05.7.2012 | 10:33 am
Today’s story shall be told mostly in pictures.
Here are Kenny and I last year, after racing the Tour de Donut.
Apart from the magnificently appropriate backdrop of the line of portapotties, my favorite thing about this photo is . . . me.
I look fantastic.
Yes, in spite of the fact that I had just eaten ten donuts, I look great. Leadville was just a month away and — while I didn’t know it for sure — I was light (about 156 pounds, if I remember correctly) and fit enough that a sub-9 was looking entirely possible.
And a few weeks later, I’d cross the Leadville finish line in 8:18:01, looking like this:
Ecstatic, for sure. Salty, certainly. And my teeth were just a little bit on the grimy side:
Importantly, though, in an unposed picture — one where I did not have time to suck my gut in — my stomach looked like this:
To be sure, there are people who look a lot skinnier (and better) in bike jerseys, but for me, this is about as good as it gets.
So. Let’s fast-forward to the present, shall we?
Here’s a photo The IT Guy took during the first few miles of the 2012 RAWROD:
OK, now let’s zoom in on me a little closer.
Yeah. That’s . . . um . . . not good (and I’m not talking about the fact that at the moment I was in possession of The Daisy).
How did this happen? In a couple of ways.
The Tragedy of Self-Delusion
The Hammer and I both came off of last year so fast and fit that we somehow thought that we’d be that way forever (so far, she has retained and built on that strength and fitness; you can see that I have not). So we set ourselves the most challenging race season ever:
- The Crusher in the Tushar: 69 miles, a ridiculous amount of climbing, big parts of the ride on road, big parts of it on dirt.
- The Leadville 100: I think I’ve talked enough about this race for one lifetime.
- The Breck Epic: The main event of the season. Six freaking days of mountain bike racing on high-altitude singletrack. This will start the day after the Leadville 100, so that’s a nice long recovery period.
So you’d think I’d start getting myself in shape and stuff. Which leads to the second, most important reason I’ve managed to let myself go to fat like this.
Fit-Fat
I am currently the very picture of a physical state that may be impossible for any sport but cycling:
I am Fit-Fat.
Which is to say, thanks to a nice dry winter, I kept on riding. My legs and lungs are actually really great right now (see picture above). I was able to ride the White Rim in one day, on a singlespeed, without particular difficulty, and I felt good enough that I went riding again the next day.
That’s the “Fit” part of Fit-Fat.
The “Fat” part is because I am part bear. Which is to say, when it’s winter, I eat a lot. And I have to fight a near-constant urge to climb into a cave and sleep for a couple months.
The danger of being Fit-Fat is that it kinda sneaks up on you. Winter comes and goes, but you’re still wearing the larger, loose-fitting jerseys, which you used to tell yourself you needed to wear because you had a base layer underneath. But deep down, you know that you’re wearing them because the so-called “base layer” is just a big ol’ gut.
And you find reasons to not get on the scale.
But because you’re strong and have a good aerobic base, you can — in general — still hang with everyone one during the group rides. Sure, you work harder on the climbs, but you’ve got the legs to make it work.
And then full-blown Spring arrives, with Summer hot on its heels. And there is no hiding. If everyone else is Fit, being Fit-Fat isn’t enough.
I’ve got to lose some major weight, pronto. Or I’m going to be writing stories about how The Hammer had to wait for me at the aid stations at the Breck Epic.
That prospect does not delight me.
Comments (51)
05.4.2012 | 8:01 am
A Note from Fatty : David Dougher — A friend of a friend — is designing an online multiplayer game called Oncolos. Players take on the role of one of four different races and joins the battle of an invading scourge (cancer) which is bent on the corruption and destruction of the world in which they live.
Originally, David says, Oncolos “was created to help my wife with her cancer. It was designed with the idea, originally, of it being a two-player game just for us. But as I started working on it, I realized more people would benefit from it than just her, so I decided to expand it into a project that’s multiplayer.”
“The big benefit of it,” says Dougher, “Is simply that it lets the cancer patient know that they’re not alone.”
To start developing this project in earnest, Dougher has started this Kickstarter page, where you can help finance this very cool game idea. Click here to learn more about Oncolos, or click here to go to the Oncolos Kickstarter page.
