Here’s a little glimpse into how distorted my priorities are. For the past few months, I’ve been working in a new job, getting a house ready to sell, selling that house, packing and moving out of the old house, finding a new house, driving from Washington to Utah, and—yesterday—closing on the new house.

That’s not the “distortion of priorities” part. This is: throughout all of this, the main thing I’ve been getting excited about is my new bike commute. Twenty miles each way. I start the ride to work from my house in Alpine (which I move into tomorrow) by climbing a mountain pass (I’m guessing about 1500 feet of climbing), then descending into Draper and riding another ten miles or so to my office in Midvale. On the way home, I reverse the route, ending the ride with a big climb back up that mountain and down the other side to Alpine.

To conclude: forty miles each day, with about 3,000 feet of climbing. If it weren’t for my complete lack of self-discipline foodwise, I wouldn’t be able to help but get into extraordinary shape. Presuming I could climb them at all.

So yesterday afternoon, I just couldn’t wait any longer. I had to see what those climbs were like. So I drove out to the base of the mountain and started riding up.

27 Is a Wonderful Number

Here’s something that’s different between Washington and Utah. In Washington, I only rarely went into my granny gear. Most of the climbs are brief enough around where I lived that I could power up in second, third, or fourth gear—hey, I powered up 12% grades on my 16×48 fixie, knowing that the climb would only last half a mile or so.

Here, though, the climbs just go on and on and on. And on.

As I spun up Traverse Ridge Road, I didn’t take too long to shift into my lowest gear. And not too long after that, I started thinking: I’m really glad I have a 27-tooth cog on my cassette. You wouldn’t think those extra two teeth would make a big difference in perceived effort, but on a long, sustained climb, they definitely do.

Thinking Ahead

I rolled along, noting that because of the way the road curved oh-so-gently to the right—eventually nearly completing a giant “U,” I could see what looked a mile of climbing ahead of me. “This,” I thought, “is going to be an incredibly fun descent.” I put my head down and spun, zoning out for a big chunk of the climb.

From the base of Traverse Ridge Road to the apex is about three miles. A good climb, but not something I couldn’t do on a daily basis. I hope.

I felt good enough that I decided to drop down the other side of the mountain, planning to climb back up. I expected I’d get massive speed going down the four mile descent, but it didn’t work out that way. The headwind was strong enough that I actually found myself pedaling most of the way down; I don’t think I went any faster than 35mph.

I’m not complaining about a downhill headwind, though; downhill headwind = uphill tailwind, which is definitely where I need the help.

Two Words

I zoned out during the climb back up. Which made me wonder: Do I zone out because of the hypnotic effect of a sustained hard effort? Is the “zone out” thing something my brain’s doing to shut off the pain? And do I slow down when I’m zoned out, or go faster? 

My reverie ended as the wind got stronger. I’m pretty sure it’s always windy up there. I wondered if the residents of the Suncrest subdivision tell each other, “But it’s a good wind.”

And then it was time to descend.

I was looking forward to the giant sweeping downhill on Traverse Ridge, and I was not disappointed. A tailwind pushed me along, I got into a tuck and went into the middle of the road—I figure that when I’m going faster than the speed limit, I don’t need to ride on the shoulder anymore.

My nose was about an inch from my bike’s speedometer, so I remember very clearly how fast I was going when the tailwind turned into a crosswind: 48mph.

That is a somewhat scary speed to suddenly have a strong force trying to push your bike sideways.

By the way, the previous paragraph is an example of understatement intended to intensify my point. My point, by the way, was that I was terrified.

In practical terms, I was trying to keep my bike on this left-sweeping arc, while the wind was much more interested in pushing me hard to the right. The front wheel shuddered a little bit as I tried to cope with these competing forces.

Meanwhile, two words went through my head: “Joseba Beloki.” Thanks to endless replays of his horrific crash during the 2003 Tour de France, I have a crystal-clear video of what a high-speed high-side crash looks like etched in my brain.

