Skiing and Art of Bicycle Maintenance (but mostly skiing)

I was unfortunately unable to race last weekend because I was doing some extreme skiing in Colorado with my brother (secret altitude training plan). But beyond the low oxygen exercise, I found an interesting parallel between cycling and ski equipment on which I will elaborate below. First, a bit of intro. My brother Jon works on classified weapons systems at Sandia National Lab in Albuquerque, NM, so I flew into ABQ on Friday night (I love Southwest, ski bag an suitcase checked for free!). Jon is an insane skier. We used to be relatively similar skill levels, but since I moved to the Chi and he’s out west he's gained a significant advantage. Nonetheless, when he needs a ski partner to go into the deep backcountry he still calls me. This time, our destination was Silverton Mountain, an expert only park where you have to reserve a guide and do avalanche training, then hike off a lift for 30min to 2hrs to access some of the most extreme terrain you can find without a helicopter. They mince no words with their logo:

In advance of our Sunday date with Silverton, we drove up to Durango early Saturday to do a bit of warm up skiing. I was looking forward to getting Jon into some terrain parks because I brought my twin tip freestyle skis, which, like my bikes, I set up and tune myself (relevant later). We had sunny and warm spring conditions, so there was great visibility at the top:

Jon vetoed the terrain parks as they were packed with some really unskilled teenagers, so we spent most of our time in the trees hitting semi-natural features like down trees, lean-tos, and drifts:

I have some really funny follow-cam video as well, but needless to say my brother and I are lacking in the cinematography department. Anyway, the day finished without incident and we drove 1.5hrs north to our hotel in Silverton.

Steep and deep runs call for special powder skis that are significantly fatter than my Rossi’s, so the first thing I had to do at Silverton was rent skis and have them fit to my boots (my brother and most of the other people had their own powder skis). We were divided up into 8 person groups and given a guide. Predictably, Jon elected for one of the more challenging groups, so we were going to be doing a lot of hiking. The conditions were wicked as we took the lift up to the start of our first hike. 40+ mph winds and heavy snow made for whiteout conditions. Our first hike was the longest, a 2 hour sufferfest to summit the mountain. Later in the day I was able to get a clear shot of the ascent:

Here’s Jon making it up a steep section after we shimmied around a rock outcropping:

I was somewhat nonplussed at the top:

We waited a little while for a break in the storm and started heading down the back side of the mountain where we encountered a steep bowl above a line of cliffs. There were several chutes to pass the rocks, so the guide went down first to show us the line. I was the first to follow and as I started down the bowl the wind kicked up and cut down the visibility. I continued to approach what I thought was one of the chutes, but as I was executing an unremarkable jump turn my right ski popped off for no apparent reason. I tried to stay up and stop my momentum, but the 50%+ grade was too much to for a single edge to hold. I pitched down the slope head first with my left ski still attached, and unfortunately found that I was approaching a rock outcrop instead of the chute. I lost my second ski as I slid onto the top section of the rocks, allowing me to rotate my legs out in front of me in advance of the drop. As I tried to stop myself I only succeeded in banging my knee against the top of the next section and falling about 10 or 15 feet into some mercifully deep snow. I was totally juiced on adrenaline and frantically crawled out of the person shaped depression that I had made. To add insult to injury, I knew that at least one of my skis was on the rocks above, so I wasn’t going to get any assistance retrieving it. As I scaled back up the rocks, Jon looked up at the cliff and got a picture of me crawling back up. It’s difficult to see in the photo, but free climbing in ski boots is not advisable:

Once I made it to the bottom, I quickly found out why my ski had released so unexpectedly. Apparently they had neglected to adjust the binding tension on the right ski, so instead of an 11/12, it was set to 7/12. While I was annoyed at this discovery, I admittedly should have checked the tension before heading up on the mountain. The whole episode was a teachable moment. Having a ski pop off is usually a harmless occurrence, but in this case, the location of this malfunction greatly magnified the impact of losing a ski. In that way, it was a lot like bike maintenance. If something goes wrong on a training ride and you crash, the consequences are usually mild. Conversely, going down in the middle of a pack during a race can have significantly more severe ramifications (as Tommy's broken seatstay and my chainring scar can attest). This is a great reason to get into doing a lot of your own mechanic work. Regardless of how much you trust a shop, there's no substitute for knowing that you tightened all the bolts yourself. Then, you can race without reservations and know that the bike can handle whatever you throw at it.

