10.21.2005 | 3:28 pm
Yesterday, I bought a ticket to Salt Lake City. So now there’s no backing out. I’m going to Fall Moab 2006 (or, if you’re one of the few people in the world who still thinks in terms of calendar years rather than fiscal, you can quaintly call it “Fall Moab 2005″). Fall Moab is an annual event where an increasingly large group (close to 20 this year, it looks like) of mountain biking buddies gets together and goes riding for three days in and around Moab, UT — the desert MTB capital of the universe.
This means I need to get a mountain bike, pronto. It means that I’m going to have to shave my legs again. It means I’m going to get banged up, and cut up: it happens to every single one of us, every single year. And it means I’m going to have more fun than I do at any other event of the year.
Most importantly, though, it means I need to brush up on my trash-talking skills.
Why is Trash Talking Important?
Know this: When a group of cyclists gets together for what they call a “friendly group ride,” they’re speaking in code. What they actually mean is, “We’re getting together to bare our teeth and snarl at each other for fifteen minutes, after which we will climb on our bikes and see who is the alpha cyclist — the dominant rider of the pack, the one who chooses the course, who picks the pace, who keeps the other wolves in line.”
You see, the group ride isn’t just a group riding together. It’s an important ritual, an essential component of which is the pre-ride (and sometimes, during-ride) trash talking. It’s during the pre-ride trash talking that you discover other riders’ intentions. Who is in contention? Who is weak? Who can be damaged psychologically before the ride, making them more susceptible to a bluff attack during the ride?
It’s a beautiful dance, really. And I’m sadly out of practice.
Techniques for Beginners
I’ve done some research into cyclist trash talking behavior, and have uncovered some patterns even novices can use to good effect.
- Feigned concern: “You’ve had a hard time keeping up lately. Are you OK? I can tell the group to go easy today if you want.” Or, “Man, that’s a pretty technical move; I don’t think I clean it more than six out of ten tries. You may want to skip it; you don’t want to get hurt.”
- Cloaked boast: “Dude, that is a seriously nice bike. Every time I ride with you, I can’t help but admire that thing. How much does that thing weigh, sixteen pounds? Sheesh, that’s light. I wonder how I manage to keep up with you, what with my bike weighing around twenty pounds, and my goiter acting up.”
- Anti-trash talk: “Could we go easy today? I just had a kidney removed, and am still a little sore. Plus, you guys look like you’re really strong — I’m not sure I can hang.” Important note: Do not use this technique unless you are certain that you can hang with the group, even if they ramp up into the red zone and stay there. If you miscalculate and your anti-trash talk turned out to be an accurate prediction of the day’s events, you will be known as a hangdog, whiney, weakling complainer.
- Question and followup: “So, how are you feeling today?” (Wait for response.) “Seriously, you feel good? Because you look like you’ve gained some weight. I’m sure that’s just because you’re wearing a padded jacket, though.” (Wait for response.) “Oh, really? No padding at all? Well, that’s weird.”
- Power play: “I look out at this group, and I see nothing that impresses me. Oh well, I guess I can treat this as a recovery day.” Important note: This is a risky technique. If you use this, be aware that anything apart from absolute domination will be perceived as failure.
Tips for Advanced Trash Talkers
There was a time when people used to remark that I was the meanest person they knew, once I actually started saying what I was thinking. In days of yore I have shut people down — so completely dumbfounded them with my trash talk that backing it up with performance on the bike seemed beside the point.
That, alas, was years ago. I am now so out of practice with advanced trash talking (I have young children who don’t exactly thrive on that kind of feedback), that I must rely primarily on other, more skilled trash talkers for these advanced techniques. Thanks (I guess) to Dug and Simeon, both of whom I no longer consider friends.
- Get Personal: If someone has a gut, use the gut to your advantage, even if man-with-gut is kicking your butt and dropping you. Ask probing questions: “Does your gut get in the way of your legs on the upstroke?” “Do you think you’d go faster if you lost some weight?” If your target does not respond, you can be confident both that he hears you and that you are being effective.
- Do Not Back Down: If your target appears to be sensitive, this is not the time to back off. Run up the score. This is a good time to get experimental. Try some techniques you’ve been keeping until they’re ready.
- Exploit Admitted Weaknesses: If your target acknowledges an actual, diagnosable problem that will slow him down, it’s time to lean in. For example, if he says, “Well, jeez, I just had a heart attack this afternoon and am taking beta blockers that slow me down quite a bit,” he has just made your job easier, not harder. Immediately respond by rolling your eyes and saying, “Oh, playing the heart attack card. Nice. You know, I have technically been a corpse for three months now. It’s never slowed me down.”
