06.14.2010 | 11:30 am
A “We Won!” Note from Fatty: Congratulations to Team Fatty-Seattle on winning both the Team Champion and Team Time Trial awards! This means our team raised more money ($71,398 as of this moment) than any other team, and that our fifth-ranked fundraiser raised more money than any other team’s fifth-ranked fundraiser.
Extra-huge kudos go to Team Fatty-Seattle co-captain “ClydeSteve” Steven Peterson, who raised $15,735 while still finding time to manage the team. ClydeSteve, thanks for working so hard and consistently in this fight. You’re an inspiration.
A “Don’t Forget to Join the Fight and (Hopefully) Win a Bike” Note from Fatty: With the Seattle LiveStrong Challenge in the bag, let’s turn our sights toward San Jose. The contest for the SyCip hand-built bike, tricked out with Shimano and PRO components, is still going strong. Read here for details on the bike, then click here to donate for a chance at the bike. The contest ends this Thursday, so donate now!
The FattyFly SS Is Go
I’m very happy to report that my FattyFly SS (which I affectionately refer to as the “FFSS”) has been built. I’m even happier to report that the FFSS weighs in at 17.6 pounds (or, for those of you who use metric measurements, 1.257 stone).
I of course wanted to get out on a ride on this bike as soon as possible, which I did on June 10. Brad met me at the saddle on Corner Canyon, where he pointed out that I have waaaay crossed the line of excessive color coordination, then graciously took this photo of me and FFSS:
“Six pounds (0.428 stone),” Brad kept saying. “That’s how much less your singlespeed weighs than mine.
Of course, I have around 12 pounds of blubber that Brad doesn’t have, which explains why he still kicked my butt on all the climbs.
Enough Rain Already
And then it started to rain. Not during the ride, but afterward. And for pretty much every moment since. It’s been unseasonably cold and rainy here in Utah County, making mountain bike rides few and far between.
Seattle, you know I love you, but you can have your weather back.
Looking at the forecast for the weekend (rain, followed by more rain, followed by thunderstorms), The Runner and I agreed: we needed to get out of town. Moab would have been nice, except for one problem:
Rain.
How about St. George? high of 83 with only a slight chance of rain? Sold.
So Saturday afternoon — after successfully marrying off The Runner’s eldest son (whom I have not yet nicknamed in this blog and so shall heretofore be referred to as “Travis”), The Runner and I headed out to St. George, where we’d meet up with Kenny and Heather for a day in the sun.
Ride 1
The original plan was for us to get in a good long mountain bike ride, since all four of us are going to be racing in Leadville in a couple months. Kenny proposed a Hurricane Rim / Gem / Goolds (sp?) loop, which should take about five hours, and which sounded great.
There was just one problem, which we heard about when we stopped at the bike shop where Dave Nice works: it had been raining in St. George, too, and part of the trail we wanted to ride would be a sloppy mess.
So Dave volunteered to take us out to and be our tour guide at Rockville Bench, a twisty mix of desert singletrack and slickrock.
Which made a fantastic place for me to show off my Dicky’s Death March jersey, which I obtained from the super-secret T6 Dark section of Twin Six’s site, and which I am pleased to say makes me look both handsome and slim:
(photo by Dave Nice)
I wear this jersey whenever I want to seem as cool as Rich Dillen. Which is to say, almost always.
Did I love riding in the warm sun? Yes I did. Did I love my new bike? Yes I did.
Ride 2
After dropping Dave back off at the shop, we headed out for another ride — this time on Hurricane Rim.
The first part of this all-desert singletrack ride is climby, with some steep, technical switchbacks that are not easy at all to do on a singlespeed.
I say that, of course, as a pre-excuse for what comes next. Namely, that I fell as I tried to grind up one of those switchbacks.
Just fell over on my side. Graceful as a sack of spuds.
After falling, I quickly executed my standard post-fall procedure:
- Look around to see who saw me fall, so I can adapt my hilarious excuse / explanation to their particular sense of humor (I’m a full-service excuse maker). In this case, it was just Kenny, and he’s already heard my best stuff, so there was no point in saying anything but “Ow.” Which I did, and with conviction.
- Extricate myself from the bike. This was not that easy, since the foot that was still clipped in was under the bike, and the bike was uphill from me. So I utilized the “thrash around like a landed fish” technique of getting away from the bike.
- Get up and continue riding.
It was step 3 that was a problem; there was something wrong with my bike. Here, take a look at this photo and tell me if you can see what is amiss:
If your answer was “white grips on mountain bikes get dirty very quickly,” you are correct, but that’s not really the problem I was thinking of.