I’ve often said that everyone find ways to use what they love to do and what they’re good at to join the fight against cancer. David Dougher proves this in an awesome way.
The Relishment of a Race Not Raced
Two races tomorrow
One in St. George
One in Provo
Two races tomorrow
And sweet rapture in my breast today
Rapture, whence thou?
I ask rhetorically, for I already know!
I am glad in my heart for reasons clear and true
I shall race neither!
Tomorrow, I race not at all!
(Sometimes I wish there were a punctuation more emphatic than the exclamation point)
I know people who race St. Geroge Ironman tomorrow
They shall converse with demons within and without
I think of them and envy them not one whit
Not one!
Maybe not even half a whit!
And then
I think of The Hammer
Who races a local marathon anon
Do I envy her?
Hell no!
Which is to say
No hell for me tomorrow
I shall ride my bike from place to place
Cheering The Hammer on
Admiring her strength
Admiring her speed
Glad for her
Supporting her
For she is doing what she loves
And I am glad for me
For reasons adequately explained above
I wish all racers luck tomorrow
And sleep tonight.
Thank you.
Comments (41)
05.3.2012 | 8:08 am
I feel like I should start this post with so many disclaimers, caveats, and apologies. An apology to my vegeterian friends who will find nothing at all to like about this post. A warning to my vegan friends, who have no doubt begun suffering from the beginning of a migraine just by reading the title of this post. An acknowledgment to my midwestern friends that I am a Philistine and have learned how to prepare Bratwurst not so much as apprentice to master at the craft, but through observation and experimentation.
But here’s the thing: everyone — every single person — who has given my Bratwurst (“Brats” from here on out) agrees that I am really, really good at it.
So today: how to make Brats, Fatty-style.
No Secrets
Maybe there should be one more disclaimer here: the secret to my success with Brats is the exact same secret to my success with burgers. And with chili. And with banana cream pie.
Which is to say: there is no secret. It just takes time, and you can’t take shortcuts.
What You Need
So here’s what you need to prepare bratwurst so good people will think you are using dark majick and casting spells upon them.
- Uncooked Brats: I’m a big fan of Colosimo’s, but don’t know if that’s available nationally. Johnsonville’s is also great. I generally plan on 2 Brats per person, and then round up a package.
- Beer: Enough to completely submerge the brats when they’re in a big pot. For 60 Brats, a 30-can case is plenty. People often ask me what kind of beer to use, thinking that the better the beer, the better the Brats. Luckily for your pocketbook, that’s not the case. Cheap beer works just as well as expensive beer. So buy whatever’s on sale, which seems to almost always be PBR. Don’t, however, buy light beer.
- Worcestershire Sauce: About 1/4 cup per dozen Brats.
- Onion: 1 onion per bot of Brats boiled, regardless of the number of Brats therein.
- A charcoal or wood fire, and grill: Not a gas grill. Now, I’m not a charcoal grill snob (OK, I am), but I can’t overstate the importance of this.
- Spicy brown mustard: Not regular mustard. Not ketchup.
- Sauerkraut: Personally, I don’t like it, but enough people see it as integral to the Brats experience that I figured I’d better include this in the list.
- Buns / bread: If possible, use Kenny’s homemade bread. Probably, that’s not an option for you, in which case hot dog buns work OK.
Boil The Brats
Brats have to be cooked twice. First you boil them, then you grill them. The boiling step takes a lot of time, but is easy.
First, dump the Brats into a pot. Don’t fill the pot past about 5/8 full, and don’t pack them in too tight; use multiple pots if you’re making a lot of Brats.
Next, pour enough beer over the Brats to submerge them. Make sure you have enough beer left over to add more as some of it boils off — a couple extra cans’ worth per pot.
More next, chop an onion loosely into the pot. Big slices are fine.
Even more next, pour in the Worcestershire sauce. I know I specify 1/4 cup per dozen Brats, but in real life I just kind of pour a bunch in.
Nextiest of all, bring the Brats to a boil and then let them boil for a good long while.
“How long,” you might well ask? And that’s a fantastic question.