You know what? That shuddering-wheel effect goes away when you get down below 30mph. Which is the speed I took the rest of the downhill, and will continue to be the speed I take downhills coming down from this mountain.

Pre-Commute Post-Mortem

So after my twenty mile ride—ten climbing miles, ten descending miles—I still felt great. For some unknown reason, the change in altitude doesn’t seem to affect me. So Friday—the day after I move in to my new house—my new commute / training program begins.

It’s going to be the best commute ever.

I live in Draper, UT, at Suncrest, to be specific, which sits atop the ridge that divides Utah County from Salt Lake County. I have been riding in and around these two counties for close to two decades. It’s usually a pretty nice place to be, although I’ve seen some weird stuff in that time.  

Once, on Hog Hollow, Dennis Dierken and I came around a corner and startled a young couple who had parked their 4 wheeler, spread a blanket, and were doing their darndest to be fruitful, multiply, and replenish the Earth.

Sometimes I’m the weird one. Tom Burch and I took my dog Maisey on Hog Hollow, which sports a beautiful natural spring, replete with an upper pool and a 20-foot, 45-degree natural water slide into another pool. We didn’t like the idea of riding in soaked bike shorts the several miles remaining to the car, so we hiked Maisey to the top of the slide, and all three of us slid down au natural. In full view of a local youth group, turns out. We didn’t see that coming.

Normally, American Fork Canyon Is Very Pleasant

But last Summer I most definitely wasn’t the weird one. I ride a lot from my house at Suncrest down to Alpine, and up American Fork Canyon to the summit, and back. It’s my favorite road ride, just over 40 miles, over 4,500 feet of climbing, and some of the nicest scenery this side of the Matterhorn. During the Summer, I try to do this ride once a week.

One day, late last Summer, I was very much enjoying this ride. The conditions were perfect, I was feeling strong, I was alone with my iPod. The AF Canyon descent has some very fast but tight switchbacks up high, and also lower down, some bigger switchbacks and some flat out sections where you can get over 50mph.

About halfway down I passed the Pine Hollow trailhead, rounded the wide switchback below it, and opened it up again. Just below Pine Hollow is a straightaway for just under a mile, then another wide long switchback before the road straightens out again in front of the Mutual Dell campground.

Most riders brake through the Mutual Dell switchback, because either they are cowards, or they just don’t realize that you don’t have to. In fact, you can accelerate all the way through this switchback. I hear a voice in my head every time: “Stay on target! Stay on TARGET!” I’m a product of the media.

Anyway. This day, I rounded the Pine Hollow switchback (which does, in fact, require a bit of braking), and then opened it up again, anticipating the X-Wing corner ahead. About halfway down the straight section I saw the most startling thing I’ve ever seen. Normally, I would say “second most startling,” out of respect for the idea that surely SOMETHING must rank higher. Not this day.

I Am Not Making This Up

Just before a stand of trees, from the scree-covered slope to my right that dropped off at a precipitous angle, up popped a very tall, very lean, but well-groomed man. He gained the edge of the road, straightened up, and began walking briskly directly at me (me, who was traveling at about 40mph at the time).

Now I understand that this is not that weird. What was weird was that he was wearing a very short, very tight, spaghetti strapped, brown linen dress, densely populated with ginormous fake (I assume) breasts. He had a neatly trimmed beard, short hair, very hairy legs, and was wearing high heels that had those goofy (or sexy, depending on your preference) lace up strap things that wind all the way up to the knee.

As I rode by, very nearly crashing directly into him, all I could manage was a nervously polite nod of my helmet. In turn, he smiled a smile as big as all outdoors, and walked right past me. I snuck a look back just before the switchback, and saw that he had continued walking up the road at the same brisk pace, clearly very comfortable walking in high heels.

Two for the Price of One

You would think that would be weird enough for one day. Hell, weird enough for the whole year. But no. After I rounded the switchback, wondering if I did, in fact, see a puddy tat, I again wound up the speed as I passed Mutual Dell, which is usually an irresistible 55mph area.

