04.15.2015 | 7:27 am
An “I Have a Lot of Notes Today” Note from Fatty: This is just a note to say that I have quite a few pre-story notes today. But I also have a story. And also, every one of my notes is worth reading. So do.
A “Sign Up for Something You Should Sign Up For Anyway and Maybe You’ll Win a Free Bike” Note from Fatty: I’m a big fan of The Feed, a service that makes it easy to get the energy food you want for cycling at a good price, at the right frequency, with excellent guidance. And right now, they’re having a contest where if you give them your email address, they’ll enter you in a contest to win a Cannondale SuperSix EVO Hi-MOD road bike. This is a serious road bike, with a value of around $7500. It takes roughly thirty seconds to enter, so you should. Click here.
A “Hey, Read This” Note from Fatty: I believe I am Janeen McCrae’s (aka The Noodleator) biggest fan. I have in fact recently begged her to start writing for Fat Cyclist. She declined, politely. So for now we’ll all have to be happy with whenever she writes something in her own blog. Which she has. “Tour de Tree: Groundhog Day Edition” is a wonderful ride report about an incredibly bad idea for a race. Click here to read.
A “Yes the Contest is Still Going” Note from Fatty: I’m not going to browbeat you today about the WBR Fundraiser I’ve got in progress, except to assure you that, yes, it is in progress. And also that you should enter it. And even more also that upon entering this contest, you will be doing a lot of good for people who need it. Read here for details.
Honesty
Let me start this story with a rare piece of honesty: it centers around a boast I will make.
More honesty: I shouldn’t care about the event around which this boast is made.
Still more honesty: I do care. Deeply.
And now for the story.
Training
More often than not, The Hammer and I ride together. It’s been that way for the five-plus years we’ve been together, and I love it.
It’s rare that anyone joins us for our rides, because when The Hammer and I ride, to most people it feels like we are training. Even when we’re just — truly and honestly — just riding along, recreationally.
As it so happens, The Hammer and I like to kind of flog ourselves to within an inch of our respective lives when we ride our bikes recreationally.
So, as I said, not many people ride with us more than once.
But my niece Lindsey and her fiance, Ben, have been riding with us. Mostly, this is because The Hammer and I are wonderful people to converse, ride, and otherwise be with.
It’s also possible that Lindsey and Ben are planning to race the Leadville 100 this year, and are looking to their elders for experience and wisdom and stuff.
Though I kind of doubt it.
Regardless, out of the three most recent Saturdays, Lindsey and Ben have been riding with us twice: the first time on a long road ride, and last Saturday, on a big ol’ long tour of most the trails of Corner Canyon.
Here the four of us are, being smiley and adorable together:
Seriously, folks, is there anyone in the whole world who takes selfies as well as I do?
The Plan
We were there to ride together. Just ride together. To put in a bunch of miles at a good solid pace.
And that is, no kidding, what we did. Except on the downhill sections, where I needed to show that I was the boss.
Why? For several very excellent reasons, none of which I choose to reveal at this time. But I guarantee that it was not because Ben is half my age and looks to have about twice my fitness and I thus felt like I needed to prove something to him.
No, that was not the reason at all.
Anyway. We rode up Jacob’s Ladder, down the other side. Down Ghost, across Rattler, over to the BST and blah blah blah blah blah. Seriously, I don’t know why people (by which I mean me) write detailed lists of the names of the trails they rode. It means nothing to anyone except locals. Here’s the Strava of the ride, however, which makes it plain that our main objective in this ride was to diagram a triangle wrench:
And also, to go up and down a lot, and to carefully avoid ever going on an even reasonably flat trail:
These are very good objectives. Very good indeed. But as the day went on, I noticed that — more and more often — our ride broke up into two groups: The Hammer and Lindsey riding together and talking in the back group…and me riding out in front of Ben, with him scant inches behind me.
