Screw You Guys, I'm Going Home: Hains Point Edition

You know you've spent a long day in the saddle when you come home from a road ride and you're covered on dried sweat and gnats. That or you were tripping balls again and covered yourself in flypaper and jumped in the ocean. Fly fishing. Get it?!

Here's the rundown of today's happenings:

Since I haven't been there in a while, I thought it'd be a good idea to bike to Hains Point and do the Thursday night sprints. I was wrong. I left my house in Vienna at 4:30 and headed down the W&OD. Fortunately, it was still early and the trail wasn't too packed so I decided to jam it all the way to DC. I don't know what time I got there, but I must have arrived really early. There was hardly anyone there and by hardly anyone, I mean only inline skaters, "triathletes", and people who weren't triathletes but were similarly fat and annoying. I sat around restlessly for a few minutes to catch my breath then took a few solo laps to see if anyone was there. Nada. I sat around a few more minutes and finally a group had formed. I jumped on. First lap, no sprint, just a couple guys drilling it paceline-style. Second lap, we carried a fast pace on the DC "rest" side and someone flips shit, comes unclipped, swerves, and almost causes a huge pileup. No one goes down. I go home. Fuck that noise. Not worth it. One and a half fast laps at Hains. Four and a half slow ones. Time to drag my ass back home.


And a couple more things of note:

- Everyone and their retarded grandmother had Zipp wheels at Hains today. No less than four riders in the pack were rocking 404 clinchers. Some fucker had 606s. Even some guy on a hand tricycle had Zipps. Tubulars! I mean, holy fucking cockballs! What is going on in the world? Does everyone need to be all aero all the time? Just because its a clincher doesn't make it a good training wheel. Just because it's cool doesn't mean you need it. Although I do kind of want a pancake-scented candle. That or real pancakes. I can't decide.

-Where are kid's parents nowadays? I almost ran over three kids today. Twice at Hains point these little punk kids were wandering around the streets on their bikes. And TWICE they jump out in front of the pack and almost got their shit splattered all over the road. The other time was on the wod and it was pretty much the same situation. Normally I love kids. Today I fucking hate them. The problem with running over a kid is that no matter what, you can't do anything about it. If a midget stepped out in front of me and got run over, I would pick myself up, beat his ass and then punt him (or just get his insurance information, whatever). You can't punt a kid. Apparently, that's child abuse. And all insurance means to a kid is that he's guaranteed to get ice cream, but only after he finishes all his veggie-weggies. Now here comes the airplane. Say AHHHHHHHIRANOVERAKIDWITHMYBIKEANDITSALLHISSTUPIDASSFAULT!

-While you're here, you might as well read a little stream of consciousness excerpt from my ride today:
What the fuck is on the inside of my thigh? Is that grease? Why is it there? Shit. I look like a tool covered in this weird grease. Where is it coming from? Ok, screw it. Probably just some freak careless mistake. Wipe it off. Ride bikes. You like riding bikes. Fuck this pollen shit. Who's that hobo? Does he want to fight. He looks drunk. Lucky. *sigh* Triathletes... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ON MY THIGH?? Its back again. This time on both legs. It looks like I gave birth to a squid with epilepsy. Fuckfuckfuck.

My headset was leaking grease and Phil Tenacious Oil from my last overhaul. Also, I'm a dumbass. Time for pancakes.

Bridging the Gap: I is for Itchy

My leg is itchy as hell. It feels so good to scratch that I'll probably have to go talk to a priest tomorrow. Holy living fuck it's obnoxious! If I scratch it, it will bleed. If I slap it, it will eventually bleed. If I pour hot coffee, your ears will melt from the vulgarities that will come spewing out of my mouth. Same goes for if I pour whiskey on it, but I'll probably be drunk having absorbed the alcohol directly into my bloodstream. I should try that some day.


As you can probably tell, today was pretty uneventful and I unfortunately did not ride bikes either. That will change tomorrow. Screw going to work.


Now, where did I put that bottle of whiskey...



Also:
My Fat Cyclist jersey came in. It's pretty damn comfy. I'll probably rock it this Sunday at the CSC Invitational.

Bridging the Gap: Secret Admirer

My secret admirer has posted a picture of us together. Sadly, it is not of him riding my bike like a surfboard or running over my other bike. Also sadly, it is not of us making out.

Choose Your Own Excuse: BikeJam Edition

I am an idiot. I suck at racing. ARGH! Here are a few excuses I've developed in response to my DNF at BikeJam/Kelly Cup. They are ordered from most plausible to highly unlikely

1) I suck at bike riding and haven't ridden a bike consistently for a while.

