Due to some extra unanticipated additional awesomeness, I am having to do some rewriting of today’s post describing the secret second part of the contest I described yesterday.

I’ll get that post up late this afternoon, or quite possibly this evening.

It will be worth checking back for.

In the meantime, please feel free to speculate on what the second part of this awesome prize will be. Better yet, please feel free to go ahead and enter the contest, so you have a chance of winning something I absolutely guarantee any bike lover would enjoy.

XOXO,

Fatty

I am a deliberate and thoughtful person. For example, it is no accident that I live where I live — I picked this place because it is an unbelievably wonderful spot to go bike riding — whether you like road or mountain biking.

Furthermore — and your mind may reel at this — it is no coincidence that I ride bicycles a lot. I do this because I like riding bicycles. And, believe it or not, I write a blog about biking because I like sharing stories and talking with people about bikes!

Your head is spinning right now, I know. But I’ve got one more for you. I spend quite a bit of time and effort putting together contests to raise money for the fight against cancer because I hate cancer.

Whoah.

And today I’m excited to tell you about a new contest. One that takes all these very subtle and complex nuances of my very deliberate, thoughtful self, and combines them into something so spectacularly awesome that it’s going to take a couple days to describe.

That’s right, this contest has two grand prizes, but I’m only going to tell you about one of them today.

Fight Cancer, Ride in Utah With Fatty

Hey, I’m not interested in starting any fights here, but I think I could make a pretty good case for Utah being the most awesome place in the world for cycling.

And if you win this contest, I’ll do my level best to prove it to you.

We’ll get on the phone and talk. I’ll find out what kind of riding you like to do — road or mountain biking. We’ll talk about what level of riding you like to do. And how long you like to ride.

And then I’ll start telling you about some ideas for rides you might enjoy.

For example, maybe you’d want to ride The Alpine Loop:

Or maybe you’d want to go mountain biking at what I’ve called the best place in the world, Tibble Fork, which includes the unbelievable Joy Descent:

Or if you’re feeling like doing an epic all-day road ride, we could head out and ride Mt. Nebo.

Or maybe you would rather go see a different part of Utah than my hometown. In that case, we could go to Moab.

Or we could go to Saint George and ride Gooseberry and / or Little Creek:

Or the Guacamole Trail:

Or we could go to Moab. I hear there’s some good biking there.

But Wait, That’s Not All

Once we’ve figured out where and what you want to ride, we’ll figure out a time that will work for both of us (frankly, this will probably be the most difficult part of the whole shebang, but we’re smart people and will find a way, somehow).

Then I’ll fly you down / up here, and take you to SLC Bicycle Company, where you’ll get professionally fitted on the bike you’ll be using for this trip.

Yep, a professional fitting, on a top-flight bike. So the bike you’ll be riding on this trip will be the most awesome-fitting ride you’ve ever had.

Which also means you won’t need to bother bringing a bike with you.

Then we’ll head out riding. I’ll bring The Hammer along if you’re a woman, so it won’t feel like you’re on some weird creepy date with a married guy.

And if you’re a guy, I’ll see if some of the Core Team can come along for the ride, because they’re a lot more interesting than I am in person.

And then, after we ride, we’ll have brats. Unless you’re a vegetarian or something, in which case I’ll make my vegetarian burritos, which are almost as good as brats.

And I’ll put you up in a hotel so you don’t have to sleep on my couch.

And then, the next day, we’ll ride some more.

And afterward, you and I will agree that this has been the single most awesome vacation, ever.

There are a lot of cycling meccas in the world, OK? But Utah is my cycling mecca. And if you win this contest, it will be your mecca too.

Seriously, That’s Not All. In Fact, It’s Not Even Close To All.

I believe I mentioned at the beginning of this post that I was only describing the first half of the prize for this contest today.

Tomorrow, I will describe the second half. And I believe that at that point you will like this contest even more, and the idea of winning it will make you lose sleep at night.

I apologize in advance for your upcoming sleepless nights.

Why This Is Important

I believe very strongly in the good work LiveStrong does. I’ve said — many times before — that I received help and inspiration from them, firsthand, when Susan was starting her second big fight with cancer.

And more recently, I got to see up close — during the LiveStrong Assembly — some of the great ways LiveStrong puts our fundraising dollars to use.

People who are fighting cancer need help, in a variety of ways. And LiveStrong does an amazing job of providing that help.

So for this contest, I wanted to show that I am not just an observer and facilitator in my support of LiveStrong. I wanted to show that I’m willing to spend my own money and time to help LiveStrong in its mission.

So yeah, this contest is gonna cost me. Airfare, hotel, etc. won’t be cheap. But it’s totally worth it.

And not just because we’re going to get some awesome riding in, either.

How the Contest Works, And to How to Enter

For every $5.00 you donate at my LiveStrong Davis Challenge page, you’ll get a row on my magically deluxe spreadsheet, which I have affectionately and cleverly named FriendsOfFatty.XLS.

The more you donate, the more rows you get

Once the contest ends (on June 22 at midnight, MST), I’ll randomly (using random.org, natch) choose a row on that spreadsheet. Then I’ll contact you, and you’ll start yelling and stuff (which will be totally OK, because I’ll be contacting you by email) and we’ll get this ball rolling.

[A note for my international friends: I only have so much money. If you win the contest, it's your responsibility to get to the U.S., and I'll fly you the rest of the way, OK?]

And what if you’re already a member of Team Fatty and are raising money for your own LiveStrong Challenge? Well, just keep on raising money — and maybe donate some more into your own account — because the money you’ve raised as part of Team Fatty counts toward your entry in this contest, too.

Yep, that’s right, you can join Team Fatty and get other people to donate on your challenge page, and you might win this prize. In other words, keep up the good work you’ve already started.

