04.3.2012 | 11:20 am
I’m really excited for this year’s 100 Miles of Nowhere. Which seems weird, somehow. One should not — obviously! — get enthused about the prospect of riding 100 miles in one’s basement or around one’s block or up and down the same stupid hill over and over and over until one wishes one could simply hit oneself over one’s head and slip into blessed oblivion, right?
And yet, I am excited for this year’s 100 Miles of Nowhere.
And I believe that you will be, too, as soon as I tell you about what I’ve got up my sleeve. And I will tell you, eventually.
But first, I need to explain what the event even is, for those who are new to the idea of this event.
What Is The 100 Miles of Nowhere, And Why Should You Do It?
The idea of the 100 Miles of Nowhere is to ride an infuriatingly small course for 100 miles (or 50, or 25, but ideally 100), to raise money for the fight against cancer. And also to demonstrate that you have no sense at all.
The 100 Miles of Nowhere is a race without a place. It’s an event in which hundreds of people participate . . . all by ourselves.
You’ll have fun. You’ll be miserable. And, thanks to the fact that there won’t be hundreds of people all over the place, you almost certainly won’t have to wait for fifteen minutes to use an overflowing portapotty.
And you get some pretty decent bragging rights. Namely, if you take some good pictures of you (and your friends) doing the 100 Miles of Nowhere and send me a good writeup, I’ll post it on the blog.
Also, you get to claim that you won your division . . . since you get to create your own division. For example, I am the four-year consecutive reigning champion of the “Alpine Men’s 40-45 Year-Old Award-Winning Blogger” division. Which is a pretty big deal, if you ask me.
Most importantly, though, is the fact that you’re joining Team Fatty in our ongoing fight against cancer. And that matters.
What’s the Status of the 100 Miles of Nowhere?
I am hard at work right now with the Twin Six guys, working on the T-Shirt design (by “hard at work,” I mean that I give them bad ideas and they ignore them and instead give me great designs based on ideas of their own). And, because I am really great at multi-tasking, I’m also hounding companies to be Swag sponsors of the 2012 100 Miles of Nowhere.
I’ve got some good sponsors on board already, and am working on more. I’ll reveal who they are . . . soon. Because I am mysterious, and a little bit of a tease.
Registration will start next week, and will be strictly limited to 500 paid registrations (plus whoever beats me in the weight loss challenge, which I’m afraid is going to be practically everyone). Which is to say, I’ve learned my lesson and — unlike last year — will not add additional registrations this year. Once we get to 500, we’re done.
The event itself will be on June 2. Or another day near June 2, if you happen to already have plans on June 2.
For what it’s worth, if you happen to be interested in joining my own particular crazy course for the 100 Miles of Nowhere, I’d love to have you come along. Depending on course conditions, it will either be the climb of the Alpine loop, or Suncrest (like last year).
What’s Going to be Special About This Year’s Race?
I’ve got a story to tell. It’ll take a while. Stay with me; it’s worth it.
Of course, the 100 Miles of Nowhere is absolutely ridiculous. And — if you’re lucky — fun. But there’s always a serious purpose behind it: helping in the fight against cancer.
And, as you know, I am a big supporter of LiveStrong, so that is what we’ve raised money for in all prior editions of this event.
Lately, though, I’ve been thinking. And about a month ago, I wrote my thoughts down and sent the following email to Doug Ulman, the CEO of LiveStrong:
Hi Doug,
I’ll try to keep this reasonably short, but honestly, long-winded is more my style. So if I’m not terse, I’ll at least try to be interesting.
There have been a number of events that have happened recently that have really gotten me thinking about LiveStrong, Team Fatty, and how I can be as useful as possible.
- A new blanket warmer at a hospital: Last summer I sponsored a local race — the Utah Tour de Donut — to raise money for a new blanket warmer in the cancer center where my late wife went for treatment. It was a no-brainer thing to do; I remembered Susan talking a few times about how cold she was while getting chemo there. She would have appreciated a blanket warmer. So it was a nice tribute. A few weeks ago I went to the hospital where they had a nice little “Thank You” ceremony and put a “Fight Like Susan” plaque on the blanket warmer. While this was probably my smallest fundraiser of the year (I only needed to raise $4K for the blanket warmer), it was incredibly touching and meaningful and made me want to do more to help.
- World Bicycle Relief: One of the cool side-effects of my blog is that I’ve gotten to help not just with LiveStrong (and other anti-cancer causes), but I’ve also gotten to know Johan Bruyneel and work with him fundraising for World Bicycle Relief. We raised enough money last summer to buy more than 1000 bikes for kids in Zambia. WBR has made a great video I put on my blog recently, showing some of those bikes being given to kids whose lives will be changed by having those bikes.
