11.5.2015 | 7:13 am
Right now I’m traveling with my twins to Michigan to ride the 100 Miles of Nowhere and talk at the Camp Kesem Leadership Summit. I’m excited.
Back in Provo, UT, however, there’s something I desperately wish I could see in person. Racer at Racer’s Cycle Service has been working on something kinda special for me: a new bike.
Yes, a new bike. My first cyclocross bike.
A Felt F FRDX frame, with ENVE M50 Fifty wheels, seatpost, bar, stem and computer mount, and SRAM Force 1 drivetrain and hydraulic disc brakes.
[Full Disclosure: SRAM and ENVE both provided products for this bike build]
It’s kinda killing me to not have been there for the build, but Racer’s been nice enough to have been sending me photos as he built it up.
Spoiler alert: it’s gorgeous beyond words. Which is why I’m going to show you a bunch of pictures, concluding with the actual finished bike.
When you see it, you will conclude — as I have — that this is a perfect bike, and is in fact way too nice for the likes of me (i.e., someone who has not up to this point ever owned a CX bike at all) to be riding. I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually been too good for a bike I’ve owned. Which is to say, every bike I’ve ever owned is capable of doing things I am completely incapable of.
Really, as a fairly pedestrian rider, I should be riding boring bikes.
But I don’t want to. I love beautiful, light bikes with amazing engineering. I don’t care if I never drive or own a Ferrari; I love that I often get to ride the bike equivalent, and can — by virtue of being pretty darned thrifty otherwise (my car is nine years old) —afford to ride bikes that are just mind-bendingly wonderful.
That said, this bike has taken this conceit to a completely new level.
Specifically, while I have never raced cyclocross (OK, once or twice more than a decade ago) and am terrified to even try it, I am now the owner of what I am pretty sure is the nicest cyclocross bike a person could own.
How will I use such a bike? Well, what a fine question. I’m glad you asked. Here are the uses I currently hope to put this super-dream bike to:
- CX Racing: This is the obvious one, but also the one I’m most afraid of. Which is to say, I am afraid that I’m gonna get hurt, due to the fact that of all the humans on this earth, I am the least flexible of all of us. I don’t even know the names of the tendons and ligaments I’m going to put in danger when trying to do a running re-mount of a bike, but I’m sure I’ll learn, once I’m in the emergency room.
- Crusher in the Tushar: I love this race (and promise I will finish my writeup of the 2015 version soon). So far, every year I’ve raced it has been on a mountain bike, and every year I’ve watched people just blow by me. For 2016, I hope to set a new PR on what I lovingly refer to as “Fred X.”
- Cedar City Fire Road 100K: The Hammer and I raced this Leadville 100 qualifier last year, and I expect we’re gonna race it again in 2016, primarily with the objective of me acting as a domestique for The Hammer (and Lindsey and Ben if they want to join the train). I will be working to get her (or them) into a Silver Corral upgrade. I think it’s entirely do-able, and will be an important part of helping The Hammer get a solo sub-9 at Leadville.
- Local Riding: There are a lot of dirt roads in the mountains close to where I live, and they look like they could make for some extraordinary riding. To date I don’t really know them that well. For 2016, I think that ought to change.
- A Gravel Grinder? I’ve never ridden a gravel grinder race like the DK200, but let’s face it: there’s a pretty good chance that this may be the most perfectly-suited kind of racing there is for a guy like me. Big miles, not highly-technical. Sounds like me all right. The only reason I haven’t signed up for the DK200 is that it coincides with the Rockwell Relay…and you all know how I feel about Rockwell.
- Road Riding: My beloved Tarmac S-Works SL4 is hardly a four-season bike. Fred X should be good for taking out onto the Winter and Spring roads.
Now, with all that said, allow me to invite you on a little show and tell of the Fred X bike build.
First, The Frame
Behold the Felt F FRDX.
This happens to be one of the lightest carbon CX frames you can buy (and it’s available only as a frame, which is exactly what I wanted), but that’s not the reason I bought it (OK, it might be part of the reason). I own a Felt 9 FRD, built using the same Felt “Textreme” carbon layup tech, and I just love the way that frame feels. Oh, and I dig the checkerboard appearance:
ENVE…Mmmmmmm
Anywhere I can put ENVE on a bike, I do. It’s just that good. Yes, it’s incredibly light, but that’s not the reason why (OK, it might be part of the reason). It’s just full-on bombproof, looks amazing, and feels perfect.
