12.4.2014 | 11:55 am
For some reason, today I found myself in a nostalgic mood, thinking back to the bike I raced my tenth Leadville 100 in back in 2006, when this blog was young, which I called The Weapon of Choice.
It was an aluminum Gary Fisher Paragon, heavily-modified—I pretty much replaced everything, making it as light as possible.
Back then, “as light as possible” was 22.5 pounds. I would finish this race in a disappointing 10:06, in spite of the fact that I was the lightest I had been in my adult life (154 pounds). Not that 10:06 is an objectively bad time. I had just thought I was a lock for sub-9.
Eventually, I’d get that sub-9. But not on that bike. Nor the next. Nor the next. Nor the next.
Each time I get a new bike, I am sure that this is going to be the bike that makes the difference. The one that really makes me fast and capable. And so I have justified my new bike addiction with a ridiculous number of bikes.
You know that “N+1” cliche? The one that says something along the lines of “The number of bikes a cyclist needs is N+1, where N is the cyclist’s current number of bikes.”
Well, that gag doesn’t even start to work with me, because it’s rare that I don’t have at least two bikes I’m planning out. And it’s usually closer to three or four: a road bike, a geared mountain bike, a singlespeed mountain bike, and something for The Hammer.
I am not joking. Not even a little bit.
The result is a garage that looks like this:
How many bikes is that? I have no idea. I will say, though, that this doesn’t represent all the bikes I’ve owned in recent memory, because I tend to be pretty free with my bike loans to friends. Dug’s got my old Waltworks. Kenny’s got my Specialized TriCross.
And how many have there been that have come before? Good question.
In truth, I I’m not sure I can even remember how many bikes I’ve had since I’ve started riding seriously. Clearly, I’ve got a problem.
But let me take a swing at it. Order isn’t strictly chronological or anything, because that would be too overwhelming, to be honest.
- The bikes up ‘to 2007: Bridgestone MB5, Specialized Stumpjumpoer M2, Ibis Steel Mojo, Ibis Bow Ti, Ibis Ti Mojo, Fisher Paragon, Bianchi ??? (low-end road bike: Campionissimo?), Ibis road Ti, Gary Fisher Sugar 2, Gary Fisher Sugar 1. I’m cheating here, because I did a post in 2007 listing my bikes up to that point.
- Lemond ???: I owned a Lemond road bike very briefly after my Ibis Road Ti died. Honestly, I recall it only very vaguely.
- Ibis Silk Carbon: This was my road bike ’til I got the Orbea with the Di2. But I still have this, and have converted it into my singlespeed road bike.
- Lemond Fillmore: A steel singlespeed road bike. Incredibly heavy, incredibly inexpensive. I gave it away in a fundraiser when I converted my Ibis Silk Carbon to a singlespeed.
- Bianchi Pista: When I lived in Washington, I rode by the Marymoor velodrome on my way to work every day. I bought the Pista with the hope of starting to race track. But then I moved and gave the Pista away as part of a fundraiser.
- Fisher Paragon: A light-for-its-time aluminum 29er. Finally sold it locally.
- Dahon Flo: The first bike I ever got as a perk for being a blogger. Eventually it became the bike I used to pull trailers and tagalong bikes. Now that my kids are all grown up, I finally sold it.
- Gary Fisher Superfly: My first carbon bike. The frame cracked, so it was also my second carbon bike. I still have this; The Hammer rode it for a couple years and now The Swimmer rides it.
- Matt Chester Dinglespeed: Back before I started this blog, I had a website called “Epic Rides,” where I wrote about my long rides and invited others to do the same. Matt Chester contributed and eventually I built a website for him when he started building bikes for a living. He built me this really cool dinglespeed (double singlespeed) titanium bike, but I got it before I really understood or had the strength for singlespeeding. I still have the bike, though, and think maybe it’s time I get it conditioned and give it another try. I’ve lost touch with Matt and wish I hadn’t. I hope he’s doing great.
- Gary Fisher Superfly Singlespeed: This was a hard bike to get ahold of when it first came out; it was not sold at retail. I sold this when I got the next year’s version. I wish I wouldn’t have.