So, please donate. You might just win an awesome trip to ride with . . . me.

Not to mention the second half of the prize, which will make it really spectacular.

More on that tomorrow.

Elden – I am letting you know the results of my decision and will be much less dramatic that televised nonsense of a particular basketball player. I must proclaim THANK YOU for creating the motivation and inspiring myself (and my wife Mighty Athena) for losing some excess, it was badly needed! A second THANK YOU goes for not getting the waffles out after the week 1 announcement – I would have surely been thrown off course shortly after their arrival. And finally a third, and largest THANK YOU for enabling me to become the proud recipient of a used pair of shoes!! I have a signed copy of your book and seeing the signatures of many fabulous current (and favorite) racers made the choice a challenge but I must go with Lance’s shoes, and congratulate Kukui on winning the book and autographs.

I returned to the bicycle approximately 2005 when I decided to fundraise for LiveSTRONG and ride in Austin Challenge. The decision came following my father’s diagnosis of chronic myelogenous leukemia. I understand that Team In Training raises funds specifically for leukemia and lymphoma, but didn’t see LiveSTRONG as being discriminatory toward types of cancers. I have worn a LiveSTRONG bracelet on my wrist since the day I learned of Dad’s diagnosis and stands as a reminder and inspiration still to this day. Dad has recovered remarkably and remains in remission. His courage and willpower was remarkable to witness (he was in the process of a major home remodel and continued working as his body allowed following his diagnosis and treatments) and still amazes me today.

I continue to ride when able and aim to participate in fundraising rides. The Tour de BBQ, here in Kansas City is a fabulous ride and LiveSTRONG fundraiser that you should put on your calendar, the BBQ alone would be worth the trip! I have a bare place on the wall at my work place ( an outpatient therapy clinic) dedicated toward housing a pair of Lance Armstrong’s shoes and can’t wait to see them there! LiveSTRONG, for some uncomprehended reason, occasionally brings about negative comments and feedback, but their mission is one stand by and will continue supporting in your many avenues, as well as other areas, and am looking forward to riding Nowhere to support Camp Kesem!

Congrats, ClydeInKS! And hopefully I’ll be able to get those shoes off to you sometime within the next 5-6 years.

Decisions, Decisions

Suppose you were offered a near-impossible decision. But you had to choose. For example, suppose you had to choose between never eating peanut butter again, or eating nothing but peanut butter for the rest of your life (I’d go with the latter).

Or suppose you were given the choice of having to choose only one kind of bike riding — mountain bike or road — for the rest of your life (I know, that would be really easy for some of you, but it would be a very difficult decision for me, and in fact am sweating profusely at even the thought of having to make such a horrific decision).

Or — get this — suppose you were offered the choice of having to either get a copy of my book, complete with signatures from everyone in Team RadioShack:

Or you could choose a pair of Lance Armstrong’s worn out running shoes:

“But wait!” I imagine you saying, dramatically (by which I mean that you sound dramatic in my imagination, not that my imagination is dramatic, though it may well be). “How do we know that those are really Lance Armstrong’s shoes? They could be anyone’s shoes!”

“Ah, you are an astute one,” I reply. “So perhaps this will assuage your concerns.” At which point I — with a certain practiced showmanship — pull out the insole of the left shoe:

And indeed, this is verifiably Lance’s signature.

“But just in case that is not enough,” I then say, “Perhaps this video will be enough to put your fears to rest!”

Yes, that is Lance. And yes, those are the selfsame shoes, which are now in my possession.

And yes, those shoes really do smell terrible.

Not a Hypothetical Question

I pose this near-impossible choice because it is not hypothetical. The winner of last month’s weight challenge — wherein we raised more than $4000 for LiveStrong — is right this minute contemplating this very question, assuming he got the email I sent him a few minutes ago.

That person goes by the handle “ClydeInKS.”

The second place contestant — Kukui — will get whichever is left over.

I will report the results as I get them.

PS: By the way, among the weight loss challenge participants, the shoes would be chosen by 57%, the book by 42%, with 1% undecided.

PPS: I’m sure someone else is going to point it out, so I’ll go ahead and say it first: Lance Armstrong has the tidiest closet I have ever seen in my life.

Well, Team Fatty (Kenny, Heather, The Hammer and I) will be racing it again this year (June 8 – 9), defending our Coed team title.

And you should come join us, for the following reasons:

1. You will have an awesome time. I am not even remotely kidding when I say that this is a fantastic race.
2. The scenery is incredible. You’ll be doing a combination of riding and driving on surface roads from Moab, UT to St. George, UT. It’s beautiful. Astonishingly so. Of course, part of the time it’s so dark you can’t see anything but the stars, but a starry night with no noise polution is a pretty amazing thing, too.
3. You get a deal, just because you’re a Friend of Fatty. The Rockwell Relay is now in “late registration” mode; most teams signing up will have to pay an extra $50 fee. But if you email info@rockwellrelay.com and tell them you’re a Friend of Fatty, they’ll give you a special registration link waiving that fee.
4. I will serve you bratwurst, which I myself will have grilled. OK, I saved the best part for last, and put it in red, just to draw your eye to it. The Rockwell Relay guys recently called me and asked what I would do to make the race even more awesome. Nothing came to mind, so as a joke I said, “Serve my famous brats the night before the race.” To my amazement, they were all over this idea. So I told them that if they did this, I’d come over and take charge of grilling the brats and would serve them up.

So. Come on over. Eat. Race. Hang out with us. You will love it.

Another Note from Fatty: Today, I have a very special edition of Free Verse Friday. Which is not to say that any edition of Free Verse Friday is not special, but this one is very special indeed.

“Why is it so very special?” you might ask.

