A “The FatCyclist Gear Pre-Order Is Ending Soon” Note From Fatty: I really can’t overemphasize how important a good pair of bibshorts is to making your ride more comfortable.
OK, that’s not strictly true. I could overemphasize it pretty easily, to be honest. I could say something like, “The only way you will ever have fun riding a bike is if you wear a good pair of bibshorts! If you don’t wear bibshorts, you are bound to suffer horribly, even during the shortest rides! And people will make fun of you and your friends will never call you again!”
And I could go on.
But my point is, a good pair of bib shorts — whether you’re a man or woman — does some really good things for your riding experience:
They don’t have anything cinching around your waist, which is really nice
They keep the chamois snug against your butt
They de-muffintop you, which is really really nice for some of us
They make it so that you never have a gap between your shorts and jersey, showing off your no-doubt beautifully pale midsection.
Every pair of bibshorts I own are FatCyclist.com bibs. And they’re all fantastic. The ones I have that are four years old are still going strong. They’re comfortable and they’re long-lasting. I’ve been out on many all-day rides with these, and have never had a problem.
Lambert Park isn’t all that big, as far as mountain bike parks go. But it’s close to home, it’s rideable about ten months out of the year, and it has an amazing amount of fantastic trail packed into the space available.
It’s where I filmed one of my favorite videos of all time:
It’s a great place to head out on a family hike:
And it’s also where the fire that scorched the mountain close to my house started. Here are a few pictures, taken from my back porch over the course of just a couple hours, as the fire worked its way across the side of the mountain:
The fire looks especially freaky as night comes on:
We were lucky, though. After just two days of the fire we got a good rainstorm, which — along with the amazing efforts of the firefighters — pretty much stopped the fire in its tracks. No (human) homes lost.
Of course, now the mountain looks like the Crack of Doom:
But that’ll all — eventually — grow back. And the smoke smell that dominated the area has faded nicely into the background. Or maybe we’ve just gotten used to it.
Anyway, with the fire mostly out (on a windy night earlier this week, we could see a couple of flare-ups), we wanted to see:
What’s Lambert Park like now?
Well, it’s pretty weird. And instructive and interesting, in its own way.
It’s So . . . Small
Until now, Lambert Park was always really thick with scrub oak, so you could never see more than a few yards ahead of you. Strangely, having those bushes and trees all around you made you feel like you were in a really big place. Because you couldn’t see very far — but everywhere you looked there was trees and trail — your mind tricked you into the feeling that they went on forever, in every direction.
Now, however, big chunks of the mountain and the trail are laid bare:
You can see the trail and the direction it goes all the way up — or down — the slope. Suddenly, instead of the sense of riding in a big forested area, you see how close the switchbacks are to each other, and what a short distance it is from where you are to where you’re riding to.
The illusion of “bigness” is gone.
Eerie
I don’t normally spend a lot of time thinking about plants as living things. I just think about them as plants.
That changes, though, when you see a bunch of them together, burned and black:
It’s spooky. And sad.
Spared
Thanks to dividing trails and roads and — as far as I know — efforts of firefighters, there are big chunks of Lambert Park that haven’t been burned at all. Including my favorite parts: Rodeo and Spring. This is from yesterday:
When you’re in this part of the park, it’s like nothing ever happened.
Capricious?
One of the very oddest things about riding through Lambert Park after the fire, though, was seeing what the fire took, and what it left behind.
Something as narrow as a dirt road or a trail seems to have been enough, sometimes, to stop the fire, so one side of the trail would be completely burned away, while the other side would still be green:
The sudden changes, as we’d cross over these barriers between green and burnt mountain, was really startling, every time. Like when you jump into a pool.
A “Hey, Buy This Awesome Stuff I’m Selling” Note from Fatty: We are now smack-dab in the middle of the pre-order week for 2013 FatCyclist gear. And if I do say so myself, this year’s design is the perfect storm of bold, fun, beautiful, and meaningful.
Today, I’d like to point out the centerpiece of the 2013 collection: the jersey itself. It’s a full-zip jersey, and designed to work with a white full zipper perfectly. It’s a bold design, both back and front.
As you drop other riders and they see “FATCYCLIST.com” as you ride away, they will remember you.