- Gary Fisher Superfly Singlespeed 2nd Year: This bike was a mix of awesome and tragic. The good folks at Gary Fisher did a custom paint job for me. Unfortunately, the swinging dropout is notoriously slippery and won’t stay put. I still have this bike and will never sell it, but I don’t ride it (in part because of the dropout, but mostly because the frame is too awesome).
- Waltworks SS: A cool singlespeed custom-decaled by Twin Six. the frame cracked and has been repaired, and I let Dug’s son ride it ’til he outgrew it. I think Dug has cannibalized it for parts on other bikes now.
- Some Cheesy Tandem: I bought a super-cheap tandem for a few hundred bucks. It’s a terrible, Walmart-quality bike that was fun for some laughs but now sits rusting in the backyard.
- Orbea Orca: A gorgeous carbon road bike, outfitted with the then-brand-new Shimano Di2. I still own this bike; it lives in Austin and I ride it when I am at the office there.
- Gary Fisher Superfly 100: I wanted to see how I felt riding a full suspension carbon cross country racer. I never really fell in love with it though, and it sat around mostly unused for years. I finally sold it a few months ago.
- Specialized Stumpjumper: Specialized wooed me away from Fisher with this incredibly light, fast, sophisticated carbon hardtail. Riding it, I got my first sub-9 Leadville time. 8:18 in fact. Specialized congratulated me / rewarded me by letting me keep this bike.
- Specialized Stumpjumper Singlespeed: This is the fastest, lightest singlespeed I could ever imagine. I built it up with crazy-nice ENVE wheels and cockpit and I am still in love with it. I did an 8:25 on it at Leadville a couple years ago.
- Ibis Tranny 29: My current favorite go-anywhere, do-anything machine. I originally had it built up with a belt drive, but prefer it with gears and the incredible Ibis 941 wheels. Built with a dropper post, this is not my lightest hardtail ever, but it may be the funnest, most versatile bike I’ve ever owned.
- Specialized Shiv: I’ve never gone so fast as on this bike. And I might start racing more with this this summer…I’m kind of thinking it might be fun to start racing some time trials, and I understand there’s a local time trial series in SLC.
- Specialized Tarmac: My gorgeous, exquisite, rocket-fast, incredibly light, silver road race machine. I cannot imagine a better, faster road bike.
I think that’s it. I didn’t cheat by looking in the garage or checking old posts in my blog, so I don’t know for sure.
And you know what? Now that I’ve written this, out, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t have a problem. Sure, I’ve had a lot of bikes. But I’ve had an extraordinary amount of fun on almost every single one of them. They’ve each reflected something I wanted and was at the time.
I started this post thinking I was going to poke fun at how many bikes I’ve had. But I’m finishing it happy. These bikes are all part of who I am and what I do.
I expected to finish this post with some kind of jokey “I’m going to change, I’m going to repent” tone. Instead, I’m finishing nearly in tears (I’m serious), grateful for the joy these bikes have all bought me.
At some point, all these bicycles—the ones I have and the ones that have moved on—have become members of my family.
Comments (45)
12.3.2014 | 10:35 am
The dirt-and-rock jump at the top of Zig in Lambert Park is not a big jump. At least, some of you wouldn’t think it’s a big jump. But ever since I first saw it, about five years ago, it’s been big enough that I have never been brave / foolish enough to try it.
Sure, I’ve come close to doing it. Several times, in fact. I ride up to it, stop, take a good look at the approach, decide what the best line is and make sure that the landing looks safe.
Then I ride back a couple hundred feet, turn around, and come charging at it.
But by the time I’m 25 feet away from it, I already know I’m going to bail out. I’ve already started the process of bailing, in fact. My fingers are on the brakes. Instead of looking at the line for the jump, I’m looking at the little trail that veers away from it.
The line that’s been created for and by people like me. People who want to do this jump, but chicken out before they get there.
Five years I’ve done this. Abandoning every single time.
Until last Sunday.
The Hammer and I have been riding in Lambert Park, because Corner Canyon seemed like it might be too muddy. She’s been riding her singlespeed, I’ve been riding my Ibis Tranny 29. And I had told her, “Let’s make sure we come down from Corkscrew onto Zig. I’m going to do that jump today.