“It’s special,” I would answer, “Because it has actual information about stuff that’s coming up. Good stuff. Important stuff. Stuff you might actually want to be a part of.

So be sure to read it not only for its artistic merit (which is very great), but for the information contained therein.

Impending Panic: An Epic Free Verse Poem, In Informational Stanzas

Soon I shall travel

A much greater distance

Than I even knew there was

Zambia!

I will give away bikes

And bring back stories

I can hardly wait.

Twixt now and then, alas

I have so much to do

So much to prepare

I wince

Mayhaps I would moan and whimper

If I were not so manly

Guest Writers

While I am gone

In a far-off land

I cannot — will not! — expect to write

With any regularity

Or perhaps at all

So I ask you

Dear reader

To do my work for me

Two themes I give you

Write a story on one

Or the other

Or both if that’s your way

The themes are

“Why I started riding”

and

“How I got someone else to start riding”

Email your stories to fatty@fatcyclist.com

Thank you.

LiveStrong

The Davis LiveStrong Challenge is coming!

I’m working on cool incentives and contests

I shall explain more anon

You’ll want to be a part of it.

Honest, you will.

Thank you.

100 Miles of Nowhere

If you signed up

Your stuff is being packaged even as you read this

Soon, it will be on its way

Furthermore

If you’re local

Plan to do the 100 Miles of Nowhere with me

It will be awesome

I hope

Thank you.

And again, thank you.

Let’s start with The Hammer’s.

The Hammer’s Story: The Best Cheering Section…And The Marathon Wasn’t Half Bad, Either

The day started bright and early, well, maybe not bright-it was 3:45 when the alarm went off. I rolled out of bed after a pretty good Ambien induced slumber. I was starting to get the obligatory pre race jitters and new I would be spending some quality time with “john” before we would head out the door at 4:30.

Yes, I did say “we.”

My sweet husband, Elden had volunteered to get up at this ungodly hour and drive me to the race start. I kept telling him that he didn’t have to do this; he could sleep in. He had had a really stressful work week and could surely use a few extra hours of sleep. I assured him multiple times that I was capable of getting myself to the starting line.

Elden would hear none of this and insisted he would drive me. Not only would he drive me to the starting line, but he was also insisting that he would ride his bike along the course and cheer me on the whole way. Wow, my own personal cheering section — how could I refuse?   

At 5:15, we arrived at the bus pickup in Provo where I met my good friend and coworker Ed. Ed was going to run the 1/2 marathon which started at the same location as the marathon and we would be able to ride the bus to the starting line together.

Ed is a remarkable person. A few years ago, Ed had gastric bypass surgery and has now lost at least a person in weight. He is the poster child for gastric bypass as he continues to keep the weight off. He has become quite the runner in the process and has participated in many 5K and half marathon races.

Way to go Ed, you are an inspiration!

The Hammer and Ed before the race.

We said goodbye to Elden and boarded the buses at about 6:00am. Elden’s plan was to change clothes, jump on his bike and ride to the mouth of Provo Canyon where he would meet up with my son Blake (aka the IT guy). They would then ride to Vivian Park and wait for me to run by.

The race organizers did a great job at the starting line. There were fires set up for warming us, plenty of loud music, and a crowd taking their pre-race jitters out on a piñata. And — most importantly — there were plenty of potties.

There was a nice chill in the air and very little wind. South Fork Park was beautiful this early spring morning.

I was surprised as the marathon group lined up. I would guess there were only a couple hundred runners, and probably a thousand half-marathoners. Definitely a different size of crowd than the 23,000 runners at Boston!

The marathon race started promptly at 7:00 am, followed by the half marathon at 7:15. I started with the 3:25 pace group, running at 7:49 minutes per mile.

[Side note about pacers: For those of you unfamiliar with marathons, most marathons have "pacers" -- experienced runners who will carry a sign while they run the race in a specific time. If you need a 3:25 to qualify for Boston, for example, or you have a time goal of 3:25, then you can run with that pacer's group. The pacer does NOT stop at aid stations for drinks or outhouses for potty breaks. He just continually runs. Pace groups are great for people who have a time goal or who have a hard time pacing themselves.]

I started out with the 3:25 group, but had no intention of staying with them the whole race. I knew I could keep up with them for the first few miles because it’s all downhill. My plan worked out perfectly and I exited South Fork Canyon just as the 3:25 pace group passed me.

As I ran through Vivian Park — the first place Elden and Blake were supposed to be cheering for me — I quickly scanned the aid station and the ten people there cheering on the runners.

They weren’t there! Oh no. If they missed me here, would they ever find me as the thousand runners behind me exited the canyon?

But then, just as I was thinking this, I heard cowbells for the first of many times that day. Elden and Blake were just around the bend. They hadn’t calculated the time right and didn’t think they would make it to Vivian Park in time, so set up a little further down the path.

My cheering section had found me!

The Hammer discards the sweatshirt she wore for the first few miles.

The next 5 miles were down Provo Canyon on a great bike path. I know this path well; It was my training route for many years, back when I lived in Orem. I was feeling great and I was keeping the 3:25 pace group in sight.

The 3:25 pace group must have been sad as I drifted off the the back and they lost the perpetual cheering section of Elden and Blake.

Elden and Blake would ride about a mile ahead, get off their bikes, and start cheering and ringing their cowbells. I could hear the cowbells and know they were close by. What a great motivator! As I passed, I would high-five them and Elden would yell words of encouragement.

The Hammer puts her hand out for a high-five as she runs by.

At mile ten, my dad even came out and cheered me on! Thanks Dad!

The halfway point of the marathon is — naturally — the end of the half marathon, and is on center street in Provo. As I ran by the finish line, I felt a little sad that I wasn’t running across the finish line. It’s funny how much of running is mental. When I ran the Moab half-marathon a few weeks ago, I was exhausted when I crossed the finish line. I couldn’t imagine running another 13 miles!