2) I changed my saddle position (higher and more forward) and my legs haven't gotten used to the position yet (See excuse #1).

3) I was working too hard on the front.

4) I had better things to do.

5) I didn't drink enough water.

6) I didn't drink enough beer.

7) I don't like being competitive.

8) I stopped to chat with hot bros who were totally digging me.

9) I stopped to chat with hot chicks who were totally digging me.

10) I wasn't riding on a full carbon superlight tricked-out bike.

In all seriousosity, I am more than a little disappointed about my shitty performance today. I felt good until there were 5 laps to go. Five to go, you say? Yeah, that's right. I suck so bad that I couldn't finish a 20 lap crit. I rode decently for the first couple laps. More importantly, I avoided all the crashes despite several close calls. But after all that work, it was time to head over to Cramp City, population: My Calves. I don't know when my next race will be. At this point it doesn't really matter because I have some serious leg searching to do. I will however go mountain biking soon to shake myself out of this funk and hell I might even do it... SOBER (*gasp!*)


In Other News:
Rasmussen looks weird, like if Lex Luther were in the Matrix...and a lying doper.

Bridging the Gap: Hot Headed

I was scratching an itch today. I tend to do that. Scratching away at whatever pleases me. Lately, it's been the annoying road rash, so I was surprised when I caught myself scratching my head. I was perplexed because I was not scratching my head in perplexity, but rather did so in the same way as I would for the wounds on my leg. How then had I hurt my head? It stung like a motherfucker, but the really frustrating part was that I don't know why it hurt. Don't you hate that? I've been in countless race situations where I felt like I was dying and when I finally took a look around, I find that I'd been climbing up a high-grade hill in my 50x11 for the past ten minutes and that for the past ten minutes I was in fact dying according to most medical definitions of death. I guess I fear and loathe the unknown, especially when it comes to injuries. I fear it because I'm afraid of repeating the same mistake and loathe it because I hate making the same mistake twice knowing that the second instance could have been prevented.

Was it sunburn? Did someone throw a rock at me?
*scratchscratchscratch*


Dammit! I burned my forehead on a spinning tire. Ugh, I'm retarded. Ow. I can almost see the tread marks!!

Bridging the Gap: Fits Muh Teef

I went to the dentist's today. I hate going to the dentist. The noises, the poking and prodding of my gums and molars, the unnerving stare of my dentist as she examines and tsks her way through the jungle that is my mouth; they all drive me insane. Unlike biking, being drunk wouldn't help the pain. I talk a lot when I'm drunk and eat a lot of food, particularly of the pizza variety. Plus I would call my dentist a bro and try to fight her. That's three strikes. No beer while dentisting.

Bridging the Gap: Road Rash Riding is Really gReat

I hadn't taken the bike shit out of my car until today. I went to the shop and threw an old rear wheel on and swapped out the handlebars and stem with something The Dragon had lying around. I was going to order a Gunnar frame today, but Fat Cat was at a general manager's meeting all day and took his time coming back from it. Not wanting to waste the daylight, I headed out to the NCVC Tuesday Night Sprints. The ride itself is pretty ghetto; out and back repeats on Eisenhower ave with two designated sprints. Despite the chilly weather, it was good to get out there and pretend like I didn't have road rash all over my leg and ass.

Couple things to note:
- While it was biking that caused it, ironically road rash feels better on the bike than off it

- Going to a group ride and not talking to anyone is kind of awkward. Thankfully, Allie-Z showed up, so at least there was one person there that I could make an ass out of myself in front of.

- One guy had a Gatorade tattoo on his calf. Or maybe he just thinks he's The Flash. He was not. In fact, he was The Flash's lesser known retarded brother, The Fucker. I was praying that this guy would get a pinch flat so that he'd drop out instead of jumping, blow his wad, not pull off, and get in everyone's way. A fiver says this guy's a triathlete. A tenner says he's a bro.

- I love Tegaderm. I hate showers.

Aside:
I got a sitemeter. Guess that makes me a narcissistic cyclist. Meh.

Nothing a Few Beers Can't Fix

I am a complete ass.

