11.10.2011 | 11:17 am
I’ve been looking forward to this next weekend for a long time. It’s time for Fall Moab (fiscal) 2012, which will be held in St. George, UT this year (Fall Moab is in Moab on alternating years). It’s the most important Core Team annual tradition we have.
And I am still looking forward to this weekend. But I’m also bummed.
See, a strange thing has happened to the Core Team during the fifteen years or so we’ve been riding together: We’ve all gotten older.
We’ve all exited our thirties, and some of us are closer to fifty than forty at this point.
Weird.
And strangely enough, as we’ve gotten older, we’ve started having grown-up style stuff to contend with.
I’m not going to go into who’s got what stuff to deal with, but a mix of serious health and and family issues are keeping Ricky M, Brad, and (maybe) Dug away this year.
I feel for them — I’ve missed a couple Fall Moab trips myself. And I’m going to miss these guys. The core team is at its absolute best when everyone’s riding.
Basically, when you don’t see your best friends anywhere near as often as you’d like — and nowhere near as often as you used to — it’s a pretty big disappointment to have so many have to miss the trip.
On the other hand, Bob and Kenny will be there, as well as Cori (who took the all-time best picture of me, ever). And outrageously fast guy Chucky Gibson. So this is far from a total disaster.
I’ll be back Monday, with pictures, stories, and possibly even video.
And, more than likely, some new cuts and bruises. That’s just the way Fall Moab is.
Comments (18)
11.9.2011 | 1:12 pm
I don’t know how many years I’ve been riding. That may seem a little odd, considering that it’s my one and only form of recreation, but it’s true. The problem is, I didn’t realize when I started riding that it was going to become my thing. So I just started doing it.
And now, when people ask, “How long have you been riding?” I have to make up a number. For the past five or six years, that number has been “Fifteen years.” Though — by working from a recollection that I did my first Leadville 100 about two years after I started riding, I’d say that the actual number of years I’ve been riding currently stands at sixteen.
Ish.
And that’s too bad. I should have kept track. And you know what? That’s not the only thing I wish I would have kept track of during the years I’ve been riding. If I could go back in time to when I started writing, I’d tell myself, “Hey, buy a blank book, label some pages with categories, and keep track of things you frequently do when biking!”
Why? Well, because those would be some startlingly cool (or, sometimes, depressing) statistics.
For example:
How many times have I done my “backyard” rides? When I first started riding, Frank was my backyard ride — the ride I did more often than any other, because I could do it right from my house. Now Corner Canyon and The Alpine Loop are my backyard rides. Ideally, it would be interesting to have stats for each of them (have I ridden Corner Canyon as many times as I’ve ridden Frank yet?), but the most interesting thing to know would be how many hundreds of times I’ve ridden an extremely familiar trail or road, without ever getting sick of it. I’ll bet I’ve done 3,000 backyard rides.
How many times have I done my favorite ride? Tibble Fork is my favorite ride in the world, but how many times have I been up there. Fifty maybe? Perhaps more, perhaps fewer. If it’s only 50, that doesn’t seem like enough. In fact 100 times isn’t enough.
How many times have I crashed? If I’m counting mountain bike rides, I would guess I’ve probably fallen 200 times. Now that I write that down, it seems like that’s a lot. Like only a klutz would fall that many times. Which is why I’m inclined to believe it’s probably a reasonably accurate guess. If I count road biking, that’s one number I can actually report, because it’s so small: just once (that I can remember right now, anyway).
How many times have I fallen badly enough to draw blood? This will, of course, be a subset of the previous statistic, though I’d guess it’s a pretty large subset — maybe 60% of my falls have drawn blood.
How many times have my falls resulted in a permanent mark? Well, my wedding ring finger turns up at the tip, there’s the scar going from my nose to my lip, and then there are my knees.
Yeah. About my knees. I think it’s safe to say that both my knees are nothing but scars now. As in, there is no original, non-scar skin on my knees. I’ll bet my knees and shins have fifty scars.