So, following my usual script, I rolled up to the jump, looked at it, made note of a little rock embedded in the dirt jump that seemed like a good mark for me to target. I rode back a couple hundred feet, turned around, and started toward the jump.
But this time, I did things a little differently. I took my braking fingers off the levers and wrapped them around the grips. I made myself focus on the little rock that meant I was lining up for the jump…instead of fixating on the bailout line.
I pedaled, hit the jump, caught nice air (probably four or five five horizontal feet, but felt like a lot more), landed comfortably and safely, and rolled to a stop by The Hammer, who was watching.
“I did it,” I said. “I finally did it, and it was easy.”
Then I went back and did it again. Twice.
Why Now?
So why, after five years of inspecting and fretting and last-moment-bailing, did I finally have the confidence to do this jump?
I think there are a couple reasons.
First, I have Rush to thank. This very popular down-only flow trail in Corner Canyon has—guessing here—a dozen whoop-de-doo-ish jumps. You can slow down and roll over them (which is what I used to do) or you can hit them fast and get some air (which is what I’ve started doing as I’ve become more confident this past two years).
Yes, that’s right. This past two years marks the first time I’ve dared get any air at all.
Second, I have the new Ibis 941 wheels to thank. They’re much wider than normal mountain bike wheels, and can be run at much lower pressure without burping or pinch-flatting. I’ve been running them at around 15psi on all my rides, and they’re the most confidence-inspirting wheels I’ve ever used. They just seem to grip everything, corner unbelievably, and allow me to just stomp landings on my (admittedly modest) jumps.
And so, with the confidence that comes from lots of positive experience on smaller jumps, combined with wheels that I trust won’t betray me if/when I land hard, I’ve started doing some things that I haven’t dared do, up ’til now.
Why Not Before?
And now I’m getting to the point of this story.
Like most cyclists, I’m more or less entirely self-taught. And I’ve never really questioned whether that was the right way for me to learn during this twenty-or-so years I’ve been riding. I mean, after all, I already knew how to ride a bike, right? So all I needed to do was ride more, and I’d get better.
Which is true, up to a point.
But a lot of what I learned about mountain biking got ingrained back when wheels were small, tires were hard as rocks, suspension didn’t suspend, and bike geometry was more guesswork than anything else.
Plus, I’m not what you’d call a “natural” at technical riding. I’m not one of those flowy, graceful smooth riders. I’m the opposite. Indeed, scientists postulate that if Danny MacAskill and I ever met, there would be a universe-ending talent/anti-talent explosion.
But while I don’t think I’ll ever be able to claim grace, I think I could aspire to technical competence. To confidence.
Maybe even to not riding like a complete goofball. A goofball that is making do with what he’s been able to figure out himself, rather than learning from people who have actual expertise.
From what I understand, there are some skills camps that are exactly for people like me. People who ride a lot and love riding and think about riding…but never actually, you know, learned to ride.
I think, maybe, it’s time for me to learn to ride a bike.
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11.25.2014 | 2:06 pm
A Recap Note from Fatty: In social media and the comments, a few people have asked whether my book pre-order still has the contest component going on, so I thought it might be a good idea to do a quick re-cap of the highlights and logistics of my The Great Fatsby: The Best of FatCyclist.com Volume 2 pre-order:
- What: The pre-order is a chance for you to pre-order my new book (regular, signed, inscribed, or Kindle), as well as a very cool tecno-merino wool jersey and t-shirt, (or a discounted bundle) with delivery by Christmas (as long as you live in the US).
- The Contest Part: Depending on what you buy (the description for each item lists how many chances that item includes), you automatically are entered to win your choice of any Ibis bike, which will be equipped with top-of-the-line SRAM components.
- The Charitable Giving Part: 25% of all profits will go to World Bicycle Relief. And that 25% gets anonymously matched, so WBR winds up getting 50%. Which is kind of mindboggling.
- When: The Pre-order goes through December 3.
- Where: Click here for the complete list of items. And thank you.
Thankful, 2014 Edition
2014 has been an exceptional year for me.
That is not, by the way, how I wrote the introductory sentence on the first or second time. Originally, I said “hard year” and then tried “challenging year.”
