind.  Gear up, and up again, and up again, and now I’m flying effortlessly along at a nice clip, so what do I do?  Click.  Gear up again, of course, so now it’s work, and I’m really flying, but this stretch is not even a mile long, but I’m going to take my speed into this turn and cruise…no…car up, coming toward me.

Anonymous cyclist I heard once:  I’d almost rather get hit by a car than have to stop.

Loony cycling blogger:  No thanks.  I’d rather stop.

So, I hit the brakes, scrub off speed, get ready to unclip…oh, now the car signals and changes lanes and is clearly turning right, and if I’d known that I could have cruised around this turn…oh, well.  Now I’m going about 3 miles an hour when I come to the turn and am into the crosswind again, except now it’s even more cross than it was before.

Oh, wait.  Doesn’t this mean that, when I turn for those last three miles that I’m going to be in a headwind?  Well, not necessarily.  The wind could change direction before then, right?  Right.

Not right.

 

Well, at least it’s a steady headwind.  All I have to do is settle in and find my rhythm, ride within myself and don’t think about how long it’s going to last.  Oh, look, there are those lines on the road again.  I still don’t know what they’re measuring.

Then a sports car with a VERY loud engine blows past me.  On this particular road, I’m going about 40 mph under the speed limit.  He’s doing at least 10-15 mph above the speed limit, but at least he gave me the whole lane.  I like him for that.  I don’t like that pickup truck, though.  It was probably doing the speed limit, but the driver is clearly thinking something like, “Hey, that’s a skinny bike.  A fifth of the lane is enough for him.”   Please pass the cyclist gently, giving him plenty of room.  Thank you very much.

How much longer does this headwind go on?

When I got home I checked some data.  Let’s see…the wind was blowing 10 mph and more harder today than the last time I rode this route, and it only took half a mile an hour off my pace.  Nice.  I guess it’s time to lengthen the route again.

Fifteen miles, here I come.

Unwisdom

I've all my wisdom teeth
Two up top, two beneath
And yet I'll recognise
My mouth says things that aren't so wise
--Brad Roberts

So today I was unwise. (This will not surprise anyone who knows me.) Anyone who has read my recent posts and committed them to memory (a proceeding which is not recommended by any certified mental health professionals, by the way) knows that I haven’t been able to ride very much in 2010. Well aware of this myself, when I finally made some time to ride, I decided I would do about twenty-five miles. Not a long distance, but better than nothing, right?

When I hit the road, it was very windy and my legs felt like useless blocks of wood. With my twenty-five miles firmly in mind, I turned onto a route that I know is about forty miles long. Why did I do this? I don’t know.

The first ten miles of this route are up and down. The second ten miles are quite flat, but the road is surrounded mostly by fields, so there’s nothing to block the wind. The third ten miles are mostly up without a lot of downs. (I always think it’s somehow unfair when you climb a hill and then, at the top, it simply levels off instead of going down again.) The last ten miles are the hilliest of the route. This means that you hit the hardest stretch of road when you’re the tiredest. (My spellchecker does not like the word tiredest by the way, but I don’t care.)

The first ten miles went by pretty well. There were places where it was a tough pull, but that’s okay. I remember hearing Keith’s voice in my ear: “Pedal up and pedal down.” Well, I certainly have to pedal up the hills, but I didn’t feel like pedaling down the hills. Keith was insistent, though. (This insistence is all the more difficult to understand since he wasn’t actually on the ride and I was simply remembering his words from previous rides together.)

The second ten miles went by pretty well. They were harder than the first ten miles. If all you’re contending with are hills, the road will eventually level out, but, if it’s the wind, you don’t get away from it.

The third ten miles, oddly enough, were the best of the bunch. I don’t know why.

It was during this stretch of the route that I played hopscotch with a Highway Patrol officer. I was riding along the shoulder of a two-lane highway, and I noticed his pass me. Several minutes later, I saw blue lights ahead of me, though on the opposite side of the road. When I arrived at that point, I discovered that he had pulled someone over who was heading in the opposite direction.

I went on past and continued on my way. A bit later, the Patrolman went past me again. Several minutes later, I saw the blue lights blossoming in front of me, and he had pulled over someone else, this time heading in the same direction as I was. This was annoying because traffic prevented me from getting around him for a few minutes, and I had to stop.