How many near-misses have I had? I’ll bet I’ve had 500 near-crashes. Which means, I think, that I almost crash 2.5 times as often as I actually crash. No, that number is too high. Let’s change it to 400. Of those, I’d say fifty are times where it was so close that I got an adrenaline rush and accompanying shakes.
How many energy gels / bars / chews / waffles have I consumed? There was a time when I used gels pretty much every ride. I think back on that now and wonder what I could have possibly been thinking. That said, I now look for excuses to eat Honey Stinger Waffles. But that’s different. I’ll bet, if all energy food products are lumped together (which, by the way, would be really gross-looking), I’ve eaten 2,000. I wince a little at this, but bet it’s reasonably accurate.
How much peanut butter have I consumed? If I consider only the peanut butter I have consumed either immediately before, during, or immediately after a ride, I’ll bet I’ve had had 7,000-sandwiches-worth of peanut butter. I’m not exactly sure how to express that in gallons.
How many tubes have I used? This is an interesting question, because while it would be easy to express in a total — probably eighty or so — if I were to express it as a graph, it would look something like this:
That sudden drop in the number of tubes I need to use coincides with when I started using tubeless tires on my mountain bikes. And it continued to drop when I went to tubeless tires on my road bike. I’m happy to say — and have just thrown salt over my shoulder so as to prevent the jinx — that this year I have not had a single flat on any of my bikes. Between many fewer flats and improved handling of both mountain and road bikes, tubeless tires have — more than almost any other advance — made biking so much better for me.
How many strokes of air have I put in tires with the floor pump? Would it be outrageous to guess a million? The thing is, if I were to diagram use of floor pump over time, it would go in the opposite direction of the “number of tubes” chart above. Because while tubeless is awesome, you do have to top off with air more often.
How many times have I listened to Renegades of Funk? I’ve explained before that of all power songs in the world, there is one that powers me like no other: Rage Against the Machine’s “Renegades of Funk.” It’s my secret weapon for climbing fast. I bet I have listened to that song two hundred times. It works every time.
How many jerseys have I owned? How many socks? How many bottles? I have quite a few jerseys right now. But I certainly haven’t kept all of them. And for every two jerseys, I probably a pair of socks. Which means, I guess, that I’ve owned the same number of socks and jerseys. I’ll bet 150 jerseys, and 75 pair of socks.
And the bottles. Don’t even start me on the bottles.
How many bad days have turned into good days? How many times have I been riding and taken what had been a cranky, miserable mood and turned it into an excellent mood? Or started a ride in outright despair and — over the course of a ride — brought myself back from the ledge? Combined, I’ll bet at least a hundred times.
How many insights have I had / problems solved? I’ll be out riding and suddenly a solution to what I thought was an unsolvable problem occurs to me. Somehow, turning circles with my legs over and over and over seems to trigger inspiration. I’ll be this has happened fifty times.
How many times have I bailed on a ride because I was lazy? There have been times when I’ve skipped riding. Not for a real reason, either. Just because I didn’t feel like it. Because I was lazy. I’ll bet that’s right around 75 rides I’ll never be able to recapture.
How many times have I bailed on work because I wanted to ride? None. Ever. My work ethic would never let me do that. (Hi current and former managers!)
How many times have I been to Moab? Thirty or so — generally a couple times per year. That’s like having a couple extra Christmases every year.
How many bikes have I owned? This, probably, needs to be the subject of a blog post of its own. I already know the first line for it: “I know, it’s time I admit I have a problem.”
How many miles have I ridden? This is, in fact, the question that triggered the idea for this whole post. In sixteen-ish years of obsessive cycling, how many years have I ridden? I wish I knew, but this is one number I couldn’t even take a realistic stab at.
How many hours have I ridden? On average, four days per week, times two hours per day, times forty weeks per year times sixteen years. Only 5,120 hours? Well, that doesn’t seem like a lot.