But I like “exceptional year” better, and I’m thankful for a lot of it.
I am thankful for patience. There have been a lot of things that have kept me up at night this year—some of them blog-related (yes, sometimes I fret about this blog), some of them family-related, some of them career-related.
Ten years ago, any one of those things would have had me worried sick for days. I guess I’ve seen enough now, though, that I’m able to keep focused and keep moving forward, affecting what I can, accepting what I can’t.
I don’t know if I can claim much in the way of wisdom; I’ve never gone out of my way to seek wisdom out. But I think I’ve become a little more patient—both with people and events—and I think that’s a pretty fair substitute for wisdom.
I am thankful for health and strength. I am 48.5 years old now, and I predict that I will, sometime within the next two years, turn 50. I think that ought to freak me out, but it doesn’t (this may change without notice of course).
Why? Because at 48.5, I’m faster, stronger, tougher, and healthier than I was at 28.5.
I get sick very rarely, and when I do, it’s never been anything serious (I don’t think I’ve ever even had the flu).
The bicycle—and my love for the bicycle—has given me this gift of health, and as someone who has seen what true illness is, I am thankful for my health.
I am thankful for my friends. I’m at the age where everyone’s busy, all the time, and it’s easy to not do much with your friends. I missed the Core Team’s Fall Moab trip this year because I needed to work on The Best of FatCyclist.com Volume 2, and I’m still disappointed. That said, I feel like some of us reconnected this year, and I’m very thankful for that.
I’m thankful for the generosity of Team Fatty. I do very little projects, and for some reason all of you magnify them into things that are very big. You’ve changed thousands of lives; I love being a part of this.
I’m thankful for my kids. And by “my kids,” I mean both kids and stepkids. I didn’t realize that it would take a while before we all found a place in the family, and I won’t claim that everything feels seamless yet, but I feel really fortunate to have any part at all in all seven of these fantastic people’s lives.
I’m thankful for Lisa. Sure, on the blog I usually call her “The Hammer,” but in real life she’s Lisa, and I count myself very fortunate to be married to someone who loves the people and activities I love too.
I hope you’ve had an exceptional year too, and I hope you have plenty to be thankful for. I’d love to read about what’s on your mind.
Comments (20)
11.13.2014 | 1:07 pm
An Early-Reviews-Note from Fatty: I’ve sent rough, pre-press copies of my new book, The Great Fatsby: The Best of FatCyclist.com, to a few people, asking them what they think.
One of those people is the very famous, handsome, and intelligent Stevil Kinevil, creator of All Hail the Black Market. Here’s what he had to say:
I read the first three chapters of The Great Fatsby while sitting at a computer, putting off other stuff that I was supposed to do.
Ironically, I enjoyed it more than I did Comedian Mastermind, which I read in the woods with a six pack of beer. Clearly in the years since his first effort, his sarchasi-meter has been finely tuned, and for that fact, we should all give thanks.
After reading The Great Fatsby, however, I need to recalibrate my entire existence because with the exception of also having a disdain for selfies, and never shaving my eyebrows, I now know everything I’ve thought and done up to this point in my life is wrong.
Bill Strickland, who is a deep thinker and thoughtful writer, as well as Editor-at-Large at Bicycling Magazine and the author of about 35% of all cycling books ever written, had this to say:
Here’s the big lesson: When something really, really matters to you — as cycling does to Elden and all of us who’ll read this — it’s worth being funny about. The lightness of the writing doesn’t detract from the importance cycling holds in our lives — instead, it helps you appreciate and enjoy your passion all the more.
And this came in from Phil Gaimon, who is so good at both writing and riding that he’s gone pro at both:
It might be too late for me, but the worst thing a cyclist can do is forget how ridiculous it is to shave your legs, pull on some tights, and ride a $5,000 bicycle through traffic. Elden’s new collection from his hilarious blog is full of wisdom to save cyclists from embarrassment, and fart jokes to remind the rest of us not to take pedaling too seriously.
So yeah, as you might guess, I’m pretty excited that a few very funny guys are enjoying The Great Fatsby. I’ve put a ton of work into organizing, editing, explaining, and annotating this book, and I think it’s going to stand as some of my best work. And I think you’ll like it too.