But as I crossed the halfway point on this day, I felt great. I looked down at my watch: 1:43. Wow, not a bad time for a half marathon!

Elden had left me about a block before the finish line/half way mark so he wouldn’t get in the way of people finishing the race. He said he would catch up with me in a little while.

Blake, meanwhile, had gotten bored and left. He said he would find us at the finish line. I didn’t blame him; riding your bike at a runners pace for 26 miles does not sound like the way I want to spend my Saturday morning. I was grateful for his smiling face and expertise at ringing a cowbell! Thanks Blake!

The first six miles of this race had been downhill, but then it had leveled off and become flat by mile thirteen, and continues flat until the finish — relatively flat for a Utah marathon. Now, leaving the crowds at the finish line, the road went up over an overpass — the only “climbing” for the day.

As I descended the overpass, I realized my feet were killing me! The reason was simple: the last three or four miles had been on a concrete road. I couldn’t believe what a difference there is running on concrete vs pavement. We turned, and I was glad we were off the concrete and back on chipseal (chipseal may be terrible for road biking, but it’s fantastic for running).

The next 6 miles would be run through neighborhoods as we made our way toward Utah lake. Once we arrived at the lake we would get back on the Provo River Bike Path and head east back toward the finish line.

As I approached mile 15, the marathon blues started to descend upon me. My feet hurt, and my hamstrings and calves felt like they were on the verge of cramping up.

“What am I doing here,” I thought to myself. “Running marathons suck! Why does anybody run them?” I couldn’t figure out how in the world I was going to make it another 11 miles! I was just going to have to walk.

I was sure all those people behind me were going to start to pass me–how demoralizing that would be! Elden would see me walking when I was supposed to be having a great race! He would be so disappointed in me.

Thank heavens Blake wasn’t around- He thinks im tough, he’d be so disappoointed. And then I heard the cowbell in the distance! “Oh crap,” I thought. “Elden is back! What am I to do?”

“Hey Baby, you’re looking good!” said Elden.

“Clang, clang, clang” said the cow bell.

“You’re not being helpful,” said the grumpy runner.

That’s what I said to my darling husband who got up at 3:45 in the morning and who had been cheering me on for 2 hours! What a brat!

But I couldn’t really say anything else, I was physically exhausted and quite possibly dying!

“Is the bell too much? I’m sorry, I won’t ring it anymore,” chimed Elden.

And he proceeded to be happy and cheerful and tell me stories about people he had met on his bike…blah, blah, blah.

And the thought occurred to me that I must have sounded just like this to Elden when we were running Boston. I was happy and cheerful and talkative. Elden was not. Elden was feeling this same exhaustion and pain while we were running Boston that I was feeling now. I had a new found love and sympathy for what Elden was going through so he could be with me at Boston. What a wonderful guy!

“I’m bonking bad, Elden, I need a gel!”

“One gel coming right up!” and he produced a gel and some water and an “I love you.”

Gel may feel and taste disgusting going down, but its effect is magic. Within a few minutes, I was back. My feet stopped hurting and the blues were on their way out!

“Thanks Elden, but dont be mad if I can’t talk. I’m pretty tired.”

“I completely understand, Baby, You just keep running and I will just keep talking…if it’s helpful.”

Feel free to take a few moments to admire and envy The Hammer’s legs.

The next few miles flew by and soon I was back on the bike path headed toward the finish line–only six miles to go.

At one point I found myself alone. Well, I wasn’t completely alone. I could see one guy about 25 yards a head of me, but alone in the sense that Elden was a way behind me, talking to a different runner and I was out of cheering section for a moment. Then I heard a cowbell approaching. I thought it was the return of Elden, but was surprised to see Blake riding up to me.

Blake (The IT Guy) snaps a picture of his mom (The hammer) as she runs by.

“Mom, you look great!” Blake said.

“I do? I don’t really feel that great.”

“Well you look way better than the 200 people I just passed while I was looking for you. They all look like they are dying.”

It was sure a good thing that Blake didn’t see me 8 miles ago when I was the one about to die. My secret is still safe (I think). Blake still thinks I’m tough!

The last few miles I had a tailwind. It is amazing what a little wind on your rear can do for your momentum and spirits. Blake and Elden soon veered off the path and headed for the finish line. They wanted to be on the line when I crossed. I looked down at my watch–only one mile to go. I thought I had this in the bag until I rounded the last corner and saw the overpass!

“Crap,” I thought. “I have to go up and over that again.”

I slowed to a walk. How could I have forgotten about that? I passed a man who was walking on the sidewalk; he gave me a curious smile. At that moment, I interpreted his smile as a smirk. In my mind, the man was saying “Girl, you are almost at the finish line–it’s just over that incline and you are walking? What a wimp!”

That did it! I picked up the pace and finished strong! Elden was at the finish line greeting me with a giant hug and kiss! I collapsed in his arms–exhausted. 3 hours, 36 minutes. Not quite my fastest time, but pretty close to it! I couldn’t have done it without a fantastic cheering section!

Both glad the race is over: The IT Guy and The Hammer.

Thanks Elden and Blake, for pushing me and cheering me on during the highs and lows! I love you guys!

Fatty’s Story: Marathons Are Fun And Easy

I have little to add to The Hammer’s excellent narrative. And by “little,” I of course mean “a surprisingly large amount, due to the fact that I seem to be unable to ever shut up and let well enough alone.”