Yesterday was the 1st Annual Southern Maryland Criterium. The race featured 11 turns, so it was pretty technical especially compared to Saturday's RRRR race o'pain. The day itself was marked with intermittent showers which kept the race course pretty wet but let the racers stay dry. This race was very similar to the Reston Town Center Grand Prix in terms of the how technical the race was, but given the wet course there weren't too many jumps or gaps put in. I tried the Remain Calm tactic again, and it seemed to be working for me. Staying up front wasn't particularly hard and I was having a pretty damn good time. With eight laps to go, I ended up letting a bit of my front wheel overlap with the guy to the side of me. He drifts my way and my front wheel gets taken out. Crash city. The butt and left calf and knee are road rashed to hell. I tried to get back into the race, but my handlebars had turned in the crash and the official at the second wheel pit didn't have a single tool to be found. I wrenched my handlebars as straight as I could but not in enough time to take my free lap. Oh well. that's racing right? A Chipotle burrito and half a dozen beers later, I could care less. I ordered new handlebars and a derailleur hanger for myself and trued up my front wheel. My rim on my rear wheel is cracked in 8-9 places and needs to be replaced. Thankfully Bontrager has a 5 year warranty on their wheels so I'll hopefully be able to make good use of that. My parts should be coming in before the weekend so I'll be ready for Kelly Cup (where I'll probably get my ass kicked again).

New Parts:
Rear Wheel
Derailleur Hanger
Handlebars

New Ideas:
I really really suck at racing
Road rash hurts less with beer, but bleeds more



Aside:
I bought one of these and you should too

RRRR!

RRRR is...

1) the sound I made today in today's crit
2) a description of today's course with four right-handed corners
3) the sound I made after the race

The Wilmington Grand Prix, or what's commonly known as "The Only Reason to Go to Delaware", is a rectangular criterium in downtown Wilmington, DE. It's a NRC race and was pretty damn fun. A long downhill on one side and a long uphill on the other, plus swirling headwinds to boot. Notable characters from the DC area were Salvadorian Dali playing the role of chauffeur and disc jockey, Powerlegs as the Smurftastic Blur, and Big Dogg (from Route 1 Velo) as The Guy that Almost Puked on My Feet.

The Idiot Cyvant Goal of The Day was to remain calm and finish somewhere near the top. That didn't quite happen. Word around the race was that it was pretty fast for a 3/4 race. I don't know how much credibility there is those claims as I'm out of shape and simply don't care about whether or not it was an 'abnormally' fast race. I flatted my front tire today. Having a tire go flaccid on you during a race is a total boner kill, but at least there was SRAM Neutral Support present (thank you Pro/1 NRC race). I got a Zipp 404 Clincher thrown on, took my free lap, and kept on trucking in a rapidly decreasing field. For as much as I complain about the culture of douchery that surrounds these products, a Zipp 404 wheel is pretty damn fast in comparison to my 3-cross CXP22/105. I'm not saying that they're a justifiable expenditure for a Cat4 racer, I'm just saying that Zipp (and other spendy wheel manufacturers) know how to make a fast wheel. Catching back on took me a little over half a lap, but recovering from that effort was not in the cards. I started getting sloppy and desperate in the corners (read: sloppier and desperater) and mentally threw in the towel. I'm kicking myself for it right now, but that's racing. The stupid "calm" tactic didn't work and instead lulled me to a quiet slumber, much like when you fall asleep before you freeze to death. We'll see how tomorrow goes. I don't know if I'll implement the same strategy, but chances are I'll use the SoMD Crit as the venue to turn the pedals in anger (at least for like 15 or 16 laps).


Loose ends:
[This edition of Loose Ends features several things that came loose while I was in Delaware]

- I caught up with Big Dogg after I dropped out of the race. He was sitting at an empty table looking like shit. As I was asking him how his race went, he suddenly let loose a disgusting grunt and covered the sidewalk in vomit. He had been sick all week prior to the race.

-There were some 'models' at the race venue who were representing Harley Davidson (the motorcycles, not the racing team). I use the term 'models' loosely because they were women of loose morals or if you'd rather, "whores". I know what you're thinking: how can you call those women that you hardly know whores? It's easy. When asked to take a picture with SD and I, both 'women' chose to emphasize one of three physical characteristics: butt, boobs, or tongue length. There are pictures to prove it, but I don't want to post them in case one of them were to run for office in the near future. (Blackmail. It's the wave of the future.) Also, Whore 1 didn't understand what my shirt meant and Whore 2 thought it was adorable (We'll file that one under "Just doesn't get it"). Yes, I did actually take the time to what explain is dyslexia, but didn't still get she it.

Neuter Your Bikes!