Oh yes. They will.
And for those few guys who are balking at the pink: get ahold of yourself. It’s a black-and-white jersey, with a pink accent. And that pink is there for a reason.
If someone dares accuse you of not being manly enough when you’re wearing this jersey, it’s not because of the jersey.
And so will I. Because you’ll be helping me with some pretty important projects.
A Note to big guys who want a Fat Cyclist Jersey: The Fat Cyclist mens’ jersey goes up to XXXL, and the guys at Twin Six say it should fit a guy up to 320 pounds. Try it out, and if it doesn’t work, return it.
I Think I’m In Trouble
Last year, Burke Swindlehurst launched a new race: “The Crusher in the Tushars.” It wasn’t just a new race, though, it was a new kind of race: “Roadirt,” where you have to plan on covering pavement, dirt road and even singletrack in a single race.
Lots of climbing (10,500 feet). Lots of riding (69 miles). All in an area that is unfamiliar to me, but fairly close to where I live.
Interesting, to say the least.
I wanted to do the race, but couldn’t — I was committed to be the at (sponsoring, in fact) the Tour de Donut.
This year, it looked like the same thing was going to happen. But then The Rotary Club changed the date of the Tour de Donut (for my benefit, amazingly enough), and I was in.
So here’s the thing.
I have friends — Rick Sunderlage (not his real name), SkiBikeJunkie and Grizzly Adam — who have made this the focus of their year. Indeed, I believe that Grizzly Adam has made this race the focus of his entire existence.
And due to the unique nature of this race, they’ve all chosen to ride cyclocross bikes, which makes total sense. Especially since they all race cyclocross.
And here’s my artistic shot, showing off the soft glow of aluminum (and the name of the bike):
This is a beautiful bike, and I’m excited to learn how to use it, and to someday be good at racing it.
But right now, I feel like a complete dope on the thing.
This isn’t the bike’s fault. The bike is just fine.
It’s me. I don’t know how to ride a cross bike, and I haven’t taken the time to learn. So far, in fact, I’ve taken this bike on only one long ride. About 75 miles, a mix of road and dirt, with 10,250 feet of climbing.
You can check it out on Strava if you like, but I’ll be happy to give you the short version instead:
I was a disaster.
Sure, I climbed OK, although I kept wishing I had my hands on flat bars, where I’m used to them being for dirt climbing.
Descending was the real problem. I was insanely cautious and uncomfortable descending on those narrow tires with my hands in the drops. Suddenly, I had a sensation I have not had on a bike in at least ten years: the sense of being a complete and utter novice.
I didn’t know what I was doing. It was that simple.
A Decision
I was staring at a very uncomfortable truth: this is a very good bike for this race, but I am a very lame rider on this bicycle.
So I started doing what came natural. Specifically, I started rationalizing.
“You know,” I said to The Hammer, whose job it is to listen to all of my rationalizations (a more-or-less full-time job), “The bike I really, truly love riding more than any other bike right now is my Specialized Stumpjumper 29er Singlespeed. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so perfect on a bike. Maybe I should ride that bike at the Crusher.”
I continued, looking for a way to turn this from a move of cowardice to something more heroic. “I think this race would be more challenging on a singlespeed anyway,” I said.
“Ride whatever bike you want,” said The Hammer, who is riding her Superfly hardtail MTB, just like she does at every mountain bike race, and isn’t making a fuss about it.
“OK,” I said. “I’m going to ride the singlespeed.”
An Un-Decision
And I was comfortable with that decision. That SS and I belong together. I am comfortable on it, I climb well on it, I descend reasonably on it.
Then, yesterday while The Hammer and I were out on an early morning ride, I started thinking.
This course is completely new to me. I don’t have anything to prove on it, apart — maybe — that I can finish it.
Also, if I want to learn to ride a different and new kind of bike on a different and new kind of course, then I’m actually going to have to go out on that new bike and ride it on that new course.
And then, finally, the thing in the back of my mind came to the front of my mind:
I’m racing on the singlespeed because I’m chicken.
Specifically, I’m chicken to be new at something, to be at the bottom of an uphill climb. I’d rather ride a bike — a singlespeed mountain bike — that is about as unperfect for the ride as possible than be a novice again.