Which I interpreted in a certain way. A much different way than I interpret this same distance when on a road bike. See, when someone is right on my tail on a road bike, I interpret this as good riding technique: drafting and conserving energy, so that I can pull over sometime in the next thirty seconds and trade places.
On a mountain bike, however, when someone is right behind me, I interpret it as a challenge.
“You want to come around?” I asked. The gentlest form of a call-out.
“No, this is a good pace,” Ben replied.
Which would be fine, except I was going out of my way to ensure that it was not a good pace. More to the point, I was gradually ramping up my effort, trying to crack him.
Hey, I’ve finished Leadville in 8:18 before. He’s on record as wanting to finish it this year in 10:30. I should be able to crack him easily.
Except Ben wasn’t cracking. He was staying on my wheel, our respective better halves no longer anywhere in sight (they were happily chatting about weddings, not to mention racing LoToJa together this year). I was, with Ben’s help, proving the old maxim that there is no such thing as two men riding together. You get two guys on bikes, and it’s a race.
Anyone who says otherwise is just trying to disavow the incontrovertible fact that he just lost a race.
Which brings us to my plan: to prove to Ben that I am the alpha male, once and for all, in the Maple Hollow spur: a one-mile grind of a singletrack climb.
The Sound
The four of us regrouped at the turnoff that marks the beginning of the Maple Hollow climb, where I assured the group that I was done pushing it for the day, and that we should just get to the top.
A lie, and everyone knew it. If by no other reason, by the way I didn’t make a faux-courtesy show of asking if anyone else wanted to lead out. I led out from the sound of the gun, heard in my head…and, judging from the way he immediately grabbed my wheel, heard in Ben’s head too.
This climb, I didn’t make a show of just riding along. No. I stood up, using singlespeed climbing tactics, even though I was not riding a singlespeed. Big gear, low cadence, edge of agony. Use your whole body to power up the climb.
Ben stayed right with me, as I expected him to.
I listened for a very particular sound. But it wasn’t there.
I went harder.
Ben stayed with me.
I listened for that sound. Still not there.
So I went harder. Listening, listening.
And then: there it was. The sound I had been straining my ears to hear:
“Tzclnk.”
I swear, that is the correct phonetic pronunciation for the sound I was listening for: the ever-so-slight sound a brand-new Shimano XTR drivetrain makes when you shift up the cassette one single gear.
It’s not a loud sound. But it is a distinctive one. And it is incredibly significant. In English, this sound translates to, “I need to go just a little bit easier.”
It is, in short, a flinch.
It was my cue to gut myself. Which I did. I gutted myself with what I like to describe as “joyful alacrity.”
And thus did I vanquish Ben and prove…well, nothing.
But one last piece of honesty here: I would — and probably will — do it again.
Every single time.
Which may be why it’s so rare that anyone wants to ride with me.
Comments (32)
04.1.2015 | 10:02 am
UPDATE 2: I really wish my transcriptionist and accountant would talk more frequently. As it turns out, neither The Outer Line nor The Inner Ring have purchased my site. Instead, my accountant mistakenly thought that a recent sale of a used chainring I made on ebay was in fact the sale of my site.
This, of course, was completely incorrect. As anyone should be able to guess, my site is easily worth at least twice as much as a used chainring.
I’m happy to reveal that in reality I have actually sold my site to Red Kite Prayer. An updated version of the announcement follows.
Dear Readers,
Ten years ago today, I launched this blog. In that ten years, I have learned to yodel, been given (but have not learned to ride) a unicycle, and have glowered menacingly at any number of household pets.
That seems like enough.
I’m very pleased to announce that general-purpose cycling commentary site Red Kite Prayer has purchased this domain. In the next couple of weeks, I will be transitioning all Fat Cyclist archives to Red Kite Prayer.
Or at least the ones they want. OK, to be honest, they’re making it pretty clear that they are happy to let me take my time and that maybe they don’t want any of the stuff I’ve written after all.
As part of the terms of this arrangement, I will be writing for Red Kite Prayer on an ongoing basis. Specifically, I’ll be writing extensive comments in reaction to other posts. By which I mean I’ll be commenting in the comment section.