- Acknowledge: If your opponent comes up with something ridiculously good, you have to recognize. It’s a community effort. Immediately incorporate the learned technique into your own arsenal.
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10.15.2005 | 7:24 am
A Note from Fatty: This post, rescued from my MSN Spaces archive, was originally published October 15, 2005.
Every year about this time, I start thinking: maybe I should start running again. After all, cross-training is good for you, right? Plus my buddy John and I have a tradition of signing up for the Death Valley Marathon each year (I did a writeup on this race back in 2003, posted below as a surprise bonus for people who feel they deserve to be punished), so I ought to start training for it, right?
No.
I’m not going to run.
Ever again.
This is why.
Guilty Relief
Last January, my training for the Death Valley Marathon went especially badly. I was the heaviest I had ever been in my life (around 192 pounds), due to steroids and holiday overindulgence, not to mention some pretty half-hearted training. I was planning to do the marathon with John, but had no expectations of doing much running. I was a very solid back-of-the-pack bet.
So when John called me from the hospital — five days before the race — saying he was going to have to bail on the race, due to the fact that he had had a heart attack that day, I had three reactions:
- Relief that he was OK.
- Concern that since John had a heart attack, I was probably at risk, too – he and I are very similar in the way we train, eat, and live.
- Joy that I now had an ironclad excuse for not doing the race. Not as ironclad as John’s, but close enough.
I have not run since. Man, that sport could kill you.
Irrefutable Logic
I actually understand why runners run. They run for a lot of the same reasons cyclists ride: It’s a good workout. You can do it right out your front door. You get to be outside and see a little bit of the world. When you do it right, you get that endorphin rush and feel great.
Sadly, these reasons are not sufficient. Here is what is wrong with running:
- It pounds the crud out of you. As you bike and get in better shape, you hurt less and less. That’s because your muscles are getting stronger and you’re not slamming all your weight and force into your joints several times per second. This cannot be said of running. Runners spend all this time stretching and warming up and cooling down, but they all wind up hobbling around with screwed-up joints anyway. Basically, I’m willing to endure muscle soreness because I know that’s part of the process of building fitness. Joint soreness is just the path to more joint soreness.
- Lack of variety. When I get tired of road biking, I mountain bike. Or I get out the fixie. Or try cyclocross. With running, you get to do what to mix it up? Run really fast instead of at your normal pace? Run on trails instead of road? Maybe skip or hop? Or run backwards? When I bike, I never use an MP3 player, because there’s so much going on, my mind stays plenty busy. When I run, on the other hand, I need an MP3 player desperately. Because otherwise the tedium is Just. Too. Much. Here’s a thought: If an essential part of your exercise gear is a gadget that helps you keep your mind off that exercise, maybe it’s time to switch sports.
- Lack of cool gear. OK, I admit this is a throwaway point, but if you’re a gear geek like me, you know what I’m talking about. With biking, there’s new frames and components and clothes and helmets and measuring apparatus! With running, there’s shoes (oh yes, lots and lots of shoes) and shorts and … socks? Maybe special running underwear? Headbands?
- It injures you without giving you a cool scar, nor a story to tell. Both runners and cyclists get injured while doing their thing. That’s just a given. For cyclists, every injury has an accompanying story that can be treasured, tweaked, and told for decades to come. I admit that there have been times when, even as I writhed in pain, a little part of me was working on the description of how bad I hurt. Runners, on the other hand, get to talk about how they were jogging along when — spung! — their kneecaps fell off, due to overuse. Hey, if you’re going to suffer, you may as well have a story to tell. In short: when biking, you accept that something surprising and dangerous may happen to you while you’re biking. With running, you accept that you are injuring yourself because you’re running.
Call to Action
Runners, please: Quit running. Buy a bike. You’ll go faster. You’ll hurt less often. When you do hurt, you’ll have a nice little anecdote to share.
I’m glad I could clear this up for you.
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10.13.2005 | 6:04 am
A Note from Fatty: This "Best of Fatty" post, rescued from my MSN Spaces archive, was originally posted October 13, 2005.
I have a cupboard full of water bottles. I have a couple dozen of these bottles, easily. Most of them came as freebies from events, some of them came as promotional schwag, and I’ve even bought a few of them.