The following message is brought to you by my habitual analysis of bikes and my generally cynical disposition:

Neuter your bikes! Saddle bags are like bike testicles, but more importantly are somewhat of an eyesore. I can fit just about everything in my jersey pockets or my Deuter when I ride my mtb. Tubes, food, phone, and tools all go back there. I can't use the excuse that a bike without a saddlebag gives it more classic lines. That's the kind of baloney you hear spewing out of the mouths of anti-carbon fiber activists. But I will however caution anyone currently riding with a saddlebag that they are playing with fire. Saddlebags are what I'd like to call a Gateway Bag, and have the potential to ruin anyone's cycling experience. It begins with a tiny saddle bag on a road bike. One that simply holds a tube, lever, and some cash. You don't bother even putting a pump in because you figure you can get air from the gas station that right next to the Starbucks you were heading to anyways. Next thing you know, you're taken out of your 1.5-mile round trip out-and-back "comfort zone" and put in a dizzying nerve-racking 5-mile loop adventure on the nearest bike path. You get a flat and you're stranded with a flat tire, no pump and no one will help you because you look like a cyborg freak with a helmet mounted mirror and bright orange safety vest. Lesson learned. You'll get a bigger saddle bag; this time with extra room for a pump. A few weeks pass and you decide to push the envelope: doing a charity ride. You're going to bike a whole 25 miles? Recreationally?? That has the makings of a Bonk Cocktail. Good God, man! Hurry up and get yourself a Bento box. That way you'll be able to easily feed yourself roast beef sandwiches and soda pop. Y'know, real energy food. You'll be set now for any kind of riding you can imagine. But what's that? You have kids? More than one? Well you're going to have get a few more things if you're going to want to schlep those little brats around. Oh and while you're at it make sure to get them their very own Baby's First Saddlebag, so they'll know where to place their testicles when they drop.

Use saddlebags with caution. They will lead you down a path of self-supported buffoonery that will not add any more utility or happiness to your bike ride. Just ride the damn bike.

IronCyvant

Earlier this week, I went to go see Iron Man. As far as movies go, this was your standard action flick and it was awesome. Robert Downey Jr. is funny and cocky. Gwen Paltrow is looks like a skinny, hot, elfish, comic book character. And a lot of things explode. It was probably one of the best comic movies that I've seen. Better than Superman, The Punisher, Daredevil, and all Spider-Man movies. The story centers around Tony Stark, a millionaire arms manufacturer (guns, not appendages), who survives being held hostage by terrorist armed with his own weapons. After coming home, he vows to undo the damage that his company has done by selling weapons to assholes. Stark's role is not dissimilar to that of million-dollar bicycle manufacturers, but his guilt for letting his products fall into the wrong hands is a definite departure from the standard bicycle business plan. I don't see an apology coming from Cervelo for developing an evil customer base solely focused on aerodynamics and chatch-dom. Nor do I see Pacific Bicycle Group feeling guilty for distributing their bikes to be built by Wal-Mart and K-Mart employees, or for the costs of repairing many bicycles and small children. If I were a bike manufacturer, things would be different.

First, all of my bikes would be great, even the cruiser hybrid bikes. Here it's important to make the distinction between great and cool. "Cool" is a statement of opinion and can also be seen as "lame" by others given certain circumstances; like age, gang affiliation, and whether or not you read this blog. Great is a universal and timeless version of "cool". Colnago's bikes are great, but given that they only make a certain type of bici, their greatness isn't easily distributed to the masses. While there are several things who's greatness necessitates exclusivity, there will always be great products that everyone can attain.

Given this already impossible idea, Let's make it more impossibler and tightly manage distribution of IronCyvant Bicycles through a network of highly-trained concept stores. Traditional concept stores sell only the products (and affiliated products) of a given manufacturer with little wiggle room for new items. Also, "highly-trained" in a bike shop is truly a far-reaching idea. Every bike shop is going to have idiots. I know. I am one. But it's important for the manufacturer to maintain a close relationship with each shop in order to protect its franchise and legacy. So what I'd ask of my concept stores would not necessarily entail brand loyalty, but rather a duty to provide constructive feedback. Vertical integration, baby. I would be able to ensure that shop employees were responsive to the needs of their customers and get valuable criticism concerning their common demands.

Two ideas (for now): great bikes and responsiveness to the consumer are the (would-be) pillars of IronCyvant Bicycles. Simply put, that would mean having high-demand products to sell and selling the product thats right for the consumer. So the guy that wants to become a 'serious cyclist' and upgrade from his fitness hybrid to a carbon fiber TT bike will have to go to a different shop. There will only be responsible bike sales with my bikes, which will probably mean that I'll be poor. (Big change for me financially, I know)


Aside:
This looks awesome. Tim Robbins is my hero. I'd name a bike model after him.

As the Waters Recede...