Do you know what it’s like when you’re going hard and you suddenly have to stop? Then, a few minutes later, while halfway up a hill, you have to get going again? My legs had things to say to me. They were not nice things.

In fact, my legs had suggested on my last ride that, if they had known I was going to let them in for that sort of thing with no warning, they would have stayed home. They let me know that they’d be happy to pedal around for me, just not right now. Not today at all in fact. They suggested we talk about it next week sometime.

A mile or two later I turned and hit the last ten mile stretch. The wind was right in my face, and the hills were all in front of me.

I was tired. I am not ashamed to confess it. I could feel my thighs swimming in lactic acid, my legs were shouting at me, but I was still ten miles from home, and the only way I was going to get there was to stay in the saddle and pedal.

I’m not sure whether the harder part was the pedaling or the staying in the saddle. I had been out of the saddle for too long, and my sit bones had begun to protest shortly after the ride started, and they were still complaining now.

It was at this point, with my body sore and all of me tired that I began to wonder how I could explain to someone else that I do all of this to myself because I enjoy riding a bike.

All I can say is that you have to try it for yourself.

See you on the road.

Windy windy windy windy windy

Another day, another ride. How nice is that?

Before heading out I turned on the TV long enough to check the temperature. It was a balmy 50 degrees out. Not bad. I got kitted out and then headed out to the garage to put air in my tires, got hit by a blast of wind and immediately went back inside to put on more clothes.

It turns out that there is 50 degrees and then there is 50 degrees. I hadn’t checked the wind speed when I had checked the temperature, and, since the wind was blowing at 16 to 24 mph, it made a difference. Change the gloves for heavier ones, change the hat for one with ear flaps, add booties and a vest and then hit the road. It was still cold, but that was okay.

It was one of those days where, in the crosswind, your bike leans heavily to one side, in the headwind you ride like you’re Marley’s ghost wrapped in heavy chains and in the tailwind you fly along at a blistering pace. (There’s my Christmas reference for you.)

(Once, after having ridden in a thirty mile an hour wind – the cables on my bike were singing – I headed to the bike shop and talked about the ride with Steve. It turns out I had averaged nearly 18 mph that day. A customer overheard us talking and expressed amazement. Steve explained that I had probably ridden half the ride at 6 mph and half at 30 mph depending on whether I was headed into the wind or riding with it. That was probably about right, too. Steve knows.)

Most of the cars were really quite polite today. I did see one car – a white sports car begin driven by a young man in an orange hoodie. He was either very short or was slumped down so that nothing below his nose was visible above the steering wheel, and the hood of his sweatshirt was over his head and pulled almost down to his eyes.

That’s not suspicious at all.

I got pursued by a very hopeful brown and white dog, and the dog had reason to be hopeful since the evidence indicates that it could have had me for lunch any time it desired. It bounced at me and ran at me repeatedly, cannily blocking my path as much as possible, undaunted by shouts from me and squirts from my water bottle. I finally got away from it, but I admit to having a handful of rocks as I passed by on my way back home. The dog was chained up at that point. This is more regard than I am used to from dog owners, I have to admit. I can remember one time when a dog owner told him dog, “Get ‘em, boy!”

Here are some ways to tell if it is windy.

If you turn a corner and your speed suddenly drops by eight or ten miles per hour even though the road is still flat, it’s probably windy.

If you coast downhill and find yourself losing speed, it’s probably windy.

If you turn around and suddenly gain five mph with no extra effort, it’s probably windy.

If your vest, which you thought more or less fit you okay, suddenly turns into a drag chute, it’s probably windy.

But, you know what? At least you’re out riding, so good for you.

See you on the road.

Slow and Easy

Today was supposed to be a day off, which would mean a long ride, but I had a sick sixth grader to deal with. She had what I think of as Student’s Disease. The progression of symptoms runs something like this:

Sunday 8:00 pm: The child does not feel well. The symptoms are vague and could indicate not enough sleep in the last 48 hours, an allergy, a cold, influenza (choose the strain you like best), mononucleosis or possible bubonic plague. Announcement of the symptoms is usually followed by, “Mommy, if I feel this bad in the morning, can I stay home?”

Monday 6:30 am: Symptoms are markedly worse.

Monday 12:00 pm: Symptoms are largely gone and the child is exhibiting symptoms of boredom and the beginnings of cabin fever.

