11.18.2011 | 8:45 am
SUNDAY NIGHT UPDATE: The 100 books are sold, so I’m taking down the form to buy books. I’m really pleased to announce that between book purchases and donations, we raised $3141.00 for Stephen’s treatment. Thank you to everyone!
There’s a kid in my neighborhood — his name’s Stephen — who’s fighting cancer: Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. He’s about to start his third kind of chemotherapy Gemcitabine — a therapy used when someone has refractory cancer (a term for when cancer resists treatment).
By itself, that sucks. Hard.
What’s worse, though, is that his family isn’t in a great financial position to pay for this treatment, nor for the stem cell transplant he needs this January.
The neighborhood here is rallying around this kid and his family, in a big way, doing a fundraiser dinner and raffle.
I want to help this kid. And I hope you’ll help me help him.
Buy My Book, Win a Book Signed by Team RadioShack
I’ve been getting the house ramped up for shipping out the pre-orders for my first book: Comedian Mastermind: The Best of FatCyclist.com, 2005-2007. I’ve bought a label printer, and earlier this week I got all the mailer envelopes:
Check out the awesome free water bottle I got by purchasing a dozen huge boxes of envelopes!
With any luck, I’ll get the actual books today, prepare a bunch of them this weekend, and start shipping them out Monday. My plan is to have all these pre-ordered books out the door right after the Thanksgiving holiday.
The thing is, I went ahead and ordered a hundred additional books, figuring I’d ind a use for them (and also because it bumped me to a better per-book price point).
And then I got this tweet from Johan Bruyneel:
It was an incredibly generous gesture from Johan, one with no strings attached. I could sell the books to make money for myself, give them away, keep them, whatever.
I’d like to use one of them as a pretty awesome incentive for you to help me help Stephen.
So, here’s how it works. Out of the next 100 books I sell, I’ll do a drawing, and one book buyer will get a 2-for-1 deal: the regular book, and a book signed by everyone in the new incarnation of Team RadioShack.
I’m pretty sure this will be the first opportunity it will be possible to get such a signed item.
Further, all proceeds — meaning all the money I make from this 100 books, minus actual shipping costs and the hard cost of the book — will go straight to Stephen.
So the more you pay for the book, the more goes to Stephen’s treatment (and also, the better your chance at winning the Team RadioShack book).
And, by the way, the people who order these books will get them in time for Christmas. In fact, it’s possible that you’ll get them in early December.
To be clear, though, the winner won’t get the signed book until after the Team RadioShack camp, so it’s not guaranteed that you’ll get that book in time for Christmas. But I’ll do my best.
And hey, worst-case scenario: you’re still getting a book, and early reviews (i.e., The Hammer is reading one of the proof copies) are very positive.
[UPDATE: The books are all sold, so the form for book buying is now down. Thank you to everyone who helped out!]
Note: This contest will be limited to 100 books. Once those are gone, the contest is over and I’ll choose a winner. So if you want in, you probably should buy a book today. As in, now.
So, here’s the handy order form.
Thanks for buying my book, and thanks for helping out a kid who needs a lot of help — as well as a family that doesn’t exactly need one more thing to worry about right now.
Comments (33)
11.16.2011 | 9:02 am
The good people at Bicycling Magazine are currently conducting their Readers’ Choice survey, the results of which will appear in their March 2012 issue.
It is very important that you go and take that survey. Right now. Your very future — and my ego — may depend on it.
“Why does your ego depend upon it?” you ask, completely ignoring the part about your future, because you know that I am prone to hyperbole.
Here’s why.
One Very Important Question
The Readers’ Choice survey starts out innocuously enough, asking you what your gender is — though, laughably, the options are limited to a mere two. It then goes on to asking you about what brands of bikes you own, how many people you’ve introduced to cycling, what you do when you get a flat tire, and so forth.
The whole thing takes about three minutes, and it’s good clean fun.
But. But. When you get to the final question — question 20 — the survey takes a turn for the utmost seriousness:
“From each pull-down menu, choose the cyclist you’d most like to ride with,” you are instructed. And there, in the very last drop down menu — Personalities — you will find the following:
Enlarged to show detail.
