01.26.2012 | 9:51 am
I used to get a ton of stuff in the mail from companies who hoped I’d review their products. There was a problem with that, though: most of what I got was pretty good.
Wait. What? Why would there be a problem with “pretty good?” Well, there isn’t, not from a day-to-day usage point of view. In fact, most everything I own and use throughout the day would fall into that category. For example:
- Pants I am currently wearing (jeans from The Gap): pretty good
- Keyboard I am typing on (Microsoft Wireless Keyboard 6000): pretty good
- Bar of soap I used to shower with (Lever 2000): pretty good
But it’s not like I’d actually want to write about any of those things. Because those would be short and dull reviews: “This item is ok. I found it does what it ought to do. I shall, however, not miss it when I lose it due to short term memory issues.”
The end.
So now, when people ask if they can send me stuff, my reply includes this snippet:
You should know that I don’t return things that are sent to me. Whether I like it or not, or whether I talk about it or not, or whether I review it or not, its mine. I’m just too lazy to send stuff back. So don’t send me anything you want me to keep for “a review period.”
More importantly, I only talk about stuff I really love, or really hate. If your product doesn’t make me want to write about it, I won’t.
Astonishingly, this has resulted in much less free stuff in the mail.
That said, once in a while I come across something I really love. Maybe someone sent it to me, maybe I bought it myself. Regardless, I find myself telling people about these things, because I have ridiculously high confidence that — like mine — their life will be better if they have this thing.
So here’s a list of a few new things I love. In the order they occurred to me when I decided to write a post about stuff I love today.
Shimano XTR Brakes 
(Full Disclosure: Shimano has given me a set of XTR brakes, and I’m friends with Dustin Brady, the Marketing Guru at Shimano.)
So many of the guys in the core team have abandoned hydraulic disc brakes on their mountain bikes. Hydraulics were just too finicky, they rub, they have to constantly be tweaked and adjusted.
So they had gone to mechanical disc brakes.
I hadn’t, yet, but I was thinking about it.
And then the new Shimano XTR Brakes came out. Well, actually the whole new XTR came out, and honestly I love it all. But if there were one thing I had to pick about this new group, it’d be the brakes. There is nothing like them on the market. Not even close.
I get smooth, perfectly-modulated, true one-finger braking (I’m a middle-finger braker, by the way, but that’s a topic for another post) with the new XTR.
And I get it without constant tweaking and adjusting (which is crucial when you are a horrible mechanic).
Why are they so great? I don’t know. Technology stolen from alien spacecraft, probably. But these are — finally — the disc brakes that deliver on the promise of disc brakes (incredible power in any trail conditions), without the hassle I’ve come to associate with disc brakes.
They are expensive brakes, for sure. But they’re worth it. Worth it, in fact, to the extent that I am saving to buy and put these brakes on my Stumpy 29er, replacing the XX brakes currently on it.
They’re just that good.
Smartwool Microweight Tee and Phd Running Ultra Light Mini 
Full Disclosure: From time to time, Smartwool sends me stuff. But I also buy a ton of Smartwool stuff, and I can never remember what I bought and what I was comped.)
I’ve made it clear, many times over I think, that I’m a big fan of the comfort and fit of Smartwool. There are a couple products, though, that I’m lately wearing pretty much every day.
First, the Microweight Tee. Smartwool comped me one, and I loved it so much I’ve bought two more. Honestly, it’s a rarity that I don’t have one on. I wear one under my jersey as a base layer when I’m biking in the winter. I wear one under my running shirt when I’m running in the winter. I wear one either by itself, with a jacket, or under another at home and work (same place for me).
They’re super light, super thin, super soft, and make everything just a little bit warmer and more comfortable.
From Fall through Spring, I pretty much always have one (all of them black, because I have color coordination issues) on.
Next, the Smartwool PhD Running Ultra Light Mini. I love these for two very easy reasons: I can run in them without my feet blistering up, and I don’t wear holes in the toes nearly as often as I do with other socks.