Monday 3:30 pm: Child wants to go to a friend’s house and play

Early Monday afternoon, with symptoms progressing as expected, I decided I could sneak in a short ride. With the temperature at 57 degrees and the wind blowing 10 mph, I decided tights and long sleeves were called for. This was one of those days when I was properly dressed as long as I was in motion and too hot whenever I had to stop.

The cars were generally not bad, except for that guy behind me who suddenly realized that, if he didn’t pass me right now he would have to wait an additional twenty seconds or so for that oncoming car to go by. (Needless to say, the road was empty all the way to the horizon after the oncoming car.) He slammed the accelerator to the floor and roared past me in a whirl of noise, passing me way to close for my comfort but, presumably, not for his.

I reached an intersection and thought about turning to make a big loop, but the cars kept on coming and kept on coming and kept on coming and I finally decided to just turn around and go back the way I had come, which was when I noticed an odd (and annoying) thing about the wind.

Has this ever happened to you?

The wind is at your back, but it is a gentle zephyr which might be adding a tenth of a mile per hour to your speed, then you turn around, and the windspeed picks up until it resembled a force 3 hurricane which is literally blowing you backwards as you try to pedal into it. I don’t know how the wind knows that I have turned around, but it does.

The ride was quite nice.

As I was spinning, I thought of the book French Revolutions by Tim Moore which I mentioned last week. Well, I’m afraid that I’m going to score a DNF on this one. I have abandoned the book because the author annoyed me. (I am sure that, even if he were aware of this, Mr. Moore would be largely untroubled by it, which is as it should be.)

You see, he dedicates the book to Tom Simpson, about whom he natters on almost endlessly. Now, Tom Simpson’s end was probably tragic. Some people find it heroic as well. Read up on it and make up your own mind.

The author, after talking about how much he admires Simpson, decides that he will dope to make sure he can get up Mont Ventoux. He indicates that, if he’d been able to get EPO (and could be certain of living through the experience of using it) or HGH he would have used that, but, since he can’t, he makes do with more easily obtained and less effective means. I’m not interested in reading about this.

His justification is that every successful pro in the history of cycling except Gino Bartali has been a doper, so, even though he is simply riding (part of) the Tour de France route on his own as an amateur, he might as well dope, too. All of this annoyed me sufficiently to make me put the book down with no intention of picking it back up again. It can go back to the library and broom wagon can sweep me up. I’ll find a new book.

Tomorrow, with Student’s Disease well on it’s way to being cured, I’m looking for a nice long ride. I hope it’s as nice as today’s ride was.

See you on the road.

Warm and Windy

As I took the dogs out this morning, I was troubled by the weather. I was troubled because it was comfortably warm and dead calm. This may sound a little peculiar, but the radio had warned of an approaching cold front this weekend, and, somehow, I felt that good weather was a bad sign. I checked the computer: 76 degrees (yahoo) with winds of 13 to 18 mph (boo!). Oh, well. I got kitted out and hit the road.

If you figure you’ll just find a comfortable pace, get into a rhythm and ride, the wind isn’t such a bad thing. I ended up riding the same route as my last longer ride and once again ended up in the tiny town of Fremont. There is a sign that proudly proclaims Fremont to be “The Daffodil Town.”

The streets of Fremont are, inexplicably, lined with spaces for parallel parking. Inexplicably because there just aren’t that many people there. Even if everybody there own three cars they wouldn’t need that many parking spaces. I like it, though, because it’s like a bike lane. Nice. Of course, since there were pretty much no cars on the streets, I didn’t need a bike lane, but let’s not be picky.

As I was riding through the town, it occurred to me that daffodil’s are seasonal. How, I wondered, is everyone supposed to know that Fremont is the daffodil town? I mean, aside from the big sign that says “Fremont: The Daffodil Town” how is everyone supposed to know that Fremont is the daffodil town?

I got the answer to that one a few minutes later. I was riding at random around the town and turned onto a road because it’s named after the place I live, and then I saw three giant metal daffodil’s each, one five or six feet high. Well, I guess that lets you know where you are, doesn’t it?