Yes, there — tucked unobtrusively as one of the middle options, as if they wanted to hide it — is “Fat Cyclist.”
No matter what else you do in that survey, you must select this option. Not to gratify my vanity and ego — although that is also a good and sufficient reason for you to choose me — but because the other choices are all completely horrible.
I shall explain why.
Frankie Andreu
I have never met Frankie Andreu, but by all accounts he is a nice guy. He’s a former pro and a sometimes-commentator for pro cycling events, so he undoubtedly has some great stories to tell.
But you absolutely, positively do not want to ride with him.
For one thing, he’s 45 years old. Which means he’s currently in the throes of a serious mid-life crisis. And when you combine a mid-life crisis with Frankie’s best-known role in the pro peloton — that of a super domestique — you’ve got a recipe for disaster. Frankie will almost certainly be looking to reinvent himself. To resolve unfinished business. To scratch an itch that’s been there for 22 years.
To, in short, never ever ever let anyone finish ahead of him, ever again.
So he would ride you into the ground. He would point at every sign, every telephone pole, and yell “intermediate sprint!” and then take off, leaving you in the dust. When you caught back up with him, he would laugh at you and say, “That’s another one for me! 29-0!”
And he would demand you call him “sir.”
Also, bear in mind that Frankie was once the director of Rock Racing. And while it is admirable that he quit, the fact remains: he was once the willing leader of the most absurd pro team in the history of the universe.
For that he must be punished. Forever.
And finally, you don’t want to ride with Frankie Andreu because you’ll have to tell people you rode with someone named “Frankie,” and everyone will wonder why you’re talking about going riding with a six-year-old.
Bike Snob NYC
You do not want to ride with Bike Snob NYC (BSNYC to his friends). For one thing, he will demand that you ride with him in New York City, where you will most assuredly be t-boned, run-over, mugged, and have your bike stolen.
In that order.
During the first five minutes of the ride.
Furthermore, because BSNYC is very protective of his privacy, he always wears a mask when riding. This would not be such a big deal except that mask covers his mouth and makes it almost impossible to understand what he is saying. Your conversation would go something like this:
You: Hey, I really like your blog. How do you manage to write 9,000 words per day?
BSNYC: wart mmm hmmmprlf munkffm vurrtle.
You: I beg your pardon?
BSNYC: WART MMM HMMMPRLF MUNFFM VURRTLE!!!
Believe me, after a while that gets tiresome.
But that’s not even the main reason you do not want to ride with BSNYC. The main reason you don’t want to ride with him is because the following day, he will write about you.
And then you’ll never be able to leave your home again.
Phil Liggett
There is absolutely no reason you would not want to ride with Phil Liggett. The fact is, he is incredibly smart and has an infinite number of great stories to tell. He’s friendly, and a strong rider.
But you should still not choose him in this survey. Why? Because Paul Sherwen isn’t even listed as an option.
If Phil wins, it’s going to get back to Paul. And then Paul’s going to get depressed, and then he’ll start to sulk. On air. Like this:
Phil: And there goes Leipheimer! Ever since he got that new hairpiece he is riding like a man half his age!
Paul: Pfff.
Phil: Excuse me, Paul? Did you say something?
Paul: No.
Phil: Well, what do you think of Leipheimer and his new hair?
Paul: I don’t know, why don’t you go and ride with him and ask? I understand you’re very popular and people want to ride with you.
Phil: It’s been three years since that silly survey, Paul. Are you still upset about that?
Paul: Leave me alone.
For the sake of Phil and Paul’s relationship, as well as for the sake of continued excellent on-air commentary, please do not vote for Phil.
Bob Roll
Consider this for a moment: Bob sat right beside Al Trautwig for like three Tours. And he never took the opportunity to punch him in the throat.
For that crime, Bob must pay.
Also, if you slight him in some way, he’ll intentionally mispronounce your name for the rest of your life.
TdF Devil Didi Senft
Leaving aside the impossibility of pronouncing the consonants “nft” together without sounding like you’ve suppressed a sneeze, there are three very important things you should know about Didi Senft:
- He never showers. On principle. Teeth brushing is right out, as well.
- He does not know how to ride a bike.
- He will ask you to loan him $50, but he has no intention of repaying you.
