Bob and I started last weekend in the best of all possible ways: a mountain bike ride.

I picked Bob up and we made our way to a trail I’ve been on only once before: Crop Circles. It’s an interesting trail — it’s as if a group of people got together and said, “OK, we’ve only got a few acres of land here. Let’s do what we can to put as much trail as humanly possible into it.”

The trail starts by spiraling inward (thanks for the link to the satellite photo, NobbyNick), up and down very short hills, over roots and rocks, with constant quick turns and careful navigation around trees. You’re never going fast, but you’re having a great time just maneuvering. Amazingly, the trail was not a boggy mess, in spite of a month of near-continuous rain.

Once you get to the center, the trail doubles back on itself and spirals back out — though you’re riding a parallel trail, not the same one you used to ride in. Ingenious.

Bob and I were having a great time. It felt great to be back on mountain bikes; this was the first MTB ride either of us had been on since Fall Moab.

Flo is Go

This was the also the first time I’d had a chance to ride the Dahon Flo offroad, and so far I’m very impressed. I had hoped it would be a good bike to lug around for when I’m out of town. It turns out that this is a good bike, period. The saddle is far enough back over the rear tire that I was climbing without slipping. The steel frame felt just right — not harsh, not flexy. The components were top-notch: Rock Shox Reba fork, Avid disc brakes (especially nice when it’s wet outside), SRAM shifters.

Before long, I stopped thinking about the fact that the rear triangle can disconnect from the front on this bike. I’m no longer going to think of this as a travel bike. Instead, I’m going to think of it as a great mountain bike that travels.

Blackberries = Evil

As we got toward the center of the Crop Circles trail, Bob and I came across a section where some people had been doing some trail maintenance, cutting back blackberry bushes. Part of me was grateful to whoever had done this, because blackberry bushes have to be cut back frequently — they’re an incredibly aggressive weed (blackberry bushes are not weeds for only one month per year, when they’re loaded up with delicious free fruit) and would otherwise choke off the trail in short order.

This grateful part of me was overruled, however, by the part of me that noticed that the trail was now littered with blackberry branches, which are thick and thorny.

In hindsight, Bob and I should have got off our bikes and portaged. But we didn’t.

Within a couple hundred yards, Bob got a flat. Within another ten yards, he got another. At about that time, I had a flat, too. Within a couple minutes, my front tire joined the club.

We were done.

I Accept Fate Philosophically

We didn’t have stuff to repair four flats — not on a ride like this. We started walking our bikes back, tempted to call the ride a dud. After all, we had only been riding for half an hour or so. We were just getting started.

Sometimes, though, you take what you can get. This time of year, any mountain biking at all seems like feels like a windfall. And now, at least, we know that the trail’s in good shape, even this time of year. So yeah, we’ll be back, later this week.

And next time, we’ll know to carry our bikes through the bed of blackberry branches.

I was sixty miles into the Brian Head Epic 100, and I was blind. Or, more specifically, there was so much dust in the air that I may as well have been blind — all I could see was a light brown fog.

I was riding a downhill stretch on (yes, dusty) doubletrack, taking it as fast as I could, which was not particularly fast, since I could not see more than fifteen feet ahead of me. I was squinting, blinking fast, trying (and failing) to keep the dirt out of my eyes. I could feel the grit caked on and between my teeth. For the millionth time that day, I cleared my throat and spat over my right shoulder.

And hit the guy passing me on right on the neck.

“Dude!” He shouted.

“Oh, dude. Sorry,” I replied. I had not seen him.

“It’s OK, dude,” he said, generously, and continued on ahead. I was dumbfounded at his kindness, for by all rights he should have punched me in the face. Dust clouds or no, I had broken the First Law of Spitting: know what/who’s behind you.

Why Do We Spit?

When biking — mountain or road — you’re going to need to spit, and often. The reasons are myriad. To clear the sports drink taste out of your mouth. To get the fly out. To clear your windpipe. To get rid of the gunk that’s constantly draining from your nose into your mouth when you’re biking. (Note to whatever gland it is that makes mucus: I don’t really want or need that stuff in such great quantities. Please feel free to cut production by about 90%. Thank you.)

Also, you spit to look tough and to mark your territory.

How to Spit

Unfortunately, just because everyone needs to spit while biking doesn’t mean everyone’s good at it. I am an excellent spitter, however, and can offer some advice.