My answer is, “I don’t know if it’s possible to boil them too long,” though now that I think about it, it probably is. Still, I’ve boiled Brats for as little as an hour, and as long as for two hours, and get good results every time.
The main thing to keep in mind is that now is when you’re cooking the Brats for real. As in, you could totally eat the Brats right out of the pot — it’s just that the texture and color would be kind of gross, and they wouldn’t have that smokey flavor that nudges the Brats from the “Excellent” category into the “Indescribable” category.
So: boil them for at least an hour. And be sure to check on them every fifteen minutes or so to make sure they’re not boiling over. Every time you do this, give them a good stir, so that the Brats floating at the top won’t always be the same ones.
And when the beer level drops enough that Brats can’t all be submerged, add a can of beer.
As you boil the Brats, your whole house / apartment / church kitchen will be filled with the smell of Brats boiling in beer.
Cherish it.
Intermission
Once you’re done boiling the Brats, you can start grilling them right away. Or — and this is what I consider the most genius-y thing I’ve ever done — if you plan to be grilling later that day or even a day or two later, you can store them.
Just put as many as will fit into whatever kind of sealable container you’ve got (I’ve used both tupperware and freezer bags with fine results), then pour some of the beer mixture — including the boiled onions — over the Brats before you seal them and put them in the fridge / ice chest. Note that the Brats smell is going to get out of that tupperware, though, so if you’re using the fridge, you may want to be prepared for milk that’s going to taste a little . . . different.
Grilling
As I mentioned before, your Brats are really already cooked. The grilling step is to heat up the Brats (if they’ve been on ice for a while), crisp the outside, and — more than anything else — give them as smokey flavor that is just remarkable.
Obviously, you won’t get a smokey flavor if you use a gas grill. So even if you usually use a gas grill, go get yourself a cheap, small charcoal grill for your Brats. It’s worth it, and it’s really not a lot harder than using gas.
Wood is even better if you’ve got that option.
Now, since the Brats are already cooked, you won’t have to cook them for long. Just place them close on the grill, and let them get crisp — brown, or even a little blackened — before turning them over:
This photo taken without permission from Grizzly Adam’s site. But I figure he’ll be cool with it anyway. Right, Grizzly?
Get them crisp on the other side, and then, serve. And revel in the admiration you are suddenly receiving, not to mention no small number of questions along the lines of, “So what’s your secret?”
Your answer, of course, will be: “There is no secret. There’s just a right way to do it.”
PS: I don’t understand why anyone would want ketchup on their Brats, but I expect some people don’t understand why I don’t want sauerkraut on my Brats. Taste is personal, so I usually bring sauerkraut, spicy brown mustard, ketchup, and even mayo for people to put on their brats. Hey, you’re all standing around a fire / picnic table / whatever enjoying good food. No sense in being a snot about it.
PS: But I draw the line at plain yellow mustard.
Comments (58)
05.2.2012 | 7:58 am
A Note from Fatty: Part I of this story is here. Part II is here.
I’ve been riding a long time. Close to twenty years now, I think. I’ve gotten to the point where — if I’m not racing, and the heat doesn’t sap me — long rides like The White Rim don’t crush me. I rode the whole day on my rigid singlespeed feeling just fine. Not tired, not beat. At the end of the day, my legs weren’t particularly cooked, and my butt was not even remotely chafed (and I don’t use any kind of chamois cream).
I carried the right amount of food and was never hungry. I was never thirsty. I was never cold, nor was I ever hot. I put sunscreen on at the right times and never got sunburned, in spite of the fact that I was out in the direct sunlight for more than ten hours.
Yep, I guess you could say that I’m an extremely experienced cyclist.
And yet, I am often a complete bonehead.
I have an example to illustrate this point.
Nobody Saw That, Right?
A good-sized group of us was riding together. The Hammer, The IT Guy, Paul, Kenny, Heather, and some others. It was a good section of the trail to talk, because it was a wide, flat, straight, and in general unremarkable stretch of red sand, which had been packed down by trucks and jeeps rolling over it.
I was on the leftmost side of the road, a foot or so to the right of the edge of the road, which ended in a lip up to the sand and cacti beyond.