I’ve become so used to being an old hand at riding that I’ve become fearful of what it would be like to be a novice again. To go back to the beginning.
How can I be that way and at the same time be the guy who constantly encourages people to start riding, to do this new thing in spite of the difficulty and probably embarrassment they’re going to encounter?
How is it possible I just wrote such a long and convoluted sentence?
So I reversed myself. I’m going to ride this CX bike I’m still new and clumsy on. I’m going to be passed by scores of people on the first downhill, and will never see them again during the race.
Instead of being the pretty-good, experienced, sport-level racer, I’m going to be a total goofball novice. Again. And I’m going to make big, stupid mistakes and basically learn to ride a bike.
I’m going to own my inexperience. Embrace it, even. All while I’m riding 70 miles, and doing 10K feet of climbing.
I believe that I will come back with quite a story.
My annual meeting with the guys at Twin Six was heating up. “We need an awesome idea for the 2013 FatCyclist jersey design,” I said, between bites of ice cream. “Something that looks awesome and modern, yet resonates with the Friends of Fatty.”
I ate a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. Delicious.
“How about something with flames?” I suggested.
The dead silence on the other end of the phone told me everything I needed to know. I ate a spoonful of chocolate ice cream, and wondered which I preferred: vanilla or chocolate?
“You know, we could put a horn on the horse and call it a unicorn, then say the jersey has magical slimming properties.”
The Twin Six guys chuckled, politely.
I had another bite of vanilla. Just to see whether it was better than chocolate. But honestly, there was no way to tell. They’re both perfect.
“Maybe this year we should have the jersey feature a big picture of me on the front,” I said. “After all, I’m quite famous and award-winning, not to mention handsome.”
“No,” replied Brent and Ryan, emphatically.
I had a bite of strawberry ice cream, thinking about the strange fact that in a carton of Neapolitan ice cream, it’s always the strawberry ice cream that gets eaten last.
“All the more for those of us who like every flavor,” I thought to myself.
And that’s when it hit me.
“Guys,” I said. “I’ve got it.”
“The 2013 jersey,” I said, impressively, with dramatic pauses placed appropriately, “will bring back pink, and it shall be known, far and wide, as the Neapolitan.”
OK, actually I just made that whole story up. I didn’t notice the Neapolitan connection ’til someone mentioned it in Friday’s blog post. But it’s a good one, so I’m going to do my best to adopt it as my own.
But whether or not you’re a fan of Neapolitan ice cream, you’ve got to admit that the new 2013 Fat Cyclist jersey looks pretty darned cool (like ice cream is cool, get it? Ha). Here’s the front:
Seriously, the reason I brought back pink for the jerseys is that I’m planning on making the fight against cancer a massive focus in my life in this upcoming year, in particular with a couple of big book projects: Fight Like Susan (the book about Susan’s fight with cancer), and The Caretaker’s Companion (the writing and fundraising projects.
When you buy any of the FatCyclist gear here, you’re helping me out with those projects. So thank you. In advance
Anyway, check out the back of this year’s jersey:
And here are the details:
100% Soft Polyester Microfiber
White full zipper
Three deep back pockets
Made in the U.S.A.
Inside collar reads “FIGHT LIKE SUSAN”
So, you want to get one, don’t you? Wonderful. Here’s where to order:
As a rule I am opposed to telling stories without heavily embellishing them (i.e., without lying). In this one instance, however, I’ll make an exception: For the past three years or so, the only bibshorts I have worn are ones I’ve gotten from Twin Six. I wear them, without difficulty or discomfort for 100-mile road bike rides pretty much every week.
I wear these shorts for the Leadville 100. And the Rockwell Relay. And for everything else.
Furthermore, I wear these shorts without ever using any kind of chamois cream. And I’m not doing it to make a point, I’m just doing it because these shorts are plenty comfortable as-is.
In other words, these are really good bib shorts, for a really good price. Here’s the design for 2013:
Just in case you can’t tell, the “WIN” logo goes right above your butt.