It’s that second reason that’s actually crucial. For whatever reason — I don’t know what it is — most socks don’t last even a single run for me. I wear a hole through the front toe by the end of ten miles. (For those of you about to tell me it’s because my shoes are too small or I need to trim my toenails, I’ve already thought of that.)
Yurbuds 
Full Disclosure: I have no relationship with Yurbuds and get no special deal on them.
If you’re anti-iPod when biking, you can skip this one. If your existing earbuds fit just fine and don’t constantly fall out, you can skip this one.
If, on the other hand, you like listening to music while you ride and your earbuds either fall out all the time, you should look into Yurbuds. They’re little silicone tips that fit over regular iPod-type buds, but when you put them in and then twist about a sixteenth of a turn forward, they lock into place.
And they just stay there. For the whole ride, or run, or whatever. Nice and comfortably, and without being too isolating.
I like to always keep one ear free when I ride (and yeah, run), partly so I can hear what’s going on around me, and partly because I like to be able to still have a conversation. So I have a set of headphones where I just went ahead and cut the second bud off right where the cable splits; that way I don’t have a loose earbud dangling around.
More Next Week
This is actually only half the list of stuff I wanted to write about; I have three more things I wanted to talk about; I’ll post them on Monday.
Meanwhile, add to the list. What bike-related thing do you love enough you find yourself telling others about?
Comments (76)
01.25.2012 | 11:47 am
A Note from Fatty: Today, I’m starting work on my next book: Fight Like Susan. It will tell the story of Susan’s battle with cancer. From time to time (honestly, I don’t know how often I’ll be able to pull the energy together for this kind of post) I’ll be writing posts that fill in the gaps of the story I’ve already told — stuff that happened before I started this blog, and stuff that was too difficult to talk about at the time.
Eventually, I hope to have a complete story. Something my kids will be able to read someday and better understand what was going on around them while they grew up.
I may not write in chronological order, and I may not do these posts very often. Or maybe I’ll start doing them nonstop ’til I’m done. Honestly, I don’t know. One way or another, eventually I’ll finish this book.
In any case, thanks for sticking with me while I write this.
It was December 2003. Life wasn’t exactly easy right then. The twins had just turned two, and while they were pretty much the most adorable little girls you could imagine, keeping up with them was no easy task. “Soon,” Susan and I would tell each other, “They’ll be out of diapers. Then things will get easier. And cheaper.”
“Cheaper” was important. I was working as the editor-in-chief for asp.netPRO magazine, and — like with a lot of tech magazines — there was some serious belt-tightening going on at the company.
A Job Offer
There had been two layoffs. And with each layoff, those of us who remained took a pay cut. Which meant that I was taking home about 60% of the salary I had been hired at.
We were not making ends meet, but we faked it by closing the gap with credit cards. Obviously, that wasn’t a great long term solution.
So I started looking around for a job. Luckily, my job had given me a thick contact list, and I started reaching out to companies. Within a couple of weeks, there were two interested companies: one of them was a development house based in New Jersey. The other was Microsoft.
Either way, we’d definitely have to move.
I interviewed with Microsoft. The result was, “We’re interested in hiring you, but not for the position you interviewed for. Let’s talk again.”
I interviewed with the company in NJ. They made a verbal job offer. I accepted. We were going to be moving East.
Discovery
And then, doing a routine breast self-exam, Susan felt a lump.
Wow. I had a hard time writing that.
The thing is, that moment was the moment that changed everything for us, but I totally downplayed it. “I bet it’s nothing,” I said. “I bet you anything that it’s something like this ganglion cyst I’ve got.”
That was my style. It still is, really: assume that everything is going to work out for the best. Because if it does, then you spent less time worrying. And if it doesn’t, what good did the worrying do?
But I was still worried, and Susan was too.
OK, “worried” is the wrong word. “Scared” is better, but I acted like I wasn’t.
Diagnosis
She went to the doctor. They did a mammogram — Susan’s first, since she was only 37. The doctor said that depending on the results, they might need to do a biopsy.
Susan came back, and we worried. But I stayed positive, and kept telling her that it would not be a problem. Everything would be fine.