I emerged yesterday from three day's worth of rain not necessary a new man, but definitely a lazier one. I pretty much sat around, went to work, and got drunk all weekend, and on one occasion, I sat around drunk at work. Mind you, it wasn't on the clock. I simply woke up drunk in the morning having slept at the bike shop because I blacked out and was too drunk to bike home. If this story sounds familiar, it's because I tell it a lot (and because this is the second time this has happened). So to celebrate the end of a horrific weekend, I rode my bike. There are however a few things I noticed:

Apparel
Why do old men wear button-down shirts and khakis when they ride bikes? I know that wearing an outfit like that is the best way to smuggle hard candies and therefore the best way to smuggle small children, but half these guys don't even ride with a wicker basket on their handlebars let alone heavy duty panniers. So ruling out child abduction, and taking into account the fact that khaki is a very crash resilient material, the only logical explanation would be bike jousting. The formal clothing, the squeaky bikes, and wrinkly faces all pay homage to an era when men used to engage in deadly duels. And while I applaud their reckless use of bicycles, life, and limb, I have no desire to join their ranks for fear of ruining the respectable nature of their sport and having it become yet another hipster fad. Plus, I hear you have to undergo an operation to remove all your sweat glands.

Etiquette
Riding on the road, you have to be aggressive. You have to make your presence known to the drivers and fight for your place on the road. Riding on the many bike trails in this area, its nice to take a temporary reprieve from all those headaches, but unfortunately there are different headaches that await riders here. I've gone over retarded inline skaters, made fun of Fuel Belt wearing American Taliban, and gripe constantly about triathletes. But today, the common theme was sheer stupidity. Believing that no one will ever ride two abreast on the trail is an unreasonable expectation, and riding three abreast isn't that uncommon either. What really gets to me are the people that simply don't budge when they're in the oncoming traffic's lane. There's a fucking yellow stripe on the path and you have your space and I have mine. So if I'm coming at you, get the hell out of my way! It not rocket science to see and react in anticipation to one Asian cyclist propelling himself towards you at Cat4 speeds. All you have to is stop talking about how awesome your suspension seatpost is, stop pedaling (aka coast), and slowly creep behind the fat ass of your cycling buddy. It is a little more like rocket science for pedestrian walking three abreast because they can't simply just stop "exercising" or they'd risk missing out on the interesting little tidbits, like how hardcore they were for winning the 10K charity walk. Unfortunately for these poor creatures, they have to steady decrease their pace or "cadence" or (and here comes the really hard part) take a step to the side. The other type of trail user that consistently trespasses into the oncoming lane is the Speed Racer. Speed Racers don't necessarily need road bikes. They simply need stupidity, poor timing, and a false sense of athleticism to accomplish their goals. The whole "I can make it before the gap closes" is somewhat reminiscent of Indiana Jone's daredevil feats, but is more akin to the jackass behavior on display by every driver in the DC Metro area.

I don't ride dangerously close to the centerline on trails. Nor do I go on the trails to "workout" or "train". I use them as a resource of simple recreation and transportation. While I take a somewhat sterile approach to trail usage, others use the trail like 5-year-olds use the jungle gym after snorting 6 packs of Pixie Stix. They cross over into my lane, let their kids run willy nilly, and generally disregard any boundaries, personal or otherwise. Just because I am a single, antisocial cyclist does not mean that I don't have the right to ride my bike in my lane. If this crap continues, I'm just going to have to start bowling people over Terry Tate style. Then everyone will be scared of crossing the yellow line, even if it increases my body's percentage of scar tissue from 34% to 50%. I still have that tiny unscathed patch of skin on my butt. I'll protect that patch with all my might, and probably cutout from a bullet-proof vest.


On second thought, I'll just mobilize the elderly prepster dueling cyclist mob to be enforcers on the trail. That or just ride bikes on the road like a normal cyclist.



In Other News:
Read the last sentence of the third paragraph about O'Grady. That's right. He crashed, broke his collarbone, and finished the stage. His balls must be so big that you couldn't carry them in any saddlebag known to man. You'd have to use heavy duty panniers to haul those brass ones around.

Cat4-o-Sphere

Why does it seem like there are a million amateur racer-bloggers (raggers? blacers?) in the area? Yes, I am a member of this elite group. What sets me apart from the rest is that I purposefully fill my pages with worthless garbage. The rest of them fill their pages with worthless garbage but seem to think that they are providing valuable insight into the world of amateur racing, when in fact they are simply just stating the obvious.

Common themes include:
- Cat 4's are sketchy riders
- Boring shit they ate today. (We get it. Carbs. And it was boring.)
- That time when they were out on a recovery ride when "Lance" tried to chase them down and was struggling to maintain their recovery pace
- Wattage. Whenever. Wherever. For example: when they pop a squat over porcelain and found their power output to be was surprisingly high for that particular day. (Must've been the corn.)