Anyway, the rest of the day saw better weather and I overcame the knee pain to do some pretty sweet skiing:

Once you get to the bottom, you get to do a sketchy creek crossing and eventually end up at the sketchy bar:

So, when I got back I chilled out on the training for a few days, but used the time to build up a new bike for this weekend:

And that's what I like to call...serious business.

My room reeks of 2.5wt SRAM suspension oil.

What is biking all about for me?
Winning. Being faster than everyone in my field. Winning. Basking in the glory of the top step of the podium. Snagging those primes. Winning...

...At least, that is what I would have told you a week ago. Throughout winter, the only thing I dreamed of while spinning away on my bright green trainer was winning sprints for the finish. All I wanted, obviously, was to win. However, a combination of my laziness (avoiding the trainer like it was a rabid nosferatu all winter break) and my Hincapie-esque bad luck (forced off the bike for 6 weeks by a knee injury and two severe crashes) left me in rather poor shape for the start of racing season. I didn't know this yet at the first race at Murray State since I got crashed out only 2.5 miles into the first race, ending up with a cracked frame and a fractured pride. I felt great those first 2.5 miles though, and that inflated my confidence to epic proportions.

One week and a beautiful new 2010 Tarmac later, I was back in the game. My foolish confidence had persevered to the Lindsey Wilson race weekend and I was ready to kill Saturday morning.
At the start line I felt like I had never been more ready for anything in my life. The sun was shining, we were lined up at the very front, and my new steed was faster than a 426 hemi. Conditions were perfect. The official said "go!" and we were off. Everything was going well until the first hill whereupon I blew up like a thermonuclear device. My lungs suddenly imploded and my quads spontaneously combusted. I got passed left and right. I was a paraplegic tortoise in a field of Alberto Contadors. When I finally rolled across the line I was dead last. Joe was reclining in a chair with his legs resting on his bike.

At this point I was pretty severely emotionally (and physically) crushed. I had never been so disappointed in myself. I had let my new bike down, as well as the team. I shouldn't have been racing a on Tarmac for NU. I should have been racing a on Walmart-special for IIT. Sunday's crit was almost just as bad. I spent the next few days bogged down in procrastinated school work and haunted by the disastrously shameful results of the previous weekend. Needless to say, those few days were pretty terrible.

After my final Wednesday afternoon, something caught my attention. It was my recently purchased Yeti AS-R SLc frame that had been sitting untouched in my room for weeks. She is a real beauty. One, of the last batch of AS-R frames to be built in the US, and in unusual, unexplained colors. This rare team-turquoise stunner from Golden, CO makes my Specialized bikes seem like soul-less, manufactured whores.
My school-work was done for the week, so I decided to spend the time to build her up. I ran out of time Wednesday evening and saved the fork rebuild for the next morning. The entire process took 2-3 hours and involved lots of unique-smelling fluids, much of which was inevitably spilled onto my carpet. During this process I remembered this time last year when I was building my first bike, an inexpensive Rockhopper. I remembered the joys of learning how to build a bike, the pride I felt when I had completed it, and most importantly, how I felt riding it aimlessly around town. The bike was heavier than an aircraft carrier and rolled slower than a rectangular wheel, but I was happy.

Now this was greatly confusing. I now have most, if not all, of my dream-bikes and am many times faster and stronger but I'm most unhappy. Makes no sense!!! I put the confusion aside and walked under ominous clouds to tech for history class. When I came out the strangely heavy front doors, the sun was out and it felt very much like spring so I decided to take the Yeti out for a little spin to get her dialed in. I wore jeans and a cotton T-shirt instead of race-worthy kit, just like I did last year. After getting the fork and shock pressures about right and the saddle adjusted, I kept riding even though I had no water and was only prepared to ride 15 minutes or so. I rode around aimlessly, just like I did the previous spring. Pop off this curb, go down that little hill... I just rode for fun. The sun was shining upon me again, but this time I wasn't thinking about beating anyone to the finish. After an hour or two, I stopped at an empty section of the lakefill thirsty and exhausted and realized that I was, unbelievably, once again happy. Suddenly, all my troubles seemed so far away. I felt nothing like I did yesterday.
I sat there in the sun bathing in the bliss of peaceful happiness. I remembered why I started biking in the first place, many many moons ago... to escape from the stress of school and be happy. Sitting there in mud-splattered jeans, I resolved to never lose myself to obsessing with winning again. Today, if you ask me what biking is all about for me, I'd answer simply, "To be happy."