- A kid in my neighborhood needed money for treatment. A teenage boy in my town — I’ve met him and know his parents a little, but that’s it — has really aggressive Hodgkins Lymphoma. And no great way to pay for treatment. So I did a weekend-long fundraiser where the proceeds from my new book went to his treatment. I sold more books that weekend than I have before or since.
- The American Fork Canyon Half Marathon: Last summer I was on the organizing committee for a new local half marathon in my community, with all proceeds designed to go to local people who could not otherwise afford cancer treatment. Even in its inaugural year, we netted $50K.
What all of these things have in common is that they are really small, targeted, achievable missions. They’re things people can understand and get behind, and then celebrate and say, “I made a difference, and there’s something I can point to to show what that difference is.”
And what I would really love to do is — both personally and with my readers — engage in more of these kinds of projects.
While I can (and definitely will) fundraise with my team toward the LiveStrong Challenges, I wonder if that’s really the most powerful way for me to help. I wonder if maybe there’s some small, targeted mission a guy with 20,000 daily readers might be able to accomplish with LiveStrong. Something we (you, me, my readers) can point at and say, “We saw a problem, we attacked it, and we made a difference.”
It’s the kind of thing that gets people energized to do more. This is a lot to chew on — probably too much. But I appreciate your taking the time to read it.
I look forward to helping LiveStrong, in any way I can.
Thanks,
Elden “Fatty” Nelson
Doug replied right away, inviting me to an event that happened last week — The LiveStrong Assembly — saying he thought it would be a great place for me to find exactly that kind of project to get behind.
And he was right.
Meet Camp Kesem
One of LiveStrong’s Community Impact Partners is Camp Kesem, a (from their website) “college-student run summer camp for kids with a parent who has (or has had) cancer. [The] one-week sleep away camps are a chance for kids 6-13 to have a fun-filled week and just be kids.
Camp Kesem (“Kesem” is Hebrew for “magic”) was represented in force at the LiveStrong Assembly; I got to know some of the counsellors, and I got to understand their mission: letting kids who’ve been affected by having a parent with cancer catch up on being a kid.
As a dad of kids who mostly remember their mom as someone who was sick or dying, the idea of this camp really resonates with me.
And it resonates with Doug Ulman, too — here we are together, wearing very awesome Camp Kesem headbands (which are acquired by making a $5 donation to Camp Kesem):
Right now, there are 23 Camp Kesems across the U.S., and they’re looking to add more all the time.
But they need help.
And that’s what this year’s 100 Miles of Nowhere is going to do.
Big Goals
What I want to do with this year’s 100 Miles of Nowhere is raise $30,000. That money will go to LiveStrong, which will then turn around and donate it to Camp Kesem.
And Camp Kesem will use part of that money to launch a brand new camp — one in Southern Utah, which I’ll be sending the twins to this year (so watch for their camp report late this August).
And the balance of that money will go toward sending kids to existing camps (no child has to pay to Camp Kesem).
I hate the way a parent’s cancer robs kids of what should be a fun, carefree time in their lives.
And I love the simple, direct way Camp Kesem is addressing this: by giving kids some of that fun, carefree time back.
And I appreciate you joining me for the 100 Miles of Nowhere. As always, we’ll have fun. As always, we’ll be doing something in the fight against cancer. But this year, we’ll be getting a little more specific about who we’re helping, and how.
Comments (67)
04.1.2012 | 8:51 pm
I don’t do a lot of reviews on this blog. Partially, that’s because I tell everyone who asks about sending me something my policy on returning stuff, which is: “I don’t return anything.” I used to have good intentions and intend to return things, but I finally realized that I’m just too lazy to re-box anything and send it back.
Part of it is that I’m not qualified to review many things.
Part of it is that when I review stuff, it brings out my cranky side; for no reason I can adequately explain, I tend to get downright mean when I start reviewing things. Sometimes after reviewing something, it takes me days to return to my incredibly loveable normal self.
And part of it is that most of the time someone sends me a press release with a “Contact me for more information if you’re interested,” I don’t contact the PR person. Because I’m not interested.
In the case of the Cardo BK-1, however, I was interested. Because the Cardo BK-1 is a new mike / speakers / radio setup designed for bike helmets. Using them, a couple (or three) riders are supposed to be able to easily talk with each other, hands-free. Not to mention listen to music or take calls on your phone via Bluetooth.
The most obvious difference between a helmet with the BK-1 is the mike boom on your right side.
I liked the idea of being able to talk with other riders without shouting over wind noise, and then having to repeat myself – or shouting at the other rider to repeat herself – several times over.
So I said I’d be interested in trying these out. [Full Disclosure: Cardo sent me two of the Cardo BK-1 DUO at no charge. However, lots of people send me stuff at no charge, with no assurance I will write anything. I only write about stuff I really like, or really hate.]