How many times have I smiled or laughed while riding? Enough to make all the other stats irrelevant.
Comments (44)
11.8.2011 | 11:43 am
We had gone on a ride earlier that day, so even though it was beautiful outside, I told The Hammer I needed to stay home and work on my book.
So she went to Lambert Park — a terrific little park about a mile from where we live — without me, taking Nikita — the approaching-elderly Malamute The Hammer brought to our marriage — on a walk on her own.
Now, Alpine, Utah is a tiny town, with the feel of Mayberry. People are nice in general. A little more laid-back than most places. You kind of need to be that way if you’re going to live in a town without a single grocery store or restaurant in it.
And if the people in Alpine are friendly and easy-going, the Lambert Park trail system is even more that way. People bring their kids here to learn to mountain bike. Cyclists come here when they don’t have time to go up American Fork Canyon or to Corner Canyon. People come here for a short ride on their horses.
And people come here to walk their dogs.
And until The Hammer got home from her walk this particular day, I had never heard of anyone being anything but incredibly friendly to each other at this park.
Encounter 1: Rodeo Down
So The Hammer is walking Nikita in Lambert Park. One of the popular trails there is called “Rodeo.” It’s got both an “Up” trail and a “Down” trail. She’s walking down the Down trail when she hears a bike coming.
As a cyclist, The Hammer knows this is a fun trail to go fast on, so she holds Nikita by the collar and moves off the trail.
As the 60-ish year-old man goes by, The Hammer starts, “Have a good…”
“You shouldn’t be on this trail!” The man interrupts, yelling.
Perhaps this man thought he owns the trail. Perhaps he didn’t realize that Lambert Park is multi-use and people walk (and trail run) on all of the trails here, all the time.
Perhaps he didn’t realize that around here, people don’t yell at each other.
And almost certainly, he thought he could shout at a lone woman without consequence.
Wrong.
“First of all,” The Hammer replied, “I have every right to be on this trail. Second, I got out of the way for you, even though pedestrians have the right of way.”
“People ride fast down this trail!” The man yelled back. “I could have hit you!”
“Kids ride on this trail,” shot back The Hammer. “And sometimes there are cyclists stopped in the trail. If you can’t control your speed and avoid someone, you’re going too fast.”
At which point, the man started up again, continuing down the trail (with a woman — possibly the man’s wife — riding behind, avoiding meeting The Hammer’s eyes.
And The Hammer continued her walk.
Encounter 2: Rodeo Up
At one of the places the trails cross, Hammer switched over to Rodeo Up. Once again, she heard a bike coming. Once again, she took her dog by the collar and moved out of the trail.
And once again, it was the man.
“Are you going to yell at me for being on your trails again?” asked The Hammer.
“No,” said the man, riding by. “I don’t care if you’re on Rodeo Up.”
And then, as he passed The Hammer, he said it: “Bitch.”
Astonished, The Hammer looked to the woman riding behind the man. “You should be embarrassed to be with that man,” The Hammer said.
“He’s just trying to keep the trails safe for everyone,” replied the woman.
Ha.
Afterward
For pretty much the rest of the day — and the day after that — The Hammer and I found ourselves constantly talking about this encounter. We just couldn’t believe it. We kept asking each other questions, like:
- Would he have said any of this if both of us were there? We kind of suspect not.
- Did he really think he was making anything safer for anyone? Again, we kind of suspect not.
- Was he surprised that he didn’t get away with shouting at a lone woman? We expect he was.
- Why would he do this? That’s the real poser of a question, the one we keep talking about. Why would anyone on a trail ever be anything but glad to see another person — a person who had already yielded — on a trail? Was he just in a foul mood and wanted to spread it around?
Obviously, we don’t know the answer to any of these. And I kind of doubt that a guy like that would read my blog (and frankly hope a person like that doesn’t). But in the off chance that he does, well, congratulations. You have the honor of being the first person I’ve ever come across at Lambert Park who was anything but friendly and polite.