The problem I was thinking of is that my front brake mount had snapped. Broken.
Kenny and I then made a brilliant field repair:
(photo by Heather Gilbert)
Really, the only thing wrong with this repair was . . . it didn’t work. Specifically, the brake stayed in place as long as you didn’t touch the brake lever.
So I strapped the brake lever to the downtube instead, figuring that the front brake is redundant anyways.
Situations In Which a Front Brake is Not Redundant
And for the climbs, I was just fine without a front brake. In fact, I’d go so far to say that when you’re climbing, applying the brake feels counterproductive.
And when you are going in a straight line downhill at a moderate pace? Having nothing but a back brake is plenty.
But imagine — just imagine — you’re heading fast downhill into a hairpin turn. First, you reach for your front brake, as is your habit. For the fiftieth time that day, you quickly realize there’s nothing to grab there. So you apply the back brake, which is fine.
And you keep going.
For the first time ever, you realize there’s quite a bit of truth in that axiom about 70% of your stopping power being in your front brake, what with you slowing down at roughly 30% the rate you usually do.
“Oh look, there’s the apex of the hairpin,” you say to yourself, as you slide right by it.
(Note to Hurricane trail maintenance people: sorry I left skid marks going right through pretty much all of your hairpin turns yesterday.)
Looking Forward
The thing is, even a (very expensive) repair is worth its cost when you get to spend a day in the sun riding your mountain bike, when you would have otherwise been trapped indoors in the rain.
But now I’ve got to figure out what to do with this broke brake. I am considering the following options:
- Call Racer’s and tell him what happened. This is the obvious solution, and will result in him ordering me a new brake body, which will cost approximately “a lot.”
- Call Racer’s and tell him it was a JRA break. “So I was just braking, and — *snap*! — the brake mount just pops off. This was obviously a lemon, Racer. See if you can warranty it.” The beauty of this excuse, of course, is that Racer will never have heard it before.
- Repair it myself. You know, I think I could epoxy the mount back together. And then maybe I could use some superglue to reinforce it. And then some duct tape, just to be sure. A couple rivets wouldn’t hurt either. Then I’ll wrap the whole thing in velcro.
Oh, and I’d love to have your repair suggestions as well.
PS: Obligatory group photo!
Comments (58)
06.8.2010 | 8:56 am
It’s just a bike. I know that. And I know that, eventually, I will put it in the garage with the other bikes. I will ride it without a second thought, without even considering how it looks. Eventually, I will let it get dirtier and dirtier, until I have to clean it more out of necessity — i.e., the wheels no longer turn and the bike is carrying an extra seven pounds of dirt — than out of a need to make it look new.
Eventually, it will be just another bike to me, one of several I love.
But not today.
Today, this is my new bike. Or, more accurately, today this will be my new bike. As soon as the UPS guy gets here. Which should be any time now.
You know what would be really awesome, UPS? If your trucks had GPS tracking and that information was tied to both my package tracking number and a maps application, so I could see exactly how close my new frame is to being delivered.
There you go: awesome new feature using inexpensive, readily-available technologies, that would differentiate you in a big way from the competition. No charge.
One moment while I reload the Tracking Information page again. Even though I know there will be no more information on it until my frame is actually delivered.
Still out for delivery.
Which I of course already knew.
New Bike Love
Obviously, I’m all atwitter for my new FattyFly SingleSpeed (my custom-painted Gary Fisher Superfly SS). But this isn’t the first time I’ve had that “can’t wait, can’t think about anything else” feeling when getting a new bike.
I had it when I got my first real mountain bike (Specialized Stumpjumper M2, for those of you who remember when Metal Matrix — aluminum mixed with pottery — was going to be the next big thing in bike material). I had it for months when I waited for my Ibis Bow Ti. I had it when I got my Orbea Orca with Shimano Di2 (note to self: post an extended review of what I think about this bike in the very near future).
OK, I’ve had this feeling every single time I’ve gotten a new bike. And I’ll bet that you have too. It’s the feeling of possibility. Of the expectation of having something you love be — somehow — just that much better.
It’s like Christmas on steroids. But without the unfortunate positive result the next time you have an out-of-competition blood test.
When The Frame Arrives
So here’s what I’m going to do when the frame arrives. Which will be, I’m certain, very very soon.
- I will unbox it, lick it, and take a picture of me with it.
- I will email the picture to The Runner.
- I will post the picture here.
- I will drive down to Racer’s, where I will beg him to drop everything he’s doing and build me a bike.
- I will go back to work, even though I really really really want to sit and watch Racer build my bike. As it turns out, I currently have a lot of work to do at my day job.