In Short: What It Does
The BK-1 uses a combination of Bluetooth (to stream audio to and from your phone) and radio (to communicate with other BK-1) devices to communicate “up to 500 yards” (we never got that good of range before losing each other entirely, and when mountain biking would lose each other whenever a bend or rise in the mountain would make it so we didn’t have each other in line-of-sight).
The BK-1 is full-duplex, which means you can talk and hear at the same time, so you can interrupt each other and stuff. Each set also has an A and B channel, which means that if there are two of you, you can each use your B channel to listen to music or take a phone call (or listen to GPS voice instructions from your phone). If there are three people using BK-1s, one of the people has to act as the conferencing hub, using both A and B channel (so no background music for that person).
The BK-1 is supposed to get seven hours of talk time, and while we haven’t tested out the BK-1 for that long of a ride (yet!), we have tested it out for three- and four-hour rides with near-continuous talk; on a full charge, I expect you could get at least five hours of conversation on the BK-1. The radio uses a rechargeable battery, recharged via a micro-USB port (through which firmware updates will eventually also be available).
The BK-1 is voice-activated, so when you want to talk, just talk to wake the system up and start talking.
Setting Up
One of the things I liked about the BK-1 was apparent when I first opened the carrying case (the packaging for the product is also a zippered, padded carrying case, which is useful as well as not wasteful): it comes with lots of “spare” parts for the headset, as if they knew that in the real world, little parts can wear out or get lost. So there’s an extra spongy windguard thingy for the mike boom. There are a lot of extra adhesive-backed Velcro strips for mounting the headphone-like speakers and mike. And there are various lengths of Velcro straps for mounting the radio on the top of your helmet (along with a good instruction book describing how to route those straps on different kinds of helmets).
As it turned out I would need some of those spare parts before I ever used the BK-1 for the first time, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
The BK-1 is easy to set up. Peel the adhesive backing off a couple Velcro strips and stick them to the inside left and right sides of your helmet, toward the back. Wait ten minutes for the adhesive to cure, then stick the left speaker – which is at the end of a flexible gooseneck-y cable so you can easily position it by your ear – to the Velcro inside your helmet. Do the same thing for the speaker / mike boom on the right side of the helmet. Then strap the radio to the top of your helmet, and plug the wires from each side of the headset into the radio.
So all that’s fine, so far. It only took a few minutes, so your helmet now looks like this:
But there are some things about the setup process that you should take into account if you’re going to get yourself a BK-1:
- Size matters . The first helmet I tried setting the Cardo BK-1 up on was my Giro Prolight helmet, which does not have adjustable straps, nor any real padding. It’s a very minimal helmet, and either fits you or it doesn’t (it fits me just great and is so light as to truly feel like I have no helmet on at all). With the Velcro straps and the headset attached on the inside, my already-snug ProLight wouldn’t fit at all anymore. So if your helmet is already a close fit and cannot be adjusted with smaller pads and loosened straps, the BK-1 may push your helmet into the too-small category. (I was able to set up the BK-1 on my other helmet and make it fit without difficulty by simply loosening the Roc-Loc strap on the back of the helmet).
- You’ll want it to be permanent : Setting the headset up only takes a few minutes, but I can’t imagine taking a few minutes to attach a radio to my helmet, attaching two speakers to the helmet, routing the speaker cables through the vents and then plugging them in . . . every time I wanted to use the BK-1. It would be too much of a hassle.
- It’s got to be permanent anyway : When I tried to peel apart the Velcro attaching the speaker to the helmet, the Velcro attached to the inside of the helmet came off instead. It wasn’t because the adhesive was weak, either. No, the problem is that the Styrofoam in your helmet is weaker than the adhesive and the Velcro, so that’s what lets go first. (This wasn’t an isolated incident, either; the IT Guy had the exact same thing happen to him).
- Pairing: Radios have to be paired to each other. It’s pretty easy to do, but since it involves looking at flashing lights on your helmet, it’s something you’ve got to do before you put the helmet on, obviously.
So basically, if you’re planning to use the BK-1, you should probably dedicate a helmet to it. Pick (or get) one that has room to be adjusted for size, then set up the BK-1 really well (tie down the otherwise free-floating cables, for example) and just leave it on there, ready to use whenever you want to ride and talk with others.
Just Riding Along
Once you’ve got the BK-1 mounted to your helmet, the hard part is really over. Turning the system on is a 1-button push, and adjusting the speakers so they’re near your ears is as simple as bending them into place – you can either place them right by your ears (the way I prefer) or with some extra distance between them and your ears (the way The Hammer and The IT Guy prefer).
Either way, the first thing you notice as you ride and start talking with each other is that . . . the BK-1 works great. You can hear each other really well – nice, clear and loud (volume is adjustable by big, easy-to-find buttons on the top of the radio).
Wind noise – which I assumed would be an enormous problem with a helmet-mounted intercom – is no problem whatsoever.