I should just throw all of them out.
Freebie Water Bottles
The problem with the freebie water bottles you get whenever you do a race — or go to a charity event or attend a store opening — is simple: they suck. But they don’t just suck in one way. They suck across a multitude of dimensions. And since I’ve got myself all worked up about this, I may as well get specific:
The plastic taste: Any liquid you put in one of these cheap bottles takes on the taste of low-grade PVC. You can replace that plastic taste by putting in a sports drink, after which any liquid you put in that cheap plastic bottle will take on the taste of the aforementioned sports drink. Now, I’ve owned regular plastic cups before, so I know it’s possible to make a plastic receptacle that doesn’t infuse and dominate my water with its previous content. So why don’t the bottle makers go and reverse-engineer that top-secret plastic cup formula that’s been around since WWII and apply it to their water bottles?
The valve: While the water bottles themselves are made by stingy industrialists who evidently have never checked to see what water tastes like once it’s been in their wares, the makers of the valves are clearly former joke shop employees. When you go to pull the valve open with your teeth so you can take a drink, one of the following is guaranteed to happen:
- The valve will not pull open, no matter how hard you tug.
- The valve will not pull open, and when you tug good and hard, the whole lid will pop off and all the water will pour onto your face and down your jersey.
- The valve will pull open, but when you drink, water will dribble outside the valve while you drink, making it look like you have mouth-control issues. (Please note: the fact that this is the most desirable of the three potential outcomes does not imply it is a favorable outcome.)
The size: Freebie water bottles are made just a little too narrow to fit snugly in a water bottle cage. If you are foolish enough to put one of these water bottles in your cage and go on a ride, it will rattle around until you huck it onto the side of the road in a fit of pique, or it falls out of the cage of its own accord (and, predictably, without you noticing, so that you only later find you have no water at all).
The Best Water Bottles Ever
Water bottles do not have to be lame. I have, at one time, owned a set of three water bottles I loved. Yes, “love” is the word I choose to show my regard for these water bottles. They were made by Cannondale, under the Coda brand. They were oversized, holding about 50% more water than most bottles, so you had to have a wide-open frame to hold them, but two of those bottles would take care of you for a good long ride. They didn’t taste like plastic. They had screw-top lids, so you didn’t get the nasty surprise of going for a drink and getting a faceful of water instead. They had good valves that were neither too tight, but somehow didn’t dribble, even after hundreds of trips through the dishwasher.
I lost one of those bottles somewhere; the other two I actually wore out. Yes, after using these bottles exclusively for about three years, the seams on the bottles tore and I had to chuck them. And meanwhile, Cannondale had stopped making these wonderful bottles, so now I use Specialized bottles, which are actually good in just about every respect — but I wish I could get my hands on oversized ones for the big rides.
A Plea to Event Promoters
In my typical fashion, I haven’t gone out researching to see if there are bottles out there that have a loyal following. If there are, I would happily buy them. And for the race/event promoters who give us both a cheap, useless t-shirt and a cheap, useless water bottle, here’s an idea. Instead of giving us two useless things, pool the money and give us a really good water bottle (I don’t need any more t-shirts this lifetime, thanks). If you do, I promise I will use it all the time, and my water bottle cage will become, in effect, a teeny little billboard for your event.
Wouldn’t that be super?
A Note About Water Bottle Cages
I have no similar grievance about water bottle cages, because I am perfectly happy with my Ciussi bottle cages. Whether road or mountain, these things are great.
PS: Just in case you were wondering, the Fat Cyclist water bottles are made by Specialized. They’re good. (But I still wish they came in bigger sizes)
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10.12.2005 | 7:13 am
A Note from Fatty: This "Best of Fatty" post, rescued from my MSN Spaces archive, was originally posted October 12, 2005.
Last Saturday, when I did the Issaquah Alps, it didn’t occur to me that the hardest climb of the day would come after the event was over. I had used all my food and all my energy in finishing the ride itself, and hadn’t left anything in reserve for the eight-mile ride home.
The extent of my mistake, of course, didn’t occur to me until I reached the base of SE 43rd Way. This is a fairly moderate climb, one that I do without any difficulty a couple times per week as part of my commute.
As I started to climb, though, I realized: I was cooked. My clock was cleaned. I was out of gas. I had cracked.
I had, in short, bonked.