It should be awesome.
Thank you for reading FatCyclist.com for all these years. You should be re-directed to Red Kite Prayer automatically, but if you aren’t, please click here to go to Red Kite Prayer now to read the press release.
Best Regards,
UPDATE 1
Due to an unfortunate error by a transcription service, it has come to my attention that FatCyclist has not been purchased by The Inner Ring.
FatCyclist has actually been purchased by The Outer Line.
An updated version of the announcement follows.
Dear Readers,
Ten years ago today, I launched this blog. In that ten years, I have written hundreds of stories, eaten millions of calories, made many cookies, and publicly eaten a non-finite number of avocados.
That seems like enough.
I’m very pleased to announce that pro cycling commentary site The Outer Line has purchased this domain. In the next couple of weeks, I will be transitioning all Fat Cyclist archives to The Outer Line.
You’ll be pleased (I hope) to note that as part of the terms of this arrangement, I will be writing for The Outer Line on an ongoing basis. Mostly, these will be posts where I wring my hands over the state of pro cycling and completely forget that what I like about cycling is riding my bike. It should be awesome.
Thank you for reading FatCyclist.com for all these years. You should be re-directed to The Outer Line automatically, but if you aren’t, please click here to go to The Outer Line.
Best Regards,
Uncorrected Original Post
Dear Readers,
Ten years ago today, I launched this blog. In that ten years, I have written thousands of stories, raised millions of dollars for good causes, made hundreds of great friends, and seven enemies.
That seems like enough.
I’m very pleased to announce that pro cycling commentary site The Inner Ring has purchased this domain. In the next couple of weeks, I will be transitioning all Fat Cyclist archives to The Inner Ring.
You’ll be pleased (I hope) to note that as part of the terms of this arrangement, I will be writing for The Inner Ring on an ongoing basis. Mostly, these will be posts where I explain the extent of confusion I am experiencing when reading the rest of the site. It should be awesome.
Thank you for reading FatCyclist.com for all these years. You should be re-directed to The Inner Ring automatically, but if you aren’t, please click here to go to INRNG.com.
Best Regards,
Comments (19)
03.31.2015 | 2:38 pm
A Note from Fatty: The 2015 Fat Cyclist Gear Pre-Order is in full swing! Read here for details about the gear, and order here.
Oh, and allow me to drop a nice fat little hint. There’s going to be a contest with a seriously cool prize very soon — and your Fat Cyclist gear purchase is your ticket to win. (And yes, those of you who have already bought your gear will be retro-entered automatically.)
Long ago, I noted the extraordinary difference that a wetsuit can make to a bad swimmer. Essentially, a good wetsuit made for swimming goes a long way toward leveling the playing field in a triathalong. Without one, I could never have completed the swim in an Ironman, and even a half-Iron distance swim would have been an unimaginable stretch.
I’d estimate that, for a non-skilled, inexperienced, untalented swimmer like myself, the wetsuit is doing more than half the work. That the gear contributes more to the effort than the “athlete.” (And yes, I put considerable thought into the sarcastiquotes around “athlete” in reference to considering myself a swimming athlete.)
I’ve often wondered how cycling might be affected by a bike that helps the rider as much as a wetsuit helps a swimmer.
And with the Cannondale Scalpel Carbon Team, I think I have the answer. Consider: it has full suspension (which can be turned on and off at the press of a button). It is incredibly light. It has big wheels that roll over everything. It shifts perfectly and flawlessly.
With it, I was climbing as well as I ever do, but descending everything — technical and non-technical parts of the course — much, much better than I am actually capable of.
The Scalpel was taking this incredibly rough, technical course and smoothing it out beyond belief. In short, on this bike, I am a better rider than I deserve to be.
Chicken
That said, it doesn’t matter how good a bike is if you simply don’t have the will to take the risk and try.