You don’t have to talk in an abnormally-loud, especially clear voice. You just talk. In fact, you can talk quietly. Even whisper. So talking while riding doesn’t take anywhere near the lung power it normally does. And since the headset consists of speakers near your ears instead of in your ears, you don’t get the isolating effect you normally get with headphones; you can hear ambient sounds just fine.
Voices aren’t “clipped” (when the beginning or end of something someone says is cut off), either – something I was worried would be a problem.
Since a radio and two speakers are added to the weight of the helmet, I was concerned that weight would be a problem – kind of like the way a helmet-mounted light or camera starts feeling heavy on your head (or makes your helmet shift into a bad position) after a few hours. The BK-1, though, has its weight distributed around the helmet (with the speaker weight essentially balancing each other out) well enough that I haven’t noticed a weight problem yet.
Basically, the BK-1 makes it really nice and easy for people who are riding together to actually hold a conversation, without having to ride side-by-side (a problem on the road), or right on top of each other (a problem on the dirt).
Of course, this is a first-generation product, and so using the BK-1 wasn’t always totally perfect. When we got far enough apart to lose signal between each other, re-connecting was sometimes automatic when we got back to within range, and sometimes it wasn’t. At that point, we’d have to press the channel button to re-connect, but the re-connect process was slow enough that we’d start to wonder whether we’d done it right and press the button again, thus probably starting the process over.
The buttons have LED status indicators telling you the connection status, but they’re hard to see in daylight, and in any case, they’re on top of your head so you can’t see them yourself anyway. Maybe a voice interface would make more sense for something like this?
While voice levels were always nice and loud, the volume level for music streamed over Bluetooth comes in very quiet. (A related wish: it’d be really nice to have the option to have music continue streaming behind voices.)
The most persistent problem, however, was interference when we were mountain biking. When there was a hill or bend or rock or thick trees between riders, audio would get very sketchy or drop out altogether. Our rule of thumb became that the BK-1 was great as long as you had each other in view.
The strangest problem, though, would be when we stopped close to each other and talked. I was worried there would be a terrible feedback problem when this happened, but there was none of this at all. It was just peculiar to hear the other person’s actual voice, followed a split second later by the voice coming through your speakers.
Oh, and when we stopped and talked to strangers on the side of a trail, they looked at us as if were were space aliens.
Which, of course, I am.
You’d almost have to buy these in pairs (that’s the BK-1 DUO), unless you and all your friends are buying these. Or if you were buying it specifically as a solution for listening to music and talking on the phone while on your bike.
Wrapping Up
We actually really like these BK-1s. Since we’ve gotten them, The Hammer and I have used them on every ride we’ve been on together. If you want to talk while you ride, and are tired of yelling “What?” over wind and road / trail noise, you’ll find these a really effortless way to chat while on the bike.
It’s surprising how quickly I’ve gotten used to using the BK-1. The Hammer and I went on a 4.5 hour ride last weekend, but – wanting to see how long the batteries would last – didn’t charge the batteries before we started the ride. So, about three hours into the ride, the batteries died. After the ride, we both remarked how we had gotten used to being able to just say something in a quiet voice, and have the other person hear it.
Is the Cardo BK-1 necessary? Totally not. But – especially if you like combining conversing with your cycling – it’s fun. And you get used to having it amazingly quickly. The Hammer and IT Guy especially like these – he’s a chatterbox, and she loves catching up with her son while riding. Maybe this’ll come off as a little cheesy, but the BK-1 can bring a little more “quality” to your riding quality time.
What you say to one another is of course up to you, but I recommend continuous heavy breathing. Or yelling, nonstop, “Venga! Venga! Venga!”
Or possibly, in the lowest voice you can muster, “Luke. I am your father.”
The Cardo BK-1 costs $274.95; the BK-1 DUO ( which comes with two of the headsets) is $479.95. For more information and where to buy, go to the Cardo BK-1 website here.
Comments (34)
03.29.2012 | 5:55 am
A Note from Fatty to Weight-Loss Challenge Contestants: The Week 2 Weigh-In has begun! Head on over to this page on the Challenge Forum to post your results; follow the instructions there. Be sure to do your weigh-in by Sunday. If you don’t, you won’t be eligible for prizes this week.
Last weekend, The Hammer and I went on a road ride with some friends — Lynette and Cory, along with their daughter Mackenzie — who had just gotten back from an awesome vacation in New Zealand. They had been there to do the New Zealand Ironman, which — due to gale-force winds — had been canceled, with a half-Ironman taking its place the following day.
Lynette and Mackenzie went ahead and did the half; Cory watched. “I didn’t have anything to prove by doing another half-Ironman,” he said, which is a completely understandable point of view if you’ve done as many triathlons as Cory.
So they hung around in NZ for a couple weeks, enjoying the beautiful country and having an adventure instead of recovering from a brutally difficult race.
And this gave me an idea for a new event. I think it’s going to be a huge hit.