1. Assess the spit. High viscosity or low? Is it going to hold together or is it frothy? These are ugly questions, but you must consider them in order to spit properly.
2. Assess your surroundings. Are you alone or riding in a group? If in a group, are you in front of anyone?
3. Aim. How you aim depends on what you learned in steps 1 and 2. If you’ve got a high viscosity payload and nobody’s near, you’re clear for a high-arc spit. Low viscosity and / or people nearby? Point it at the ground, buster.
4. Fire. You spit with a “Too!” mouth motion, meaning you do not start the spit with your mouth closed. If you are spitting with a “Poo!” mouth motion, you are in serious danger of dribbling on yourself, sounding ridiculous, and — worst of all — breaking the spit up into a fine mist. And that’s just gross.

Spitting Etiquette

As important as knowing how to spit is knowing when to spit. As you spit, please keep the following in mind

• Move Over: If you’re in a paceline,  you are required to move out of the line.
• Mind the Headwind: If there’s someone behind you and you spit to the side, you stand a good chance of hitting the person to the side. Bonus Tip: No wind is the same as a headwind, if you happen to be riding your bike forward.
• Careful of Shrapnel: As all experienced spitters know, even the most cohesive payload may have some incidental spray. So even if you have high confidence in your spit, don’t go for distance unless you are alone.

Clearing the Nose

Dust and mucus conspire and congeal, clogging your nose as you ride. This is unfortunate, because consensus among cyclists is that it’s better to be able to breathe than not.

The solution is simple. Use a finger to close off one nostril, then blow out through the other with all your might.

When doing this, however please observe all the above rules, plus this important additional one: For the love of all that is good in the world, please do not do it anywhere near me. I have ridden with people (by which I mean “a certain person”) who think they are far enough in front that they are OK to clear their noses. They are not. That nose-clearing blast creates a mucus cloud, which is only slightly heavier than air. It drifts and hovers, right in the way of the following riders. The result? Everyone (by which I mean “me”) behind the nose-blower gets treated to a mucus mist in the face, after which they go into paroxysms of revulsion.

Personal note: I, unfortunately, am completely unable to clear my nose in this manner, for I have teeny-tiny nasal passages. Any time I have tried to do the nose-blow, my eyeballs pop out. This is inconvenient.

Bonus: Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Winner

Congratulations to Jill, whose question made me laugh out loud — and I am not a laugh-out-loud-while-reading kind of guy.

If I picked up every bolt I saw strewn along the road, how big of a collection could I amass? Wait … did that 18-wheeler going by just throw another one? How many bolts would an 18-wheeler have to throw before the whole rig just came down on itself? What if that happened as it was passing me? What if the entire fleet of trucks barreling down American highways are just one thrown bolt away from taking me and everything else in their path to that big boltless road in the sky? Oh, look, free bungee!

Email me with your address and which bag you want, Jill. And good luck on the Susitna 100 — sounds like a killer race.Technorati Profile

As I’m biking along, idle questions often pop into my head. Usually, the question is just interesting enough that I’ll consider it for about ten seconds before moving on, distracted by the next shiny object.

For example, I’ve often looked down at the shoulder of the road I’m riding on and noticed a lone rivet-ish looking object punched into the pavement. That is, it’s a doughnut-shaped metal disc that’s been pressed into the asphalt, with a nail driven through the center. What is that “road rivet” (as I call them) for? It’s not securing anything down, is it? It’s way too small to be structural, right? Maybe it’s a marker for something?

And then I lose interest and forget about it.

Yesterday, though, I actually found out what those road rivets are for. As I rode along, there were a couple of surveyors at the side of the road — one holding a pole, another several yards down the roadlooking through the eyepiece and taking measurements. I looked at the base of the pole, and — sure enough — it was seated in one of those road rivets, minus the nail that’s usually driven there.

Important Questions

This made me think: there are many other questions that frequently occur to me while I’m riding. Sometimes I have a pretty good idea of the answer, but still like to ask because I’m a rhetorical blowhard. Other times, I genuinely don’t have an answer.

Such as:

• Why do people toss their cigarette butts on the road? My working theory is that smokers think that the cigarette butts are so small that they don’t count. This is, of course, stupid. Perhaps they think the cigarette butts are biodegradable? Maybe, but I think it takes a while, as in a decade or so.
• Who’s tossing trash these days? I don’t know anyone who throws their bottles or McDonalds bags out on the side of the road, yet the trash is still there. Didn’t those guys see that “Crying Indian” commercial back in the 70’s?
• What are all those bungie cords doing on the ground? It’s a scientific fact: you can’t ride a bike more than 15 miles without seeing at least one bungie cord on the side of the road. My working theory is that these bungie cords disembungified en route. This isn’t a particularly innovative theory, but it is worrying, because I use bungie cords all the time. When will it be my turn to disembungify?
• If someone passes me and says “How’s it going?” as they blow by, what is the likelihood they really want to know how it’s going? Am I within my rights, if I manage to catch her wheel, hang on for a minute, and successfully attack and drop her, to answer as I go by, “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
• Which is better, road biking or mountain biking? Any time I’m on the road, I’m pretty sure it’s my favorite. Any time I’m on the dirt, I’m pretty sure it’s my favorite.
• How fat do I look? As people drive by in their cars, do they say to themselves, “Wow, that cyclist certainly has a paunch?” Or are my bib shorts doing their job (ie, compressing and containing said paunch)? From time to time, I look down, trying to see what my gut looks like, but it’s hard to tell. I know for sure it doesn’t look as bad to me as when I see photos of me on my bike. Yeeuch.
• How far I can ride between breaths? Occasionally I take a deep breath and then see how far I can ride before I have to inhale again. I have no reason for doing this other than curiosity. When riding this way, I always go fast, but I wonder: could I go farther by exerting very little effort and trying to not burn oxygen so fast?
• What percentage of people in cars are envious? Whenever I’m driving and see someone on a bike, I get a twinge of envy. I’ve got to assume other cyclists are the same way. So, for every 100 cars that pass me (or, during rush hour, that I pass), how many wish they were riding their bike instead?

The Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Giveaway Question

This week, you’ve got a choice. Either ask a question that’s occurred to you on your bike, or answer one of the questions I’ve asked.

What can you win? A cool seat bag.

As I chose today’s topic, I had to ask myself: “Is there any possible way this won’t come across as the most random collection of advice, observations and anecdotes I have ever written?”

That is because I have chosen “knees” as today’s topic. Which explains why I’ve titled today’s post “Knees.”

I’m already losing focus, I can tell. Sorry. I’ll try to stay on point going forward. Although, before I do, I would like to point out that the word “knees” looks like you’ve spelled it wrong, even when you’ve spelled it right.

And you can’t say the word “knee” without sounding like you’re in a Monty Python sketch.

How to Look Like a Better Cyclist Than You Actually Are

Try this experiment. Go out and ride your road bike for two hours. From time to time, take note of the lateral distance between your knees and your top tube. Here’s what this distance means:

• Less than 2 inches: You look like a pro
• 2 – 4 inches: You look like a recreational enthusiast
• 4 – 8 inches: You look like a circus bear on a bike
• 8 inches or greater: You look like you’re convinced your bike is actually a horse

It’s true. Watch any serious expert racer or pro on a bike. They keep their knees tight in to the top tube. Why do they do this? In truth, I have no idea. Maybe because it’s more aerodynamic? Maybe because you get better power transfer? Maybe it’s better for your knees? Maybe it’s modesty? Maybe they all do it because everyone else does it?

Regardless of why, the fact remains: you’ll look more like you know what you’re doing if you keep your knees close in.

Bonus Tip: This is much easier to do, I’ve noticed, if you don’t have a big ol’ gut getting in the way of your knees on the upstroke.

What to Do If You Are Experiencing Knee Pain on Your Bike

If during a long ride, you begin to experience pain in your knees, it means your saddle is not at the right height, or is positioned too far forward or back. Here’s how to correct this problem:

1. Move the seatpost down a little bit
2. If the pain gets worse, move it up
3. If that still doesn’t work, move the seat forward on its rails a little bit
4. If that doesn’t work, move the seat back on its rails just a smidgen
5. Repeat steps  1- 4 until you have just about lost your mind, without experiencing even the tiniest bit of relief from your pain.
6. Go to a bike shop and have someone who knows what he’s doing fit you for your bike and adjust your bike to that fit.

Bonus Tip: If, while adjusting your seatpost height, the seatpost comes out of the bike, you have adjusted the height too high.

The Most Obnoxious Thing I Have Ever Heard In Response to a Compliment

Bob, Dug, and I were picking up our race sweatshirts — the ones with our finishing times screened on — after the Leadville 100 one year. As someone we had never met came and picked up his sweatshirt, one of us (I forget who) politely asked how he did. He told us his time (I don’t remember what it was), and then said, “And I did it on a singlespeed!”

Clearly, we were supposed to be impressed.

Obligingly, Dug said (Pay attention, now: this is where the tie-in to today’s “knee” theme comes in), “You must have knees of steel.”

“You mean balls of steel!” the guy said, triumphantly.

I remember very clearly the awkward silence that ensued.

Something I’m Reluctant to Admit That I Really Enjoy

Occasionally, as I ride, I’ll start to feel a grinding sensation in my left knee. It will go on for about fifteen or twenty revolutions of the crank, after which there will be an audible “pop” in my knee, and then the grinding sensation will go away.

I love that pop — both the sound and the feel of it.