That’s behavior I would expect from someone yelling from a car window — not from someone in a small town, riding on a neighborhood trail.
Comments (75)
11.6.2011 | 10:44 am
Some races are so huge, so intense, so incredibly epic they require time to absorb what you have have just done. To think about what you have just accomplished. These races change who you are, how you perceive the world. From the moment you cross that finish line, you know that from that point forward, you will divide your life into everything that happened before the race, and everything that happens since.
The Telos Turkey Tri — which The Hammer, The Swimmer, and I did last Saturday — is not one of those races.
But it was a strange race.
Last week, I made it pretty darned clear that the Turkey Tri mattered, mostly because it was genuinely difficult to figure out who would come out on top:
- The Hammer: a very strong runner and strong cyclist, but not fast in the pool.
- The Swimmer: The Hammer’s daughter, a very fast runner and varsity team swimmer, who doesn’t really ride
- Me: Fast on the bike, not so fast on the run, and slightly slower than the Hammer in the pool.
Before the Race
In the days leading up to it, The Hammer and I obsessed way too much over this race. Not really so much about race tactics, but about who would win. We just didn’t know.
And then, as the race got closer, our obsession turned toward the weather. It looked like it was going to be bad. As in, ice-on-the-ground-and-snow-in-the-air bad. The race organizers confirmed as much, letting us know by email that the bike part of the race might be canceled.
Still, the night before the race I went ahead and put all the bikes in The BikeMobile, just in case the weather turned out to work in our favor.
But when we woke up on the morning of the race, things did not look good. A look out the window confirmed my fears: It was snowing in Alpine, with wet — and probably icy — roads.
I left the bikes in the truck, though, hoping against hope that the race venue would be dry.
Last-Moment Announcement
We arrived at the venue (Mountain View High School, right by the Orem Rec Center for the locals reading this) and I started to have hope. Apparently being ten miles further south, a couple hundred feet lower and not bumping right up against a mountain makes a difference: it was not snowing and the roads were dry.
But it was definitely windy and cold.
Others were setting up their bikes in the transition area, so we went and set ours up too. One transition area would be used for both transitions, so the setup took only a few minutes.
I was feeling chipper. The harder the bike portion of the race, the better for me.
Then, just a few minutes before it was time to start, the race director made a crazy announcement: “We’re concerned enough about wet roads on part of the course, as well as the probability of snow falling during the race, so we’re shortening the bike portion of the race,” he said.
“Shortening it,” he concluded, “to one lap around the high school parking lot.”
Whhhaaaaa? That’s less than a quarter mile!
I walked up to the race director to make sure I had understood him correctly. He explained that for safety reasons they didn’t want to have the bike race, but they still wanted people who had been working on their transitions to get to do those.
“OK,” I said, “Fair enough.” This didn’t make sense to me at all, but the fact is I’m too much of a lazy coward to ever be a race director and so have made a pact to myself to never ever hassle or otherwise give a hard time to people who are willing to go through the massive effort (including making the hard-to-call last minute decisions) it takes to put on a race.
“So,” I thought to myself, as The Hammer, The Swimmer and I walked to the starting line of the run (the events are would be in Run – “Bike” – Swim order for this event, which makes sense since the swim is in an indoor pool), “This changes things for me.”
And I started to think.
The first wave went — Kids (but The Swimmer stayed with us because chip timing meant that it doesn’t really matter when anyone starts and we wanted to all start together). A few minutes elapsed, and the second wave went. Ours was next.
Then it occurred to me.
“Don’t change into your biking shoes for the biking leg,” I quickly told The Hammer. “It’s not worth it for that short of a ride. Just leave your running shoes on, put your helmet on and go.”
The Run
And then we were off. The Swimmer took off at what would be, for me, a sprint. Indeed, she was hanging with the fast guys.
“Well, that’s it for me,” I thought. “Best thing I can do is try to limit the damage.” So I ran hard, doing my best to at least stay with The Hammer.