The Evil Epic 250: The Hardest Race In The World
I think I am going to create a new race, which I will call The Evil Epic 250. I think you’ll agree, it’s an awesome name for a race: it sounds incredibly difficult (it’s 250 miles, for crying out loud! Even hard races only go 100 miles; this goes twice as far as those other so-called epics, which are really nothing more than pretenders. And then, just for good measure, it goes another 50 miles, just to underscore its point) and slightly terrifying (even the race organizer thinks it’s evil, not to mention epic).
I haven’t figured out where the race will be yet. Or whether the race will be on dirt or pavement (or both). Those are small details I can work out later. I guess.
Whereever the race is, I can guarantee you it will be in an exotic, hard to reach location. One that’s kind of intimidating-sounding maybe, and is perhaps known for its beautiful natives and poisonous, sharp-toothed fish. Oh, and rugged terrain and tall mountains.
I’ll bet there’s a place like that somewhere. It’s a big world.
The race description — which will be on my professionally-designed website, complete with numerous photographs and well-written marketing copy — will make it clear that this is not a race you take on on a whim. This is a serious race, one that most people could never even contemplate finishing.
Even to enter this race — which my site will claim is capped at 1000 elite-level entrants — suggests something about you: that you are an adventurer. A risk-taker. An athlete of the highest order.
I will list several professional (and former professional) cyclists who will be at this race, hoping to win (or perhaps take a podium spot) as the crowning moment of their illustrious career.
You will register for it. You will register for it, and begin obsessing about it immediately.
Training and Planning
Before long, The Evil Epic 250 will consume your every waking moment. You will train, nearly non-stop. You will become stronger than you could have imagined possible. Your endurance will be legendary among your officemates.
Acquaintances will begin to whisper that you have changed. That there is a new fierceness about your demeanor. A new sort of lust for life. An intensity that belies your hearty laugh and athletic swagger.
Perhaps a rumor will spread that you have the eye of the tiger. When confronted with this rumor, you will smile your new quiet, confident, intensity-laden smile and say, “I just hope to do my best in The Evil Epic 250.”
When you encounter other cyclists and they ask you what you are training for so assiduously, you will tell them, The Evil Epic 250, and they will be so awestruck that they will forget that the reason they asked you that question was so that you would return the question and they could boast about their own upcoming event — their own upcoming event which suddenly sounds quite un-epic and in fact kind of weenie-like.
You will find it necessary to purchase special clothing and cycling equipment for this race. You will not begrudge these purchases, because they are things you wanted to buy anyway, but had — to this point — foregone because they were not strictly necessary. The Evil Epic 250, however, gives you a reason — not to be confused with an excuse — to purchase those items. With a clear conscience.
You will train with purpose, intensity, and endurance. Each ride will take on meaning. You are not just doing hill repeats; you are preparing for the race of a lifetime. You are not just out on a long, seven-hour ride on beautiful single track; you are building endurance and increasing your technical skills.
You are not just relaxing and watching TV; you are recovering.
And when you are not training, you will be planning. You will consider every detail, every possibility, and have a strategy that takes it into account. And of course, you will spend no small amount of time telling others of your plans.
Don’t worry, people will never get tired of it.
The Race Itself
Finally, the day of the Evil Epic 250 will arrive. You will travel to the aforementioned exotic, beautiful, far-off place. Or perhaps you will just be planning to leave within the next day or so.
Either way, there will be a stunning and tragic development: Due to unforeseen and impossibly tragic adverse conditions such as the biggest tornado in the history of the world, followed by a volcano eruption and a meteor strike that left nothing but a really windy crater filled with lava where the race course used to be, the race has been canceled.
Oh, the tragedy! All that work, all that training! And now you don’t get to do the race!
“Damn it!” You will swear, and people will know you are very angry, because you rarely resort to such coarse language.
Except — deep down — you will be secretly grateful that the race has been canceled, because now you get to have done the best parts of a race — training for it and thinking about it and planning for it — without having to endure the worst part of a race: actually racing it.
Outwardly, of course, you will be disappointed, though stoically so. People will admire your stoicism and your philosophical approach to catastrophes. “There’s always next year,” you will say, with a twinkle in your eye.
And you’ll still get the t-shirt and finisher’s medal.
PS: Secretly, I hope that I’m not the first person who has come up with this idea, and that this is what is actually happening for The Breck Epic.
Comments (31)
03.27.2012 | 10:49 am
A Note from Fatty About Today’s Post: Between the weight loss challenge stuff (which I think you’ll find interesting even if you’re not doing the weight loss challenge) and the main story in today’s post, this sucker’s long. I recommend you read half today and half tomorrow, because tomorrow (i.e., Wednesday) I will not be posting.
A Note from Fatty about the Weight Loss Challenge: The FatCyclist Weight Loss Challenge is now in high gear, with more than 160 people signed up for the challenge, and 130 people checking in for the first week’s weigh-in!