Now, I don’t know if anyone who doesn’t do endurance sports really knows what a true bonk feels like. It’s actually kind of interesting. First of all, you have only the slightest amount of power. You can turn the cranks over, but just barely. Next, you stop caring. You know that you must look ridiculous, riding your bike at three miles per hour (yes, really), but you just don’t have the energy to care about appearances. You completely lack the ability to rally — it doesn’t matter how bracing a pep talk your friends give you, you aren’t going to be able to buck up and go faster. In a really good bonk, I’ve experienced a disconnectedness between my mind and body: this can’t be my body inching along, right? Surely, if this were my body, I’d be able to tell my legs to go faster. Sometimes — not always — I’ll feel cold.
All of these sensations, though, are pretty much secondary to the main emotion: misery. It’s a self-pitying, helpless, weak, beyond-tiredness, beyond-hunger, beyond-thirsty, miserable misery.
And the thing is, as far as bonks go, the one I had last Saturday was pretty minor. I had, after all, a mobile phone; I could quit any moment and call for help. And I knew I wasn’t far from home; Once I got to the top of the hill, I knew I’d be fine.
A bonk underscored by lack of options, though, is something special. It’s something to behold if you’re with the guy who’s bonking, and something you never forget if you’re the guy who bonked.
Here are a few of my favorite — if you can call them that — bonks.
Rocky at the Kokopelli
The first time Rocky and I tried the Kokopelli Trail, I believe it was the longest ride either of us had ever attempted. Also, neither of us had ever been on that trail and were just following the map and signposts.
We were, in short, all kinds of stupid.
Early in the day we missed a turn — the only non-obvious turn in the whole route, really — and didn’t realize our mistake until it made more sense to continue than to turn around. This added several miles of deep sand to our ride, as well as a few miles of paved climbing.
And it was hot outside. Right around 100 degrees.
And Rocky’s a sweater (by which I mean he sweats a lot, not that he’s a woolen pullover you wear when it’s nippy outside). It’s his most obvious trait, really. By the time we got to within ten miles of where we’d be getting supplies, Rocky had gone through all his food, all his water, and some of my water.
Rocky bonked. Hard. He got clammy, his voice slurred, he could no longer ride his bike. Luckily, we spied a ranch and made our way toward it, taking little baby steps because that was truly all Rocky had in him.
Once at the ranch, Rocky drank all the water he could and we left. We passed an irrigation ditch; Rocky stripped and layed down in it about ten minutes.
Yeah, it sounds like heat exhaustion, but it was a heat-exhaustion-induced bonk.
Brad at the Kokopelli
Brad does not look like someone who would bonk. Ever. This is because Brad is, to all appearances, the perfect specimen of a man. He bikes, he runs, he does Muay Thai, he eats very much fish.
And yet, a couple of years ago, Brad bonked hard.
A good-sized group of us were doing the Kokopelli Trail — many years had elapsed, and I now had considerable endurance riding experience — and Brad was, as usual, riding off the front. Or at least he was riding up in front until over the course of just a few minutes, he imploded and became a husk of a man. I don’t know why it happened, I don’t think he knows why. But Brad was fully bonked. Everyone in the group slowed way down — you don’t want to leave a bonked rider out in the desert on his own — but Brad still kept dropping behind. He hung his head, he wouldn’t talk, a lot of the time he didn’t even seem to hear us.
The thing is, Brad didn’t have an option about whether to keep going. We were out in the middle of nowhere, and he had to somehow turn the cranks for 30 miles before we next met up with the sag wagon. I’m pretty sure Brad started crying when he finally saw the car and knew he could quit.
Why did Brad bonk? It’s hard to say. Maybe it’s because he didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body, so had no reserves. Maybe it’s because he had been training more for shorter races, and the long ride went beyond what he was ready for. Maybe he was just too darn handsome to be riding with the rest of us.
Fatty at Leadville
Three years ago, I was about as fit as I’ve ever been. I was fit, light, and had been training like crazy. I thought I had a good chance at finishing under nine hours in the Leadville 100. And for the first 65 miles, my split times seemed to show that I was going to do it.
But then, two-thirds of the way through the race, I just couldn’t drink Gatorade anymore. The taste of it sickened me. And that’s too bad, because Gatorade was all I had to drink.
Before long, I would gag whenever I tried to take a drink. And then, right around mile 78, I lost all power. I rode slowly, frustrated that people were passing me so fast, yet completely unable to do anything about it. I pulled over to the side of the road and vomited. I felt better and was able to ride again — for about two minutes. Then I was weaker than ever. Worse, the final 25 miles of the Leadville 100 have two big climbs.
