Turkey Consumption

I think cyclists generally have a greater appreciation for the holidays. And by appreciation, I mean can eat more and pay for it less.

I got up this morning at 8:45 and was dressed and out the door by 915. Somewhere about 4 hours later, I had finished a 65 mile ride and was in the shower and pretty friggin' hungry. The shower was pretty much worthless because I kept drooling on myself thinking about all the awesome food I was going to eat all day. With most of the saliva squeegeed off, I grabbed a plate (I put clothes on first, barely). Turkey, ham, potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, green beans, pie, etc. Everyone knows the drill: stack your plate a minimum of three inches high and you'd better be back for thirds. Now, I'm not one of those people who say "oh, at least I got a workout in to burns all these extra calories!" There's usually a chortle, guffaw, or snort that accompany these statements because according to reliable sources, these are the most common ways that fat people laugh. I'm more likely to say "Oh, well. At least I live a healthy lifestyle and exercise very regularly," but that's really hard to say when your mouth is full of mashed potatoes and you're drinking gravy from a straw. Either way, I think I speak for most cyclists when I say that I won't wake up tomorrow feeling guilty for having eaten so damn much. Instead, I'll probably just do whatever it is I usually do: Ride a bike and deal with the other stuff as it comes to me.

But first, the food coma.
Zzzzzzzzzz

Turkey Crossing

Well, well, well...
After years of envying mud-caked cyclocrossers, I entered into my first cross race and found it to be simply delightful. Actually, my first thoughts as I woke up at 6:30 this morning were something along the lines of "holyfuckitsfffreeezing!" It was a slightly chilly 23-degrees this morning according to the bank thermometer I drove by on my way to Leesburg and I found myself preparing for the worst. I had packed plenty of extra clothes to race in and wasn't above racing in sixteen layers of tights and thermal underwear if it came to it. I got registered and dressed in tights and a jacket to get warmed up. I was feeling good so with a few minutes before the start, I stripped down to the tattered remains of my skinsuit and arm warmers. I knew I was running late when I heard the call-ups over the speaker system. Why were there call-ups in a Cat 4 race? I will never know, but was thankful for the extra time it afforded me. With those few precious seconds, I managed to slather on a bit too much embro on my legs and rolled up to the start line with my legs sizzling a little.

The race started on a small section of asphalt sidewalk before it transitioned into the grass. Not even two seconds into the grass, I found myself trying to unravel a section of ribbon from my handlebars. The post-start jumble had forced me to take a line headed directly into the ribbon. It was not amusing. A bit later, I was untangled and finally racing. The race went ok, so I won't bore you with the details, but it could have been better. The frosty grass started melting and I would go into off-camber corners a bit too hot causing me to fall once and to fishtail a few more times. Fortunately, the two barriers weren't a problem. I guess all that practice and horseshit goes a long way. I'd say I finished somewhere mid-pack, but honestly couldn't tell since everyone was so spread out. I don't even care where I finished, I'm actually more bummed that I didn't win that Suitcase of Sausage prime...


Other stuff:
-I can't believe how squeaky everyone's damn brakes were! Granted, everyone's brakes are going to squeal if you're grabbing them hard enough, but it sounded like we were murdering chipmunks out there. Toe your brakes!

- There was a diverse showing of bicycles out there. From guys with carbon wheels to others with rust bucket mountain bikes. One guy in particular caught my eye. He was riding a 29er hardtail with a Fox fork. Can someone fill me in about suspension forks in a 'cross race? It must've been nice to have some suspension and huge ass tires on that bumpy course. While I didn't have too much trouble hooking up in the dirt and grass, I might try running the pressure a little lower next time around (two weeks from now).

- I used too much embro. My legs caught fire on the way home despite my attempts to scrub it off with a towel beforehand. I showered when I got home and thought I had gotten most of it off, but was rudely awakened in the middle of a nap by the heat emanating from my legs. This year, the highest risk of a holiday house fire in the Idiot Household won't be a dry Christmas tree. It'll be an Idiot cyclocrosser.