“I can’t believe The Swimmer is running so fast,” I said to The Hammer. “I could never hold that pace over 5K.”
“Neither can she,” replied The Hammer, as she eased in front of me.
And so, for the entirety of the run, I thought of one thing: try not to let The Hammer get too far ahead. Before long, though, she was fifty feet, then a hundred feet ahead of me. Then fifty yards. Then 75.
The road turned downhill, and I could see that The Hammer was catching The Swimmer. They were now running together. Then I started catching up a little, too. Maybe I got to within fifty yards.
The road turned uphill.
The Hammer passed The Swimmer and started putting distance on me. I resolved not to let her out of my sight, no matter how badly it hurt.
The Swimmer pulled off to the side and started walking, gasping for air.
The Hammer had been right.
I passed The Swimmer and gave a little wave, but didn’t say anything. I had no air for words — I was genuinely at my aerobic max.
For the rest of the run, I kept my eyes locked on The Hammer, trying to give up no more time than I already had.
I didn’t look back, but expected that at any moment The Swimmer would re-pass me.
The “Bike”
Somehow I stayed ahead of The Swimmer and ran into the transition area in second place — not for the whole event, but for our little family competition, which is the one that matters.
I got to our stuff, right as The Hammer was pulling out. “So,” I thought, “She’s exactly one transition ahead of me.”
I put on my helmet and otherwise made no other changes. I grabbed my bike, then stumbled the first time I tried to swing a leg over; my legs weren’t used to trying to get on a bike after a run.
Then I managed to get on the bike and rode around the parking lot, feeling a little bit foolish and not knowing whether I should pour on the gas or just parade around. I went with something in-between.
I noticed the rider in front of me was wearing his bike shoes. I allowed myself a moment of smugness.
I pulled back into the bike corral, ready to transition for the swim.
The Bike-to-Swim Transition
Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a transition a lot of time in a race report, but in this case I have to, because it’s pivotal.
I got to where our stuff was set up…and The Hammer was still there, changing. “I can’t get this stupid stuff off!” she yelled.
“Sorry,” I said, as I began stripping down as fast as I could. Helmet and cap came off in one motion. I pulled the first glove off with my teeth and the second using my hands.
I tugged down on my jersey zipper while simultaneously kicking off my shoes.
And this is where the crucial, race-changing moment happens: the removal of the tights.
Here, you should take a quick look at the photo I put at the beginning of this story. Pay close attention to the tights that The Hammer and I are wearing:
The difference? Hers are tight, mine are loose. Really, mine are closer to track pants than tights.
And they come off a lot faster and easier than tights, which have to be peeled.
And in short (in a swimsuit, actually), I got out of the bike-to-swim transition while The Hammer was still there.
As I ran toward the pool, I saw The Swimmer pull in to the transition area, just finishing her run.
Suddenly, I had a prayer of winning again.
As I got about to the midway point between the transition area and the pool, I realized I had forgotten my goggles. I stopped short, thinking of returning to get them.
“And give up this tiny advantage I just picked up? No way. I’ll deal without goggles,” I thought.
The Swim
The way the swim works is you’re supposed to swim a length of the pool, duck into the next lane, and swim back. So you’re “snaking” your way across the pool, keeping the traffic to a minimum, and keeping track of how many lengths you’ve swum.
Like this:
My illustration abilities are really quite spectacular, don’t you think?
Anyway, the swim itself. It was a 350-meter madhouse. A fistfight disguised as a swim race. And it was compounded by the fact that we had caught up with a lot of the people who had left in the two waves ahead of us, some of whom were wading instead of swimming.
At one point, I was completely boxed in, unable to move, because the person I was behind had stopped and was standing still in the pool, while others swam around us, not leaving me an opening to get back in.
Eventually, though, I finished the first six lengths of the pool (300 meters), and ducked under the last lane marker, ready to do the final 50 meters of the race.