And — luckily for everyone — I am not the one who is doing the results tabulating. Because, honestly, it just would never get done if I were.
Instead, I’ve asked one of the contestants — Dave V, who makes a living as an auditor and who possesses otherworldly number-crunching skills — and for some reason wants to spend even more time with spreadsheets, to be in charge of that. So now I have, in addition to just a winner to report, actual interesting data to share.
- The Winner: ClydeinKs lost a whopping 13.8 pounds between his initial weigh-in and the first week weigh-in, making for a loss of 5.62%. Incredible! He’ll be getting a box of Honey Stinger Waffles for that remarkable show of discipline. Which really makes sense, when you think about it. Only someone with as much discipline as this should be presented with a box of Honey Stingers. The rest of us would just eat them all in one sitting. Congratulations, ClydeinKs!
- The Most Weight Lost: While ClydeinKs lost the most weight by percentage — which is the metric this contest is judging by — Adam_Bowes dropped 14.4 pounds last week; that’s the most total weight lost. Kudos go out to Adam for a remarkable achievement.
- Boys vs. Girls. Of those who identified their gender, girls won the weight loss challenge this week, losing on average 1.9%, as opposed to 1.64% for boys. Congratulations girls (and boys: I’ll try to not drag you down next week, I promise). Those who did not identify their gender did the worst, with an average weight loss of 1.22%. So there’s a lesson there for you. No, wait. I guess there isn’t.
- U.S. vs. Them. Contestants outside the U.S. did better on average than those inside the U.S., with an average weight loss of 2.43%. Within the U.S., the Midwest did the best, with an average of 1.85%.
- Levi Lost the Most: Contestants were asked to identify their favorite pro cyclist. The pro cyclist who lost the mos weight was Levi Leipheimer, who lost 54.4 pounds. Honestly, he didn’t look like he had that much to lose to begin with.
- The Grand Totals: Of those who checked in after the first week, we dropped from 26,538 pounds to 26,093 pounds: a loss of 445 pounds, with an average weight loss of 1.68%. Not bad for the first week!
- The Most Random: The lucky random winner of the Twin Six gift certificate is AndersMr8, who lost 3.5 pounds. Nice work!
Everyone who is doing the challenge, keep it up. The next weigh-in will start this Thursday; watch for the reminder on my blog then.
And now, let’s get on with the topic at hand, which has the accurate and interesting title of…
How to Borrow a Bicycle
As the owner of a bicycle, you are no doubt aware of how personal a bike becomes. You adjust the seat height. You adjust the seat position. You adjust the seat angle. You probably replace the seat itself.
You swap on your pedals. You change the stem to suit your body length. You adjust the angle of the handlebar, the position of the grips, the brakes, the shifters.
You figure out exactly what tires you like best for where you live, and at what pressure you like those tires.
So Sure, it starts out as just one of thousands of identical bikes. But as you ride it you make it yours.
But — and trust me on this, because I promise it is true — someday you will need to borrow a bike from someone. Maybe you’re traveling. Maybe your bike is in the shop. Maybe you’re interested in getting a similar bike and would like to take a nice, extended test ride to help you decide whether to pull the trigger.
These are only some of the possibilities.
Before Borrowing the Bike
When you take delivery of the bicycle, it’s important that both you and the person you are borrowing the bike from have a clearly-stated and agreed-upon understanding of your responsibilities regarding the bike.
First of all, assure your friend (for now, we’ll assume the person you’re borrowing the bike from is a friend, though — let’s face it — that probably won’t be the case after you return the bike) that you’ll take care of the bike as if it were your own. Although if you’re borrowing the bike because you broke your own by ghostriding it off a cliff, that may not be the most reassuring thing you could say.
You may want to provide additional reassurance that while the bike is in your care, you assume complete responsibility for it, and you will return the bike in as-good or better condition than when you borrowed the bike. This will give your “friend” confidence in your upstanding citizen-ness and responsibility and stuff. Which is really great and stuff.
What you should not tell your “friend” are the following caveats, because while they are all true, they are not reassuring:
- You are not responsible for stuff that would have broken anyway. Suppose, as you’re Just Riding Along, that the rear derailleur breaks. Just up and breaks on you. Should you be responsible for buying a new, very expensive part for this bike? Especially when it obviously had been close to breaking for some time now, and you just happened to be the person on the bike when it decided to go. Is it really fair that you should replace what was obviously a worn out derailleur? Is it? Well, is it? (As you can tell by my repeated asking of this question, the answer is clearly “no.”)
- You are not responsible for theft. Suppose the bike gets stolen while it’s in your care. Did you ask for it to get stolen? No. Did you take reasonable precautions against its theft? Of course. So is it your fault it got stolen? Heck no. It could have just as easily gotten stolen the last time your so-called “friend” took it out and then went into Taco Bell. Would it have been your fault it got stolen then, too?
