03.28.2011 | 4:40 pm
I woke in a fever, breathing hard. Terror in my heart, an eternity of horrors burning so bright in my mind that it took a full minute before I realized I was safe.
In bed. Alive.
Eventually, the shaking and the sweating stopped, and I went about my day. But — even as I went through the motions — I could not take my mind off this dream. For, unlike most dreams that are remembered only vaguely and recede even in the first telling, this dream remained at the forefront of my thoughts.
And to begin thinking about it was to begin — once again — reliving the torment.
It was too much.
So now, in an effort to control the wild terror in my heart by describing it, I take pen to paper and recount (in plain prose, so that I can be plainly understood):
The Dream Begins
The dream begins at the junction of seven roads in a deep and dark valley. Is it dusk or overcast? I cannot tell. I can only see that the roads are all paved and go in different directions. There are signs labeling each road, but I cannot read them; it is too dark, and what characters I can see are not in any alphabet that I recognize.
I stand alone, wobbling slightly on my feet. I look down and see why I am unable to stand steadily: I am wearing bike shoes, with Speedplay cleats mounted.
What is this place? Why am I here? Why is my jersey so uncomfortable? Why can’t I find something to clean my glasses with? I have so many questions.
And then a Man — a man I had not seen before but I am now quite sure was there all along — speaks.
“Your bike is laying drivetrain-side down.”
I gasp, now seeing my beloved road bike in the dirt. It is, as the Man said, resting on its rear derailleur, the frame, and the bar tape. I grimace, wondering how it came to rest like this, knowing that I would never knowingly do such a thing myself.
“In this place,” the Man said, “All bikes lay on their drivetrain sides.”
Rolling my eyes, I pick up my bike and show the man what nonsense he speaks by laying the bike down correctly.
“Behold,” the man says, pointing.
Not wanting to but unable to stop myself, I look down.
My bike is laying on its derailleur again.
“Who are you?” I wonder aloud?
“I am The Cyclist,” he says, and I notice now that he is wearing full kit, all black, with a black helmet and black shoes and black glasses. His bike is similarly black. And in short, The Cyclist seems to have a thing for black.
“And what is this place?” I groan, as I attempt, unsuccessfully, trying repeatedly to put my bike down in such a way that it doesn’t scratch, bend, or otherwise screw up my drivetrain.
The Cyclist looks at me — through his sunglasses I see eyes of pure fire — and says what I know he will say.
“You are in hell.”
[To be continued in Fatty's Inferno, Part II]
Comments (24)
03.23.2011 | 7:10 am
Today’s a big day. Johan Bruyneel — the 9-times winning Tour de France sports director and the man Phil Liggett says is “certainly the best director right now, and arguably ever” — is coming here today to take questions from Fat Cyclist readers.
The conversation will happen at this very URL, and begins at 5:30pm (ET) / 2:30pm (PT).
I’ve made no secret that I consider Johan to be one of the greats. He obviously knows his job, can take a joke (and turn it into an amazing event), and cares deeply about important causes (World Bicycle Relief chief among them).
So it’s a big honor to have him here. And to make sure Johan gets treated like the honored guest he is, I’m going to lay out some info and ground rules:
- The “Living Room Rule” applies. You and Johan are both literally my guests here. In the same way I would not tolerate one guest being rude to another at my house, I will not tolerate one guest being rude to another here. And since this is my virtual house, I get to decide what “rude” means.
- Let’s have an interesting variety of topics. I’m sure that at some point we’ll get to both doping and the radio ban. But let’s not have all the questions be about doping or the radio ban, OK?
- Question moderation is on. When you enter your question, it appears in a list that both Johan and I — but not the public — can see. Both of us have the power to choose questions and make them public, at which point Johan will answer it. Or I might, if I feel like it.
- If Johan doesn’t answer your question, don’t feel bad. There are going to be a lot of people asking a lot of questions, all at once. Johan can’t possibly answer all of them. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.
- Be nice. Pretty decent advice for life in general, really.
I’m excited. Really excited.
See you here at 5:30pm (ET) / 4:30pm (CT) / 3:30pm (MT) / 2:30pm (PT)!
Comments (29)
03.22.2011 | 10:01 am
A Note from Fatty: Hey, guess what. I’m the guest blogger for Bill Strickland’s “The Selection” blog over at Biclycling.com today. Why don’t you do me a favor and go read it?
Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for this blog and me — at 5:30PM (ET) / 2:30PM (PT) I’ll be moderating a live Q&A chat with Johan Bruyneel.
Yes, that’s right. Johan Bruyneel.
He’s going to be here, live and online, taking questions as you ask them and giving answers.