And that was my problem. Over and over. I’d roll up to a drop, get reallllly close, say “you can do it” to myself…and then choke. I’d just hard brake to a stop, put a foot down, then quickly get out of the line and out of the way. Because invariably, as soon as I chickened out, there’d be someone right behind me who didn’t.
And I’d realize — at least some of the time — that if I’d just have the courage to let the bike keep rolling, things would have been just fine.
Which is a very easy assessment to make here, many days later, while sitting in a comfortable chair.
But when I’m rolling up to what looks like a cliff and I can’t see the bottom and have no idea how or whether this particular line rolls out nicely or just drops…well, I’m grabbing the brakes and climbing off. And at this point, I just don’t see that aspect of me changing, bike fantasticness notwithstanding.
Go ahead. Call me a chicken. I can take it.
Small Finish
Eventually, the True Grit winds down. You do a fun loop here, a fast descent there (with a nasty surprise two hundred feet of climbing right when you’re certain you’re completely done with climbing), and you can tell you’re getting close to the pavement, where you’ll finish the race with the exact opposite of what you’ve been riding for the past several hours: a couple miles of flat pavement.
And you cross the finish line. And if you’re me (which I am), you finish in 4:21:06. Which is a good midpack finish, and better than you deserved, really.
And you’re thirsty. Oh so thirsty, because about ten minutes ago you got that telltale schlluurrkkk sound from your camelbak, and you are out of water.
But there’s nothing to drink at the finish line or elsewhere in the finish area. Which seems to be a strange oversight to have made for a race that happens in the desert.
But no matter. There’s Kenny’s van, and it’s open, and Kenny’s lying on the bench back seat. Moaning. Whimpering, perhaps. He got in there before you (for some reason, I can’t seem to help but refer to myself in the second person right now).
How much before? Four minutes.
What? Just four minutes?
And so you let the What Ifs begin. What if you wouldn’t have stopped to see if that guy needed a tube? What if you wouldn’t have stopped to save a guy’s life? What if you wouldn’t have been such a chicken on all those technical moves, and had ridden them instead of walking them?
Would you have caught Kenny? Maybe — considering the flatness of the finish and the fact that you have gears while he was on a singlespeed —you would have even beat him in a sprint finish.
Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe. But probably not.
And so you ask if you can finish the Coke he has been drinking. Kenny, being Kenny, gives it to you. He’d rather drink beer anyway.
Waiting for the Hammer
And now the wait begins. This is the most anxiety-ridden part of any race for me, on the occasions when I actually do race faster than The Hammer. When I’m actually racing, I don’t worry about her at all. But once the race is done, every minute seems like ten, and I become more and more convinced with each moment that she is hurt. That she is laying on the trail, and she is seriously injured.
Oh, wait. There she is. And she has a big smile. And a very dirty face. And she would like a drink. Sorry, Sweetheart. I finished the Coke ten minutes ago.
Oh, and there’s more about The Hammer. Much more. A whole story more.
Which I will post very soon. But first, I’ve got a little (OK, not very little) surprise tomorrow.
Comments (11)
03.30.2015 | 12:02 pm
Hey there. I had hoped to finish my race report today. I really really did. No really, I did.
But I haven’t, because I just discovered that I have a day job and it pays the bills and right now I’m doing a few things I need to in order to keep my life from descending into utter chaos, until such time when this blog makes me rich beyond my wildest dreams (should be any day now).
So, here’s what’s going to happen right now in this very short blog post:
- I’m going to write an introduction explaining why I’m not writing the conclusion to my race.
- I’m going to begin a numbered list.
- I’m going to create an extraordinarily self-referential third item in aforementioned list.
- I’m going to remind you to go buy a 2015 Fat Cyclist jersey before the pre-order ends.
- I’m going to tell you about something really great that happened last weekend.
I think this is a good plan…possibly one that I can succesfully execute during my lunch break
Hey, Buy a Jersey Already
The 2015 Fat Cyclist gear is available for pre-order now. It will be — and this is not hyperbole — the best-made, most-comfortable gear I have ever made available. I recommend getting the Race Fit jersey if you want the best warm-weather jersey you’ve ever owned. Buy it a size up if you don’t want it to be skin-tight.