You want more details? Of course you do:
8 Panel Construction
8 oz Micro Denier Knit Poly/Lycra
Twin Six Silicon Grippers
Super-soft, completely seamless and fully perforated gender-specific chamois
I have a little bit of an obsession about water bottles (I have, ever since the blog was young). Now, it’s not like I want ridiculous, impossible things from my bottles. I just want the following:
No taste, plastic or otherwise
An easy-to-use valve
A non-leaky valve
An easy-to-squeeze bottle
Fast, easy flow
For the past few years, bottle makers have been steadily making improvements on what, ’til this point, has been a sadly-neglected part of the cyclist’s universe.
Finally, I think a perfect water bottle exists. Really: perfect.
It’s the Specialized Purist Hydroflo. It doesn’t have a plastic taste, nor does it hold on to the taste of whatever you most recently put in it. The valve flows fast, doesn’t dribble, and locks shut just by being pushed down.
And the plastic is so flexible you can squeeze fluid out of it faster and easier than ever before. Really, you will find that drinking while riding is much faster and easier than ever before with these bottles.
After Specialized sent me one to try out, I went and bought a dozen more. They’re seriously that good.
So, obviously, this is the bottle I’m putting the FatCyclist logo on this year:
Oh, and I did a little show-and-tell video talking a little bit more about why.
Normally, $12 might seem like a lotta money for a bottle, but this is actually a killer deal on Hydroflo bottles — they retail elsewhere for $15. So maybe you should click here to get one.
Hey, go back and watch that video of me talking about bottles again (or for the first time, if you skipped it earlier). Notice the helmet tan pattern on my head.
That looks pretty darned dorky, doesn’t it?
Well, just because I look like a dope doesn’t mean you have to. No indeed. Instead, use my dorkiness as a cautionary tale and start wearing a nice wicking cycling cap under your helmet.
And if you’re not bald, wear one just because it looks cool.
Here’s what it looks like from the front, left side, and right side:
You know, if you buy the right kind of socks, those can be the only kind of socks you wear. Specifically, if you get black 5″-cuff merino performance wool socks, you never have to wear any other kind of socks.
By which I mean to say that in addition to cycling, you can wear these socks to work, to fancy dress-up dinners, even — if you have the boldness to do so — with sandals.
Hey, why not?
That’s what I do, and I’m obviously very very fashionable.
I am entirely unwilling to be cold when riding. I simply will not put up with it. Nor should you. And while you are not putting up with being cold while riding, you really ought to set yourself up with something that looks good.
I believe I can help you. In quite a few ways.
First, if the day’s cold enough that you’re going to want long sleeves for your whole ride, the Fat Cyclist Long-Sleeve Jersey is going to be your best friend, ever. Except me, I mean. I’m your real best friend.
Check it out, for crying out loud:
It sports the same general awesome design as the short sleeve jersey, but with a thicker, fleecier fabric (which is still nice and breathable). Like it’s short-sleeved sibling, this long-sleeve jersey has a full zipper, three deep pockets, and is made in the U.S. Nice!
What I love about these is that they roll up into practically nothing, so they fit easily into a jersey pocket. This comes in really handy if you want to take them off partway through a ride, or to put them on partway through a ride, for that matter.
If you’ve got questions, ask in the comments section, and I’ll do my best to answer. Better yet, I’ll do my best to get the Twin Six guys to hang out on my site today to answer questions, too, because they’re generally a lot more knowledgeable and helpful than I am.
I’ll get started with a few questions I expect you to have:
Q. When will I get my order?
A. In September.
Q. When do I have to order by?
A. July 17.
Q. I live outside the U.S. Can I still order?
A. Yes, but shipping’s going to be kinda expensive.
Q. What’s going to be behind the center pocket?
A. You’ll have to wait and see.
Q. Why no t-shirt?
A. We’re still thinking about what would make for a sufficiently awesome t-shirt.
Thanks tons for ordering your FatCyclist gear. I look forward to hearing tales of your uncontrollable urge to buy and consume mass quantities of Neapolitan ice cream while suited up.
Egad!
Can it be that Monday is so near?
Can it be that Monday — verily, a mere two-ish days hence! — the Latest
(And some would say greatest)
Version of the FatCyclist.com kit will be available for pre-order?
Yes!
It is true!