As I zoomed past the gate to Mutual Dell, I startled a gigantic, but clearly juvenile moose, who, in response to my presence, took off running (as only a moose can run, all skiwampus) alongside me. At about 30mph. For about half a mile.

I can hardly type this without getting a big goofy grin on my face. I was still totally freaked out by the sasquatch in the spaghetti strap dress, and here I was about to be killed by a freaky fast baby moose putting a hoof in my spokes. The moose eventually must have realized I was not his mother, and peeled off and stopped.

Wierdest 90 seconds of my life. What if life were that wierd all the time? I swear the two events are related in some way, I don’t know how. Moose suit? Hazing incident? Humans and moose (meese?) mating in the wild? I would normally suspect Elden or Rick Maddox, but this guy was tall.

I vaguely remember the rest of the ride home. I mean, how do you top that? I still had to descend the rest of AF Canyon, cross Alpine, and climb the 4 miles and 1500 feet to my house, but who cares? And you know what’s crazier? A guy in my neighborhood, when he heard about my story, came and found me, and told me he had seen that same guy in roughly the same spot, about a week earlier. This guy should have his own hunting season.

No word on if he was wearing the same outfit, or if the moose was still in the neighborhood.

You know, it’s a shame I’m moving next week, because on yesterday’s ride, I had an idea for the best bike race ever, in the history of…ever.

And as far as I know, right here in the Redmond, WA area may be the only place where it would actually work.

Here’s what I’m thinking.

Stage 1: Track

The race starts at the Marymoor Velodrome with sixteen laps around the track. A test of pure power.

Stage 2: Cyclocross

Staying at Marymoor park, the next stage is Cyclocross. Your transition counts as part of your total time, so you won’t want to dilly-dally. Luckily (unlike Tri), all this means is changing your equipment: your bike and (probably) your shoes. And yes, Marymoor Park really does host Cyclocross events, so this isn’t just a theoretical, convenient placement. You really could make the immediate, direct transfer from track to cyclocross. Do three laps of the course.

Stage 3: Road

Jumping off the ‘cross bike (and switching back to your road shoes) and onto your road bike, take the rolling highway 202 up to Snoqualmie Falls—the road has an excellent shoulder the whole way, so you wouldn’t even have to shut down traffic altogether. After the quick climb to Snoqualmie Falls, hang a right and climb up to the Tiger Mountain parking lot. I’m not exactly sure, but I think this is only 15 miles altogether, which will feel like plenty, considering the big climb up to Tiger Mountain (and the fact that you’ve just done a track and ‘cross race).

Stage 4: Mountain Bike

At the Tiger Mountain parking lot, swap out to your mountain bike (and do one more shoe change), then ride the graded three-mile dirt road climb (a perfect single speed climb, I’d think, if you’ve still got the legs for it), and then take the twisty, technical, excellent singletrack down to the bottom, demonstrating that there’s more to your riding ability than just a good set of legs.

There. One big bike race. Four bike disciplines. No driving between stages. It would leave you cooked in whole new ways, and demonstrate how well-rounded of a cyclist you are.

I don’t know if such a race could be managed anywhere else in the world. Maybe that’s part of why I love the idea of it.

Hey, race-promoter types: please, do this. Please. You can name it after me. Call it "Fatty’s Gauntlet."

Today’s Weight: 163.8. That’s a net loss of 6.8 pounds since Monday. The Stunt Diet™ rules.

PS: Next week, I’ll be moving. During this time, Dug will be guest blogging. I admit I have two fears related to Dug blogging:

• He will mess up the place. I worry that he will offend everyone and nobody will ever come back.
• He will clean up the place. I worry that he will be much funnier and more interesting than I, and nobody will want me to ever come back.

PPS: Since I’m going to be gone and unable to look at comments next week, I’m going to wait ‘til I’m back the following week to do my MSN Free Stuff-Palooza. Thank you for your patience.