- You are not responsible for reasonable wear and tear. Your “friend” knew you were going to actually go out and ride the bike, right? Like, he wasn’t under some misapprehension that you were buying it so you could take it home to spend the day cleaning and buffing it to a high shine, right? So of course the chain’s going to come back a little dirty. Of course the tires are going to be a little more worn. Of course there’ll be a few new chips in the paint job and maybe some scratch marks from where the rack clamps held on to it. Sheesh, it’s a bike, not a freaking Monet.
Again, take these as understood, and do not bring them up until / unless it is absolutely necessary (i.e., when you return the bike).
Next, it’s very important you inspect the bike, just to make sure your “friend” hasn’t pulled a fast one on you. Take photos of obvious dings and dents, and make note of any problems that you think your friend might hold you accountable for as new damage when you return the bike.
Remember, those bike-lending “friends” can be sneaky, and may well just be out to make a quick buck off you. Don’t trust them for a second.
Preparing the Bike
Once you have acquired the bike you will be borrowing, take the time to adjust it properly. You can safely assume that the person you have borrowed the bike from has adequately documented every change he’s made to the bike, so feel free to tweak it to suit your own preferences.
First, adjust the seat post. Set it to the height you need. Don’t worry about marking the original seat height; you can be sure that the bike owner took care of that or has recorded the proper height or something.
Next, set the saddle up for your preferences. Adjust the saddle angle and position to your liking . Or, better still, remove the owner’s saddle entirely and put your own saddle on. While this negates the months and quite possibly years the bike owner might have put into finding exactly the correct position for himself, you can be sure he’ll have no trouble finding it again.
You should probably also adjust the angle of the handlebars. And move the grips or hoods so they fit your hands more comfortably. Might not be a bad idea to change the angle of the brake levers and shifters so they feel just right.
Hey, you don’t want to compromise your riding experience.
The Ride
Ideally, the friend who loaned you the bike will come along for the ride. He probably — up until this point — thought it was a really great bike, so this will be an excellent opportunity for him to learn about all the problems it has.
I recommend starting the ride by riding the bike into a wall, or the sharp edge of a curb. Just to ensure that the wheels have good structural integrity.
Then, once you begin the ride itself, listen very closely for sounds. The brakes might make noise. The chain might make noise. The suspension might make noise. Honestly, since there’s no such thing as zero-friction surface, something is bound to make noise on the bike. Be sure to point it out, and comment that your own bike doesn’t make this noise. It’s probably a good idea to ask — make a serious face as you ask this — if your friend has looked into it.
Next, consider the brakes. Note that they are either “kinda grabby” or “a little soft.” It’s best to make these observations in the form of a question, however: “Do you think your brakes are a little grabby?” Or “Do your brakes feel kind of soft?”
Observe that the cranks are a little “flexy,” because this cannot be proven nor disproven.
If you’re buying a mountain bike, pay special attention to the suspension. Especially rear suspension. There wouldn’t be a million kinds of suspension out there if one in particular were objectively and provably the best kind. So, do your homework, then talk about how it kind of bobs a bit. Or that maybe it sticks. Or that the frame seems kind of loose.
Believe me, you’ll find something.
At the end of the ride, though, be sure to say something nice to the person you borrowed the bike from, so they’ll know how much you appreciate the loan. For example, “Thanks for loaning me the bike” is a nice thing to say.
If your friend has the gall to follow up with your generous statement of thanks with a question like, “Well, what do you think of the bike,” have a reply ready: “It’s a pretty nice bike” should be just about perfect.
Dont’ say it convincingly, though.
And if, for some reason, the friend who loaned you the bike isn’t with you when you ride, be sure to store all this valuable information up, so you can share it with him afterward.
He will be very grateful.
After the Ride
Before you return the bike, you should be sure to do the following:
- Clean the bike: Take it to a car wash and hose it down with the high pressure rinse. If you’re feeling generous, maybe do a hot wax cycle.
- If you got a flat and used the CO2 and tube in the loaned bike’s seat pack, be sure to let your friend know he needs to replace them. If you remember to, I mean. If not, don’t worry about it.
- If you got a second flat, so now one of the tires is flat, be sure to let your friend know that his tire is flat. As a courtesy.
- If you break a significant part (like the suspension or the frame) while playing “home mechanic” with the bike, be sure to return the bike when your friend is not home, hopefully under cover of darkness.
Oh, and one final tip: if you like the bike you borrowed, try to borrow it again as soon as possible. There’s a reasonable chance your friend won’t have gotten around to messing up the improvements you made to the bike.
Comments (30)
03.26.2012 | 10:04 am
One of the reasons I love cycling is because it allows me to maintain the self-image I prefer, as opposed to the one I really ought to have.
Allow me to explain.