Black Widows and Bicycling: When Womens Win

Time Trial Time

When teeth tears flesh, male gazelles fear females. It’s a truth of the animal kingdom: Female lions are the hunters.

As I rolled to the start of the LWC TT, my heart beat with a kindred fear. Where was Sinead Miller? Was the slayer of women, devourer of all human flesh and goddess of cycling starting behind me? Was I bound to be passed, killed—and emasculated?

Thankfully, she had already raced. My pride was spared a ravishing.

Until the finish—a ho-hum 5th place to a flying Billiam T. 12-inch Longfellow. Remarkably, Will won riding a borrowed TT frame fit to him the night before his race—at around 1 A.M. Nobody, not even Sinead—the grim reaper of cycling mortals—could touch him.

The Road Race

Since Will and I both had skipped warming up for chatting with the Womens, we finished the TT with fewer than 30 minutes on our legs—a fine spin for the RR.

But that was enough to inform me of impending disaster. My legs were clearly too weak for the road race. I knew I would need resort to physiological warfare if I were to have any chance at survival.

Remembering the teachings of biology, I selected and donned the famed pink and black striped panty-hose. My hope was the stripes would confuse the fast-men and allow me to escape unscathed. I dreamed that the apex predators would be bewildered.

They were: they let a break go from the start. But I, too, was befuddled. I missed

that same break.

So missing breakfast and paranoid that Sinead would ravish me, I settled into racing. The main test came on the final climb of the first lap. As my tiny legs attempted to spin my 39-28, images of the Tour of the Death River Gorge flashed across my closed eyes.

(Contrary to popular belief and my habit, It’s always best to descend with your eyes closed and to climb with your eyes open.)

Soon enough, the strong mens were off and I was left dangling. I was a gazelle who had just had a big chunk bitten out of his buttocks by angry crocs, but I was not dead.

So I chased hard, and continued my bleak fall. A full lap of groupo sucko chasing and praying for fortuitous death.

Until the pack we spotted and caught. I was overcome by a wonderful mix of pleasure and pain: I was no longer DFL; I had to race another damn lap.

Thankfully, most of it was slow going. Until I remembered the words of Petey Davis regarding the Trek 100: If I pay, I race.

With that in mind, it was time to make a move. So I follow some attacks and make my acceleration on an appropriately sloped climb. Crippled as I was, I slid forward gently and motivated my thunder thighs. A super strong Lindenwood rider joined me and we finished together. He, naturally, ahead of me.

Critification

The road race was done and the crit—they separated by an omelet, toast, some pancakes, cajun and cottage fries, grilled cheese and sleep served in a smoke filled restaurant—remained.

With a hardy meal consumed, my hopes were high. The snuggie fit well, the womens were happy, Redbeard was smiling and the legs had positive sensations.

But things had looked good for the U.S. in Vietnam at one time, too. And lord knows how that ended.

And my Tet Offensive was more than just a blow to credibility, it was an actual tactical defeat; I wanked myself across to a break, failed to contribute, blew up and missed the winning move.

Back in the pack, I resorted to a series of attacks and blocking measures—none of which were necessary, all of which were painful.

Finally, it came time for a move. Will had lapped the field. He needed a slingshot and a Marian man was off the front. So feeble and feckless Rosey Face moves to the front for a final pull. Rosey’s last call.

He rides himself off th

e road—Pro Wanker.

(Luckily for our national championship bid, Will finishes well.)

Sinead and Depauw await... One weekend down—three battles in a year-long war waged.

Rosey

Racin' Time!

Tommy being the man, and Scott wearing his bright pink snuggie he just purchased at Wal-Mart. This is our team.