Poop, Zebras, and Music

It was a great day for a ride today. I smeared on some Mad Alchemy Embrocation/Curry Paste and headed out the door. It was the same 'cross routine that I've come to love: Bike, Hop, Run, Hop, Bike, Suffer, Run, Bike, Suffer, Repeat. Thankfully, I have had a few uneventful rides out there at the equestrian park. I haven't crashed or otherwise accidentally ejected myself from my bike in a while. [Knocks on wood] And while I didn't lay my bike down today, I did manage to get poop on it. Yes. Shit, indeed. The worst part of all this is that I must have put my hand in the dookie first and then unknowingly smeared it on my handlebars. Was I playing with poop? No. I have no idea how it got there. I believe it was the work of a poop saboteur, but I can't waste time searching for the culprit of a "Who Pooped The Glove?" mystery. So I grabbed a few handfuls of grass and scrubbed the shit off my handlebars and glove as best I could and continued with my "training." When I got home it was clear, visibly and olfactorily, that the poo wasn't gone and that it had been further embedded in my glove and perforated handlebar tape. So I had to pick at, scrub and disinfect my handlebars, chuck my riding clothes immeadiately into the washer, and thoroughly clean out my water bottles. I'm not usually a germaphobe, but this was poop and I had been riding with it in the cold for almost two hours. I wasn't taking any chances. Plus, it was FUCKING POOP!

With my bike and other shit shitless, I couldn't help but laugh at the situation and be thankful that while I had worn poop for a majority of my ride, at least I wasn't in the ridiculous recumbent bike with a giant windshield and full-coverage neon zebra-patterned wrap/blanket/cloaking device. Actually, I'm pretty sure there wasn't anyone piloting the thing and that I had just passed a zebra wearing glasses riding a scooter to the disco. But who knows? Poop can make the mind see crazy things!

In Other News:
I'm building something. A winter riding playlist. It needed to be done. In the warmer months, I'm too busy enjoying the weather, the company of other cyclists, and pissing off/yelling at anyone that's in my way. And while I normally don't recommend riding with headphones, its nice to have something in your ear when you're on a solo ride in the winter. Unfortunately, I made the stupid list a little too long and now I have to trim it down a bit. Here's a small sample of some of the tunes I've picked:

Arctic Monkeys - I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor
Cold War Kids - Hang Me Up To Dry
Dropkick Murphys - Firestarter Karaoke
Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love
Queen - Dragon Attack
Rage Against The Machine - How I Could Just Kill A Man
Streetlight Manifesto - Watch It Crash

If anyone wants to contribute a must-have song for riding in the winter, I'm all ears.

Hot, Spicy Legs And Stupid Shit

It was cold as shit today. The weather people said it was 38-degrees out but with gusts from 20-32mph, they were saying it'd feel more like 28. Oh, and it was snowing a little bit too. Probably not a fair test of the Mad Alchemy Medium heat liniment, but I'd been waiting for to use the stuff for a while.

Opening the bottle, I was greeted by an aroma similar to Tiger Balm but slightly sweeter and spicier. Application went without a hitch, but I had to fight off Jackson, my dog, to keep him from licking my legs. Yes, it smells that good. On the ride, I had trouble differentiating the feel of riding with naked legs from the heating effects of the ointment, which was made especially difficult with huge gusts of wind wanting to blow me over. Once I got to my wind-free stomping grounds and got to work, I could feel the Medium Madness working. It had a subtle heat in the chilly conditions, but it felt great to have my naked, (un)sexy, shiny legs cutting through the wind. I will note that I did get a bit of the dirt pants effect, which I'll admit I actually like. Also, showering with the stuff was a bit difficult for me as I've still got a few cuts on my legs from last week's multiple debacles. The combination of open wounds, hot water, and cold weather embrocation made my legs sizzle like a dinner at Benihana. It felt like someone had maced my legs and lit them on fire and I'm not surprised having looked at the ingredients. I can't believe Pete Smith puts peppers in this stuff and expects me not to eat it! Either way, it's a great product and I'm looking forward to jamming out this winter with some toasty legs.

In Other News:
Velonews posted something stupid on their new products page.

"Wheeltags are stylized wheel signatures for your cycling personae... Wheeltags allow you to challenge the nameless rim masses and breakaway from the pack. Tag your ride with the ultimate statement of individuality and roll with style."

That's right folks. These are stickers for your wheels. One might think this was a fixie-exclusive application, but their designs range from 16mm rim depths to full disc setups. So if you're tired of showing off rims that say "Reynolds," "Zipp," etc, you can have one that says "Swim, Bike, Run" or that simply depict brass knuckles (because they're so prevalent in the pro peleton, of course). Oh and as an added bonus for Zipp owners, these stickers will cover up those ugly dimples in your rims with something much much classier.