Then, on December 23 — two days before Christmas — we got a call. Susan got the phone. It was the doctor. Not the nurse or the doctor’s admin, the doctor. He asked if both of us could get on the phone.
Those two things — the doctor calling himself, and his wanting to talk to both of us at the same time — told us the bad news, before he ever confirmed it.
“You have breast cancer.”
I remember I looked for a way out. “You mean she needs to come in for a biopsy, right?”
“No, it’s very obvious. Can you come in tomorrow so we can start making a plan?”
The doctor wanted us to come in on Christmas Eve. Yes, we could come in.
He had already asked an oncologist to come to the meeting. We appreciated it.
We started calling family and friends, telling them the news, or what little we understood of it.
And I called the company in NJ, telling them I’d likely need to start my new job working from Utah until we had things figured out. They told me not to worry about it and to take care of my wife.
The Plan
The meeting was businesslike, which I think both Susan and I wanted. They could do a lumpectomy, although this lump was big enough that this might be too conservative an approach.
Then chemotherapy.
After that, we’d see if we needed to do radiation, too.
“I don’t want to do a lumpectomy,” Susan said, with perhaps the most certainty I had seen in her to that point. “Take the whole thing. I don’t want it anymore.”
In an instant, that breast had become her enemy. She wanted nothing to do with it; wanted it gone as quickly as possible.
I didn’t argue; I trusted her instincts. We scheduled the surgery.
Another Call
I don’t remember Christmas from that year. I really have no recollection of it at all. But I do remember a phone call that came a couple days later. It was the guy who would be my manager at the company in NJ. I assumed it was to see how Susan was doing.
I was wrong.
“I’m sorry, but we need to retract that job offer,” he said. “I hope you understand.”
Yeah. I understood.
Comments (90)
01.23.2012 | 12:13 pm
A “I Found Myself Unable to Shut Up” Note from Fatty: Last night I was the second guest on TourChats (the first guest was Tara McCormick, the 16-yo woman who just went pro w/ team Exergy Twenty12). My part starts about twenty minutes into the show, and then goes for more than an hour. While talking, I — several times — found myself going on and on and on, and I’d be thinking to myself, “You’ve answered the question! Shut up now!” But I didn’t. I just kept going, often answering the question twice more, with slightly different wording.
And with that recommendation, how could you not want to go listen to — and watch — the exciting replay?
Introduction
Bicycle technology and culture are evolving at a breakneck pace. Sadly, the English language has not kept up.
Today, I do my small part to rectify this problem. Or rather, I continue to do my now less-small (but still small) part to rectify this problem
Let’s begin. Already.
Tightenoia
[tite-uh-noi-uh] (noun) – A mental condition prevalent among home mechanics, and becoming increasingly prevalent with the widespread adoption of carbon frames and components among cycing enthusiasts.
Tightenoia is the condition of having the two following contradictory beliefs, simultaneously:
- If I DO NOT tighten this bolt a little bit more, it will not be tight enough, the component (e.g., a seatpost clamp, brake lever, stem) will slip when I ride, and the results will be catastrophic.
- If I DO tighten this bolt any more, it will be overtightened. The bolt will shear, the component I am tightening will crack, and I will be forced to go to the bike shop and make up yet another story about how this happened due to something other than my own incompetence.
Tightenoia is unique among phobias in that one of your simultaneous, mutually-exclusive fears is almost always correct, and the one that is correct is always the one that you think is incorrect.
And don’t go trying to solve the problem by doing the thing (i.e., tightening vs. not tightening) you think you shouldn’t do, because that means you’ve changed your mind and now the thing you thought you shouldn’t do is now the thing you think you should do, which means the thing you thought you should do but now think you shouldn’t do is the thing that you should do.
And so forth.
SCI
[ess-see-eye] (acronym, noun) – SCI is an acronym for Soiled Chamois Index, a 1 – 10 scale indicating how frightening the event you just now avoided was, with 1 representing “just frightening enough that your sphincter clenched up” and 10 representing “so incredibly frightening that your sphincter clenched, unclenched, your bowels evacuated, you re-clenched, you passed out, woke up briefly, pooped again, and then re-fainted.”