1. It was fun to watch The Hammer actually hammer. It’s very strange that up until last Saturday, I had never watched The Hammer run a race. That’s because up to this point, she had always convinced me to run the race along with her, which meant that either she would be running way below her ability, or she’d be way ahead of me and I wouldn’t see her anyway. This time, though, I’d get to see her run, for more than the few moments it took for her to pull away from me at the starting line.
2. I was excited to be at a running race, but on a bike. I anticipated that there would be something deliciously evil about being on a bike at a marathon. To be comfortably lollygagging along, leapfrogging the very fastest runners, without even breaking a sweat.
3. Running makes you emotional. I’ve ridden my bike for 20 hours straight before. I was exhausted and hallucinating, but I still felt like myself — friendly, stable, and silly (the three characteristics I self-define with). Whenever I’ve gone on a long run, I’ve become much more emotional than usual. It was reassuring to see that The Hammer has to confront some bugaboos on hard runs, too.
4. Cowbells are awesome. When The Hammer and I were in Boston, Philly Jen gave us a bunch of little Boston Marathon-branded cowbells. One of these easily fits in a jersey pocket, and Blake and I used them the whole day. Cowbells are awesome because they’re louder than clapping and yelling, and hurt way less when used for an extended period of time.
5. Racers love spectators. Of course, I was at the race for The Hammer, but I cheered for — and occasionally rode alongside — everyone and anyone. And after the race, at least half a dozen racers came up to me and expressed gratitude for me bing there and cheering them on. It makes me think: anyone who has ever benefitted from cheering spectators needs to find time to be a cheering spectator sometimes, thus paying the good karma forward.
6. Small races are great. Of course, the iconic marathons like NYC and Boston have their obvious appeal, but a tiny race like (fewer than 300 runners!) like the Provo City Marathon made it possible for me to — without difficulty — constantly leapfrog the runners, either by taking a different street to the next place I’d stop to cheer for them, or sometimes just riding ahead of — and even alongside — them.
7. The Hammer is modest. The Hammer doesn’t mention in her story that she took a podium spot in her age group: third. She also doesn’t mention that her time across the line at the halfway spot for her marathon was fast enough that she would have taken first in her age group for the half marathon.
8. Everyone has an interesting story. I sometimes stopped and cheered for people who were racing, and sometimes I would randomly pick a person racing and ride alongside her or him for a few minutes, just chatting. And you know what? There’s not a single person out there who doesn’t have an interesting story to tell. The world might be a better place if we all took the time to talk to more strangers (but don’t tell that to your kids, I guess).
9. Riding 40 miles, slowly, over the course of four hours, is easy. Between riding from the finish line to where we first caught up with The Hammer to leapfrogging and riding along racers, I put in about 40 road miles on my mountain bike (mountain biking shoes are much better if you’re going to be getting off your bike and standing around a bunch) that morning. But it was such slow miles that I didn’t feel like I had gotten any kind of workout from it. So after I brought The Hammer home, I got back on my bike and went mountain biking for a couple hours.
10. This item placed because people like lists of 10 better than lists of 9. Have you ever considered how much of our world is governed by the fact that most of us have ten fingers? How would the world be different if we had fourteen? Something to think about.

And in short, I look forward to spectating in the future, as The Hammer crushes other running events.

PS: I really like how my sister Jodi (Pistols and Popcorn) is helping a reader of hers (Amy) get treatment for MS. Check out Jodi’s post from yesterday, and then maybe go find $5 to help Amy too.

Here are Kenny and I last year, after racing the Tour de Donut.

Apart from the magnificently appropriate backdrop of the line of portapotties, my favorite thing about this photo is . . . me.

I look fantastic.

Yes, in spite of the fact that I had just eaten ten donuts, I look great. Leadville was just a month away and — while I didn’t know it for sure — I was light (about 156 pounds, if I remember correctly) and fit enough that a sub-9 was looking entirely possible.

And a few weeks later, I’d cross the Leadville finish line in 8:18:01, looking like this:

Ecstatic, for sure. Salty, certainly. And my teeth were just a little bit on the grimy side:

Importantly, though, in an unposed picture — one where I did not have time to suck my gut in — my stomach looked like this:

To be sure, there are people who look a lot skinnier (and better) in bike jerseys, but for me, this is about as good as it gets.

So. Let’s fast-forward to the present, shall we?

Here’s a photo The IT Guy took during the first few miles of the 2012 RAWROD:

OK, now let’s zoom in on me a little closer.

Yeah. That’s . . . um . . . not good (and I’m not talking about the fact that at the moment I was in possession of The Daisy).

How did this happen? In a couple of ways.

The Tragedy of Self-Delusion

The Hammer and I both came off of last year so fast and fit that we somehow thought that we’d be that way forever (so far, she has retained and built on that strength and fitness; you can see that I have not). So we set ourselves the most challenging race season ever:

• The Crusher in the Tushar: 69 miles, a ridiculous amount of climbing, big parts of the ride on road, big parts of it on dirt.
• The Leadville 100: I think I’ve talked enough about this race for one lifetime.
• The Breck Epic: The main event of the season. Six freaking days of mountain bike racing on high-altitude singletrack. This will start the day after the Leadville 100, so that’s a nice long recovery period.

So you’d think I’d start getting myself in shape and stuff. Which leads to the second, most important reason I’ve managed to let myself go to fat like this.

Fit-Fat

I am currently the very picture of a physical state that may be impossible for any sport but cycling:

I am Fit-Fat.

Which is to say, thanks to a nice dry winter, I kept on riding. My legs and lungs are actually really great right now (see picture above). I was able to ride the White Rim in one day, on a singlespeed, without particular difficulty, and I felt good enough that I went riding again the next day.

That’s the “Fit” part of Fit-Fat.

The “Fat” part is because I am part bear. Which is to say, when it’s winter, I eat a lot. And I have to fight a near-constant urge to climb into a cave and sleep for a couple months.