Running Under The Radar

If I were asked the following questions right now, the answer to all of them would be the same:

"Hey Idiot, why's your face all screwed up in pain?"
"Hey Idiot, what made your legs so sore today?"
"Hey Idiot, are you pissed off or something?"

Answer: I went running today.

I hate running. I really do. But I didn't know if I hated running more than riding a bike in this evening's rainy darkness. So with only a few remaining minutes of daylight left, I laced up my running shoes and headed out the door. The first mile was awkward. It was like dancing with an old high school crush and still having to hide the embarrassing chubby in your pants. You're still trying to figure out how to move your feet and struggle to find move your body in a way that's efficient and at the same time discrete. It felt like I was doing the running-equivalent of the Bus Driver dance. Just power through it, I said to myself. You're just a little rusty and working the kinks out. After what felt like an eternity, I had my feet under me and felt like I was moving at a decent pace. I wasn't nearly as proficient as I had been in high school , but I'm also about 10lbs heavier than I was back then. [ed - I sucked at running in high school, so I must've really looked horrible out there today] I finished the run tired and sore, but thankfully in one piece. The rain was coming down pretty steadily by the time I got home. It was a good thing too, because otherwise my legs probably would have caught fire. I can't blame just the workout for the smoldering legs, but also because I had stupidly overdressed wearing sweatpants over a pair of running tights for fear that a cyclist would ride by me, see my disproportionate leg/torso ratio, and mistake me for a triathlete. That's right. I went incognito as a hobbyist runner today. What's next, you say? I'll probably buy a muscle suit and head out to the local meat market/gym and pretend to pump iron and mack on the ladies. I'm still debating if I'll use my Schwarzenegger voice. I don't think it's quite up to snuff. Yet.

In other news:
My Mad Alchemy embrocation came in today. It smells awesome and I'm having a hard time not smearing it all over my body or eating it. I can't wait for my ride tomorrow to test it out!


Endnote:
The jury is still out as to whether or not I like running better than riding in the dark, but I'm not really itching for another opportunity to test this out. I'll be getting my rides in earlier from now on.

Bridging the Gap: Spoiled

I feel like I've been spoiled by efficiency my entire cycling life. Road bikes, with their smooth tires and pavement, have it easy. It's a wonder that any of them actually break. (Then again, it's also a wonder how this Idiot can break so many of them.) Having ridden the 'cross bike on loose gravel, mud, and grass all week, I've come to realize how difficult the sport is and how accustomed I'd grown to slick tires and low rolling resistance. Unfortunately, I've reached this epiphany a little too late. I have my first 'cross race coming in the very new future and all I've done to prepare for it is stopped drinking. And by 'stopped drinking' I mean I've been sober for 23 hours and counting...

I Did It. Oh Shit.

I did it. I registered for my first cyclocross race. May God have mercy on my soul and legs and bicycle. Amen.

CX Musings

Today was a pretty uneventful day in the saddle. Day Three's focus on the 'cross bike was consistency. I'm not actually sure what consistency means. It might have something to do with not being able to poop. Either way, I was all stopped up trying to go slowly in order to practice all the pertinent techniques associated with this niche sport. So I spent my time trudging through the grass and dirt, learning how to time my movements to be less clumsy. I'm getting there slowly and am just thankful that I didn't bust my ass today. As an added bonus, I can actually think about stuff when I go slow and don't have the ohshitimgonnacrash light flashing in my head like strobelight going off to the beat of shitty 90's music.

Today I got to thinking about the origins of the sport. Not the factual origins, mind you, but the one derived from my pain-induced musings, or from what I like to call my "Happy Place." This is where I go to take to take my mind off of the many painful, miserable, and monotonous things that I do on bikes. As with most things associated with cycling, I'd imagine cyclocross got its roots when a few cyclists made a few poor decisions while under the influences of alcohol. It'd start out like black and white scene from a Charlie Chaplin movie. A few cyclists are sitting around a few beers (or mead, ram's piss, etc) and start arguing. The screen goes black and displays a quote, "Fuck you then! I'll race you right now!!" The next scene is of the men standing outside shivering in the cold with bicycles in hand. While one or two of them might still be clutching to the last drops of their beers, none of them are wearing anything else that might help them ride their bikes in the atrocious weather. No gloves, no hats, no nothing. In fact, they all pretty much look like a bunch of emaciated ancient boxers. They're all just standing around staring at each other, no one really wanting to ride their bike, but all absolutely refusing to be the first one to suggest going back inside. Suddenly one of the bunch grabs his bike and rides off. "SHIT!!!" Then the corny piano music plays and the chase scene begins. After about minute of them riding through rain, sleet, and snow, they eventually find themselves at the base of a hill, literally stuck in the mud. The camera zooms in on one of the riders as he looks around at his rivals and all of a sudden a look of steely determination comes over his face. "See you guys later" He picks up his bike, hoists it onto his shoulders and runs up the hill. The disbelief on his rival's faces last for only a second and they follow in pursuit. Soon the flick becomes a monster movie as these men have been transformed into mud-caked creatures tackling any obstacle in front of them just because they can; hopping fences, sprinting through giant grassy fields, running up hills and across slushy streams. The movie eventually ends with one man being the victor after a hotly contested sprint back to the bar. He opens the door sits back down exhausted from the ride and enjoys a refreshing beverage as his competitors file through the door in the same fashion. He says "Bet you I can beat you guys again tomorrow."
-The End-