To be honest, reading their blogs is a guilty pleasure of mine. Its like watching ants scrap for a stray piece of food. Its so foreign and interesting to watch, probably because their focus is almost completely opposite mine. Power numbers, dieting, training plans all have their time and place. I don't disagree with that. But I'm not out there to make a career for myself racing bikes and I don't feel like I'm wasting my time out there "just riding". I want to ride my bike in a fast, exciting, and somewhat reckless fashion. Racing gives me an excuse to do all of those things. Unfortunately, racing gives others an excuse to complain and throw their bikes down in anger. Anger? What's that? Who gets angry because they're riding bikes? On a similar note, bloggers in the Cat4-o-Sphere tend to complain a lot. As a wise man once said, "It's bike RACING for crying out loud!" I'm pretty sure he was using a euphemism and means that racers should grow a pair. I'm sure of this because I Googled all day for a charity bike race for people who have crying problems. Yeah, that right. I have a crying problem. It's called NotBeingAbleToDoIt-itis. Its a severe condition that afflicts only me and Chuck Norris. More generally, that would include obnoxious Asians with bifocals and Texas Rangers named Walker.


Speaking of Lance:
I was under the impression that he no longer races bikes and that this has been the case for approximately 3 years. If I am mistaken, fair enough. But if my suspicions are correct, the next genius who thinks he's got jokes and calls me "Lance" while I'm on a bike will have a difficult time undoing the quick-release skewer that has pinned his foot to the side of his face. And trust me, I can wrench down hard on a a QR skewer.


Endnote:
For the record, I put out an average of 530w when I drop a deuce; 600w after a Chipotle burrito. I installed a harness in the bathroom to prevent lift off, but there are still burn marks on the floor. (which are NOT to be mistaken for skidmarks, sicko)

Bridging the Gap: Dude, I KNOW That Guy!

Not only did Bicycling Magazine name Washington DC the most improved cycling city in the nation, but apparently we have a ton of 'powerful' people who ride in DC as well. Whowouldathunkit? DC has politicians....who ride bikes? Granted, I don't think the article meant that politicians are actually physically strong. J.Kerry can hold on at Thursday Night Sprints, but holding on is worlds away from crossing the 'finish line' first.

On another note:
I've decided to use "Bridging the Gap" as a replacement for "Quickly". I feel that I owe it to my readers to be a little wittier. The title implies that these posts will help my vast and far-reaching readership bridge the gap to the next time I choose to write a more thought out and meaningful entry. Also, the title works well because I write about bikes.

and sometimes bike races

and you have to be quick to bridge a gap in bike races.

Get it?! It's a metaphor!!!

Tough Cookie

Powerlegs and I went to go see Capt. Doctor at the hospital yesterday. He was hit by a car while riding his bike about a week ago. I always get this nervous feeling in my stomach when I go see friends in the hospital and God knows I've had my fair share of trips. There's always this fear of the unknown and it's really difficult for me to see loved ones in pain. Fortunately, Capt. Doctor, given all his injuries, looked really good. You can tell he's had a rough time with the accident and surgeries, but I could tell he was still the same ol' CD underneath the cuts, bandages, and titanium pins holding his wrist together. We sat around his room chatting with The Boss (his wife) and CD's parents. Because he's a doctor, it was interesting to see how aware CD was of his situation and how mentally strong both he and The Boss are in dealing with everything. Those two are some tough fucking cookies.

Getting hit by a car pretty much scares the shit out of me. A collision with an automobile like the one Capt. Doctor had is extremely violent and it is truly a blessing that he made it out of the accident in one piece. Everyone falls off a bike sooner or later, but falling is a a cakewalk compared to getting slammed by a 3000lb block of metal. Some might say that accidents happen or that stuff like this comes with the territory. To those people, I'd like to kindly tell them to fuck off because they're obviously missing the point. It doesn't matter why or how the situation occurred. It happened. The only thing that matters is whats going to happen next. Hopefully he gets back in the saddle soon but The Boss has been sneaking subliminal messages into CD's head about taking up swimming. SWIMMING! Also known as the first layer of triathlon hell. What's next? Running?? If Captain Doctor does a triathlon, I may have to quit riding bikes altogether because if a car accident can leave that kind of lasting brain damage, I'd rather have my mental health and never ride a bike than be dressed like some freak in a half-shirt and visor pretending to ride a bike.