The danger of being Fit-Fat is that it kinda sneaks up on you. Winter comes and goes, but you’re still wearing the larger, loose-fitting jerseys, which you used to tell yourself you needed to wear because you had a base layer underneath. But deep down, you know that you’re wearing them because the so-called “base layer” is just a big ol’ gut.

And you find reasons to not get on the scale.

But because you’re strong and have a good aerobic base, you can — in general — still hang with everyone one during the group rides. Sure, you work harder on the climbs, but you’ve got the legs to make it work.

And then full-blown Spring arrives, with Summer hot on its heels. And there is no hiding. If everyone else is Fit, being Fit-Fat isn’t enough.

I’ve got to lose some major weight, pronto. Or I’m going to be writing stories about how The Hammer had to wait for me at the aid stations at the Breck Epic.

That prospect does not delight me.

Originally, David says, Oncolos “was created to help my wife with her cancer. It was designed with the idea, originally, of it being a two-player game just for us. But as I started working on it, I realized more people would benefit from it than just her, so I decided to expand it into a project that’s multiplayer.”

“The big benefit of it,” says Dougher, “Is simply that it lets the cancer patient know that they’re not alone.”

To start developing this project in earnest, Dougher has started this Kickstarter page, where you can help finance this very cool game idea. Click here to learn more about Oncolos, or click here to go to the Oncolos Kickstarter page.

I’ve often said that everyone find ways to use what they love to do and what they’re good at to join the fight against cancer. David Dougher proves this in an awesome way.

The Relishment of a Race Not Raced

Two races tomorrow

One in St. George

One in Provo

Two races tomorrow

And sweet rapture in my breast today

Rapture, whence thou?

I ask rhetorically, for I already know!

I am glad in my heart for reasons clear and true

I shall race neither!

Tomorrow, I race not at all!

(Sometimes I wish there were a punctuation more emphatic than the exclamation point)

I know people who race St. Geroge Ironman tomorrow

They shall converse with demons within and without

I think of them and envy them not one whit

Not one!

Maybe not even half a whit!

And then

I think of The Hammer

Who races a local marathon anon

Do I envy her?

Hell no!

Which is to say

No hell for me tomorrow

I shall ride my bike from place to place

Cheering The Hammer on

Admiring her strength

Admiring her speed

Glad for her

Supporting her

For she is doing what she loves

And I am glad for me

For reasons adequately explained above

I wish all racers luck tomorrow

And sleep tonight.

Thank you.

But here’s the thing: everyone — every single person — who has given my Bratwurst (“Brats” from here on out) agrees that I am really, really good at it.

So today: how to make Brats, Fatty-style.

No Secrets

Maybe there should be one more disclaimer here: the secret to my success with Brats is the exact same secret to my success with burgers. And with chili. And with banana cream pie.

Which is to say: there is no secret. It just takes time, and you can’t take shortcuts.

What You Need

So here’s what you need to prepare bratwurst so good people will think you are using dark majick and casting spells upon them.

• Uncooked Brats: I’m a big fan of Colosimo’s, but don’t know if that’s available nationally. Johnsonville’s is also great. I generally plan on 2 Brats per person, and then round up a package.
• Beer: Enough to completely submerge the brats when they’re in a big pot. For 60 Brats, a 30-can case is plenty. People often ask me what kind of beer to use, thinking that the better the beer, the better the Brats. Luckily for your pocketbook, that’s not the case. Cheap beer works just as well as expensive beer. So buy whatever’s on sale, which seems to almost always be PBR. Don’t, however, buy light beer.
• Worcestershire Sauce: About 1/4 cup per dozen Brats.
• Onion: 1 onion per bot of Brats boiled, regardless of the number of Brats therein.
• A charcoal or wood fire, and grill: Not a gas grill. Now, I’m not a charcoal grill snob (OK, I am), but I can’t overstate the importance of this.
• Spicy brown mustard: Not regular mustard. Not ketchup.
• Sauerkraut: Personally, I don’t like it, but enough people see it as integral to the Brats experience that I figured I’d better include this in the list.
• Buns / bread: If possible, use Kenny’s homemade bread. Probably, that’s not an option for you, in which case hot dog buns work OK.

Boil The Brats

Brats have to be cooked twice. First you boil them, then you grill them. The boiling step takes a lot of time, but is easy.

First, dump the Brats into a pot. Don’t fill the pot past about 5/8 full, and don’t pack them in too tight; use multiple pots if you’re making a lot of Brats.

Next, pour enough beer over the Brats to submerge them. Make sure you have enough beer left over to add more as some of it boils off — a couple extra cans’ worth per pot.

More next, chop an onion loosely into the pot. Big slices are fine.

Even more next, pour in the Worcestershire sauce. I know I specify 1/4 cup per dozen Brats, but in real life I just kind of pour a bunch in.

Nextiest of all, bring the Brats to a boil and then let them boil for a good long while.

“How long,” you might well ask? And that’s a fantastic question.

My answer is, “I don’t know if it’s possible to boil them too long,” though now that I think about it, it probably is. Still, I’ve boiled Brats for as little as an hour, and as long as for two hours, and get good results every time.

The main thing to keep in mind is that now is when you’re cooking the Brats for real. As in, you could totally eat the Brats right out of the pot — it’s just that the texture and color would be kind of gross, and they wouldn’t have that smokey flavor that nudges the Brats from the “Excellent” category into the “Indescribable” category.

So: boil them for at least an hour. And be sure to check on them every fifteen minutes or so to make sure they’re not boiling over. Every time you do this, give them a good stir, so that the Brats floating at the top won’t always be the same ones.

And when the beer level drops enough that Brats can’t all be submerged, add a can of beer.