Do not use number 10 lightly.
Sample events and their location on the SCI scale include:
- SCI Level 1: While descending a fast, twisty piece of singletrack, you come around a bend to discover you are about to hit a hiker coming up the other direction. You brake hard, swerve, and successfully avoid the hiker, and even manage to say “Have a good hike” after you get around him or her.
- SCI Level 5: Your downtube breaks as you descend a road at approximately 40mph. You manage to stop, but you are shaking so hard you cannot stand for several minutes, and you very nearly throw up.
- SCI Level 10: Honestly, I have no experience with SCI Level 10 events, and I hope not to. If you’ve got one, please describe it in the comments.
SSD
[ess-ess-dee] (acronym, noun) – SSD is an acronym for Seasonal Stupidity Disorder (not Solid State Drives, nor Social Security Disability). This mental condition manifests itself throughout the year in people affected by this disorder through constant complaining about the current season, and always wishing it were some other season. Typically, the symptomatic complaints will be as follows:
- During Winter: “I am so sick of riding on the rollers, and bundling up for an outside ride generates tons of laundry. Plus, with all those layers of clothes, you pretty much have none of the sense of freedom I usually associate with riding a bike. I wish it were spring.”
- During Spring: “I swear, if it’s not raining, it’s muddy. Or if you go out on the road, there’s still all that sand on the shoulder and your bike gets all gritty and coated with worms and crud. And then you go out and it’s all cold and wet, but then halfway through the ride the sun comes out and you’ve got way too much on. And then once you shed all your clothes, it gets cold and windy and rainy again. I wish summer would get here.”
- During Summer: “It’s too hot to ride today. Really, Autumn is the best time of year to ride is Autumn. The days are cooler, there’s still plenty of light, and the leaves are so beautiful.”
- During Autumn: “I’m so burned out on riding. Honestly, I’m looking forward to just doing some spinning on the rollers and catching up with my NetFlix queue.”
This disorder should not be confused with CAWD (Complaining About Winter Disorder) which is actually not a disorder at all, but is a sign of being a normal person.
Comments (33)
01.19.2012 | 10:51 am
A Note from Fatty: This Sunday at 9PM ET / 6PM PT, I’ll be one of the guests on TourChats. The other guest is Tara McCormick, the 16-year-old sensation who’s already gone pro, riding for Team Exergy Twenty12 this upcoming season. Frankly, I’m a lot more interested in Tara’s story than mine, so I’ll be showing up mostly to see what she has to say.
Anyway, it’ll be live, and there will be both audio and moving pictures, as well as textual chatification.
I’ll talk about myself, in a way that is both heartfelt and compelling, without being pretentious or self-aggrandizing.
So please, mark your calendars: Sunday, January 22, 9PM ET / 6PM PT. See you there. (Although actually I won’t see you there. You’ll see me. It doesn’t go both ways. So it’s kind of like television. Or a creepy peep show.)
I will bring props. And I’ll might give some stuff away.
3 Words All Cyclists Must Know
Before I begin, I have a confession to make: I briefly considered titling this post “Terms of Engearment.” And then I remembered: puns are the lowest form of humor. So I changed the title to something more hyperbolic, but completely pun-free.
You’re welcome.
And now, let’s make with the defining.
(This, by the way, is the shortest introduction I have ever written on my blog.)
Snotulum
[snot-juh-luhm] (noun) – The mucousy, sweaty viscous goop (usually 0.5 – 2.5 inches in length) that dangles from the tip of your nose, swinging side to side in time with your cadence as you ride.
Generally, a snotulum forms when you climb on cold days. The outside temperature causes your nose to run, while your effort causes you to sweat. The two substances meet at the tip of your nose, resulting in a mixture ideally suited to hang from the tip of your nose.
The snotulum has several interesting characteristics. First, depending on the ratio of snot to sweat, the snotulum may be anywhere betweeen half an inch and 2.5 inches in length, with unconfirmed reports of snotulae (plural of snotulum) reaching lengths of up to eight inches.