So, if you’ve ever wanted to talk with the man Phil Liggett describes as arguably the best team director in the history of the sport, be sure to come here tomorrow and at 5:30PM (ET) / 2:30PM (PT) and join the conversation.
This is something you do not want to miss. Nor do I, for that matter.
Awesome Dress Rehearsal with Twin Six
Here’s the thing, though. I’ll be using live blogging software (coveritlive.com) for the live chat with Johan — and I’ve never used it before. And frankly, I don’t like the idea of using this tool for the first time ever as this interview begins.
So, as practice, I’ll be doing a Q&A today at 4:30PM (ET) / 1:30PM (PT) with Ryan Carlson and Brent Gale from the hip bike clothing design company that all the cool kids are copying, Twin Six.
Frankly, I think it’s going to be a terrific conversation, for the following reasons:
- The Twin Six guys are an awesome success story. Two friends had a great idea — make cycling clothes that look great — and have made a successful business out of it.
- The Twin Six guys are smart and funny. I call them all the time just to talk, because they crack me up. Sometimes we talk for hours. Sometimes they tell me to leave them alone; they have work to do.
- The Twin Six guys are working on the design for the next 100 Miles of Nowhere T-Shirt right now. Maybe you can give them some suggestions on what you’d like to see that shirt look like.
- The Twin Six guys are working on the design for the 2012 Fat Cyclist jersey right now. They haven’t shown me a thing. Maybe we can get them to give us some hints on what it’ll look like.
- The Twin Six 2011 collection is incredible. Seriously, check it out. And be sure to check out their super-secret “Dark” collection, too. Wow. If there is one jersey I absolutely must have this year, it’s this one. Or maybe it’s this one. Or maybe it’s both.
So, come back at 4:30PM (ET) / 1:30PM (PT) today. Bring your questions and comments, kudos and ideas, for Twin Six. And for me. Cuz I guess I wouldn’t mind answering a couple questions, too.
It’ll be fun. Provided, of course, I get the interviewing software software working.
PS: And — just one more time — be certain to come back tomorrow at 5:30PM (ET) / 2:30PM (PT) for the Johan Bruyneel chat.
Comments (24)
03.21.2011 | 1:16 pm
I am a hardy soul. I am a man who loves to brave the elements, to be in the great outdoors, no matter the weather. A fierce-eyed cyclist of all seasons who gladly turns his eyes into the wind, glad to feel the sting of sleet in his eyes. A rugged ruffian who laughs at the numbness in his fingers and frostbite in his cheeks, not to mention the way his eyeballs have turned to granite.
Oh, I’m sorry. I made a couple of little typos in that first paragraph, which could have possibly led to a misunderstanding of its meaning. It should have read as follows (additions in red, deletions in strikeout):
I am not a hardy soul. I am once met a man who loves to brave the elements, to be in the great outdoors, no matter the weather, and I thought he was completely insane. As far as I’m concerned, nothing ruins a group ride more than having some A fierce-eyed cyclist of all seasons who gladly turns his eyes into the wind, glad to feel the sting of sleet in his eyes. Those guys are insane and just don’t know when to quit. To me, it seems completely ridiculous to be a A rugged ruffian who laughs at the numbness in his fingers and frostbite in his cheeks, not to mention the way his eyeballs have turned to granite. I mean, after all, hypothermia is no joke.
I apologize for any confusion my original rendering of that first paragraph may have conveyed. Because the reality is — and believe that as a person who has actually lived for a winter right on the edge of the Arctic Circle I can say this with some authority — I’m not a huge fan of the cold.
And so I have been riding the rollers this winter. A lot. Or at least, it feels like a lot. Because 45 minutes is seven years in rollers time.
But through this very long and cold winter, I’ve had a secret weapon: Netflix. I’m on the 2-DVDs-at-a-Time plan, which means that I pretty much always have at least one DVD ready to watch.
More importantly, though, I also have the instant streaming part of Netflix, piped in through both my PS3 and my AppleTV. Which means that I have a near-infinite number of movies at my beck and call, ready to watch anytime I want to throw a leg over the rollers.
The good news is: I never run out of shows to watch, and can pretty much always find something good enough to distract me from the fact that I’m riding the rollers.
The bad news is: I’m pretty sure my standards for “good enough” have fallen to a pretty low place, due to the “inconsistent” (those quotes are there to indicate I’m using “inconsistent” as a euphemism for “pretty bad”) selection of shows.
For example, I have recently watched:
- Lost Boys: The Thirst (genuinely truly awful, especially for those of us who remember the original Lost Boys with fondness)
- The Towering Inferno (probably was considered a thriller when it was made, back in 1872)
- G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra (I found the plot too complex and unpredictable, so did not finish it)
- District 9 (OK, I actually liked this movie a lot)
- MST3K: Horrors of Spider Island (MST3K is awesome, but not for riding rollers to)
- MST3K: Tormented (OK, so why did I watch another one?)