Then, for some reason, after I ducked under the lane marker and came up, I looked over at the person to my side.
It was The Hammer. She had caught me.
Here we were, at the final 50 meters of the race. At the exact same place.
I smiled. She smiled.
And then I kicked off the wall as hard as I possibly could and swam as if my life depended on it.
For once, there weren’t a lot of obstacles in front of me; I was able to swim unobstructed.
I got to the end of the pool, pulled myself out, and stepped across the finish line, not knowing whether I had just beaten — or been beaten by — The Hammer.
Two seconds later, The Hammer stepped across the line.
Thanks to a pair of loose-fitting tights, I had just won the Turkey Tri.
The Hammer and I laughed, we hugged, and then we immediately started speculating on how long it would be until The Swimmer would be finishing.
We didn’t have long to speculate, though, because — in what I am pretty sure was less than a minute — The Swimmer joined us.
Incredibly, she had done all of the bike ride, the transition, and the swim in the same amount of time it took me to do the swim.
My guess is she probably did all seven lengths of the pool in the time it took me to do two lengths.
That girl is an animal in the pool. I’ll be very interested to see what her final split times look like.
Awards
We all were curious how we did in our respective age groups, so we hung around for the awards. While we did, I suggested we climb on the podium to get a photo of how the most important division had worked out.
The Swimmer did not want to.
“That’s OK,” I said, “I’ve got your homecoming pictures and Photoshop.”
So:
Eventually, though, we harangued her into joining us on the podium for a real photo:
Gee, I wonder why teenagers don’t like to hang around with grownups.
Anyway, it was a good thing we stuck around, because look who took first in her age division (15 and under women):
Such a nice smile, when she wants to.
And her mom didn’t do half-bad, either: second in her division!
And me? Well, I took third in my division:
Oh, wait, I didn’t do a very good job with the cropping there, did I? Let me try that again:
The whole rest of the day, I’d pay the price for my forgetting-the-goggles mistake:
Sorry to startle you with that photo, by the way. (Hey, wanna have a staring contest?)
But it was worth it. I got on the podium for my age group — a rare thing for me, especially considering I didn’t get to do the event I’m good at.
And even more importantly, I now have Turkey Tri bragging rights for a whole year.
Comments (33)
11.3.2011 | 10:53 am
Update: The contest is over; the order form is now down.
Maybe it’s time I admit I have a problem.
I have this plan, see? And it’s a good plan: take my best work from the first two years of this blog, then add a bunch of fun new stuff to it: absurd footnotes, details about the inspiration for each of the posts, new organization, and a hilarious set of forewords from the core team. Get an awesome designer to lay it out and create a cover for me, get a terrific editor to edit it for me, and I’ve got a book. (Click here to learn more about Comedian Mastermind.)
Then I start pre-orders for that book, with the plan to use the proceeds to finance my dream: research and write The Cancer Caretaker’s Companion, a book project that’s going to require my full-time attention for several months.
Even more importantly, this book will be my foot in the door when I try to get a mainstream publisher to take note of The Cancer Caretaker’s Companion. “Look,” I’ll say, impressively, as I produce spreadsheets and bar charts and pie graphs. “Using nothing but my own bare hands” (and here I’ll show my bare hands to emphasize the point) “I wrote and published a book that sold pretty darned well. And that was just a comedy book, to be read for entertainment.”
“Imagine,” I’ll conclude, in a hushed, dramatic voice, “how many books I’d sell if my book were in actual bookstores and were marketed by people who market things for a living.”
In my imagination, at this point, the publisher swoons and my agent stands up, applauding wildly — while simultaneously wiping a tear from his eye.
So far, so good, right? But that’s where things go wrong for me.
“Why just sell a book?” I say to myself. “Everyone sells books, every day. People who come to my blog aren’t going to expect something that ordinary.”
“Why not,” I reason to myself, “make things a little more interesting? As in, give people a little nudge toward buying my book, just in case they’re on the fence? Add a little incentive, as it were.”