Shout it fro the rooftops!
Figuratively, I mean
Don’t do it for real
Because the neighbors would complain
And we don’t want any trouble
I look deep inside myself
And ask
Shall I give a hint?
A glimpse into what is forthcoming?
Of course I shall!
For I am
If not a showman
Then what?
What, indeed?
But how much to reveal?
That is the question that weighs on me
Like the oppressive weight
Of one thousand cinderblocks
Or at least a very large burrito
Eaten, ill-advisedly
For dinner last night
I have regrets
Shall I be miserly?
Shall I show only the merest glimpse?
Shall I tease and flirt?
Is such behavior becoming
From a man closer to his deathbed
Than to his birth-crib?
I do not know. Truly I do not.
Well, maybe I shall just wing it.
Let us begin with a hat
Yes! A cycling cap!
And not just any cycling cap
But one made of a technical fabric!
It shall wick and stuff!
And be very comfortable
Whether worn under a helmet, or alone
Let us check it out, from multiple angles, anon:
Is the hat all that is new?
Surely you jest!
(Respectful pause for the appropriate Airplane punchline)
For this year — like many years — there is a bottle
But this year, oh.
Oh my
What a bottle
For I have searched many a year for the ultimate, perfect bottle
And now I have found it
It is better than the Camelbak bottle I used to love
It is better than the Specialized Purist Bottle I still love
It is the Specialized Hydroflo Purist, with a Watergate cap
And I simply cannot imagine a more perfect bottle existing
For two months
In deepest, darkest secret
I have used these bottles
And now I will use no others
These are that much better
I have yearned to tell you
But I have reserved judgment
Because I wanted to know for sure
The time has nearly come
For me to hold forth
I will explain more soon
And what of socks?
Here’s a thought
What if I were to merely show
An extreme closeup
Of one part
Of a sock
That would be kind of dorky
Of me
Would it not?
Which, you must admit
Would be in character
Yes yes you say
But what of the main event?
What of the jersey?
Shall there be no hints of the design
Of the new jersey?
OK fine
Here you go
Truly, I hear you say
Seriously?
That’s all you’re going to show?
Will you reveal no more
Of this much-hyped jersey design?
OK.
I see your point.
It is bold!
It is stripey!
It looks better than pretty much any jersey
Worn in the pro peloton
Today!
And, I have it on good authority
It is quite slimming
As well
Is this all, then?
No!
There’s more
And you shall see it
And may pre-order it
Beginning this Monday
At 10:00am ET / 7:00am PT
I’ve had what you might call an interesting couple of days, starting with a phone call I got from the twins (usually I work from home, but on this day was in the Salt Lake City office).
“Dad,” one of the twins said, “There’s a huge fire on the mountain behind our house. Do we have to evacuate?”
I looked out the window. Even from 30 miles away, I could see the giant plume of smoke rising into the air from the direction of home.
“I’ll call you back,” I said, and then called a neighbor to find out what was going on. Evidently, some people in my town had been evacuated. Our neighborhood was fine — for now — but it still seemed like a good idea to get some things packed up, just in case.
I called The Hammer.
“Can you get home right away?” I asked. “And let me know if I need to drop everything and get over there?”
She could, and did.
All through the evening and night, all anyone could do was stare at the mountain. The massive amount of smoke we could see during the day gave way to a snaking trail of fire we could see in the dark.
I got ready to go to bed, fairly confident I wouldn’t sleep well, but — for once — unwilling to Ambienize myself.
By morning, I was grumpy from worry and lack of sleep. And the mountain had gone from green to ashen.
And everything in the house — including, of course, the house itself — smelled strongly of smoke.
So I tweeted this:
Within a few minutes, I started getting responses to my complaint:
I read their advice and admonishment toward a new perspective with gratitude, put on a stiff upper lip, and went about my day, cheerfully enjoying my not-burned-down house, and not at all minding the fact that I’ve probably got thousands of dollars worth of damaged property to clean or replace.
Just kidding. Their responses actually made my blood boil.
Rules For Responding to Complaints
It’s really lucky (for me, and for anyone who reads this blog) that I had a lot of stuff to do yesterday, because otherwise I would have sat down and written a really angry post about how PEOPLE DON’T GET TO TELL ME THAT UNLESS MY HOUSE BURNS DOWN I SHOULD BE HAPPY.