- Mad Max (I didn’t find him all that mad. Maybe “Irritated Max” would have been a better title)
- The Matrix Revolutions (Proof that sequels aren’t always as awesome as the original, a fact which I know most people will be surprised by)
- Starship Troopers (I read the book as a kid. Was it as campy as the movie? I think it might actually have been.)
- The Burrowers (Worse than Lost Boys: The Thirst)
- Surrogates: Why does Bruce Willis hate all of us so much?
- Gamer (As a person who likes violent movies, you will have to trust me when I say this movie is way too violent.)
- Michael Jackson’s This Is It (This movie did what I would have considered an impossibility: it made me wish I could have seen this concert)
- Battlefield Earth (Has anyone watched more than the first 20 minutes of this movie? If so, did it get any better?)
And that’s just a sampling of films I am not too embarrassed to admit I’ve seen.
The thing is, though, it’s at least something to watch when the weather’s too lousy to go outside. And when it’s too cold to ride, I’m (obviously) not very picky about what I watch.
But there’s a problem.
Little by little, the weather’s been getting better, but my laziness has meanwhile gotten worse and worse. To the point where I’ve been thinking, “Oh sure, I could go ahead and suit up in tights, a thermal top, a long sleeve jersey, a jacket, a beanie, and gloves in addition to all my other gear, or I could just throw on shorts and a jersey and get on the rollers and watch Netflix.
And then I ride the rollers, because it’s easier and faster and generally more convenient.
See the problem? Well, just in case you don’t, I’ll get all specific and stuff:
The problem is that I’m an idiot.
Here’s how I discovered I’m an idiot: I get on my bike and take it outside, and rediscover what I’ve known (and discovered and rediscovered thousands of times) for like twenty years now — riding a bike (any bike, whether it be road, mountain, townie or whatever) outside is so much better than riding a trainer or rollers.
Somehow, magically, even though it’s pretty much exactly the same physical activity, having your bike go somewhere when you pedal it changes cycling from exercise into fun.
The alchemy is crazy: Pedaling on rollers for 45 minutes: pure hell. Pedaling down a straight, featureless road for 45 minutes: awesome. Why? I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. But the truth is, the worst ride outside is immeasurably better than the most awesome session on a stationary bike, ever.
So, Netflix: thanks for keeping me (more or less) sane during the winter. I appreciate it. And maybe I’ll see you next winter.
But I am so glad spring is here.
Comments (53)
03.18.2011 | 6:30 am
A Note from Fatty: I’ve really enjoyed this week of guest posts, and the fact is I’ve received many more that I’d like to share. Luckily — for both me and you — I’ll be needing to take a week off the week of April 9, as my family and I head off for a vacation. I’ll draw from more of the stories you’ve submitted during that week.
I’m also thinking that, due to the awesomeness of the stories you all have to tell, I should make guest posts a regular, once-weekly feature. As in, Guest-Post Friday or something like that. Let me know what you think.
A Note from Fatty about the Author of This Guest Post: Patrick Brady, aka Padraig, is best known for his work as a contributing editor to peloton magazine, at Belgium Knee Warmers and his blog Red Kite Prayer. His book “The No Drop Zone, Everything You Need to Know About the Peloton, Your Gear and Riding Strong” comes out in May.
I’ve been asked to write about my proudest moment on the bike. It’s an interesting question for me. As I was never a PRO, I’ve measured my successes on the bike within their relative merit—which was always modest, at best. Indeed, my introspection has always been more powerful than my legs, which is a way to say I’ve given some consideration to the pride that a cyclist clutches in those moments that follow a great statement of the legs.
Definitions of pride note two forms of the emotion; one comes from the feeling we possess in the wake of praise. Anyone who has heard a crowd cheer to their exploits knows this feeling. With it comes a warmth that can fill the coldest spot in one’s soul, if only for an hour.
Some athletes, performers and politicians can run on that kind of pride for years at a time. I’ve been cheered for my performances as a musician, a few times for modest wins on the bike. My reaction was always mixed; I was far more comfortable in the moment, either performing or racing. To know that I won on the appointed day was all I needed; that riders I respected saw me raise my arm in victory was icing. That’s because I thrive on the second form of pride, the one that comes in subsequent self-appraisal.
I’d like to think this is the better, truer sense of pride one may cultivate. Based on one’s own understanding of events, this pride doesn’t cool after the crowds go home and can be called upon in reflection. For me, the moments I look back on with pride have become cornerstones in my definition of what’s possible in my life. It’s a building I have built and rebuilt through my life. When I look out over the broad plain of ambition, my perch is based on pure fact. It’s as solid a footing as I might achieve.