- I will text Racer every 30 minutes or so, asking him, “How’s it coming along?” I am sure that this will not be annoying at all, and will not slow him down.
- I will go and pick up my bike, photograph it, and post it here.
- I will stare at it for a while.
- I will ride it.
The Build
Let’s take just a moment and consider my plans for the FFSS build. Why? Because it makes me giddy, that’s why.
So, um, it’s going to be a pretty nice bike.
If the UPS guy ever gets here.
UPDATE: The UPS guy came by! . . . and dropped off a completely unrelated box. So now I’m waiting / hoping / praying for the afternoon delivery. Sigh. . . .
UPDATE 2: The frame has arrived!
Off to Racer’s…
Comments (79)
06.7.2010 | 8:37 am
A couple weeks ago, The Runner and I went on a road ride: up to the summit of the Alpine, down to Cascade Springs, and back home. With — I think — about 5000+ feet of climbing, this is always a great ride, but it’s extra awesome in the short period between when the snow melts and when the gates are opened so cars can drive the roads.
Because for that short week or two, roadies can use both sides of the road, bombing the downhills like we wish we could the rest of the year.
There is one little problem on the road, though: scree. Oh, and there’s usually pine cones, pine needles, and other tree-related debris.
Which means, I guess, that if you want to get fussy about it, there’s more than one problem on the road.
Though I assert that, collectively, it’s still just one problem: stuff that gets in the way of your ride and can potentially wipe you out or at least give you a flat.
By now, you’re probably wondering why I’m arguing like this, when nobody was counter-arguing. You are probably not wondering, however, whether someone got a flat, because otherwise I wouldn’t have spent four paragraphs going on about this.
By the way, it was The Runner who got the flat.
The Runner’s saddle bag had everything she needed to fix the flat: tube, CO2 cartridge, adapter and tire lever. We took care of the flat in a few minutes and finished the ride.
As we swapped in the new tube, though, It was obvious that it was time for a new tire.
The next day, The Runner brought her bike into Racer’s Cycle Service, asking Racer — yes, that’s his actual first name — to put a new tire on. And of course, he did.
And that should be the end of the story, which would not be my best or most interesting blog post of all time (not the worst, either, but perhaps a little more mundane than most).
But there’s a little more to the story.
Surprise Inside
The Runner and I planned to go on a longish road ride on Saturday — Over Suncrest, along Wasatch Blvd, up Little Cottonwood to Alta ski resort and back home — about sixty miles, with about 7000 feet of climbing.
As I was getting our bikes ready (I often do pre-ride bike prep on The Runner’s bike, because in addition to being remarkably handsome and athletic, I am also very chivalrous), it occurred to me: The Runner’s saddle bag was — and had been, for her most recent two rides — strictly ornamental. No tube, No CO2 cartridge.
Relieved that The Runner hadn’t found out about my negligence the hard way, I went and got a tube and a cartridge, then unzipped the saddle bag.
But there was already a new tube and CO2 cartridge in there.
But not the brand of tube or CO2 cartridge I currently keep in my garage.
Instantly, I realized what had happened: knowing that The Runner had used up her tube and CO2 on the flat, Racer had replaced them when he put on the new tire.
And then hadn’t said anything about it.
Yeah.
Racer Rules
So you can kind of see why I travel the extra distance to go to Racer’s. Why I’ve been going to Racer’s since it’s existed. And why I went to the bike shop Racer worked at before he got his own place. It’s because, in addition to being a great mechanic, Racer is just a genuinely good guy.
And I expect that there are a lot of great guys (and I mean the inclusive-of-all-genders version of “guys”) — local bike shop owners and mechanics — out there just like Racer. Guys who love riding, who know their bikes, and who take care of their customers.
Guys who make it possible for people like me to spend our bike time riding, instead of tweaking.
Tell me about them.
Comments (106)
06.2.2010 | 8:42 am
You know how Gary Fisher gave away a Superfly in Fat Cyclist colors as part of the contest I did with Johan Bruyneel last December? AKA the “FattyFly?” Well, there’s a little piece of the story I haven’t been telling you about. It started when I saw the photo (click for a larger version) for this bike:
I wanted one. So. Bad.
But I wanted something a little different. And so I used my most extraordinary and useful superpower — asking people for stuff — in a rare and ethically complex way: I started asking if they could make me a Superfly SS, in Fat Cyclist colors.
A FattyFly SS.
And, well, take a look at the photos Travis Ott sent me yesterday (click for larger versions). Here’s a shot from the front:
And here’s one from the top:
It’s shipping today. It should arrive sometime next week, at which point there will be a “This One’s For Me, Part II” post.