NU Cycling Featured in Daily Northwestern:After 2 days of racing, 14 hours of driving, and 3 hours spent finishing a problem set at the library, this is a photo of my room upon my arrival at my apartment at 2.30AM last Sunday night. But I had just gotten back from the first race of the season, so life was still good!
Picture of me featured in Daily losing sprint- sorry Scott! Thanks to Andy for the cool photo.

Bicycle racing is upon us.

Like the past two weeks of my life, this post will most likely be a scrambled, incoherent mess.

The Murray State weekend now seems long ago, and my memory is hazy, so I won't dwell there. Courtney kicked some major tail in both women's B races thanks to the help of first time racer extraordinaire Yannell, who more than held her own. The Men's D was insane, as their first weekend always is. Crashes were plentiful, and, unfortunately, the object of my bro-mance affection, and badass team mechanic- Tommy Peng- took the brunt of the damage. A cracked frame kept him out of Sunday's crit, but, rest assured, he was back for more this weekend at LWC putting in two crash-free, solid finishes. Ian Murray did what he does, and laid the foundations for his B upgrade, which was recently approved. He will be rockin' the A's in no time, to be sure. Hannah (or the Hans) and Axie had a successful first weekend in the Women's A field, scoring some solid points for Northwestern and strengthening our bid to go to nationals as a team.

Sporting some obnoxious gas station aviator shades, Scott and I were easily the most ridiculous looking riders in the Men's A race, but we were also some of the fastest. In Scott's first ever Men's A race, he only succeeded in making the day long breakaway and pulling its gap to over four minutes at the finish. On top of that, he executed a perfect leadout for his teammate (read: me), but said teammate either botched the sprint, or didn't have the legs, or both, and lost the win by ~1/2 a wheel. See the picture below.

All in all, without a doubt, a great time was had by all.

----

This past weekend was hosted by Lindsey Wilson College, and a group of 14 of us made the 7 hour drive, packed into 4 cars. Space was tight, but the sensations were good. Things only improved upon our arrival to the Dreamland Motel, which proved to be just as dreamy as the name would have you believe. The fourteen of us, along with our 16 bikes, squeezed into our three rooms. Before bed though, Scott and Tommy were working crazy hard to prep my time trial bike and the Women's A's wheels for the TT on saturday morning. We got to bed around 1, and got up around 6, but the lack of sleep apparently didn't deter us. I was able to just edge Kip Spaude for the win, with Scott right behind me in fifth. I owe that win completely to Scott and Tommy, so thanks guys! The girls rode fast (this will be a recurring theme), and Andy led the Men's D's with a fourth place finish.

The RR was crazy hard. It was 75 hilly miles, and I don't want to relive it all. In short, I missed the early break, and attacked like the dickens to try to instigate a chase move. I eventually succeeded in this regard, and got away with this crazy fast, UW Platville mystery man, Rob Bush of Marian, Chris Uberti of Purdue, and another strong LWC rider. We were going well, and gaining on the remnants of the breakaway, until around mile 50, when I felt that my legs were not going to be around for the finish. I tried to stretch, and eat, and drink, but I just don't have that endurance this early in the season (again, the time honored tradition of excuse making). An attack ~10 miles from the finish did my in, and I had to slowly roll it in for what would have been 8th place, I believe. I say would have, because I later found out that I was DQed for a yellow line violation. This happened at ~ mile 10, but they let me finish the race without telling me. Oh well, it was a day of good training. Scott soloed away from the field for 15th.

The crit was a short, four corner circuit with one short, steep hill. It played out fairly similarly to the road race. Crazy strong mystery rider (name: Ben Damhoff?) solos away to lap the field by himself. The more sane of us did the same, but in a group- the way breakaways are supposed to work. So there ended up being 6 of us one lap up. I am no Mark Cavenish, and thus tried to get back off the front to avoid a field sprint, but LWC was having none of it. I rolled in somewhere in the top 10 of the field sprint, which resulted in a fourth place finish on the day.

A long drive home, a short sleep, a few classes, and now (as a Weinberger) I am enjoying reading week, which will hopefully provide me with the respite I need to catch up on...everything. Depauw is on tap for this weekend, and we'll be sure to write back and let everyone know how it goes.

Thanks for reading!