But only if you order a copy.
How to Properly Share the Trail
Even as I become increasingly famous and wealthy, I do my very best to stay in touch with common cyclists—people like you. This can, of course, be difficult, since whenever I go riding, my advance team closes down the road or trail network upon which I am riding. I am flanked by a phalanx of security personnel, all specifically . And also my cheese wrangler rides alongside me, whose services I have retained because I am fond of cheese.
As I was thus riding recently, a thought occurred to me:
“Wouldn’t it be weird if other people were on this trail at the same time?” I thought to myself. “And if some of those people were going in the same direction as I, while others were going in the opposite direction!”
“And what if,” I continued musing, as my cheese wrangler handed me a cube of Swiss with spicy brown mustard smeared on it (my cheese wrangler despises me), “all of us were going at self-selected speeds, some faster than me, while others were slower!”
At this point, my mind was boggling a little bit at this preposterous hypothetical situation, but I decided to run with it and take it to its logical extreme. “And then, what if there were cyclists and walkers and horses on the trail?”
I started laughing uncontrollably at this crazy bizarro universe I had just dreamed up. My imagination can take me to some pretty wacky places.
Still, I was intrigued. What madness would I encounter if I were to ride my mountain bike on trails open to the public? Would it be chaos? Would it be purely terrifying? Surely, it would be a living hell!
To my astonishment, I was mistaken. Indeed, I am happy to report, riding with other people on the trail is not something to be terrified of. Indeed, with my expert guidance (I become expert at anything I try, usually within a few minutes), you will find that it is possible to share a mountain biking trail with other people.
Understand the Fundamentals
As it turns out, the fundamental principal for everyone getting along on a trail is for everyone to understand the rules of who has the right of way when two people encounter each other on a trail. Here are those rules, conveniently organized for you in a numbered-list format:
- Cyclists yield to pedestrians.
- Pedestrians yield to horses.
- Horses yield to nobody, and get to act like they own the place.
- Cyclists coming downhill must yield to cyclists going uphill, unless they’re having an incredible Strava run.
- Cyclists going uphill must yield to pedestrians who pass them as they are also going uphill, which is pretty embarrassing.
- Cyclists who are in the zone do not have to yield to anyone. Because they’re in the zone, that’s why.
- Nobody yields to cyclists, because cyclists are apparently not as important as pedestrians and horses.
- Cyclists yield to horses. Because horses are bigger and can freak out over tiny little nothings and can crush you to death when their rider can’t control them, but as a cyclist, that’s your fault, not the horse rider’s.
- Cyclists and pedestrians yield to the giant piles of crap that it’s apparently ok for horses to leave on the trail.
- When approaching a pedestrian from behind, cyclists should alert the walker that you are coming, so they can move aside. Which means that in this case the walker is yielding to the cyclist, but that’s just the way it’s got to be.
- When the pedestrian doesn’t hear the cyclist because the pedestrian has his/her headphones cranked way up, the cyclist must try again, this time louder.
- When the pedestrian still doesn’t hear the cyclist, the cyclist must ride behind the pedestrian at a snail’s pace for about twenty minutes until you see a place to go around the pedestrian
- When you finally go around the pedestrian, the pedestrian is required by law to jump out of his/her skin and scream in a comical voice
- Even though it’s the pedestrian’s fault they’re unaware of their surroundings and you have in fact been behind her/him for pretty much ever, it is the pedestrian’s right to say, “You scared me!” and the cyclist’s responsibility to apologize.
- When yielding to horses, cyclists must get well off the trail, observing the 3-foot rule, or be willing to catch a faceful of swishing tail as the horse goes by.
- When a cyclist comes around a blind corner and finds himself/herself wheel-to-wheel with another cyclist, it is the responsibility of both cyclists to put a foot down and laugh with relief that you’re both OK, then say, “Have a good ride.”
- When a cyclist comes around a blind corner and finds himself/herself face-to-face with a pedestrian, it’s the responsibility of the pedestrian to jump over to the wrong side of the trail, throw their hands up int the air, and shriek. It is the responsibility of the cyclist to suppress laughter.