Next, the snotulum, regardless of its consistency, has the ability to dangle indefinitely. Once it reaches its optimal length, it will swing — some say “hypnotically,” while others say “repulsively” — for hours or until you finally wipe it on your glove, thus totally grossing yourself out.
Finally, the swinging of the snotulum has the interesting characteristic of constantly moving into and out of your direct vision, thus drawing attention to itself multiple times per minute.
Interesting snotulum trivia: If you try to shake a snotulum off or blow vigorously through your nose, it will instead swing around and stick to the side of your face.
Whinner
[win-r] (noun) – A person who, upon not making it to the top of a podium for a given event, begins a campaign to rectify the huge injustice he has experienced. This campaign may take several forms:
- Discrediting the course: Explaining what was wrong with the course, from poor marking to poor opportunities to pass to bad course conditions. A whinner is not required to account for the fact that all other competitors dealt with the same course.
- Blaming the competitors: Explaining how other competitors would not yield, or perhaps cut the whinner off, or maybe even had the audacity to fall. If it weren’t for other racers being so discourteous as to actually exist, the whinner most certainly would have won.
There are actually two levels of whinners. The first — and most common — is the whinner who explains why he should have whun (the verb form of whinner is “whin,” with “whun” being the past-tense form) to friends, family, co-workers, and miscellaneous passers-by.
The second type of whinner is the racer who actually takes his case to the race director. This person is called a “true whinner.”
Interesting whinner triva: The best and simplest way to silence a whinner is to tell him that he is in fact, a whinner. This is due to the fortuitous coincidence that “winner” and “whinner” sound exactly the same. Thus, a friend can react to a whinner by saying, “Yeah, you totally whun that race. You were robbed.” Similarly, a race director can appease a whinner by saying, “You are absolutely the true whinner today.”
Cleatastrophe
[klee-ta-struh-fee] (noun) – The terrifying and usually painful moment when a clipless pedal releases the cleat, allowing all kinds of horrible things to ensue.
Cleatastrophes generally happen for the following reasons:
- Pedal Strike: Many MTB pedal systems (Eggbeaters, mainly) have the cleat engagement mechanism engineered so that the part holding onto your shoe is connected to the part facing the ground. This is fine unless you do something stupid like ride your mountain bike in the mountains, in which case you may at some point go over a rock or log or something, striking the bottom of your pedal forcefully on said rock. At which point the pedal will release its hold on the cleat, allowing your foot freedom with a suddenness that is only matched by its unwantedness.
- Ancient Cleats: If you let your cleats wear long enough, your pedal won’t have anything to hold onto. So, you know, it might not be the worst idea in the world to take a look at the bottom of your shoe once in a while. Trust me on this. I know.
- No Reason Whatsoever: Sometimes — generally in the worst place possible, your pedal will release your shoe for no reason at all.
The causes of cleatastrophes are not as important as the most common locations of cleatastrophes, which include:
- While going over rocks and logs: See reason 1, above, to understand the causality here, but also note that when a cleat comes out while you’re partway up a technical move, the timing for this cleatastrophe always feels exceptionally poor.
- While standing and climbing: Generally happening on grades of 8% and greater, cleatastrophes while doing a standing climb on a road bike inevitably lead to the rider striking his stem with his kneecap with enough force to shatter whichever is softer (generally the kneecap).
- Anywhere else: Sometimes you’ll have a cleatastrophe for no reason whatsoever. This generally results in swerving, sticking ones leg out at a comical angle while you try to regain your balance. Oh, and also it usually results crashing and serious injury.
Interesting cleatastrophe trivia: Of the people who at one point rode with Crank Brothers Egg Beaters pedals but no longer ride with Egg Beaters pedals, the cleatastrophe is the cause of switching to a different kind of pedals for 98% of this group.
The other 2% didn’t actually switch; they simply had such a terrifying cleatastrophe that they have given cycling up entirely.
Comments (34)
01.17.2012 | 1:49 pm
I am probably the most knowledgable person about training for bicycle fitness on my street, and quite possibly in the town of Alpine, UT (population 10,181).