I also participated in a tractor race. I saw very few people out on the roads, but at least two of those people were driving tractors. I found myself behind one of them going 18 mph. (I don’t know why tractor’s go 18 mph, but that’s what they do around these parts, anyway). The wind wasn’t being particularly nasty at that point – kind of a head-crosswind, so I decided to go around the tractor and see if I could leave it behind. I like passing a motorized vehicle and leaving it in my dust (turnabout is fair play after all), so I dig in and took off. After several minutes I finally looked behind me, and it was a delight to see how far back the tractor was.

I also discovered a plethora of home-based businesses. Do you need a mason? Some landscaping done? Your dog groomed? Your lawnmower fixed? Your hair done? Some tools sharpened? To buy a dog? I passed houses with signs out front for all of these things and more. (The kennel selling dogs markets poodles and great Danes. This seems like an odd combination to me, even assuming that they mean two different breeds and not some very peculiar hybrid.)

As I was heading back home, with about 15 miles left to go, the sky began to darken precipitously, and the wind picked up. Ahead of me, the sky was blue. Behind me, it was black, adn the darkening clouds seemed to be chasing after me. I got hit with occasional spats of rain. It was actually kind of creepy being chased by the bad weather. I made it back unscatched, if a bit tired.

My saddle still isn't quite right, but it's close. If I ever find out who moved it in the first place, I shall find some suitable way to express my annoyance.

Still, I had a great ride in spite of the weather. Life should always be so good.

See you on the road.

Oops

Okay, so, to put it technically, I faw down go boom.

Actually, that isn’t the beginning, that’s the end. As Dr. Who once said, “First things first, but not necessarily in that order.”

First of all, someone moved my saddle. This is extremely annoying. I spent I don’t know how long tweaking the saddle position to get it right. As we all know, when someone moves your saddle it’s a real pain in the posterior. Literally and figuratively. I still don’t have it quite right, but that will come eventually.

Now let me go back in time.

I was once knocked down by a beagle while it was on the way somewhere else. A group of us were riding, and Jörg was riding beside me. (Clearly an unwise thing to do.) A beagle decided to go after Jörg and, to do so, had to pass in front of me. My wheel took it right in the short ribs. The dogs was fine. I was a victim of physics.

My bike stopped, I did not. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As I started to roll irretrievably over the handlebars, I jostled Jörg and actually had the presence of mind (or the absurdity) to apologize. Then I continued my flip, hit the road and did a series of truly acrobatic somersaults down it. The road curved, but I continued on straight and remember thinking “Ah, grass,” as the world continued to rotate around me and then I eventually came to a halt on my back and the world mercifully ceased to spin.

I climbed to my feet to find that my bike was okay and I had acquired some road rash and lost some blood. I took that opportunity to express my dismay to the dog’s owner in tones rather fueled by anger and pain.

After we remounted and road on, Jörg asked, “Haven’t you ever fallen off before?”

“Yes,” I said, still fuming.

“Then, what’s the problem?”

And, there you have it. What was the problem? My bike was fine, I would heal, what was I getting so worked up about?

I tell you this story to explain why, after hitting the deck today, I just don’t feel like it’s that big a deal. Yes, I have some road rash, and, yes, I left some blood on the road, but I’m okay. My body hurts, but it will heal, and no serious damage was done, except perhaps to my self-esteem, but I would hardly be writing this blog is my self-esteem didn’t have a certain flexibility about it.

I had a hard ride, my bike didn’t quite fit, I fell down, it was really windy…and I will hope back in the saddle the first chance I get, so what is there to complain about?

I can still ride. Life is good.

See you on the road.

The way I fall off, maybe I mean that literally.

Oddities

It was windy and my legs felt heavy and lethargic. So why would I go for a ride when I’m not sure that I feel like going for a ride? Because I’d regret it later if I passed up the opportunity, so I got kitted out in a very snazzy Yellow Submarine jersey and hit the road.

I followed the same route as my last ride except that I went farther. Early on, the wind was trying it’s best to push me backward (and very nearly succeeding) and I could see a flag hanging downward from a bar that was parallel to the ground. I could have sworn the wind was blowing something fierce, but the flag was utterly motionless. I was starting to winder if I was crazy until I got close enough to see that the bottom of the flag was attached to the ground so it couldn’t move.

I am aware, by the way, that this doesn’t prove that I’m not crazy. It just means that this particular incident made sense.