I already own most of the components for this bike; they’ll be transferred over from my old Superfly SS (for those of you about to ask, I already sold the frame to a friend). With a couple changes, naturally. I smell a sub-18-pound bike in my very near future.
There will be no fundraiser. There will be no giveaway.
This will be the world’s one and only FattyFly SS. And it is mine.
PS: Full disclosure: I paid for this frame, but below retail.
Comments (63)
06.1.2010 | 10:35 am
After work today, I’m going to go ride to the top of the Alpine Loop. I’m going alone, and I’m going hard. As hard as I can, in fact. And I can’t help but wonder:
How fast (or slow) will that be?
Last year, at the fastest and lightest point I had been in years and years, I did the climb — 10.5 miles, 3000 feet of climbing — in 53:11.
Of course, I weighed 156 pounds back then — as opposed to 162 right now. That’s not going to help. And that was back at the end of the season, when I was as strong as I get. This time, it’s early in the season.
So I’ll be slower, certainly. The best I can hope for, really, is a 56-minute climb. I’d be very happy with that, in fact.
Heck, I’d be happy with a 58-minute climb right now.
Obviously, The American Fork side of the Alpine Loop (from the toll booth to the beginning of the parking lot turnoff at the top) has become one of my most important personal yardsticks — a measuring device to help me get a sense of what kind of cyclist I am right now.
My Collection of Yardsticks
The Alpine Loop, though, is only one of my yardsticks. In the next couple of weeks, I’m going to go as hard as I can up a number of different local climbs:
- North Side of Suncrest: 3.6 miles, 1300 feet. It’s as brutal as it is brutish. Last year, my best time was 18:57. Which tells you that during the last three minutes I was genuinely at my limit. You don’t come that close to under a minute mark without feeling like you are about to barf. Or explode. Or barf, explosively. If I recall correctly, I cried when I got to the top of this climb. If I can beat this time by even one second sometime this year, I will be very proud.
- Clark’s: This one’s a mountain bike trail. I don’t know what the distance is, and I don’t know what the altitude gain is. But I do know that when I finished it in under ten minutes last year (9:50), I texted every single friend I have letting them know what I had just done. This year, the trail’s been rerouted; people are guessing it’s about 30 seconds longer of a course. Which means I may never see a sub-10 time on that trail again. Alas.
- Sundance: This is a peculiar yardstick. I try to do the road climb from the Provo Canyon turnoff to the Sundance ski resort without ever dropping my speed below 8mph. I have succeeded in doing this exactly one time. This is also an interesting yardstick because I haven’t actually tried doing this in more than six years — when I was in my 30’s. Now that I’m in my mid-40’s, I wonder how I’ll do. Honestly, I feel like I’m no slower than I was five years ago, but I don’t know if that’s true.
- Squaw Peak : This is another climb I haven’t actually timed myself on in at least six years or so. In fact, it’s been so long since I’ve kept score of my speed up this road — 4 miles, about 1800 feet if I remember correctly — that I don’t even remember what my best time was. I’m pretty sure, though, that I was always trying to get up in under half an hour, and I never did. Judging from this year’s best times, though, it looks like Rick Sunderlage (not his real name) has easily eclipsed that half hour mark. Which just goes to show something I knew anyway: Rick is much, much faster than I am.
Of course, all of these yardsticks are just ways I track how I’m doing as I get ready for what is in fact my most important annual yardstick of all: The Leadville 100. This’ll be my 14th start…and hopefully, 13th completion.
I’ve wanted sub-9 for so long — more than a decade — on this race. Never got it, though I’ve been close — 9:13 once, 9:14 another time — a couple times.
“Maybe,” I think every year, “This is the year.”
And this year, it may even be true. I think I’ve got a good enough start to the season that I may be able to drop the remaining winter blubber, get fast, and finally get that big belt buckle — you know, the one Kenny has almost a dozen of — instead of yet another little belt buckle.
It’ll be close, that’s certain. Close enough that I’m thinking I may go ahead and go with a geared bike instead of a single speed. Close enough that I’m thinking hard about whether a suspension fork buys me more than it costs me, time-wise
Yes, these are the things that keep me awake at night.
The Yardstick Doesn’t Matter, Except It Does
The thing about having these yardsticks is, they’re scary. I’m nervous for my Alpine Loop Climb TT right now — like for a big race — even though it’s just me. And there’s no prize. And honestly, nobody in the world (except Mark, because I know he’s going to try to outdo me) cares about how I do.
They’re totally meaningless, really.
But they also couldn’t be more important.
Comments (42)
« Previous Page — « Previous Entries Next Entries » — Next Page »