Men's D Road Race/Crit: It's a Learning Experience

The recount of my first weekend of cycling:

Saturday, February 27^th, 2010. Sunny, high of 47°F, annoying winds on the backstretch of the course. At the starting line, our group got divided into two sections, with my self, Andy, and Nate H and the front with most of the rest of the group behind the Purdue gentlemen. After the rolling start and a recovery from a missed clip, we got started to a mild pace with a few people pushing ahead, but all were eventually caught.
Everything looked to be going smoothly, right up until the corner official let the pack go approximately 2 miles off course. Once the pace car finally caught up to us, we had already descended down a major hill (which we all had to race back up) and continue on our way. To our dismay, not all of the D field had gone down the rather large hill and actually had been allowed to continue along the course with out being stopped. As we all jockeyed for position, someone lost control of their bike and crashed, taking down a fair amount of people including Andy (NOTE: this was the second or third crash of the race, but the first one that I actually saw). I narrowly managed to avoid Andy’s rear wheel as it was in the air (I think it grazed me, but I'm not certain...) and reformed with the front of the pack.
There weren’t any notable events for a couple of miles as we caught up to the racers that had still not been caught from the earlier “restart.” It was at this point that I let my newbie side shine through and decided to take a flyer and start catching more people. As I rounded the last corner, I finally caught the front rider and we decided to slow it down a bit. It was at this point that I started the end sprint WAY too early and barely managed to hold on for a 16^th (18^th the chart says, but they also didn’t get that I won the first prime either, so…) place finish. Over all it was a very good/challenging intro to collegiate cycling.


Sunday, February 28^th, 2010. Sunny, high of 50°F, light winds. After getting up rather early and relocating to the official Crit location, we were able to warm up on the undeveloped planned development road. The D-squad all lined up in the front of the pack and as the race started, we got a little fractured. This race was quick from the start since the course was basically flat as we ticked off laps, the bell sounded for the first prime lap and the field got more serious. As we rounded the left hand turn, Andy and I began to separate ourselves from the front of the group in preparation for the final climb. About half way up the finish hill, I took off from behind Andy to secure the first place finish for that lap (the MWCCC crit rankings say otherwise, but this is because I didn’t check my standings after the race. LET THIS BE A WARNING TO ALL OF YOU – CHECK YOUR RESULTS AFTER THE RACE!). The race continued on as normal and the bell sounded for the second prime lap. Yet again, as the field rounded the left hand turn, Taylor was the one to pull me most of the way through and allow me to sprint for the first place finish.
After this burner of a lap, I thought that the race had only one more lap to go. I guess I need to get both my eyes and ears checked… I sprinted to the finish on the next lap, only to hear “Four more to go!” Upon over-exerting my self for yet another lap, I nearly dropped out of the race until I was politely reminded that my prime laps would not count for anything if I did so. I managed to pull it together enough to finish the race and not much else after that.

I owe a lot to both Andy and Taylor for letting me ‘do my thing’ and hopefully we can pull more team tactics into our races as the season progresses (and I can learn to count…).

Have a Happy

Nick

Murray State Report - Men's C RR - aka Serious Business, Part One

Men's C was the first RR on Saturday, so it was a cold start to the MWCCC season. After only doing 3 race weekends in D last year I was uncertain how my form would hold up against the stiffer competition and I made sure to start the race in the front by getting to the line 10 minutes before the start.

We rolled off without incident under a neutral start and made a left onto the course where the race began. The first several miles were a continuation of the roll out, with everyone deciding they would rather go 16mph than actually working hard. During the detente I took the opportunity to introduce myself to the non-posers at the front. Topics of discussion ranged from my rotor q rings to the specialized arc 2 sunglasses that one of the Indiana guys was wearing. This gentlemanly discussion ended quickly near the first right hander, when the one Murray State racer decided to test the elastic on the field. Unfortunately for him I was second wheel on the left side of the pack and summarily dispatched with his foolishness. We actually had a good group of 5 or 6 with a gap, but no one was particularly interested in staying out that early in the race. There were a plethora of other weak moves during the middle part of the first lap, all of which were marked by a group of 5 or 6 of us. In that respect the first lap was very informative because you could tell who was serious about winning the race. The big guns kept their attacks holstered pending our first ascent of the steep hill on the back side of the course. The climb did not disappoint with one of the good racers from OSU dancing up the road on the yellow line. When the other captains came after him he looked back down the road to see how many people had the legs to respond to the move and then shut it down. Again we had a gap over the top, but the fanfare was just a test run for the real move to come on the second lap and I made a note to find his wheel in advance of the second ascent.