Here’s an interesting little factoid: I have ENVE wheels on six bikes right now (four of which are actually mine). Two of the wheelsets have been on those bikes (the Tarmac and my Stumpy Singlespeed) for three full seasons of riding.
None of the ENVE wheels have ever gone out of true. Ever. At all. Even once. None of the rims have ever had any problems whatsoever, in fact. And I’m not the kind of rider who has one set of wheels for training and another for racing. I use the same ENVE wheels all the time. They just stay strong, true, dependable, and beautiful.
As far as I’m concerned, ENVE makes the best, most beautiful, most reliable wheels in the world. Yep, I’m going with all those superlatives.
So. Check out the wheelset I have for Fred X:
These are M50 Fifties. They’re the same wheels I have on my Felt 9 FRD and the Cannondale F-Si. So yeah, I guess you could say I’m a fan of these wheels.
Why these instead of a tubular wheel? Because I’m a big fan of tubeless, and tubulars are impractical for rides like the Crusher…where I’ve seen more than one person out of the race because their tubulars weren’t up to the terrain challenge.
And don’t worry…I think you’ll see that these wheels didn’t exactly make the bike excessively heavy or anything. More on that later.
I did do one thing kind of new on this wheelset, though. I asked Felt to give me the Pantone colors for the red and blue accents on the frame, and then gave that info to ENVE, which created a custom version of the ENVE decals to beautifully match the frame:
And they didn’t do it just because I’m a much-beloved, award-winning blogger, either. It turns out this is an upgrade ($100) ENVE has available for anyone who wants their already-gorgeous wheels to match their frames to a whole new degree.
More ENVE
Fred X isn’t just rolling with ENVE wheels, though. Here’s the stem (100mm, JFYI):
And then the bars (I went with 44cm, which is wider than I’d go for a road bike, for extra row-ability). And I even added the ENVE computer mount, just to maximize the ENVE-ness of this incredibike.
And from another angle, just because I have it:
And it goes well with Chipotle burritos:
Use the Force
With the new Star Wars movie coming out soon, there’s no way I’m the only one talking about SRAM’s Force 1drivetrain in terms of Jedi-ness, is there?
No matter. The fact is, SRAM’s 1X drivetrains are just killing it.
A lot of people have asked me why I haven’t been riding single speeds lately. SRAM 1X drivetrains are why. They have a quiet, direct feel that is similar to singlespeeds…but you can shift. Reliably, beautifully, every time.
Ooohhhh…it’s all starting to come together:
And you’d be able to see exactly how much of a believer I am in 1x shifting if you went into my garage, where there are currently no fewer than six mountain bikes with SRAM 1x shifting.
Going with SRAM Force 1 for Fred X was an easy choice.
How’s It Look?
By the time it all came together, this is what Fred X looks like:
Oh my. I believe that Fred X is the most beautiful bike I have ever owned.
And here’s how much it weighs:
It’ll be closer to 17lbs by the time I add pedals.
And How Does It Ride?
Here’s the thing: I haven’t ridden this bike. It’s all finished and ready to go…and I’m flying to Michigan.
I feel this problem acutely.
You can bet I’ll be taking this bike out really soon. Too-good-for-me-ness notwithstanding.
Comments (20)
10.26.2015 | 9:19 am
I like to write. Like to do it every day. Maybe that’s why I’ve been writing this blog for more than ten years now.
What’s been kind of interesting to see during this ten years is what kind of things I’ve been focusing on writing. At first it was jokey fake news more often than not. Then a phase where there it was all about pro cycling. Lately, I really enjoy writing long-form multi-part stories about my adventures (races, more often than not).
And for the past week, I’ve been trying to write fiction for Ride 3.
And that has been the most difficult kind of writing I have ever taken on.
Maybe for that reason, I’ve found it really rewarding (and painful).
To be honest, I haven’t finished the story (which means I’ve lost a bet). And to also be honest, it’s gone in a completely different direction than I originally intended.
But I think that it’ll be done by tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to seeing what Keith (the editor and publisher of the Ride anthology series) thinks.