I passed a point where the speed limit went from 45 to 55, and I considered raising my own speed 10 mph to match the signs, but two things stopped me: my legs.

I passed my daughter’s school, and I was keenly aware of the possibilities for embarrassment in this.

Me: “I rode by your school today.”

Her: (horrified) “You what?!”

Me: “There were a bunch of people outside watching a soccer game. I looked for you.”

Her: (even more horrified) “Oh, no! Were you wearing your cycling clothes?!”

Me: “Well, sure. I waved and called your name just in case you were there.”

This would surely be followed by a cry of anguish, don’t you think?

Actually, it’ll be pretty funny is she really was there and saw me ride by.

I passed a building that looked like it was constructed out of several truck trailers. I had seen it before and wondered what it was, but today there were several fans going, and I could smell what was going on – tobacco was being dried or cured or something inside those things. This creates a rather pungent aroma that isn’t good breathing for a guy who’s trying as hard as he can to push into a headwind.

Then I turned a corner and shortly after that found myself in the town of Fremont. Fremont is not a busy town, so I had a lovely stretch of smooth open road. Then I reached what appeared to be the downtown area where, judging by the looks I got, they aren’t too used to seeing guys on bikes.) Mind you, I am keenly aware of the possibility that it was just the way I looked that was garnering all of those bizarre looks. You have to consider all the possibilities.) At one point I heard a very loud laugh: "Ha ha!" I didn't know people actually said "Ha ha" but this person did. I also distinctly smelled something that greatly resembled marijuana. I point no fingers, I make no accusations, I merely report the fact.

I was also reflecting on the fact that I know how to tell if you have a great wife or husband. I know I have a great wife because of this brief conversation:

Me: “There’s a group having a 100K ride next month.”

My Lovely Lovely: “Are you gonna go?”

Yes, I am lucky. Thanks for noticing.

I saw a fellow cyclist on the road (always nice) and I saw a guy on a bike who is probably lucky to be upright. I pulled up to an intersection. Across from me were a bike and two cars. They guy on the bike wanted to turn right, but he was having trouble getting in motion. The reason for this is that, instead of pushing down on a pedal, he had one foot on the ground and was trying to use it to paddle his bike forward. Then, when he got to what he considered a good speed he would pick his foot up and only then would he start to pedal. The car behind him waited very patiently.

I went through the intersection and the wind changed direction. How is this possible? There are nothing but fields all around, nothing to channel the wind, but it’s a crosswind and then, continuing in a straight line, I go through the intersection and it’s a headwind. This does not seem right to me.

(I once rode an out and back route that was uphill both ways. That also does not seem right to me, but I had another rider with me, and he swears the same thing. The world is a strange place.)

Hopefully on Saturday I’ll make it out for a longer ride, bright and early. My daughter is having a birthday sleepover Saturday night with numerous participants, so I’m sure to need a ride in order to de-stress.

Wish me luck.

See you on the road.

Windy Windy Windy Windy Windy Windy Windy

First and foremost, congratulations to Cyclin’ Missy for not only completing a duathlon but for doing well in it. I told her that in honor of her success I would take some time off this afternoon and go for a bike ride, so I did.

When I got kitted out I pulled on my replica of Paolo Bettini’s Italian National Champion jersey, presumably in the hope that someone would actually mistake me for Paolo Bettini. There are several reasons why this did not happen.

1. The odds are pretty good that no one I passed on the road today knows who Paolo Bettini is.

2. Unless someone is Italian, they probably wouldn’t recognize the Italian National Champion's cycling jersey.

(Oddly enough, shortly after leaving home I passed a guy who apparently was Italian. I base this not only on his appearance but on the fact that he was having a cell phone conversation in Italian. He didn’t give me a second glance.)

3. No one in their right mind would mistake me for a champion cyclist.

(The only person verifiably not in their right mind on the road today was me. After all, if I were in my right mind, would I have gone for a bike ride in a twenty mile per hour wind just for fun? I don’t think so.)

The wind was fierce today. Within a couple of miles after leaving home and right after turning into a screaming headwind I came across a mail car. I will confess that, for an instant, the thought of trying to draft crossed my mind, but drafting off of a strange car is, to the least, unwise. Don’t believe me? Read “Heft on Wheels” by Mike Magnusson. You’ll find out. (Actually, drafting off a car supposedly driven by someone who knows what they’re doing can also be dangerous. Just ask Jan Ullrich.