Well, that's at least how I pictured it during today's ride. It wasn't about going super fast or about how (un)cool I looked on a bike. I just wanted to be a beast. I have a feeling this winter is going to be really fun.

On a related note:
I bought my first jar of embrocation ointment. Bring on the cold!

On another related note:
If anyone wants to get drunk and reenact the scene mentioned above, shoot me a line. No, seriously. Video camera. Tons of alcohol. The works. Let's do it.

Square Two: CX Edition

Day Two of Learning to Ride a Bike

It turns out I don't know how to ride a bike. For many of you, this comes as no surprise considering that throughout my short (hobbyist) career as a cyclist I've managed to make a name for myself laying myself gently onto the ground after having come detached from my bike in some kind of idiotic mishap. If one word described me as a cyclist, it'd be 'graceful.' No. Actually I hope it's something menacing like 'Terminator' or 'Destructo-bot' because of my penchant for breaking bikes, hurting myself, and my machine-like ability to ride away from all competitors. Uh... False. Unfortunately, today's outing on the cyclocross bike serves as evidence that neither of those adjectives can be used and what actually describes my riding is something much worse.


So here are the Pros of my ride today:

- I ran today with 45psi in the tubeless tires and had nary a burp, hiccup, or any other inopportune gaseous release from my tires.
- My fit, while nowhere near perfect, works for me and is especially aided by a Fi'zi:k Arione saddle.
- Components are holding up nicely, despite multiple spills. My wheels only need a slight truing.
- I found a fucking AWESOME place to practice at Clark's Crossing Equestrian Park just a few miles from my house. A horse pass parallels the W&OD and leads you towards this park. There's plenty of space for running up hills, jumping the shorter horse barriers, sprinting on flats, and nobody's there to bother you as you hop around like a retard jumping on and off your bike.


Here are the Cons:

- I need to go slower. I'm not good at figuring out new bikes and it's probably going to take me a while to get it right. Going too fast caused me to eat shit today as I tried to hop off my bike to cross a creek. It screwed me over yesterday and I'm starting to see a pattern developing.
- I suck at running. I'm working on that and might even go for a run tomorrow.
- This whole dismounting and remounting thing is serious! I keep messing it up. I know how it's supposed to be done and that's probably the most frustrating part. I can't make my body physically do the things I have pictured in my mind. I find if I don't think about it as much I'm more fluid in my movements. Go slow, I tell myself. Practice makes perfect. Grass-eating, ball-bruising practice. Why am I doing this again?
- I might die. I mean, what else will happen if I just never get it? Or if I go super gung-ho and chop my head off trying to bunny hop a barrier (which I'm convinced is a myth and simply a computer-generated YouTube phenomenon). On a more serious note, if I die I will never own another bike again! The thought of this alone already makes me want to haunt every bike shop in the world as I will surely be stuck here in the afterlife eternally searching for my next bike.


So obviously 'graceful' or 'destructo-bot' don't fit. And to be honest, there can only be one a few select words that can describe such a ridiculous, naive novice. "Goddamnmotherfucking n00b" seems to be the best fit, but I'm working on fixing that.

Pictorial: Crossed

Van Dessel hooked our team up with cyclocross bikes. I finally built mine. Yeah, I know I'm late to the game but I don't care. It's just another bike to do stupid crap on and today's maiden voyage was no exception. Less than 5 minutes into my ride today, I was blazing down a dirt trail off the W&OD that I had never been on and dropped my bike into a small sinkhole. OTB city and I was launched a few feet from my bike. Sweet. I'm an Idiot. I continued my ride, albeit a bit slower this time and got home in one piece. I'm toying with the idea of racing 'cross sometime in the near future, but for now I'm going to practice not looking like a complete asshole on my dismounts, carries, and remounts.