Meanwhile, here’s a little excerpt (for kicks, compare it to where it started). I’d love to know what you think too.
Kokopelli (Excerpt)
by Elden Nelson
By the time Daniel had gotten to Dewey Bridge, he had drifted back far enough that the other three were nowhere in sight. Well, they either filtered water really fast and continued on, or they…just went on, Daniel thought.
He had warned them this was the last place they’d be able to get water ‘til the Westwater Ranger Station, but the day wasn’t hot yet, so Daniel could imagine these guys might have gambled that what they had left would be enough to get them to the Station.
It would not be enough, Daniel knew. “Not my problem,” Daniel said, even though he knew that, when it came right down to it, it would be his problem.
Daniel took one last tug of water from his Camelbak, clipped back in, and began riding. He crossed the river road (Highway 128) onto the desert doubletrack, got into the flow of the ride, and felt clear and strong. Not hungry. Not thirsty. Not tired. Not anything.
To achieve this state: this was why Daniel rode. He stood and and rowed his bike up a short, steep climb. Sat and got low for a short rocky descent. Climbs, descents, flat: Daniel loved it all.
Then as Daniel rode around a blind, banked downhill corner, he saw something in the trail. A big something.
With no time to ride around it — with a rock wall on the left and exposure on the right there was nowhere to go anyway — Daniel grabbed two big handfuls of brake.
People like to talk about time slowing down and everything happening in slow motion when you crash, but that is not what usually happens. Usually, you’re riding and then you’re sliding, with very little time to think in between.
That said, Daniel did have time for two distinct observations either right before or during his endo.
First, he noticed that the rider didn’t move, either before or as Daniel’s front wheel plowed into his torso.
Second — and Daniel was pretty certain this was something he realized as he was in the air, ass over teakettle — he noticed that the rider he had plowed into was Eric.
Daniel rode a lot, but he didn’t fall a lot, so he wasn’t very good at it. Which is to say, he stuck his hands out as he went over, taking his landing on the left hand.
Amazingly, he did not break his collarbone. He didn’t even break his wrist. His left pinky was probably broken, which is about the best possible bone break you can have when you’re mountain biking.
Daniel wasn’t aware of any of these minor injuries in the moments after he crashed, however. He jumped up, the adrenaline hitting him hard and fast. He was in full-on fight or flight mode.
“What happened?” Daniel yelled, realizing as he said it what a strange and vague question it was.
Eric didn’t say anything, but someone did.
“I think he’s dead.”
Comments (19)
10.20.2015 | 3:49 pm
Hi there.
I’m taking this week off from blogging so I can take care of some blog-related stuff. Specifically, I need to take care of some logistical and tactical 100 Miles of Nowhere stuff.
And also, I need to write a story I promised I would write for Ride 3 (I’m not going to finish it by when I said I’d finish it, but I don’t want to bail on the responsibility altogether).
I know, I know. It’s a long time, but I need all of it.
Luckily for you, a story I wrote for Mountain Flyer was just published in their Issue #45. It’s called “Holy Trinity.” And here’s what the opening two-page spread looks like:
It’s a twelve-page, beautifully-photographed feature about how about this time last year, Yuri Hauswald, Kenny Jones, and I rode all three of the St. George mesas in one amazing three-day weekend.
I’m very proud of the story and astonished at the amazing photographic work the incredible Scott Markewitz did for it. This article is available only in the print version of the magazine, so allow me to recommend you go pick yourself up a copy.
Or three.
Comments (10)
10.13.2015 | 11:44 am
I confess that from time to time, I overcommit myself. For example, early last summer I started a race report about my perfect day racing the Crusher in the Tushar (read part 1 here and part 2 here), then never finished.
But I will finish. Soon. I promise.
The thing is, that’s not even my worst started-but-didn’t-finish story. Not by a long shot.
See, waaaaay back in January (January, for pity’s sake), I talked about how I was going to write a story for the latest in the Ride short fiction anthology. I even came up with starts to three story ideas I had.
And then…I completely abandoned the project.
No, wait. That’s not precisely true. I actually did quite a lot with the project. Mainly, I decided that I liked my first idea — “Kokopelli” — best, and that I really wanted to complete that story.