A Sock, And the Putting Thereof
Before The Hammer was The Hammer, she was The Runner. And yet, she was not just a runner. She was a cyclist, too. She started cycling long before she and I got together. Indeed, she was an accomplished cyclist, having completed Lotoja (a 200+ mile race) and The Leadville 100, multiple times.
But — and I say this with all the humility a beloved internet celebrity cycling superstar can say without seeming falsely humble or perhaps even condescending — I was a better cyclist than she was.
Yes, I was both faster and had more endurance. She and I both knew who the alpha rider was, and that was me.
[Side note: while I am most certainly thumping my chest right now, it is with a certain amount of charming irony and a smidgen of foreshadowing of a contrasting situation that will make you love me even more than you do already, if that's possible.]
So anyways, sometimes we’d go on rides together, and I’d push her a little bit, for a long time. Not in a huge way, mind you.
No, more in much subtler, insidious ways.
Like, when we were riding side by side, I would keep my front wheel about half a length ahead of hers. As if to say, “Hey, if you want to go just a little faster, I’m up for it.”
Or — much worse — I’d be relentlessly cheerful. No matter how long we had been out, I always had something nice to say about the ride. If a big climb was coming up, I’d talk about how much I like climbing. If we were in the flats, I’d go on about how there’s nothing for endurance and power like turning the cranks over and over in the flats.
If I was exhausted, it was a good exhaustion.
This kind of behavior, I am sure you will agree, is not annoying at all, to anyone. And so I was incredibly surprised when, at the top of a short-but-painful climb, I turned to tell her how amazingly cooked I was and how much I love cycling for the way it can leave you completely ruined, when she spoke first.
“Don’t start,” The Runner said. “Just put a sock in it.”
As a man who knows when a woman is not kidding around even a tiny little bit, I put a sock in it.
But honestly, I did not get it. I had not been anything but pleasant during the ride. She had no reason to suspect that I was going to say anything offensive or mean or anything. Hey, I’m Fatty, for crying out loud. I never say anything mean or offensive.
And as long as I was being honest, I didn’t understand how anyone could be angry while on a bike anyway. When I’m on a bike, I’m happy. It’s really as simple as that. I can be tired, hungry and hurting on a bike, but there’s still a chunk of my brain that says, “Yeah, but I’m tired, hungry and hurting on a bike, so it’s cool.”
So why was I riding with a metaphorical sock in my mouth? What had I done wrong?
The Gaining of Understanding
It’s no secret that, as a wonderful person who wants to be supportive of his wife, I have tried to take up running. I believe I have documented at least a little bit about how well that’s gone. For example, I’ve talked about how I totally crushed the Death Valley Marathon. And how I just flew when running the 2010 NYC Marathon. And then there was the Ogden Marathon, where I discovered that I’m more than half an hour faster if the course is downhill.
And now, in (much!) less than a month, we’re doing the Boston Marathon (The Hammer is doing it because she’s fast and qualified to run it, I’m doing it as part of Team LiveStrong).
So I’ve been running again. Training for another marathon.
The experience has been memorable. In particular, I remember the following:
I remember an exquisite sense of humiliation. A couple weeks ago, we were doing an 18-mile training run. Around mile 12, I started slowing, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried speeding up, but simply could not.
In fact, at mile 13, The Hammer changed over to a walk. “Why are you walking?” I asked.
“Because you’re running slower than I walk,” she answered, without irony.
And it was true. I was taking run-like steps and making a run-like motion with my arms, but I was going at a pace so slow that any mallwalker would have gapped me.
“Just go on,” I said. And I really meant it. The Hammer is the fastest she’s ever been right now — she’s really stepped up her running game lately — and I didn’t want to hold her back.
“No, I’ll stay with you. We’ll walk a minute and then continue running, she said.”
I remember despair. We started running again, and — before another mile had gone by — the strangest sound came out of my mouth: something that sounded remarkably like a sob.
I was surprised by the sound. Not that a sob-like sound had come out of me, but that I had somehow let this sound — that so accurately represented how I felt — escape.
I stifled it before another could come out.
“What was that?” The Hammer asked.
“I don’t think I can go another four miles,” I told her. “I really don’t.”
And I looked down and away, because I didn’t want her to see that I was crying. That I was totally beaten.
We agreed she should go on ahead and finish the run, then come back and get me in a car; meanwhile I would try to get as far as I could.
When The Hammer picked me up, I was at mile 16.
I have never been so happy to give up in my entire life.
Epiphany
What is my point? An easy, simple, short one: I think running has made me a better cyclist. Which is to say, a more understanding cyclist. Before, I had been riding for so long that I had honestly forgotten how it feels to be completely, truly beaten by something. To be so tired and sore that you start taking it personally.
You don’t feel an interested, ironic amusement at your tiredness. You feal destroyed.
It’s good — once it’s over — to be reminded exactly how hard something can be.
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