Fat Cyclist
So, really, that leaves me. You’ve got to choose me by default.
But that’s not the only reason to choose me as the “personality” you would most like to ride with. No indeed.
If we rode together, you see, I would bring snacks. Your favorite snacks.
If there were a headwind, I would pull my share of the time, and possibly even more often.
I would regale you with entertaining stories. I would practice those stories ahead of time, honing my storytelling craft for your maximum enjoyment.
I would listen with rapt attention to your stories, and ask many follow-up questions, to show that I was paying attention and would like to know more.
I would express interest in your tattoo, and would not ridicule it, at all.
I would show you my favorite rides. The ones so good I don’t even talk about them in this blog.
So. Please. Go and take that survey, and choose me. For your own good.
PS: In question 7, be sure to choose Other, and write in “Honey Stinger Waffles.” Because it’s true.
PPS: In question 20, in the “Elite Men” drop-down, be sure to choose “Levi Leipheimer,” or he says he’ll beat me up.
Comments (85)
11.15.2011 | 8:19 am
Let me just say, before I show you the many photographs I am about to show you, that none of these photographs have been staged. They have not been Photoshopped, and they were not taken with the intention for which I am now going to use them.
It was just me taking pictures while the guys I was with were trying moves on their mountain bikes.
Are we clear on that?
I Accept My New Role With Dignity
At the beginning of the second day of Fall Moab 2012, I was so glad I had brought three bikes along. I didn’t want to ride the Waltworks anymore. The dropping chain problem was just too spooky; I didn’t want to chance another drop in the middle of a move. But I had lost the front wheel to the FattyFly.
The solution? move the WaltWorks’ front wheel to the FattyFly. Ta-da.
As soon as I began riding, though, I knew I wouldn’t be trying out a lot of moves that day. My crash the evening before had hurt my palms enough that I couldn’t grip my handlebars normally; I had to go with a sort of claw-like grip. Which, while very effective at making me look like I wanted to be as far away from my bike as possible while still riding it, was not an especially good grip for riding over anything rougher than a roller rink (alliteration not intended).
I decided I’d be the guy who rode along, enjoyed the day, and took pictures. Which is not a bad role to have in a group of very technical riders who are more than happy to injure themselves for your amusement in their attempted feats of derring-do.
Beer Crusher at Little Creek
We were riding the Little Creek Trail, a lesser-known — but equally great — trail very close to Gooseberry Mesa. It’s an interesting blend of tricky slickrock moves and flowlng high-desert singletrack.
Everyone got busy doing difficult moves, all custom-designed to be as damaging to chainrings as they are to rims as they are to knees, elbows and hips.
Here’s Paul, showing that he is as serious about making moves as he is about dispensing justice:
But then Cori stepped it up a notch.
Cori always steps it up a notch, thanks to the fact that he has no fear of death and cheerfully embraces a future full of pain. Which explains why, a few moves after this, Cori would miss, and land on this rough sandstone floor, flat on his back.
What it does not explain, however, is what happened next: white foam suddenly erupted all around from beneath Cori. As if — instead of blood, bones, and bile — Cori was filled with vinegar and baking soda.
As it turns out, Cori used a beer can in his jersey pocket to “soften” his landing:
Please take a moment to appreciate that this picture was shot with a phone. In fact, click on it to see a larger version. Phone cameras have come a long way. OK, I’m done geeing out now.
If I had one good hard fall like that — one where, in addition to whatever other pain I suffered, I also crushed a pressurized can with my spinal column — I would call it a day.
Cori — clearly — is nothing like me. Which I shall now demonstrate with a series of pictures. First, here he is, standing in between a couple of ledges. You should know that about five feet to his right, that crack drops off into infinity. (Nearby, Paul does stretching exercises to stay limber.)
Second, here’s Kenny and Bob, inspecting the chasm. Notice that both — wisely — are not on their bikes, and –equally wisely — neither show any sign of getting on their bikes to leap across that void. (Also, do your utmost to avoid paying too much attention to Kenny’s new cycling gear, which can best be described as “industrial objectivist kitsch.”)
Oh, here’s Cori. Approaching the gulf on his rigid singlespeed.
Ha ha. Very funny, Cori.