Or at least the Northwest quadrant of Alpine.
Regardless, I know an awful lot about the correct way to train to be an incredibly fit cyclist. Which, when contraposed with the 15-30 pounds I constantly lose, then gain, then lose, then gain (I’m currently at what I hope is the top of a “gain” cycle, for what it’s worth) I do not find even a little bit ironic.
Anyways.
Because of my astonishing breadth and depth of bike-training expertise, I frequently get email from people hoping they can get training advice, without having to pay for it. Like I’m some kind of Chris-Carmichael-on-the-cheap or something.
For example, I recently received the following:
Dear Fatty,
I am trying to become the fastest guy in my cycling group. For some reason, however, I just can’t seem to do it. I ride and I ride and I ride, but I just can’t seem to beat the fastest guys in the big climbs or in the designated signpost sprints in the weekly group rides.
I eat well, so I know that’s not the problem. I have a very expensive bike which I keep clean and well-lubricated, so that can’t be it. And I ride up to fourteen hours per day, each and every day, always at maximum effort, so I think I’m doing OK there, too.
I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong! Please help me.
Best Regards,
Duane
Oh Duane. You’re missing the key ingredient in cycling training. All those 14-hour days in the saddle aren’t going to do you any good at all if you never take the time to rest up. The most important thing a cyclist can do to become stronger and faster is to do recovery rides.
But you’re not alone in your confusion. As it turns out, very few cyclists know when they should do a recovery ride, nor how they should do a recovery ride.
Luckily for all of you, I have studied the science and art (yes, art!) of recovery rides extensively, and am happy to — at no cost to you. Although would be nice if you bought a copy of my book (available now in paper and Kindle versions at a discounted price! Buy three today!!!).
When To Do A Recovery Ride
Many top experts are very strong proponents of recovery rides, including Joe Friel, probably, because he seems to be in favor of pretty much everything.
The real question is when should you do a recovery ride?
While some recognized experts say you should do a recovery ride the day following a periodized interval session — whatever that is — the fact is the determining factor of when you should do a recovery ride is very simple indeed.
Scenario 1: Suppose you’re out riding. You’ve planned to do a big climb, followed by another big climb, followed by a long flat into a headwind, followed by a big climb.
The problem is, you’re not having fun. And the near future doesn’t look promising, fun-wise, either.
The solution? declare a recovery ride, perhaps to a nearby store where one can purchase a recovery beverage and perhaps a recovery burrito.
Scenario 2: You’re out riding, feeling good. Feeling strong. Feeling like you’ve got good power and that perhaps you are the strongest cyclist in the Northwest quadrant of Alpine, UT.
And then you get passed.
This, my friend, is because — although perhaps you did not realize it until just this moment — you are on a recovery ride. And it’s probably a really good idea to let the guy who just passed you know this fact, so they don’t have the misperception that they passed you because they’re faster than you.
I recommend, saying loudly (due to the doppler effect and wind and stuff), “Don’t you just hate recovery rides?”
Scenario 3: You go out to the garage, and your bike has a flat. You fix it, only to find that you didn’t do a very good job, because the new tube also goes flat. You go back inside.
Congratulations. You just did a recovery ride.
Except the “ride” part, of course.
How To Do A Recovery Ride
As important as when you do a recovery ride is how. Simply follow these steps:
- Start out the ride nice and easy, with the intention of never getting your heart rate above 120. If your resting heart rate is above 120, you may need to modify this number.
- As you ride, your legs will feel better and you’ll start enjoying yourself, and you’ll want to go faster. Resist this urge. You’re not riding your bike for fun, darn it! Bikes are for training and racing and crushing the opposition.
- At some point, you’ll see another cyclist up ahead. You’ll be tempted to step up your pace and catch this other cyclist, especially since your legs are feeling good and fresh. Resist this urge!
- Ah, screw it. Go ahead and chase that other cyclist down.
Oh, and when you catch that other cyclist, be sure to let him or her know that you’re on a recovery ride.
Happy Recovering,
The Fat Cyclist
Comments (27)
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