I wandered down some roads that I had never been on before, including one called Forehand Road. I don’t know if that’s someone’s last name or they just really liked tennis. I later wandered into someplace called Pleasant Grove, and I remember thinking that Pleasant Grove isn’t really all that pleasant, what with that wind blowing in my face and all.

Most of the cars were nice, until one of the guys from Deliverance passed me. He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap done in camo colors. He had a toothpick hanging from his mouth and was driving a bright red pickup truck with a lot of ground clearance, and he laid on his horn and glared at me as he passed me. I have no idea why he did this, because we were on opposite sides of the road going in opposite directions, so I certainly wasn’t in his way at all. Apparently the fact that I was using his road vexed him rather more than a bit. Y'all.

I remember at one point thinks, “This is fun?” as I pushed my way into the wind as hard as I could go. Well, some parts of the ride were definitely fun, but even the hard parts were at least satisfying. I don’t know how to explain that. I guess you either get it or you don’t.

Steve says: You go out for a ride on a really cold winter morning – your face is numb and everything’s freezing, and you get passed by a guy driving a big car. He’s got his heater going and has a coat on and a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and he looks at you like you’re the crazy one, and you know that you know something he never will and that you’re alive.

Steve gets it.

I have to stay late tonight, because I have a meeting that doesn’t even start until 5:30, but while I’m sitting there, I’ll be able to think back on today’s hard, windy ride and that’ll get me through the meeting.

Life is good when you ride a bike.

See you on the road.

Pump Action

My trusty Wrench Force pump died recently. We will now have a moment of silence. (Of course, this is a blog, so unless you’re reading aloud, you’re already silent, so never mind.)

Of course, I had that pump for six years, and it certainly pumped up a lot of tires, so I shouldn’t complain.

I shouldn’t complain, but I still do, because, in expiring, the pump left my rear tire completely deflated.

A few days later I managed to get a new pump from a large chain department store that is famous primarily for being a large chain department store. They only had one pump that could be of any use to me – it had an air gauge and an adapter that would make it work on a presta valve, so I got it.

Here is how it works: first, you take the adapter and you screw it into the hole where the valve goes, making sure it’s a nice tight fit. Then you fit the nozzle over the valve on your tire and lock it into place. Then you start pumping, at which point that nozzle flies off of the tire leaving the adapter attached to your valve.

Repeat until you are certain that the pump is going to do this every time and your tire is completely defalted.

After you’ve repeated this enough times to realize that this is, in fact, all that this particular pump does, you take it back to large chain department store and get your money back.
This is very useful as an exercise in frustration, but when it comes to going for a ride, it isn’t much help.

After this experience, I waited until I could go to the bike shop and get a good pump.

Me on Friday as I watch sheets of rain falling outside the window: “If I get a pump today, I’m going for a ride tomorrow morning whether it rains or not!”

Me on Saturday morning: “Aw, man, it’s supposed to rain this morning!”

I am nothing if not inconsistent.

But, sitting up before sunrise, I decided to go for a ride anyway. I just made sure my cell phone was in a plastic bag and hit the road.

It was so windy I kept my eyes peeled for Dorothy. I didn’t see her or her little dog, too, flying past, but I did see a couple of friends go by in the opposite direction. (Just to make things clear, they were riding bikes, not being blown by the wind). I thought for a moment about turning around and joining them, but I already had a route mapped out in my head and decided to stick with it.

Since I set out just after sunrise (which isn’t as early as it sounds this time of year) I didn’t see many people on the road other than joggers and cyclists. It was peaceful. Or, it would have been peaceful if I hadn’t decided to go as hard as I could go for the whole ride.

There were some odd little moments. There usually are.

I passed through some cigarette smoke when there were no cars on the road and no people visible at all. I still don’t know where it came from.

I passed a field full of dead corn, the stalks withered and brown with white ears hanging from them. I’m sure there was a good reason for letting it die in the field, but I don’t know what it was.

I had a moment when I recalled what Jörg said about the difference between riding with the guys and riding with the ladies. The ladies notice all the scenery and the guys don’t. I don’t know what made me think of that, as I wasn’t noticing the scenery at the time.

The wind was pretty much a misery, but there isn’t much you can do about that except for keep pushing your way into it and suffer, and I did both of those things, but it was great to be on the bike even so.