So I contacted Keith Snyder — the publisher — and asked for an extension, which he courteously gave me.
Then I didn’t do anything else, until he called me a couple of weeks after the extension was past. At which point I promised that if he’d give me just a couple more weeks, I’d get the story done.
Which he gave me. And then I didn’t do anything.
As it turns out, I kind of suck. In fact, my failure to deliver a story completely derailed the book, which was otherwise completely finished and ready to publish and everything.
My failure killed a whole book. That’s a lot of suck, people.
Oh wait a second. I think that may not be entirely perfetly correct.
As it turns out, Keith himself also did not finish his story, either.
So, I would now like to propose this, as both an open apology and call-out to Keith:
I will finish my story by one week from today (i.e., by October 20, midnight MDT)…if you will do the same.
And if, furthermore, you will commit to soon thenafter publishing Ride 3 before the end of the year.
And if you don’t, well…there must be consequences (same goes for me, by the way). Which I will decide in the near future.
Accept this challenge, Keith, if you dare.
PS: Below is the start of my story as I originally wrote it.
Daniel was one of those people who never stops talking. Which explains why, right this second, he is saying, out loud, “Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.” Even though there’s nobody around him.
For miles.
Daniel, you see, thinks he’s probably going to die. And for once, Daniel is probably right.
Let’s back up a little for a moment. Not very far—this isn’t going to be some Tarantinesque flash-forward-flash-back story—but just a few minutes.
Daniel had been riding his mountain bike on The Kokopelli Trail, from Moab, Utah to Mack, Colorado. All 142 miles of it, in one push. By himself. In June. On a clear, windless day.
Which is to say that, about three minutes ago, the temperature outside was 102 degrees. (Fahrenheit.)
This was foolhardy, but not out of character.
But it wasn’t the heat that was likely to kill Daniel. At least not directly. In fact, right at this moment, Daniel isn’t really even thinking about the heat. Although he is sweating profusely.
He’s not even thinking about his broken collarbone, although I guarantee you that in about twenty minutes he’ll be giving it a considerable amount of attention.
Right now, Daniel is thinking about what caused him to endo and break his collarbone three minutes ago. Which was his friend Eric—very recently deceased—lying on the trail, facedown in what at first looked like a pretty good-sized anthill, but which in fact was an astonishing large pile of heroin.
Daniel doesn’t know what Eric is doing there. But he’s going to find out. Soon. Real soon.
As soon, in fact, as he stops wailing so I can step out from behind this rock and introduce myself.
And then we’re going to have a conversation.
I have no idea who the characters are or what ought to happen next. I expect I’ll figure something out soon?
Comments (16)
10.12.2015 | 11:48 am
Before I get started on this story, I should apprise you of two important facts:
- This story is completely true.
- Everyone survives.
I felt it might be necessary to enumerate these items, because at some point you will likely not believe item #1, and — during the actual event — I sometimes had my doubts about #2.
It Started Out Innocently Enough
Early October is the very best time to be a mountain biker in Utah County, Utah. The weather goes from hot to perfect. The trails go from dusty and loose to packed and tacky. The colors change from greens and browns to yellows, oranges and reds.
And, for some reason, about 85% of the people who had been on the trails…stop riding. Which leaves the amazing network of singletrack on the Ridge Trail Network free and clear for those of us who know what an incredible (albeit short — we generally have just four weeks before rain and snow will shut down the trails above 5000 feet) window of riding we now have.
The training for the year is over. There are no events planned, no KOM/QOM hunts in our minds. It’s time to ride for fun.
And so yesterday morning — after a no-alarm wake-up and a lazy breakfast — The Hammer, The Swimmer, and I loaded up our mountain bikes: the Cannondale Scalpel Team Edition (which The Hammer has adopted as her own), my Cannondale Scalpel 2 (which The Swimmer has adopted as her own), and the Cannondale F-Si Carbon Black Inc. (which I love more than you could possibly imagine).
[Note: I did not mean for this post to go so Cannondale-centric so quickly. But here’s the thing: Cannondale is making unbelievably great mountain bikes, and they’re what we’re riding pretty much any time we go out.]
We parked at the Timpooneke trailhead, planning on a fun ninety-minute ride: Timpooneke to Ridge to Joy to Summit to Ridge and back.