By the way, I say this to myself in a calculating, wily voice. The voice Otto from A Fish Called Wanda might use. Except more sincere, and less likely to torture you.
Buy My Book, Win a Dream Bike
Once I finished talking to myself (try to think of this habit as a charming idiosyncrasy, rather than as a sign of mental illness, thanks), I made a couple of calls.
First, I called my friend Chuck Ibis, shown here looking as startled as I am bewildered:
“Chuck,” I said, “I’d really love to give away a sexy, high-end bike to a random person who buys my book.”
“The Ibis Silk SL is sexy,” Chuck replied.
And you know what? Chuck’s right. Check it out:
The winner of the bike will get to choose either Siberian White, or Matt Matte. Let’s take a look at some of the frame details, because Ibis has stepped up its graphics game in a huge way lately. Here’s Siberian White:
And here’s Matt Matte:
But don’t look at the components on that Matt Matte bike up there, because they’re all wrong. The winner of this bike is gonna get something quite a bit sweeter, because the next call I made was to Dustin Brady.
You know, the marketing guy at Shimano who inspired everyone with his incredible determination to fulfill a promise.
“Dustin,” I said, “Chuck’s helping me out with a super-sweet Ibis frame. I’d like to turn this awesome bike into a full-on dream bike.
“That sounds like a problem a nice Shimano Dura-Ace build will solve,” Dustin replied.
“Wwwwhaaa?” I replied, because I was just getting ready to start my spiel on what I wanted to do and what I wanted him to give me (I was going to ask for an Ultegra build).
“Yeah,” said Dustin. “If it’s a dream bike, it’s gotta have Dura-Ace. Components and wheels.”
I admit, I had to sit down. Then I asked, “Full-on Dura-Ace? Shimano’s top-of-the line road components, top to bottom?
“Yeah,” said Dustin. “Let’s go with the C35 clinchers for this bike’s wheels, OK?”
“OK,” I said. “If you say so.”
How it Works
So, this is really pretty simple. If you’d like a chance at winning an Ibis Silk SL with Shimano Dura-Ace components and wheels, buy a book (or more than one) during the pre-order period, which ends a week from today (the order form’s a little further down this post).
For every buck you spend (rounded up and including money you spend on shipping) on buying my book, you get a row on my magical spreadsheet. So if you buy one book at the “I Need a Serious Bargain” price of $9.95 + $3.00 shipping, you get thirteen rows on my spreadsheet. If you buy a book at the “I Like Fatty” price of $19.95 + $3.00 shipping, you get 23 rows on my spreadsheet.
And if you buy 719 copies at the “I REALLY Love Fatty” price of $39.95, you get 28,728 rows on my spreadsheet.
And of course, even if you don’t win the bike, you still bought the book, which will arrive in time for Christmas (in fact, it should arrive in time for you to ship it elsewhere and still have it arrive by Christmas). But wrapping is up to you.
I’ll choose the winner randomly November 10 at midnight, Mountain Time, and will notify her or him by email.
But What If You Already Bought a Book?
Of course, if you already bought a book before I ever even announced this contest, your past purchase counts toward the contest too.
Cuz if it didn’t, that would totally suck.
How to Order
As always, I’m letting you select how much you want to pay for this book (though I’ve changed the name of one of the options). You can get more details about that here.
I have added a new price option, called “I Need a Bargain,” for $11.95, so that — with shipping — your total outlay for the book is under $15.00.
This option’s essentially like the “I Need a SERIOUS Bargain” option, except I was worried that people weren’t choosing the $9.95 option because they didn’t like the idea of me not getting a cut. With the $11.95 option, you can rest easy, knowing that you’ve got a great deal while still contributing a couple of bucks toward my Cancer Caretaker’s Companion project.
So, choose your option below, click Add to Cart, and then complete the sale at Paypal.
Thanks tons. I hope you enjoy this book. . .and I hope you win the bike, too.
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