As I neared home, I passed the same two riders I had passed on my way out (Hey, Scott!) and then the wind kicked up and I was not aware of much aside from the pain of trying to keep my pace up despite the wind. Who would have guessed that a few air molecules could have so much effect. I mean, they’re so light, right?

As I got back into my subdivision, I passed an elderly lady riding a bike with a basket on the front and what appeared to be a blanket in the basket. I have no idea where she was headed or what the blanket was for.

I made it back home to find that everyone was still asleep and my legs were toast.

It was a great ride, though. Here's hoping I get the next one soon.

See you on the road.

I'm Back

You see, the thing about new year’s resolutions...bear with me here, I know it’s not new year’s…unless of course you’re reading this long after I wrote it…which you might be, I suppose…let me start again.

You see, the thing about resolutions is that 83.12% of them don’t get kept.¹ (I can hear someone now: What? Footnotes in a blog? Really? I don’t do footnotes.²) So that will be last foot note in this blog.³

This is precisely what happened to my recent resolution to ride more. It didn’t get kept. Well, not until today. I got up bright and early…well, early anyway. It was a little chilly out, so I put on my snazzy new Seyboro Cyclist vest.

It’s not new.

I put on my snazzy-

It’s not-

What?

It’s not new. You’ve have that vest since the summer.

Okay, so technically it’s not new, but this is the first time I’ve worn it on a ride, so it’s kind of like new. I hadn’t been on the road more than a minute when I decided that the vest had been a good idea.

It was a little windy. The windy season here is from January to December, so of course it was a little windy.

There were a lot of dogs out this morning, but since they were all behind fences, I was not trouble. That said some things to me as I passed that sounded rather rude, but I’ll let that go.

I also encountered some road kill. First was a raccoon. Then I spotted a container of McDonald’s french fries. While the raccoon (not that I subjected it to a close inspection you understand) appeared to be intact, the french fries had clearly met with a car. I also spotted a grapefruit. The grapefruit actually didn’t look so much like road kill as it did someone waiting for a bus. It was just sitting at the side of the road minding it’s own business. I had an image of a truck full of grapefruit pulling by and this one hopping on board.

It was a strange morning.

I passed a small cemetery which was being mowed. There was a gray truck sitting there with an empty trailer behind it. A man on a riding mower was circling the graves.

Now, I know that somebody has to mow graveyard’s but it still struck me as a little creepy. I wondered if odd things ever happened to him. Ten seconds after I passed the graveyard, what appeared to be the same truck with riding mower now on the back of the trailer, sped past me.

Not that it’s possible, of course. I’m just telling you what I saw.

I passed a group of people setting up a yard sale. Well, it was more of a portable flea market in a parking lot. One woman was leaning up against her SUV watching everyone else work. The she saw me. Her head slowly turned to follow me as I rode past, as if she had never seen anything like me before and was trying to figure out what I was. I have seen exactly the same look on the face of a curious cow.

This is not intended as an insult to the woman who may, for all I know, be quite personable. She just had that same look on her face.

Everyone was still asleep when I left, and everyone was still asleep when I got back home. I think it’s going to be a quiet morning.

See you on the road.

Notes :

1. The accuracy of this statistic may be somewhat doubtful in view of the fact that I simply made it up.
2. Neither do I.
3. Except for this one.
4. This is the Will Cuppy Memorial Footnote. If you’ve never read Will Cuppy’s work, then you don’t know what you’ve been missing. Of course, if you don’t know what you’ve been missing, it probably doesn’t trouble you much. Oh, what the heck, look him up anyway. You’ll thank me later.

I made it

The good news is that I did manage to carve some time out of my day for a ride. The bad news is that it was a bit less than an hour. Still, at least it’s a ride.

As I stood in the garage pumping up the tires, I heard the ululating threnody of the wind and I thought to myself, “It’s windy.” I can pick up on subtle clues, you see.

Since I had such a small amount of time, I decided I would simply go as hard as I could go for the entire ride, and I had a great time. I was quick out of the blocks and set up a hard pace right from the beginning, even up the two hills I have to climb before I get out onto the main road.

About a mile in, a very large man watched me sedately as I passed him. He had a look of puzzlement on his face, but it wasn’t the full blown freakshow look – the one made by the person who says “What the…” as their head slowly turns to track you as you ride by. I got that look later.