And, at first, fun is exactly what we had. The weather was perfect, the pace was fun and easy, and we took lots of photos.
Here, let me show you.
We were having a great time, and both The Hammer and I were marveling at how The Swimmer can pretty much crush both of us on descents since we moved her from a seven-year-old, beat-up, hand-me-down hardtail to the brand new Scalpel 2 I won.
We had no idea that everything was about to go pear-shaped on us.
Helpful, Yet Alone
We were about three-fourths of the way through the ride: having gone down Joy, we were now climbing up to the summit parking lot. I was in front as we crossed the paved road a quarter mile from the summit of the Alpine loop. I looked back to see that we were all together, then rode onto the short stretch of singletrack that leads to the summit as The Hammer told me about the race she had done the day before.
We were still chatting as we reached the summit parking lot maybe three minutes later. There, a man on a mountain bike had a question about the trail network we were on; he wanted to know what would be the best way to ride singletrack down to the American Fork Canyon road.
Happy to oblige, I explained there were two really good routes, both involving taking the Ridge Trail to Tibble Fork trail. The only question was whether he’d want to detour onto Mud Springs trail, which would mean an additional (but fun) climb and a somewhat more technical descent (the best descent in the network, according to both The Swimmer and me).
I finished describing the forks and turns he’d need to watch for, and the man thanked me and began his ride.
And then I was alone.
Which is to say, neither The Hammer nor The Swimmer were anywhere in sight.
I rode around the circular parking lot once to make sure, and by the time I finished I knew what was going on: The Hammer had gotten tired of my jabbering, and she and The Swimmer had gone on ahead of me.
I confess: I am chatty and enjoy talking with folks I meet on the trail. I further confess: I lose track of time and don’t always know how long I’ve been talking with people.
Without a doubt, The Hammer and The Swimmer had taken off, and now it was my job to go as fast as I could ’til I caught up. It’s a game The Hammer and I have played many times when riding together.
I was a little disgruntled, though; today hadn’t been about cat-and-mouse riding; it had been about enjoying a family ride together. And besides, I needed to pee, and there’s an outhouse at the summit.
I knew that this would mean it’d be a close thing as to whether I’d catch them at all before I got back to the truck, but I didn’t care. I’d start my chase once I took care of business.
Indignation
My bladder now much more comfortable, I began my chase. I tried to get into the spirit of the thing, but I wasn’t really into it. The Hammer hadn’t even told me when they left, and I wasn’t in a mood to race; that part of the year was over.
Still, my legs felt good — it’s been a while since I have gone truly at race pace — and within five minutes or so I had caught the man I had given directions to. Which meant The Hammer and Swimmer had stayed ahead of him. No real surprise.
I flew down the downhill segments, bummed that I was doing these alone; I’ve been loving the fact that The Swimmer can stay right on my tail on these descents and had been looking forward to riding them with her.
I started formulating variations on what my terse-yet-cutting remark would be once I caught up with them. Most of them were along the lines of sarcastically saying, “Hey, great riding with you today.” Although I was also toying with a long diatribe around the central theme of how I had waited for them multiple times during the ride, and was it really too much to ask for them to wait just once for me?
I had a pretty good head of steam built up as I got near the end of the trail. Not terribly surprisingly, I hadn’t caught them. I noted with a little bit of angry satisfaction that since I was the one with the key, they couldn’t have gotten inside the truck and would have to just be standing around outside it. I fiddled around with adding “I hope you had fun just waiting around outside the truck for me instead of riding with me” into the outline of the speech I would make.
And then I got to the truck…and — I know you saw this coming, but I didn’t — nobody was there.
The realization hit me: I hadn’t been chasing them. Somehow, I had left without them.
“Oh no,” I said aloud. “It turns out that I’m the jerk.” (Except I didn’t say “jerk.”)
Revisionist History
Knowing that they hadn’t been ahead of me, I concentrated back to when I had last seen The Hammer and The Swimmer.
It had been when we crossed the paved street onto the short stretch of singletrack just a quarter-mile before the summit.
I then had been talking with The Hammer as we rode to the top, and remembered her standing by me in the parking lot while I talked with the man…but I didn’t remember seeing The Swimmer ever coming into the parking lot, and especially didn’t remember seeing the two of them head toward the Ridge Trail.