For those of you who don't know Capt. Doctor, he is truly one of the kindest and most interesting people I have had the pleasure of calling my friend, and his is a veritable cycling hardman to boot. I am ceaselessly amazed by him. I was going to suggest that the team get him a new pair of bib shorts since his pair got shredded in the accident and they had to cut the rest off of him in the OR. Before I could say anything, The Boss tells us of how CD told the OR nurse to save the shorts and how The Boss had to fish them out of the trash. She explained that Capt. Doctor has always saved the shorts from his accidents and wrecks and has always had either his mom or The Boss stitch them back together. This guy is a fucking riot! He totals his bike, smashed a good portion of his body, and is lying in the operating room asking for someone to please save bib shorts. Wow. Well since he's obviously got his shorts, I guess he's got a few jerseys coming his way since there wasn't a trace of one at the scene of the accident. My theory is that he Incredible Hulked out of it in a split second and used it to protect the integrity of his bib shorts. Like I said, ceaselessly amazed.

I'll be praying tonight as I have all week that Capt. Doctor have speedy and successful recovery, as well as a huge cache of cookies waiting for him when he gets better.

The Wheels on My Bike are Round and Round

I dismantled my front wheel the other day. Detensioned and cut the spokes then relaced the wheel three cross with 14ga spokes and overhauled the bearings. (It had previously been laced radially. On a 32hole wheel. Imagine that!) Wheels are my favorite part of the bike. I could say something cliché, like you can tell the type of rider by the wheels he has, but that's kind of an irrelevant determinant of a rider, especially considering I have a eight pairs of wheels, most of which I don't use. The truth is wheels are a lot like shoes. Some are nice and sparkly. Some wear fancy dimples like tiny black sequins. Still, others are like steel-toed boots, able to withstand anything. If a steel-toed boot were a pair of downhill/freeride wheels, the wheels I generally build for my road bike would be more like steel-toed crocs. Not particularly pretty, but fashionable in their own sense with durability out the wazoo. Eventually, I'll save up for a nice pair of shoes; something I can go SUPER-fast with and that will probably fail the first time I crash them. But for now I'll stick to the heavy ugly stuff. They're indestructible, stiff, and easy to fix if anything should go wrong with them. Oh and they look cool too.

Also:
This guy sounds like he can build wheels. He works at the Bike Rack in DC.

I Just Creamed My Pants a Little

I'd marry just about anyone who bought me this. Even a triathlete...even a guy triathlete. Why? Because if I didn't like who I married, I would just disassemble everything in his/her/its life. Sure, I'd have to spend an hour to rebuild the toaster every morning for breakfast and microwaving popcorn would be off limits unless I could dismantle a house fire, which I'm pretty sure I could with those tools. Unfortunately, it looks as though I'll be needing to buy my own tool kit. I've been ogling this set, which just about covers everything I need for bikes save for a work stand, truing stand, and bench (which I'll probably build myself). I'd also need a rubber mallet, which comes handy not only for bicycle repair but also for fighting off hobos. I don't know if I'd use the apron for anything. Maybe I'll wear it for the "sexy" bike mechanic calendar photo shoot I have coming up. The caption will probably be something along the lines of "Hey baby, want me to overhaul your bottom bracket?" It took me like two days to perfect that line, but the real trick is in the delivery. I should really bring this up at my acting classes tonight.

"Say babe, 'ow boutchu lemme lube yah chayne? 'Aeeey"

Dirty Hands

As I sit here picking at the grit underneath my fingernails, I can't help but notice the difference in standards when it comes to cleanliness in the shop and outside of it. Yesterday, my hands were covered in grease and dirt from open to close. In addition to fixing bikes, I used the same hands to eat cookies, shake hands, and scratch my genitals. Sure I'd wipe them with a rag from time to time, but my hands were pretty much black all day. Even after the day was done and I had scrubbed them clean using the gritty shop soap, I went home and looked at my paws and they were still, at best, a light shade of gray. Maybe the lighting in the shop is deceiving me to believe that I look cleaner than I actually am. It probably also skews my perception of our customers. I mean, how else could you explain how pissed I get every time a triathlete walks in. Could they actually be that annoying in real life? My guess is they probably are, but it's sometimes nice to let your mind wander off into a world where people don't come to you with their retarded problems the day before leaving for a race. This world would be known as The World Where People Just Ride Bikes. No worrying about aero-this, carbo-that. Some guy said that he trained with his aerobars set apart purposefully wider and on race day he'd push them together till they almost touched...so that he'd be faster. Now I'm not an expert (I just ride bikes), but I'm pretty sure that's not how aerobars work. Plus, if this guy is doing work on his own bike, he might die. Although that also could be derived from my altered view on cycling. I see a lot of people who come into the shop having worked on their own bikes and not only did they fail to resolve their problem, they either made it worse or created another issue that I must now fix. But I believe there is a world out there comprised of cyclists who don't work at bike shops but know how to turn a wrench. When I find out where it is, I'll quit my job, move there, and reign as emperor (or at least not pay taxes).