I had plenty of food, plenty to drink, but every time I tried to eat or drink, the gag reflex kicked in. My world became very small: just me, the bike, and the next turn of the crank (or the next step, since there were big stretches I could not ride).
Eventually, it occurred to me that if I took small sips, maybe I could get something down. It worked. Eventually, I could ride again, and even finished with a respectable time — although not the sub-9 I was hoping for.
The thought of Gatorade still creeps me out, though. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drink it again.
Bonk Recovery
If there’s a silver lining to the bonk, it’s the feeling of recovering from a bonk. Eating everything in sight, as if it were a contest, as if you have a capacity for an infinite amount of food, as if every kind of food really does go with every other kind of food (ketchup and whipped cream on rye? Excellent!)
And then laying down, knowing that you really are as tired as you can possibly be. And that you survived a bonk.
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10.7.2005 | 7:14 am
A Note from Fatty: This "Best of Fatty" post rescued from my old MSN Spaces archive. Originally posted October 7, 2005.
Nobody reads The Fat Cyclist for useful advice. Or at least, I hope not, because I never give useful advice. Unless you count a detailed recounting of "how to eat like a sideshow freak" or "how to fall off your bike and hurt yourself, while still looking comically ridiculous" as useful advice.
No, I think it’s safe to say that I’m long on absurd overdisclosure and wild exaggeration, and short on practical information.
And yet, last night I started thinking (hey, your brain’s got to do something while you brush your teeth): I’ve been riding for ten years or so, now. Certainly in that time I must have learned something of real value I could share. And in the space of three minutes (ie, the period of time required for a good teeth-brushing), I had thought of three simple, useful pieces of advice that have significantly improved my riding experience over the years.
So yes, one day after I reveal that I can behave like a complete lunatic, I’m asking you to consider taking my advice. Here you go:
1. How to Breathe
When I first started mountain biking, I got cramps in my side every single ride. Cramps so painful I would get off my bike and wait for the pain to go away. While I was thus waiting once, Stuart rolled up to me and asked what the problem was. I told him about the stitch in my side, and Stuart said four words:
"Breathe deeply. Exhale fully."
I got back on my bike and tried it. I inhaled to capacity, and exhaled as far as I could. He was right. I had been breathing too quickly and shallowly. With that, I went from being the guy who was always having to stop and rest to being the guy who could turn the cranks forever. If I wanted more power or speed, I would do the same thing, but faster.
Those four words of advice very nearly make up for the fact that it was Stuart who basically caused me to get a concussion on my first mountain bike ride ever.
2. There is No Such Thing as Bike Burnout
Toward the end of just about every riding season, I’ll try to set up a ride with friends, but will get a variation of this response: "No, I’m sick of bikes." Or sometimes, I’ll be the guy who says, "No, I’m burned out on riding."
This is just stupid.
Here’s what’s really happening if you don’t want to get out on your bike: you’re in a rut. You’ve been riding the same kind of bike, in the same way (or same set of ways), on the same terrain too much. It’s become routine.
Any time I’ve kicked myself off the couch and tried a different kind of ride, I’ve been astounded. If I’ve been riding road exclusively, I’ll say, "I’d forgotten that mountain biking can be so intense and beautiful and demanding." If I’ve been mountain biking a lot, I’ll say, "I’d forgotten that road riding is so fast and quiet and smooth." Or, in my case right now as I learn to ride in the velodrome, "I had forgotten what it feels like to be an absolute beginner." Or when I ride my fixie to work and back, "I had forgotten what it felt like to be completely demolished by a climb."
If you’re not having fun riding anymore, mix it up (even if it does go against the routine Chris Carmichael personally wrote for you). You’ll find you still like riding as much as you ever did.
3. Remember to Have Fun
I have been on lots and lots and lots of endurance races and rides. I have never quit, even when I’ve been really slow and fat. This is because of my very most clever trick:
I have fun.
I think lots of cyclists look forward to a long ride or race forever, but then once they’re on the course think of nothing but the finish line. I propose that if you remember to actually ride in the moment, look around and consider what a cool thing it is to be on a bicycle, that — whether you’re doing an afternoon-length ride or a 24-hour race — you’ll have a better time and won’t get tired as quickly.
OK, I just made up the part about not getting tired as quickly. But if you resist the urge to think about the end of the ride, I guarantee you’ll enjoy more of the ride itself.
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