- Cyclists must yield to all mammals, and most invertebrates.
- When a cyclist approaches another cyclist from behind, it is the responsibility of the passing cyclist to ask, “How’s it going,” without appearing to breathe hard. It is the responsibility of the cyclist being passed to reply, “Just enjoying a recovery day,” and then to do his level best to grab onto the other rider’s wheel.
- When passing another cyclist, it is the responsibility of the passing cyclist to say, “On your left,” even if you actually mean you’re on their right. It is the responsibility of the cyclist being past to move left when you hear, “On your left.”
- When a cyclist has pulled over to the side of the trail in order to let a horse or pedestrian pass, the cyclist is required to discover, to your horror, that while you have unclipped with your right foot, your bike is tipping over left and there is no way you are going to get that other foot unclipped in time.
- Once lying in the middle of the trail with everyone in the whole world watching you, with one of your feet trapped under a bike so that you cannot clip out of it and are therefore as thoroughly trapped as rabbit in a snare, it is acceptable for the cyclist to wish he were dead.
- Once a cyclist has yielded to a horse, they must expect a reasonable time (5 – 10 minutes) to pass before the horse decides that maybe it’s time to start walking again.
- Oh, and also right here, right now would probably be a good time to drop another enormous pile of crap. The splashier the better.
You may want to print and laminate this simple set of rules, keeping it with you at all times.
Comments (36)
10.29.2014 | 8:54 am
A Note from Fatty: Today’s 100 Miles of Nowhere race report comes from Jeff DeVries AKA “ClyedeinKS.” It’s super double awesome. Enjoy!
Oh, where to begin for this writeup?
Could it be that for this past year I have had an amazing amount of ride envy in reading ride and race reports, as my riding has taken an incredible hit with other activities seeming to take precedence?
Should I mention that leading up to the weekend Strava laughs at me when I see my yearly totals of 91 miles and 9 rides (clearly short rides—as time allowed with baseball coaching, rides with my son, and a 6 mile Corporate Challenge TT race (podiumed that one in 2nd place!))?
Could it be that this is my 3rd year for the 100 MoN and neither of the other two reached a full 100 miles (last year’s Spin & Bid ride was the closest, with cramping and many pedestrians limiting the total to 66 miles).
Could it be that I have never been able to finish a century ride yet with MS ride coordinators determining that rain and mother nature would prevail, limiting me to a 75-mile personal best a couple of years ago?
I guess that’s a good lead-in to know where my base stood, but this year presented some other challenges as well. Weather was a concern as we’d already experienced rainy days in the 40’s but this past weekend was looking to cooperate: dry, sunny, and in the 80’s.
The local weather never seems to mention the wind speed.
I am currently extremely limited in time (who isn’t?), with any spare time devoted to studying for an advanced certification exam coming up in the next weeks (just a bit of stress knowing it carries a 60% success rate for initial takers). With the studying being a continued need this weekend, I knew I was needing to be forced onto the trainer.
Yes there was going to be some studying during this ride, with the book propped up against my aero bars, but as the ride was starting, it was going to wait.
My sons decided they wanted to be in the basement with me, with my youngest saying “I’m gonna watch you race Daddy.” I figured it would be hard reasoning with him and trying to explain a race on the trainer, so I let it go. They both decided it would be movie time while I rode so we began watching Captain America – The Winter Soldier.
We had fun sharing a mask through the movie.
This day of riding was going to need be split up, due to a “Costume Piano Recital”— interesting concept indeed, but it went well and I had 35.02 miles done in an hour and 25 minutes. I remembered why the trainer is such a dreaded, but also very effective tool. I also realized my lack of riding time was requiring a saddle break-in period.
Not a fun realization.
Back to the Pain Cave
Following the recital and some family time, it was back to pain cave on the trainer. As I got back on, and now repositioning my saddle to somewhere near my diaphragm, I determined I was dedicating this year’s ride: to remember a Grandfather taken by cancer, to honor my Father who has survived and overcome his battle with Leukemia, Camp Kesem because of course the ride supports them but also because of the incredibly awesome work they do, and also for a friend battling cancer (and other challenges) in hopes to help fuel their fight.