Seriously, I probably would have written the whole thing in all caps. And I would have used a lot of words that I ban other people from commenting in this blog for.
But I had a ride planned, and a barbecue to do. And a stage of the Tour de France to watch (the first one, incidentally, that I did not accidentally learn the winner of before seeing the stage).
And so now that I have time to write, I’ve cooled down. I am much, much less likely to foam and spit as I make my point. Which is good, because I am a prolific foamer and spitter, when sufficiently provoked.
But I’ve still got some points I’d like to make.
People Complain
Here’s the thing: bad things happen to people. Some of those bad things are really, really bad. And some of those bad things are only mildly bad, or — when you’re lucky — only barely bad at all.
Regardless of how bad that something that happened is, people want to communicate it. Why? For a bunch of reasons. Maybe just because it’s interesting or exciting — when something bad happens, there’s often the upside that you at least have something new to talk about.
Or maybe because they want sympathy. Or maybe because they want help.
“You Should be Grateful / It Could Have Been Worse”
Now, when someone complains to you, you get to decide how you’re going to react. You can sympathize. You can offer assistance.
Or you can deny the validity of the complaint by asserting that the bad thing that happened isn’t really bad at all, because something worse could have happened instead.
I’d like to assert that this “It could have been worse” response sucks.
Suppose, for example, you and I were having a conversation and you mentioned that your child was fighting a nasty cold. I could reply, “Well, it could be worse. Your child could have triple pneumonia, horrible breath, and leprosy all at the same time.”
The truth is, for pretty much any given problem, it could be worse. But that’s not what’s at issue, is it? When someone tells you about a problem, chances are they could come up with a way things could get worse — and in fact, the worry that it might get worse could be weighing on their mind.
OK, another example. Suppose I told you, “There was a big fire near my house, and now the house smells terrible and it’s really going to be a hassle to make it stop stinking of smoke.”
You could reply, “Well, you should be grateful your house didn’t burn down.”
And yeah, I suppose I should be grateful for that. And I should — while I’m at it — also be grateful all of the other catastrophes that could happen on any given day don’t happen. For example, no tornado struck. I should be grateful for that. A ravenous gang of rabid honey badgers did not attack the dog. I’ll be grateful for that, too. And there was no plague of locusts, and no door-to-door salespeople stopped by yesterday. And Aldo Nova didn’t decide to release a new album and subsequently claim my basement as the place where he’s going to rehearse for his upcoming world tour.
I’ll make time to be grateful for those things, too.
But you know what did happen? A big freaking fire soaked my house in smoke all night.
So, unless you actually did lose your house to fire, probably the best response is not to point out how much worse it could have been. Instead, maybe just say, “Wow, I’ve been wondering where that smell came from ever since you got here. That explains why I’m fighting the urge to roast a marshmallow right now.”
The Practical Part
So after I spent the first part of this post saying I’ve cooled down, I went ahead and attacked the poor people who told me that unless I’m currently sitting in a pile of ashes I have nothing to complain about.
Why’d I do that?
Well, because I think it’s worth reminding people: bad things happen to people, and then people complain about those bad things. If you want to help, offer actual information or assistance, like this:
You know, actually be part of the solution, as opposed to trivializing the problem.
Or just listen and say, from time to time, “Wow. That sucks.”
And if Aldo Nova is currently singing in your friend’s basement, feel free to say, “That sucks bad.”
PS: Angie left a comment I think is worth excerpting:
As for the folks who suggest it could be worse; I think that maybe they are doing this not because they don’t want to hear your complaint, but because they care about you and can’t do anything else to lessen your pain, so they try to point out the positive of the situation in hopes it will help you feel better.
I think this is probably exactly right. Like many people, when stressed I forget that people are generally not out to get me. I still think it’s OK to complain, but I need to remember that just because someone says something that doesn’t help doesn’t mean that they don’t want to help.
A “The FatCyclist Gear Pre-Order Is Ending Soon” Note From Fatty: I really can’t overemphasize how important a good pair of bibshorts is to making your ride more comfortable.