And here’s the final shot in Cori’s life the series.
Believe it or not, he did in fact (barely) clear that jump. I would have taken a follow-up picture, but I needed to go change into a clean pair of shorts.
Power Faces
But Cori was not the only one defying gravity and shortening his life expectancy. Nosirree. Check out my good friend Bobby G., showing that a guy on the brink of fifty can be as insane as a man half his age:
Hey, wait a second. What is that expression on his face? Let’s take a closer look:
I do believe Bob is simultaneously doing a difficult move and making a ridiculous face.
But I’m sure that was an isolated incident. Let’s take a look at Bob trying that move again:
OK, now let’s zoom in on his face:
Oh. Oh dear. I believe I’ve noticed a pattern.
No, surely not.
I’m sure Bob only does that when he’s doing a tricky climbing move. For example, here he is doing a drop, where he doesn’t make that face at all.
See what I mean? No? Here, I’ll zoom in on his face a little bit to show you:
That’s not just a ridiculous face, ladies and gentlemen. No. It is so much more. The evidence is overwhelming:
This is, in fact, Bob’s Power Face.
Of course, I’m only picking on Bob because he owes me money.
And possibly because I suffer from a similar ailment.
You see, as we got toward the second half of the day my palms stopped hurting so much and I started trying a few moves myself. Here, for example, is me riding across a little rock bridge:
What is really great, though, is the expression on my face in the next shot, as it becomes clear that I’m going to clear this little bridge:
My Power Face is, evidently, a goofy grin, with my mouth open as if to exclaim, “Durrrrr…”
Let’s have another look at me making a power face, shall we?
Here’s me grinding my way up a steep pitch:
And my face:
Yup, I apparently have two Power Faces. In this case, if the move had gone on any longer, my Power Face would have caused me to bite clean through my lip.
Which leads to my theory about trying out hard moves:
The more concentration you put into the move, the less control you have over your expression. I.e., the more extreme Power Face you will exhibit.
In support of this theory, I submit for your scrutiny this last photograph, of the last move of the day. It’s my favorite photo of all:
Why? Because of my third Power Face, shown here:
Obviously, as demonstrated by the puffed-out cheeks and protruding lips, I am concentrating very, very (very!) hard indeed. This is, quite clearly, my Ultimate Power Face. And that should count for something, I think, whether I clean the move or not.
But perhaps these photos demonstrate a flaw in my riding — the reason I miss so many moves: I am very inconsistent with my Power Faces. Goofy grin? Bitten Lip? Puffy Cheeks/Pouty Lips? My Power Faces are all over the place.
Bob, on the other hand, is remarkably consistent in the use of his Power Face. And since Bob cleaned about 300% more moves than I did, I must admit that, empirically, his one Power Face is superior to my multitude of Power Faces.
I have learned a valuable lesson here.
I hereby resolve: The next time I try a difficult-to-clean move, I shall stick out and curl up my tongue. And you should do the same.
And also, maybe you should carry a pressurized beverage in your jersey. You know, for its cushioning effect.
Comments (31)
11.14.2011 | 1:24 pm
Ask anyone who has ever spent any time with me at all: I am a wonderful person. I am friendly. I am thoughtful. I am good-natured and generous to a fault.
I am the the freaking Boy Scout Law, personified.
Except for thrifty. And reverent. I still have work to do on those.
But if you had encountered me last Friday, after — along with Cori, Kenny, Steve, Bob, Paul and Jud — I rode the famous Gooseberry Mesa trail near Hurricane, Utah, you would have found me in a foul mood. A foul mood indeed.
I had my reasons.
Things Start Off Well
The ride started out great. It was cool — but not cold — on Gooseberry Mesa; I dressed in shorts and a long-sleeve jersey.
My friend Bob had flown in for the weekend of riding. Bob and I are cycling doppelgängers — we don’t even have to adjust saddle height to trade bikes — so I had brought along three bikes for the weekend: my Superfly 100, my Superfly singlespeed (aka The FattyFly) and my WaltWorks singlespeed.
For this ride, we wanted to have both a singlespeed and a plush, full-suspension geared bike on hand, to trade around for different moves and different moods. So we went with the Superfly 100 and the Waltworks (because the Waltworks is geared lower than the FattyFly).