It was definitely windy, but I was pushing hard all the time. I hit a moderately steep hill and stood up to go harder. It was at that point that I got the real freakshow look from a guy who was loading a truck. Getting that look again made me feel right at home on the bike.

People are looking at me like I’m weird! I must still be a cyclist! Yaaaaaaaaah!

The route I took had a lot of turns in it, so the wind was constantly changing, but, somehow, it also seemed to be pushing against me. Funny how that works. As I neared my turn around point, I saw what appeared to be a father with his young child, both of them on bikes. The father was teaching the child some important points about riding a bike: don’t wear a helmet, ride against traffic instead of with traffic and, when a car approaches you, make a big swerve to the other side of the road to get out of the way and then swerve back to where you were after the car goes by.

*Sigh*

I did not offer any advice as I swept past them. After all, they don’t know that I’m a blogger with hundreds of…scores…dozens...some readers. I did not feel that my advice would be welcomed.

I hit my turnaround point and came back, but they were gone by the time I got back to where I had seen them.

I heard a dog barking at me, but, when I looked, all I could see was a big corn field. Hm. Dogs of the Corn. No. I don’t think there’s a market for that kind of movie these days.

I’ll be honest with you – by the time I got back to within three miles of home, my legs were tired. I was having so much fun, though, that I didn’t listen to any complaints my legs might have had (and, believe me, they had some) and kept the pace up as high as I could. Go as hard as I can go. That’s the goal today.

I stopped at a stoplight and I could feel my heart beating in my face. Well, I was almost home.
I turned for the last mile right into the teeth of the wind. Push hard. Push hard. Okay, so my pace is dropping. All I want to do now is to keep it up above ninetee…um…eighteen…seven….sixteen. Yeah. Let’s keep it up above fifteen in spite of the headwind. No, that’s too silly. Push harder.

I had a giant rubber band attached to my back. As I rode, it stretched tighter and tighter and tighter and then, all of a sudden, it was at full length and contracted and I went backwards. That was what it felt like. All of sudden, I popped, and my speed plummeted. It was kind of depressing, really, but I did have the satisfaction of knowing that I had gone as hard as I could go for nearly the whole time.

After a moment of rest, I picked the pace back up some and cruised home, tired and happy.
I turned into my subdivision and a child on a bike turned onto the road ahead of me. She looked back and saw me and then proceeded to turn in wide circles, taking up the entire road. I managed to get past her without incident and then came upon a car taking up nearly the entire road. The driver had stopped to check her mail and, instead of pulling into her driveway, had simply stopped across the road.

Well, if you’re going to have problems, I suppose it’s better to have them there than out on the road where people are going 45 or 55 mph, right?

I got back home tired and happy and hungry for me, and today’s another day.

See you on the road.

Freedom

I’ll be honest with you, I wasn’t looking forward to the ride very much. I know that’s practically sacrilegious, but there it is nonetheless.

It was my day off, but I was at work. This is a bad start to any day, isn’t it? My Lovely Lovely had dropped me off, bike in hand, and headed off to work herself. At noon, they had turned off the air conditioning in the building. Now, at nearly 1:30, the building was hot and stuffy and humid. Outdoors was hot and windy and humid. I just wasn’t in the mood.

Still, there’s no such thing as a bad ride. Today I was going to cling to that thought, climb in the saddle, and head out. As a plus, I had access to an ice machine, so the water in my bottle was nice and cold. My office is on the second floor, and I don’t like trying to carry my bike downstairs (urban cyclocross) so I took the elevator down and hit the road.

Well, actually, I hit the sidewalk. Then I hit the road. I can now sum up my ride in two words.

Tailwind! Woohoo!

(Of course this assumed that “Whoohoo” actually counts as a word.)

The computer on my hybrid isn’t working right now, so I don’t actually know how fast I was going (which makes a change from my usual thought of “how slow I am going”) but I do know what gear I was in, and I was moving well.

You know, after a long day at work, with your legs not feeling good, trapped in an office, a ride with a tailwind is a lovely thing. Not a lot happened on this ride – just the sun and the air and wind and the sheer pleasure of feeling your muscles working and your blood moving.

Actually, I guess quite a lot did actually happen.

Nice.

See you on the road.