The last part of the first lap and first half of the second lap passed without anything of significance for a brief hissing sound that came from my front wheel after I hit a rock near the end of the first lap. I was concerned that I had flatted, so I looked down at the tire deflection and didn't see anything out of the order. I asked the guy next to me if my tire looked okay and he confirmed that it did, so I didn't think about this again until after the race. On the second lap, a really serious move came in the rollers a few miles before the climb as one of the bigger guys dug deep to try and split the field before the climb. Another strong rider caught his wheel as he went up the left side, so I knew I had to get after it. I wasn't in ideal position to respond, so I worked my way out of the pack onto a group of three chasers and sat on the back while they charged downhill. The gap from my chase to the two in front was only around 50 yards, so tapped my brakes to let out a little gap between myself and the guy in front of me. Then, as the road leveled out in advance of another roller I accelerated through the slipstream and carried the momentum in an all out bridge before the next downhill. When I got on we did several rotations before the original attacker didn't pull through and I was perfectly amenable to letting it come back together before the headwind section that was rapidly approaching. As we reintegrated with the group I sought and attained the wheel of the OSU guy that was going to try and break the race open on the climb a mile up the road. The pace slowed in the headwind as we approached the climb and I realized that I had only consumed half of my first bottle, with the second being entirely full (probably because it was cold). This offended my sensibilities and I launched the bottle in a skyward arc over the field into the ditch on the right side of the road. It takes a certain panache to execute this type of maneuver, so I would not recommend it without practice. According to an observer in the back of the pack it elicited oohs and aahs usually reserved for 4th of July fireworks.

Moving on, the attack came on the base of the climb as expected and due to my position I exerted very little undue effort following the wheels. Near the top of the climb I pondered re-raising the stakes, but thought better and sat in. As we descended a short section after the climb I looked back to see what the split was and saw about 15 people with us and the rest of the field swarming to close the gap. I'm not sure why that split didn't stick, but the finish could have been much safer if it had. The run into the finish sucked because it was a busy road and we were packed 4 wide. Occasionally there was a brief acceleration, at which point you had to frantically look for small gaps to open up to move up and maintain position. There was a crash on the right side at around the 5th wheel, so even being a little off the front could have cost me the race. For the most part I stayed in the left two columns and in the 2nd or 3rd row. We were at a fast 28 or 29, but no one was really trying to attack. The nervous energy leading up to the sprint was palpable and I couldn't even feel my legs. I focused on breathing deeply and keeping my hands relaxed as we entered the last mile. Indiana and Kentucky had amassed near the front and as we strung out into the finish it was IU, IU, IU, KY, KY, and me. This position would have been fine if it weren't for the combination of good and bad team tactics that were about to take place. The good was the 3rd IU rider, who blocked while the first two rode off. The bad was that my KY wheel was not the protected rider as I had assumed, and did not match his teammate's move around the blocking IU rider. This left me to sprint around two fading racers to even contend for the win...not ideal. Fortunately, I recognized this quickly and set out to chase down the three guys in front. The maneuvering had forced me into the wind about 150m early, so my best hope was that the lead-out IU rider would fade near the line as I accelerated into 3rd. Sure enough, I had significant top line speed relative to the guys in front and caught the IU rider. The annoying realization was that if the finish was 50-75m further down the road I think would have taken the W (more impressive because my front tire was at 70psi due to the slow leak that was caused by a rock on the first lap).

Per my upgrading discussions with Jeff Hansen, I needed top-5 finishes, so I was happy with getting 3rd and scoring 18 points. For all you wattage counters out there, my 10s was ~1100, 1min ~520, 5min ~340, but these numbers were probably a little underestimated by my iBike due to the increased rolling resistance from my soft front tire (this is also a proper time to endorse latex tubes for racing, because I likely would have lost a lot more air pressure from a butyl tube b/c they have less elasticity and pinhole punctures will quickly widen). All in all, the first race was serious business.