Bob wanted to start with the singlespeed, so I went with the Superfly 100.
Right away, I realized that this kind of riding is the natural habitat of the Superfly 100. I hadn’t really fallen in love with this bike until now because I had been riding trails that didn’t really take advantage of suspension.
Fifteen minutes on the bumpy, ledgy, rocky trails of Gooseberry showed me that this bike is, in fact, extraordinary. I was loving it. It made me a better rider: I was cleaning stuff that I normally just don’t clean.
Bob took a turn at the Superfly 100 and came to the same conclusion: this is a remarkable bike.
After riding the Superfly 100 for a while, switching to a rigid singlespeed feels really weird right at first, especially since Waltworks geometry is a lot different than Gary Fisher geometry.
That said, I was still trying stuff, and not doing too badly at it.
In particular, there’s a tricky move where you have to come around a sharp right hand bend, bringing yourself to a near stop as you do so, ride across a short patch of sand, and then suddenly put everything you’ve got into powering up an extremely steep, 20′-long sandstone pitch.
On my first try, I slid out about halfway up, then slid down on my left side, giving me the right to claim first blood for the trip.
On my second try, I didn’t even get as far as my first try. But by then, people were gathering around, watching.
So on my third — and according to the rules, final — try, I put everything I had into it.
And I made it. On the singlespeed.
I could feel a good weekend coming on.
The Importance of Proofreading
We rode to the overlook, where it’s traditional to take a group shot and get something to eat. Here’s the group shot:
Left to right: Cori, Kenny, Steve, Bob, Paul, Jud, Fatty.
And here’s Paul, eating a Honey Stinger Waffle:
I believe it’s possible he’s enjoying that just a little too much.
As I was taking these photos with my phone, I noticed that I had surprisingly good signal. “Now would be a great opportunity for me to text a photo to The Hammer,” I thought. So I had someone take a photo of me, and I sent a nice little “I love you” message along with it, addressed — of course — to Lisa.
Unfortunately, I didn’t check my address very carefully and wound up sending it to Lisa Bearnson, scrapbooking guru and a former coworker of mine, back at WordPerfect Magazine.
“Um,” I texted to Lisa, “That was actually kinda meant for my wife. Not that I don’t love you.”
Wherein I Howl in Pain
I was enjoying the singlespeed now, so was taking an extended turn on it, while Bob tried — and cleaned — move after move on the Superfly 100.
Then, while going up a short — probably only six feet or so — pitch, the chain slipped off my singlespeed.
Instantly, my crotch slammed into my stem.
“Help,” I squeaked. “And also: ow,” I continued, in a high voice.
As soon as the urge to vomit passed, I put the chain back on the bike. Nobody understood why it had come off — the chain was nice and tight, and the line looked good — so we put it down to one of those flukes.
And then, on a much steeper, more difficult pitch — one you need to bring a lot of speed and power into to clean — it happened again, except this time the chain simply broke.
To get a sense of how this feels, try one or both of the following:
- Stand on a platform about three feet above a fence. Jump off that platform so as that you land straddling that fence.
- Give a large burly man who hates you permission to hit you in the crotch with a sledgehammer.
Without going into too much detail, let me simply say that I rolled around in agony for some time, my (distressingly high-pitched) screams echoed across distant mountain ranges, and my snipe is — for the second time in my life — purple.
Yes, perhaps that is too much information. You’ll have to forgive me for that. My judgment may still be impaired due to the indescribable pain I have recently been traumatized by.
Wherein I Stop Very Suddenly
It turns out that chain had broken at the master link, and was soon set right. Bob volunteered to take a turn riding the singlespeed, asserting — correctly — that I would now be far too timid on that bike to ride it with anything even close to alacrity.
And so it was that I was actually riding the Superfly 100 when — with evening quickly approaching and details of the terrain becoming hard to pick out — I rode by a bush that had grown a sturdy low branch, specifically designed to hook into the spokes of my front wheel.
My front wheel stopped. The rest of my bike — and my body — pivoted over that stopped wheel and I was slammed into the ground.