As you boil the Brats, your whole house / apartment / church kitchen will be filled with the smell of Brats boiling in beer.

Cherish it.

Intermission

Once you’re done boiling the Brats, you can start grilling them right away. Or — and this is what I consider the most genius-y thing I’ve ever done — if you plan to be grilling later that day or even a day or two later, you can store them.

Just put as many as will fit into whatever kind of sealable container you’ve got (I’ve used both tupperware and freezer bags with fine results), then pour some of the beer mixture — including the boiled onions — over the Brats before you seal them and put them in the fridge / ice chest. Note that the Brats smell is going to get out of that tupperware, though, so if you’re using the fridge, you may want to be prepared for milk that’s going to taste a little . . . different.

Grilling

As I mentioned before, your Brats are really already cooked. The grilling step is to heat up the Brats (if they’ve been on ice for a while), crisp the outside, and — more than anything else — give them as smokey flavor that is just remarkable.

Obviously, you won’t get a smokey flavor if you use a gas grill. So even if you usually use a gas grill, go get yourself a cheap, small charcoal grill for your Brats. It’s worth it, and it’s really not a lot harder than using gas.

Wood is even better if you’ve got that option.

Now, since the Brats are already cooked, you won’t have to cook them for long. Just place them close on the grill, and let them get crisp — brown, or even a little blackened — before turning them over:

This photo taken without permission from Grizzly Adam’s site. But I figure he’ll be cool with it anyway. Right, Grizzly?

Get them crisp on the other side, and then, serve. And revel in the admiration you are suddenly receiving, not to mention no small number of questions along the lines of, “So what’s your secret?”

Your answer, of course, will be: “There is no secret. There’s just a right way to do it.”

PS: I don’t understand why anyone would want ketchup on their Brats, but I expect some people don’t understand why I don’t want sauerkraut on my Brats. Taste is personal, so I usually bring sauerkraut, spicy brown mustard, ketchup, and even mayo for people to put on their brats. Hey, you’re all standing around a fire / picnic table / whatever enjoying good food. No sense in being a snot about it.

PS: But I draw the line at plain yellow mustard.

I’ve been riding a long time. Close to twenty years now, I think. I’ve gotten to the point where — if I’m not racing, and the heat doesn’t sap me — long rides like The White Rim don’t crush me. I rode the whole day on my rigid singlespeed feeling just fine. Not tired, not beat. At the end of the day, my legs weren’t particularly cooked, and my butt was not even remotely chafed (and I don’t use any kind of chamois cream).

I carried the right amount of food and was never hungry. I was never thirsty. I was never cold, nor was I ever hot. I put sunscreen on at the right times and never got sunburned, in spite of the fact that I was out in the direct sunlight for more than ten hours.

Yep, I guess you could say that I’m an extremely experienced cyclist.

And yet, I am often a complete bonehead.

I have an example to illustrate this point.

Nobody Saw That, Right?

A good-sized group of us was riding together. The Hammer, The IT Guy, Paul, Kenny, Heather, and some others. It was a good section of the trail to talk, because it was a wide, flat, straight, and in general unremarkable stretch of red sand, which had been packed down by trucks and jeeps rolling over it.

I was on the leftmost side of the road, a foot or so to the right of the edge of the road, which ended in a lip up to the sand and cacti beyond.

Naturally, I was talking. I’m pretty sure I was being very funny, because as I was riding I looked over to The Hammer and lifted an eyebrow after saying something, which is our special signal that “Fatty just said something he thinks is funny, so you should humor him and laugh.”

And then I found myself nose-wheelie-ing. I had veered left and had plowed my front wheel into the sand on the side of the road.

After which, I found myself flying over the front of my bike. Even as I flew, I thought to myself, “Well, this is the dumbest wreck, ever.”

After which I found myself lying on my chest in the sand. Totally unhurt. I had just experienced the least painful endo in the history of the universe.

And also, now that I think about it, probably the least necessary endo.

I sat up, laughing at how ridiculous I am and how foolish I looked, got back on my bike, and got going again.

It was then that The Hammer said, “Well, that was strange.”

“You mean the way I just did an endo in a place nobody should ever endo?” I asked.

“No, it’s what you were doing while you were mid-endo,” she replied. “You were laughing. The whole time you were crashing. Just laughing out loud.”

So. While I may be a clumsy buffoon, I’m at least a clumsy buffoon with a sense of self-deprecating humor.

Horse Thief

The last mile of this 100 mile (I often consider how strange it is that this ride works out to be pretty much exactly 100 miles, but it does) ride is the climb up Horse Thief Trail. Switchback after switchback. Hard climbing for right around a mile.

I love that climb. I can’t think of a more perfect way to cap off a hard day of riding than to take whatever you’ve got and leave it all out there by climbing your heart out.

And then, right at the top, you’re back where you started.

A perfect ride. A perfect day.

Clean Up

I, of course, had gotten myself pretty thoroughly dirty by doing a belly-flop into the sand. But everyone was dirty — there’s no getting around it.

But — being brilliant and stuff — I had brought something along to make the long drive home we had ahead of us a lot less grimy: a big ActionWipes Multipack. One or two of these is enough to pretty much de-grossify you after even a big ol’ all-day ride.

And it feels so good to get the grit and sunscreen and salt crust off you before you head home. Not to mention the way you’re kinda saving your butt from future sores. Which is a good thing.

[Full Disclosure: I got this pack of ActionWipes for free. But I'm totally hooked. If you ride and then won't be near a shower for a while, ActionWipes are the best thing ever.

I Am A Hero

[Full Disclosure: I learned the following trick from Kenny].

My second favorite tradition (first favorite: brats the night before the ride) of RAWROD is what comes after the ride itself: on the way home, we stop by Ray’s Tavern in Green River.