After consuming various recovery substances, I borrowed Taylor's wheel and set out to find the bottle that I jettisoned during my race. While riding the course backwards I stopped to yell encouraging/obscene things at Will, Scott, Axie, and Hannah in addition to talking to the course marshalls. Predictably, my bottle was covered with mud from the ditch, but while I was looking for it an IIT rider that dropped out of the A race rolled up and struck up a conversation. He expressed surprise that Scott was hammering it out in the breakaway because not less than two hours before he had claimed to not have any form. Feigning weakness is a time honored tradition in cycling and we can all learn from Scott's flawless execution of this classic bait and switch. Indeed the first race is a perfect time to employ such tactics as one does not even require an excuse. I expect that future weekends will be rife with significantly more theatrics as Scott will arrive at races describing illusory training ride crashes and sporting fake bandages in an attempt to disown his newly minted status as a marked rider.

Cracker Barrel Pace Lines

It’s Christmas Eve, I’m Jewish, I really very strongly dislike Chinese food, and this here blog hasn’t been updated in a month, so I might as well do some blogification... The topic: Holidays, food, and (some) cycling.

1) The holidays are no fun for a Hebrew; everyone else gets his Christmas trees and lights, his eggnog and mistletoe, his happy church songs and merry family gatherings. We; however, are forced to dine at nasty Chinese food buffets.
2) The above brings me to my second topic: food. I take my food seriously. Each meal is planned for maximum effect: carb potential, lipid saturation, cycling impact, and - most importantly - taste. Of the three factors, taste is by far the most important. Joe Stone Crab’s Key Lime Pie or carrots? Haha.
3)Cycling is fun, but it takes effort. I don’t like putting forth much effort. It’s too much effort. However, cycling with a tailwind on a downhill while eating a Payday takes little effort, wherefore I cycle.

Why "topic" is singular and not plural:

I’m staying with family in Jupiter, FL. The weather has been petulant -- strong winds blowing clouds and storms from off the coast to drench the ground with rain and shade. The wind throwing up white thrashing arches of waves and the sand being torn from the beaches to pelt the humidity from the air into a salty and strangely sterile mist. [Ok, ok. I get it: “an utter failure, an ignorant, incompetent, pretentious, unwelcome, penniless” (Pygmalion) paragraph, but I’ve been reading a lot, so give me some leeway here].

With this weather, my riding has been limited to quick, hard rides. Today; however, I was determined not to be deterred from the roads. I decided to wake up early -- 6:25 -- and meet up with a local group. I savor my blubbery muffin and coffee, pack up my bike, don my “Team Pro Wanker 69” aero booties (because I’m that cool) and head off to the start of the ride.

It’s a fairly large group, but a potentially turbulent mix of riders. Down south, in these parts, they do the crazy Cracker Barrel pace line: a double pace line where the front two riders both pull off to the left of the road. Insanity... So, I’m a bit nervous to start. Soon, someone takes a flyer and we’re off! A group of the 7 "fast" men and one laggard - me - forms and we take pulls. Things are going well. We’re racing across Jupiter island. We streak past Tiger’s house. We pass golf carts and break the speed limit. We go flying through blind turns. For about the tenth time, I hit a reflector and PING, something new: a broken spoke, brakes rubbing, Scott fishtailing - nearly taking out the entire ride. But, he recovers and quickly pulls out a banana chocolate chip muffin to celebrate. Just don't forget to bring the wheel in, Scott.

The rest of the ride was uneventful and culminated in a stop at the Juno Beach Cafe after dropping off my wheel. I love little places like this - local hotspots of great greasy food. I order my favorite mid morning, post ride, pre-lunch meal: skillet... a layer of butter infused hash browns covered by an oily layer of cheddar and mozzarella cheese dotted with onion, jalapeno, and tomato covered in 3 scrambled eggs. I also had an english muffin and a raspberry flavored ice tea, of course... Just don't forget to pick up the wheel, Scott.

About 12 hours elapse with another 1000 Calories and it’s time for dinner: pecan encrusted trout served over a bed of rice, flanked by broccoli, and followed by a slice of Key Lime Pie, a favorite of mine. Only water to drink this time, smiling to myself.

Thus, the day concludes with me forgetting to pick up my wheel from the shop and me now unable to ride this weekend.

PRO WANKER, baby.