Last year’s Spin & Bid 100 MoN truly came together with the additional silent auction, volunteer support, and city approval for the event through the assistance of a past patient and friend. This individual has been battling cancer for I believe the past year (maybe year and half) with many ups and downs, and through this weekend she was going through procedures and battling stays within the ICU, while recovering from the procedures.
I got into a groove on the trainer Saturday early evening and churned out another 40.04 miles in an hour and 41 minutes. I had originally planned for 25 miles but the mindset for ridiing for others shot me past that and ultimately helped me for the next day, with more time constraints leaving a small window of time. But this ride was going to completed outside on an approximately 1.5 mile loop.
Sunday afternoon I needed to stop at a work location and work on some equipment, so my ride was heading there. As I mentioned earlier, we were blessed with sunny temps in the mid 80’s.
I was stopped at a red light nearing my clinic and realized I was destined for more pain. The picture doesn’t give justice to the weather channel app, stating wind at 24mph. So to move forward into that, must I be going at least 25 mph to creep ahead? Yea, I know my physics memory wasn’t accurate and my mind was playing games with me!
As I climbed back onto my bike and now felt very comfortable with my saddle positioned squarely between my shoulder blades, I was ready to finish my multi-event. Of course it started into that headwind. As I pre-planned this route, I believed it to be a rectangle with the short ends only affected by the wind.
When I got on the course, I realized I was very wrong and it was more oval shaped and much more into the wind than I had planned for. Oddly the way the wind was blowing and without any true tree or buildings to block the wind I seemed to have a tail wind for only about a 1/3 of the loop – but the 1/3 was heaven-sent.
Tucking into the aero bars wasn’t seeming to have any benefit, could be due to my bike fit resulting from tinkering and trial-and-error? or again riding with my saddle now creeping higher, encroaching the neck? This pain in a headwind gave me an analogy for my friend’s fight and others battling the same. I hear many times “why me” or “why isn’t this working” or “what am I doing wrong” while a twisted natural occurring mutation is battling their body and their wills. I was facing naturally occurring headwinds and body pains that were battling my body and will.
I knew now there wasn’t anything stopping this ride until I completed 100 miles.
Of course, I again needed to be getting to another obligation and time was running down. I had roughly 5 more miles to go and knew with the headwinds I would be facing I would be quicker getting back to the house riding home and then later going back for the car. I had more tailwind and crosswind for that remaining portion but I was homeward bound. After hearing songs on the Ipod about surviving, winning, being the best, etc., it was absolute karma that for the final 1.5 miles a song came on that I first heard at the LiveStrong Challenge ‘06 in Austin and I always go back to when needing a pick me up tune and realizing what others are going through – Wide Awake’s “Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow.” It brought me home WINNING my event, not a one-day century, but more than doubling my mileage for the year, and hoping to inspire one individual.
My end total was 101.05 miles in 5 hours and 8 minutes of riding time (it’s too hard to determine total duration though with the required breaks).
You know who you are and I KNOW there is nothing that can knock you down, there is no pain that you can not endure, there is no stopping your ultimate WIN, there is no opponent that break your stare and focus, there is support around you and we’ll hold you up through the remaining procedures. Your WIN is nearing despite the thoughts of failures. As my ride went into the final 25% to win that’s you are, if not further, YOU GOT THIS!!
Thank you once again Fatty for this event, and for this year taking my mind in so many directions!
PS from Fatty: Someone who wished to be left unnamed sent me the following, asking if I’d include it at the bottom of ClydeInKS’s story.
You have all just read about Jeff’s journey to 100 MON. But what Jeff left out is the courage, strength, encouragement he has given me to battle my 100 miles. Jeff, as well as all of you, are angels. Jeff’s ride I know has just inspired me and gave me the strength to push through my last miles to this win.
I want all of you to know, he has been a true support, friend, and has stayed on the ride for much longer than 100 miles to keep me on my journey. For that, Jeff, I thank you, I will win and for all those riding, just know the ride may be for enjoyment, for honoring someone or just for a good cause, but for me the ride Jeff took, the pain , the push and effort he gave has meant the world to me. To all of you and to Jeff… Thank you.
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