The Swimmer had never gotten to the top (at least that I could recall), and The Hammer had just…disappeared.
In a flash of inspiration, it occurred to me that The Swimmer must have gotten a flat or had a mechanical somewhere in the quarter mile. The Hammer, wondering where The Swimmer was, must have gone to look for her.
And I knew for a fact that I was the only one riding with any tools or a patch kit.
I quickly loaded my bike onto my truck and tore off on the pavement toward the Alpine Loop Summit parking lot, where I was certain I would find them.
Except I wasn’t certain at all I would find them there.
A Switch of Perspective
And now, let’s go back in time just a little bit. But this time, let’s follow The Hammer.
After arriving at the Summit parking lot with Fatty, The Hammer stops and patiently listens to Fatty explain every turn and trail feature in the entire trail system to an increasinlgly dazed-and-confused-looking man. Really, all he needed to hear was “Take Ridge to the four-way trail intersection, then turn left and take Tibble down to the reservoir.” One sentence.
But Fatty was going on, as is his wont.
After a few minutes, The Hammer begins to wonder: Why hasn’t The Swimmer gotten here? Maybe she’s crashed? Maybe she’s flatted? Probably it’s a good idea to go check.
The Swimmer can’t be far, it’s only a tiny section of trail since we’d last seen her. So The Hammer rides back the way they’d come, expecting to return in a moment.
After going a hundred or so yards, she comes to an intersection in the trail. An intersection we never even think about anymore, because it’s so close to the summit parking lot. You can practically see the parking lot from the intersection. Plus you just crossed the road that goes to the summit; it’s clear as can be that you should go up and to the right.
But…that’s only obvious if you already know it, really.
The Hammer chases down the trail — the “wrong way” fork — a quarter mile or so, shouting out The Swimmer’s name the whole time.
Then she realizes that this might take a while, and she’d better let Fatty know.
The Hammer charges back up the trail to the Summit parking lot.
And Fatty is gone.
Somehow, in the course of three minutes, all three of us have gone from riding in a close group to being completely separated, with nobody knowing where anybody is.
Another Switch
Jumping back just a hair in time, let’s now look at where things are from The Swimmer’s perspective.
It’s been more than a month since the last time The Swimmer’s been on a bike, but Fatty and The Hammer have taken her on a monster of a ride, complete with this current big ol’ endless climb. And they’re talking, talking, talking as they ride, not noticing that they’re pulling away and out of sight.
And now, here she is, at a T in the trail. Which she does not recognize and they did not stop at. Which way should she go?
Down — left — sounds good.
So she goes down. And keeps going. It’s a nice trail, but it seems a little odd that she hasn’t come across either of them yet.
So when she comes across a couple hikers, The Swimmer stops and asks, “Have you seen a couple mountain bikers go by, just a minute ago?”
No, they haven’t.
So she turns around, and goes up. Up, up, up.
After a while, the trail opens up into a parking lot, and there’s her mom. Nearly in a panic.
Fatty’s nowhere in sight.
They start riding back to the trailhead, expecting that Fatty will be waiting for them somewhere along the way.
Except, of course, you know that he’s not.
One Final Switch
Finally, let’s jump back to my perspective.
I drove maybe fifty yards before my doubts override my decision to drive to the summit, a picture of a dog chasing its tail coming to mind. If they are on their bikes and on a trail, I will absolutely positively not find them by driving on a paved road, I say to myself.
So thinking, I find a pullout on the narrow road, turn around, and head back to the Timpooneke parking lot. I unload my bike, put my helmet back on, and get back on the trail, retracing my steps.
This isn’t as fast if they’re still at the summit, I think to myself. But if they’re somehow on the trail we had agreed we’d be riding, we’ll run into each other.
I’m hauling. At race pace, again. Just tearing my way up the mountain. Which explains why, about a mile into the trail and coming around a blind corner, I very nearly have a head-on collision with The Swimmer, who yelps.
I start laughing, I’m so relieved. They’re laughing, too. We ride back to the truck, load up, and for the entire drive home, piece together exactly what happened.
“I know what tomorrow’s blog post is about,” I say.
Comments (26)
« Previous Page — « Previous Entries Next Entries » — Next Page »