Also, for the love of all that’s good in the world, get yourself a pair of the bib shorts. See, up until recently I have been wearing Rapha bibs because they’re so great. Now I’m wearing these, because they’re every bit as comfortable, with just as good a chamois, but cost half as much.
Finally, if you should get yourself the long-sleeve jersey. Why? Because this is an incredibly nice jersey at a crazy-good price. I have this jersey, and it is the best long sleeved jersey I have ever owned. If you ride in cool weather, you should get it.
There. Three things you should get. Not just because the design this year is great (it is). Not just because the proceeds are going to World Bicycle Relief. But because I am giving you a screaming deal on top-quality gear.
Shop for all my stuff here: http://www.dnacycling.biz/fatcyclist/
Coolest Thing That Has Ever Happened On A Ride
Last Saturday, The Hammer and I went on a long training ride with my niece Lindsey and her boyfriend, Ben.
About a third of the way through the ride, he proposed to her.
She said yes.
Comments (15)
03.23.2015 | 11:54 am
A Note from Fatty: The prologue to this story is here.
The good thing about getting to the starting line of a race with no time to spare is that you also have very little time to fret. So with the ninety-or-so seconds I had before the race began, I did a very abbreviated version of the self-check I do before every race.
- Do I have my helmet on? Yes. Yes I do.
- Do I have gloves on? Yes.
- How about cycling shoes? Brief moment of panic…I don’t remember changing into cycling shoes. Then I remember: today I put my cycling shoes on first thing. I’ve never worn anything but cycling shoes today.
- Is my bike in a good gear for starting? All too many people don’t ask themselves this question, and as a result start their race with their bike in a ridiculously tall gear (this is not a problem when you have a singlespeed). I lift the rear of my bike and shift into third gear. That should be about right.
- Do I have food? Yes, about ten Gu Roctane gels, and a small camelbak full of CarboRocket 333. I expect to have to refill the camelbak with whatever is available at the aid station once or twice; otherwise I’m set with everything I need for about 5.5 hours of racing.
- Do I have sunglasses on? Yes.
Good enough. If I have forgotten something, there isn’t anything I can do about it at this point anyway.
I breathe.
The guy beside me — who looks to be about fifty pounds overweight, as opposed to my fifteen pounds of overweightness — scoots his bike forward into the narrow slot in front of me.
I laugh in my head, considering what this guy just implicitly said about his opinion of how fast I look. I look back toward The Hammer, giving her my best “I just got totally dissed” look.
As I will confirm later, she has no idea what this look means.
Cimarron Chacon, the race director, yells “Go!” and we do. I’m at the near-back of the line, so have half a minute to wait. I’m not bothered; I know that I have a mile or two of pavement before we hit the road.
Within ten pedal strokes I’m past the guy who moved in front of me at the starting line.
I slingshot from group to group, moving forward until there’s clear space, then I buckle down and start pushing to get to the next group, up ahead.
Just before I get there, a group I had unwittingly been pulling along shoots around me and completes the bridge. I laugh; this cracks me up for some reason I am still unsure of. Mostly, I’m just happy to be beginning a new season of racing, I guess.
We hit the dirt, roll for about fifty feet, and wham. We’re on a short, very steep, punishing climb.
This is really good for me.
I punch the lockout — one button gets me a stiff front and rear shock — and stand up, leaving the gear where it was. I like big gears for climbing.
Less than a minute later, I’m at the top of this first little climb, and surrounded by, more or less, the same group of people I’m going to be passing — and getting passed by — for the rest of the day.
Which is where I’ll pick up tomorrow.
PS: I know, this is a really short installment that doesn’t cover a lot of ground. It’s all I’ve got time for today, though. More tomorrow, I promise.
Comments (14)
« Previous Page — « Previous Entries Next Entries » — Next Page »