Oh and that's my dog Jackson looking concerned for my well-being. Don't worry, boy. Someone will be there to feed you if I get beheaded tripping over a barrier.


Technical stuff:
- Gore Ride-On Sealed Cables to keep the muck out of my cables and housing.
- Tubeless conversion with Hutchinson Bulldogs and Stan's NoTubes Kit on non-UST rims to get a bit more traction. They seem to be holding up just fine. Go Stan's!
- Rival/Force gruppo because that's what I had laying around.
- Cantilever brakes suck. I'm looking for new brake pads and am open to suggestions.
- Jackson's an Akita because anything less would be uncivilized.

Ouch! Dammit!!

I hate this weather. I hate it only because it makes the leaves fall ontothe ground. The very ground that you're trying to ride your mountain bike on. And when a tiny bit of moisture comes our way, it ruins any bicycle-related activity.

Today was definitely one of those days. Yesterday's mtb ride was perfect. A quick, refreshing, solo spin through the woods to recharge the body and clear the mind. Yesterday, I never fell off my bike. Today I fell off my bike 4 times. The first one was my fault. I got too excited riding off a giant mound of dirt into the air and didn't bother checking to see where I was going land. I landed in the bushes on the back of my head and shoulders. Brush it off you, Idiot and let's keeps on truckin'. A few minutes later I ate shit slipping off a small raised wooden platform. I made the mistake of leaning the bike over too much on a slippery wood surface covered with wet leaves. An easy mistake that nevertheless had me faceplanting in the brush and jamming my wrist. Two's not bad. It's just you shaking off the proverbial cobwebs. The same thing happened again. This time it was at the beginning of an invisible rock garden, and by 'invisible' I actually mean camoflagued by this season's wonderful assortment of fallen foilage. Three falls. Dammit. When's the part with the beer drinking again? Um... let's do that! And then I fell again. Who was I to blame in my delusional state but the Idiot who was piloting both man and steel into an ever-worsening downward spiral? Oh yeah, the fucking leaves! This time what once was a benign crushed-gravel trail soon became a hidden track of slippy asphalt pavement. I ate shit and dropped my knee to the pavement and now it's swollen. My head and neck hurt too. I've got a few more battle scars from bicycles and have iced, bandaged, and drank all that I could to get myself up and about, but I can't help but think that today's ride was my karmic punishment for daring to ride on wet trails. Karma, Schmarma.

Politics and Holey Bibs

Hey!

I've restarted the old blog machine and am 15% sure that my laptop won't catch on fire. I could've used another computer to post entries, but the truth is I've been busy running for president. It takes a lot of work to campaign for office. I had to wear clean, non-chain stained clothes, brush my teeth, and pretend that I like meeting strangers and giving them stickers with my name on it. I don't know how those guys do it. Granted, having 2 actual stickers to start with, I did run out of them pretty quickly and had to resort to Post-It notes with my name scribbled on them. But the shear number of times Joe Biden himself called me personally was a sign of his committment that I was just not willing to match. I mean imagine what his hands look like. His fingers have probably eroded to nubs just from dialing numbers all day. I like my fingers; they hold my handlebars. The rest of my election campaign followed the same pattern, but I'm still hopeful that whoever won will create a new Departmant of Homeland Bicycling and install me as head honcho of the outfit.

In other news, thank god it's getting cold out there. I'm usually indifferent as to the type of weather I ride in, as long as it's not raining beer while I have my duct tape over my mouth. But I'm thankful that the weather's getting chillier because my fantastic collection of bib shorts is wearing thin, literally. I've probably got one set of bibs that don't have holes in them and I never wear them for fear of them getting ripped or torn. All the others have been crashed in, worn through, or tossed into a prickly bush whilst I was attached to them. Add a few seasons of disgracefully showing off my bare ass to other cyclists and soon my beloved shorts will surely be so risqué that even Borat will be blushing. But now with the colder months, I can layer over these shorts with tights. Sure, I do have a few pairs of tights with several holes in them, but I've spent the majority of the season creating a tree diagram matching shorts with compatible tights to avoid any two-holed exposure of my keester.

Hopefully the $75 cooling fan for my laptop will come in soon, but for now I'll keep the fire extinguisher at the ready.