Ray’s has great burgers and fries. And really, that’s pretty much the only food they serve.

There’s something about that place. People who have been there know what I mean.

The thing is, it’s always busy in the evenings, especially at the end of weekends as lots of people coming home from Moab stop by there to reward themselves for an incredible day / weekend of riding, climbing, rafting, or whatever else it was they did in Moab over the weekend.

The wait for your burger can be substantial.

So, as soon as I got phone service, as we were driving toward Green River, I called our order ahead. Told them we’d be there in 45 minutes.

Our food was served as we arrived. Hot cheeseburgers and fries waiting for us at our table.

Never before have I been so admired.

I always look forward to getting to Musselman’s Arch when we ride around the White Rim. For one thing, it means that, distance-wise, we’ve completed a pretty significant portion of the ride — 30 miles. For another thing, it’s usually around then that the day has warmed up enough that you can get rid of armwarmers, kneewarmers, and whatnot.

And for yet a third thing, it’s the first place where the riders regroup to talk and get something to eat. Everyone’s still excited for the ride (as opposed to exhausted and wanting to get it done).

And then there’s the big reason: actually looking at — and if you’re brave, walking out onto — the arch itself:

This year, I didn’t walk out onto the arch.

Beyond The Arch

Kenny — who is the organizer and undisputed boss of this ride — told us we’d be stopping at Vertigo Void (the location of my most criminal moment ever, a few years ago) for lunch. Which comes after another 25 – 30 miles of riding.

This is, I’m pretty sure, the best part of the ride for talking, due to the fact that it’s not particularly technical, and it’s more-or-less flat. Not to mention incredibly scenic.

And on this day, it was even more perfect for riding and talking than usual, due to the weather. For the first time I can remember, the weather on the White Rim was absolutely perfect. Warm, but not hot — maybe 71 degrees (not Celsius).

Even more importantly, there was exactly the perfect amount of wind: enough to cool you and feel good against you, but not enough to kick up the sand or slow you down.

It was wonderful.

I got to catch up with my friend Paul, who was riding his first 100 mile mountain bike ride. In fact, it was his first 100 mile bike ride, period. Or maybe I should make that period a comma, because he was doing the ride on a single speed. Impressive!

It was fun talking with him in no small part because he and I each have a kid — with similar personalities — who just finished (or is finishing) his first year of college. Which seems so odd to say.

The Hammer, meanwhile, did not get to talk much at all, because she was discovering that a singlespeed gear set up for climbing (32 x 22) is not a singlespeed gear set up for rolling on the flats. Astonishingly, though, she kept up, turning an incredibly fast cadence the whole way.

Distance?

As we rode along, looking at the immense, beautiful landscape, I occasionally wondered how many miles we had gone.

But not often.

See, I had forgotten to bring a mount for my bike computer, and so was riding without tracking any of those things I usually am pretty obsessive about (how far, how much vertical, how much time).

And I really, really liked it. It was nice, not knowing — or caring — how far along the ride was. In fact, I’d say that the ride went quicker because I didn’t know.

Lunchtime at Vertigo Void

One of the oddities of riding around the White Rim is that the average cyclist can travel faster than the average sag wagon driver.

What this means is that after all the cyclists got to Vertigo Void and had taken the requisite scary look down from the overhang, there was still about half an hour of nothing to do ’til the truck caught up to us, bringing us more water to drink and our lunches to eat.

We used this time extremely productively.

Sometimes having nothing to do for half an hour or so can feel pretty darned awesome.

Still, after a while, you kind of start hoping the truck will get there soon. You know, because you’re getting pretty hungry.

And then a joyous cry went up: the truck had been spotted! For The Hammer and me, this meant:

• Subway Sandwiches: We had bought these at the Wellington Subway (the one inside the Chevron gas station) on the way to Moab the day before. I find a Subway Club to be the perfect mid-big ride food. The trick is, when you have the sandwich made, to not have them put mayo or mustard on it, but instead to give you packets to put them on yourself when you eat.
• Macadamia Nut / White Chocolate Chip Cookies: I can’t place the exact moment these replaced the chocolate chip cookie as my favorite, but I think it was sometime in my mid-thirties. Anyway, The Hammer had brought along about thirty of them, of which I believe I ate my fair share. Approximately.
• Diet Coke: Why a no-calorie cola in the middle of a big ride? Because I was getting calories elsewhere. I wanted a Diet Coke because I really like Diet Coke. The Hammer had Mountain Dew.

I ate just enough that I felt moderately gross getting back onto the bike. As if my legs were squooshing into my belly just a bit more than they usually do.

Red-Letter Day for The IT Guy

I don’t think I’ve ever charted the elevation profile for the White Rim. This is due to the fact that the elevation profile would look a little bit ridiculous: A gradual up, a big drop, a long flat, two blips up and down, and then one big climb.

But those two blips and the big climb are pretty big deals. There’s a lot of chest-thumping rights for cleaning (i.e., riding all the way up without stopping or putting a foot down) those pitches.

And The IT Guy cleaned all of them. All three. Boom. Boom. Boom.

This is awesome on its own merits, but is especially interesting because The IT Guy has been complaining a lot that since his crash last August, he just hasn’t been able to get back into shape and didn’t think he could do the whole White Rim.

And then he cleans the big three of White Rim: Murphy’s Hogback, Hardscrabble, and Horse Thief.

Pretty impressive, but I’m going to give him only partial credit since he wussed out and started the ride at mile 30 (i.e., he skipped the easy part of the ride).

And also, I’m going to post this picture of him I took as he was complaining the night before that he just didn’t feel very strong:

PS: Tomorrow, I shall post part 3 — the conclusion — of this story. It will contain an anecdote that features me endo-ing, as well as a moment where I was a hero.