But not before I had a chance to throw my hands out in a defensive measure that, while completely ineffective at stopping anything else from getting hurt, was nevertheless extremely effective at making both my palms feel like I had executed a perfect dive from a high platform into an empty pool.
My screams rent the fast-approaching night.
“Are you OK?” asked Paul.
“Yeah,” I replied. “But I’m not having fun anymore.”
I got back on my bike and slowly rode back the remaining couple of miles. It was almost entirely dark by the time I got to the parking lot, but I was just glad to have this ride behind me.
Wherein I Discover Additional Damage
I put the bikes up, mounting the Superfly 100 and the Fattyfly on the fork mounts in the BikeMobile’s bed. I put the wheels on the wheel mounts on the truck’s roof.
Then I emptied my jersey pockets of the food wrappers I had with me, as well as my favorite glasses — a pair of custom Oakley Jawbones.
Or rather, I should say, the pieces of my Oakley Jawbones, pictured at right, in happier times. (Oh, by the way, this is the picture I sent to two different Lisas earlier that day.)
Evidently, it’s not a good idea to land with all one’s weight on a pair of sunglasses one is carrying in one’s pocket.
“Well, at least this ride is over,” I said, meaning it. I mean, I had had — in many respects — a fantastic ride, and a lot of fun. But it just felt like I had not had great luck.
We all agreed to meet at a sports bar in town for dinner, and I drove down the rocky dirt road into Hurricane. There, in the parking lot, I climbed into the back of my truck to lock the bikes up.
Which is when I discovered that one of the wheels had come off the wheel carrier. And not just any wheel. A Bontrager XXX carbon tubeless wheel. A very nice, very expensive wheel.
My FattyFly was now a FattyFly Unicycle.
Kenny agreed that after dinner, he’d drive with me, retracing our route back to the trailhead, to look for the wheel. We would not find it. Nor would we find it when we looked again the next morning. So, at this point, I must believe that someone has either found themselves a really nice wheel, or this wheel is somewhere off the side of the road, wondering why it’s been abandoned.
And to cap it all off, the burger I had for dinner was overcooked.
Comments (49)
11.12.2011 | 8:20 am
Everyone, Jim, from CA, the winner of the Ibis Silk SL with Shimano Dura-Ace wheels and components.
Here’s a little about Jim, as told by Jim himself:
What to say about me? I’m in my mid 40’s, married and have a 16 year old stepdaughter (teenage girl – ouch!).
I grew up a swimmer and grew into a swim coach and lifeguard as a part time job besides my full time job. I was kinda good and swam for a Division I college team and even won a national championship in Masters swimming. For various reasons, I drifted out of swimming just before turning forty. I always had a bike as a kid, and that’s how all kids got around. Once, when I was fifteen, I decided to ride up to Mt Hamilton (where the idea for Clif Bars was inspired) just outside of Santa Clara where I grew up. I made it on my ten (that’s 2×5) speed with toe clips and gym shorts, but only because I was young and stupid. Looking back on it now that 65 mile 5k+ ft ride was quite an effort; and really stupid.
Unfortunately, I kept my appetite after stopping swimming and grew into a fat former swimmer/occasional cyclist. I’ve always had a bike of some kind and did the occasional riding, but nothing serious. In the last few years I’ve gotten more into cycling and even started racing MTB and cyclocross last year; someone has to finish last. I’m getting some slow weight loss, but it is a battle.
A few years ago, I found the fatcyclist blog and started following it pretty regularly. My mother died young due to breast cancer just after I graduated college. I could relate to Elden’s blog and enjoyed the humor. This year I even did the 100 MON as my first century; though my report didn’t get published. I also finally rode Levi’s Gran Fondo after signing up for the first two and not being able to make it happen.
Fatty thoroughly thrashed me there.
Fatty’s book offer came out nearly the same day as a good friend was suddenly diagnosed with colon cancer and went thru surgery. I decided to order a book for myself and one for my friend, as he was my big supporter during 100 MON and might have some reading time coming up. Here’s a nice poster he made to support me during the ride.
He’s such a supporter.
I can’t believe I won this bike. I saw the tweet Fatty sent out announcing that “people named Jim in California who had bought two books should check their email,” and said, “Heh, that sounds like me.”
Comments (26)
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