Quickly: Sore and Shop Manners

The pain has kicked in from Le Tour de Franzia. I didn't think I had crashed that hard, but those are the lies that Alcohol tells you to get you into bed with her. Next thing you know, you're waking up in the morning with a (road) rash and you don't know where it came from. Working all day today by myself didn't help the aching much either. Also today, some guy came in and said his tire was wobbly so he took it off to see if his wheel needed to be trued. He then proceeded to try to put his wheel in my truing stand. Now, while there are still a few mysteries in life, like why people like cottage cheese and how many licks it takes to get the center of a tootsie roll pop, there will always be one constant rule regarding shop etiquette. Don't touch my fucking tools! You don't go to the dentist and start picking away at your teeth do you? I really don't care if you can build a wheel better that Pinkey Gonzalez himself, keep your damn hands to yourself.

Fake-ass Roubaix et Le Tour de Franzia

Today was the Poolesville RR. The race's claim to fame is its mile-long section of gravel section. According to reliable sources, this year the gravel section was a bit more dangerous that previous editions. The potholes were tremendous and plentiful. Riding anywhere but in the top ten was sure to put you into at least a handful of craters. Naturally, after about 11miles or so I stopped concentrating on the race and got pinned on the right side gutter 200m before the gravel section. A majority of the holes were on the right in the first couple meters and I tried my best to bunny hop over, through, and around them. Unfortunately for me, I dropped into a series of potholes that could have been labeled as double-black diamond moguls. All the bunny hopping and bmx-ing couldn't have saved me from pinch flatting. Thus ended my first USCF race of the season. 12 miles and a pinch flat. Fantastic. Looking on the bright side, it could've been worse. I could have crash with that rider from Haymarket. Plus, I'll be going up to Delaware in two weeks for the Bank of America GP. Should be a pretty interesting race, especially considering the fact that it will be on asphalt.

Tonight was Le Tour de Franzia. NY Steez, Salvadorian Dali, and Allie-Z rode out with me through the streets of DC. We met up with New Guy down by the Waterfront, but not after ghostriding a bike for him all the way from Burlieth to the river. I accidentally hit a pedestrian with my extra bike. Oops. Sorry about that. After drinking beers and shots in an alley, we headed out to Hains Point. A dixie cup pick up contest ensued as did more drinking. Someone had the bright idea of time trialling the tip of the point, doing a lap starting from the Buses Only parking lot. Allie-Z took first with a 1:02 and Salvadorian Dali took a 1:04 around the point. I DNF because I ate shit coming around the last corner back into the parking lot. Yaaaay more road rash. I did however learn a valuable lesson. Khaki denim shorts are the way to go. In my next race I plan on wearing a full denim skinsuit. There's no way I'll get road rash if I'm fully clad in jeans. Chafing could potentially be an issue, but I'll just get a Colavita sponsorship and douse myself in olive oil. I'll simply just slide to a stop if (and when) I crash and as an added bonus, my skin will glisten like a Greek god's. Honorable mentions go to Salvadorian Dali for crashing at the corner of Wisconsin and M street. Also props go to NY Steez for getting clotheslined by a chain at the FDR memorial. All in all, it was a pretty fun night. I hit a pedestrian, crashed a bike, got a picture taken with a smokin' bachelorette, and got hollered at by drunk Asian chicks who said I was "hot".


Time for some zzz's. Its 5am and I have a long day of working and licking wound ahead of me.

HaiPu

Puma can go to
Hell. These hipsters intend to
kill all real culture.

Quickly: Dreams and Wax

I dreamt about racing at Poolesville last night. I recently got added into the race after being waitlisted due to the overzealous Cat4's in the area. The guy who's place I am taking actually registered for both the 4/5 and 3/4 race, probably in search of upgrade points (whatever those are). I also dreamt that I slept through Sprints at Hains Point, which would have been a total bummer. I woke up feeling oddly unrested. Tired from racing bikes and irritated that I missed out on fun times at the Point. Unsurprisingly, I also woke up craving a beer.

Poolesville is this Saturday. It'll be my first non-collegiate race since I totaled my bike at Turkey Day last September. I don't think I'll be able to wreck my bike this time around, but I'll do my best to at least try.


In other news
The shop is crazy. Our basement is packed to the rafters with bikes for tune ups and we're still keeping a 48-hr turn around time. I don't focus on numbers too much (they make my head spin), but they're off the charts. Too bad you can't walk anywhere downstairs. We're going to have to start tunneling under the coochie waxing place to make space. My only fear is that we will unearth some ancient coochie voodoo down there and forever have a skull and crossbones waxed into my pubes.