But the building of one’s pride is composed of thousands of stones, not just one single accolade. That first cornerstone is a reference point that positions the whole of the structure—the ego in its truest sense. So what is my proudest moment on the bike?
As I scan the hard drive I recall a solo effort in a collegiate crit in 1992. I was away for most of the race which was cold and rainy and held over a technical, six-turn course. I crossed the line with my arms outstretched and an expression of shock on my face. The next day I stormed away from the group and when I crossed the line my arms flew up in an emphatic “V.” Both those were good, but neither hit it.
I’ve ridden some outrageously hard events such as the Markleeville Death Ride, the Climb to Kaiser and the Mulholland Challenge. Clearly the one that finishing yielded the greatest satisfaction was one I rode last fall, then called the Son of the Death Ride. These days it’s known as the Ride of the Immortals, and is a 138-mile trek through the Sierra containing more than 17,000 feet of climbing over roads that are mostly crap. I DNF’ed on that course five years ago, so finishing on my second attempt was a chance to re-write history and bite the apple of redemption. That’s a good one, but not it, either.
There was a masters race in the hilly country east of Bakersfield over a course that required a bit of everything: the ability to select a great line in sharp turns, descend on off-camber roads, climb steep hills, battle wind. At the beginning of the 1999 season I set a goal of winning at Iron Mountain. After forcing the selection that reduced the peloton to a group of four—on the first lap—I was able to play my cards carefully and when another rider attacked at 1k, I waited until I was sure the other two had given up, attacked them, bridged to the first rider and with less than 50 meters to go came around him for the win. That was a very good day.
The one I hold dearest was perhaps my quietest achievement on the bike. It was a win in an uphill time trial. The course was here in Los Angeles, up to the top of the Palos Verdes Peninsula. Locals refer to the location as the radar domes due to the two geodesic domes that hold electronics of some variety I’ve never bothered to investigate. Their meaning to me is that my suffering is at an end.
I entered the senior men and was some variety of fortunate that no Category 1 or 2 riders showed up. Cat. 3s aren’t supposed to win time trials, right? The time trial was almost exactly six miles and was uphill save for a roughly one-mile dip just over half way up.
I was last to start; while I wasn’t sure what to expect, I knew I felt good and wanted the chance to pass as many riders as possible in order to gain all the motivation I could. My warmup was unremarkable; I only recall rolling to the line in my 53×19.
The opening 100 meters were false flat and my goal was to generate some momentum with my start, but I didn’t expect to ride for very long in my big ring; that was the province of PROs, like the ones who used to pass me in the three-mile uphill TT at the Killington Stage Race in Vermont.
When the starter yelled “go!” I could feel my bike’s saddle pop from the hands of the holder. I stood for more than 200 meters before sitting down and that’s when it happened: I realized I was strong enough to spin the 53×19 while seated. I didn’t need to shift. My speed varied as the grade changed, sometimes as low as 19, often more like 21.
After cresting the first part of the climb I began shifting, first the 17, then the 16, the 15, even the 14, 13. I wished the road was even steeper. Then, into the sudden uptick of the second part of the climb; around a right-hand bend the grade hits 9 percent and though I was downshifting, I stayed in my big ring.
I have no memory of my legs burning there.
Minutes later I reached the right turn that begins the final section of the climb. It opens with 30 meters at 12 percent and that was when I finally shifted out of the big ring. I spun up it and then shifted into what now seems a monstrous gear for that stretch of road. I crossed the line somewhere north of 20 minutes. The time I recorded isn’t particularly important to me; others have recorded much faster times. I hear Tinker Juarez did it in something like 18 minutes. So there’s that.
By the time awards were given, most of the small field had gone home. What glory there was came from fewer than a half-dozen people and even that isn’t why I look back on that day with pride. For me, it was a high water mark in my fitness. I climbed at speeds that were fast by any measure, in a gear that any normal cyclist considers inappropriate for climbing.
I felt like I could have ridden that gear all day long; without that 12 percent pitch I might have ridden in that gear to the crit I did that afternoon.
That day has my affection because climbing in a 53×19 isn’t something you can fake. It’s an irrefutable testament to a level of fitness—by orders of magnitude—greater than I had when I first dabbled in bike racing some 10 years before. It’s not a moment I pull out on the young whippersnappers who show up to our group rides and whip me with my own lactic acid. There’s no point in telling them, “I used to be so fast I could….” No, it’s a private relic, one that reminds me we all have unplumbed depths, that I’ve yet to understand all I may achieve.
Comments (25)
« Previous Page — « Previous Entries Next Entries » — Next Page »