Naturally, I was talking. I’m pretty sure I was being very funny, because as I was riding I looked over to The Hammer and lifted an eyebrow after saying something, which is our special signal that “Fatty just said something he thinks is funny, so you should humor him and laugh.”
And then I found myself nose-wheelie-ing. I had veered left and had plowed my front wheel into the sand on the side of the road.
After which, I found myself flying over the front of my bike. Even as I flew, I thought to myself, “Well, this is the dumbest wreck, ever.”
After which I found myself lying on my chest in the sand. Totally unhurt. I had just experienced the least painful endo in the history of the universe.
And also, now that I think about it, probably the least necessary endo.
I sat up, laughing at how ridiculous I am and how foolish I looked, got back on my bike, and got going again.
It was then that The Hammer said, “Well, that was strange.”
“You mean the way I just did an endo in a place nobody should ever endo?” I asked.
“No, it’s what you were doing while you were mid-endo,” she replied. “You were laughing. The whole time you were crashing. Just laughing out loud.”
So. While I may be a clumsy buffoon, I’m at least a clumsy buffoon with a sense of self-deprecating humor.
Horse Thief
The last mile of this 100 mile (I often consider how strange it is that this ride works out to be pretty much exactly 100 miles, but it does) ride is the climb up Horse Thief Trail. Switchback after switchback. Hard climbing for right around a mile.
I love that climb. I can’t think of a more perfect way to cap off a hard day of riding than to take whatever you’ve got and leave it all out there by climbing your heart out.
And then, right at the top, you’re back where you started.
A perfect ride. A perfect day.
Clean Up
I, of course, had gotten myself pretty thoroughly dirty by doing a belly-flop into the sand. But everyone was dirty — there’s no getting around it.
But — being brilliant and stuff — I had brought something along to make the long drive home we had ahead of us a lot less grimy: a big ActionWipes Multipack. One or two of these is enough to pretty much de-grossify you after even a big ol’ all-day ride.
And it feels so good to get the grit and sunscreen and salt crust off you before you head home. Not to mention the way you’re kinda saving your butt from future sores. Which is a good thing.
[Full Disclosure: I got this pack of ActionWipes for free. But I'm totally hooked. If you ride and then won't be near a shower for a while, ActionWipes are the best thing ever.
I Am A Hero
[Full Disclosure: I learned the following trick from Kenny].
My second favorite tradition (first favorite: brats the night before the ride) of RAWROD is what comes after the ride itself: on the way home, we stop by Ray’s Tavern in Green River.
Ray’s has great burgers and fries. And really, that’s pretty much the only food they serve.
There’s something about that place. People who have been there know what I mean.
The thing is, it’s always busy in the evenings, especially at the end of weekends as lots of people coming home from Moab stop by there to reward themselves for an incredible day / weekend of riding, climbing, rafting, or whatever else it was they did in Moab over the weekend.
The wait for your burger can be substantial.
So, as soon as I got phone service, as we were driving toward Green River, I called our order ahead. Told them we’d be there in 45 minutes.
Our food was served as we arrived. Hot cheeseburgers and fries waiting for us at our table.
Never before have I been so admired.
Comments (9)
05.1.2012 | 7:53 am
A Note from Fatty: Part I of this story is here.
I always look forward to getting to Musselman’s Arch when we ride around the White Rim. For one thing, it means that, distance-wise, we’ve completed a pretty significant portion of the ride — 30 miles. For another thing, it’s usually around then that the day has warmed up enough that you can get rid of armwarmers, kneewarmers, and whatnot.
And for yet a third thing, it’s the first place where the riders regroup to talk and get something to eat. Everyone’s still excited for the ride (as opposed to exhausted and wanting to get it done).
And then there’s the big reason: actually looking at — and if you’re brave, walking out onto — the arch itself:
This year, I didn’t walk out onto the arch.
Beyond The Arch
Kenny — who is the organizer and undisputed boss of this ride — told us we’d be stopping at Vertigo Void (the location of my most criminal moment ever, a few years ago) for lunch. Which comes after another 25 – 30 miles of riding.
This is, I’m pretty sure, the best part of the ride for talking, due to the fact that it’s not particularly technical, and it’s more-or-less flat. Not to mention incredibly scenic.
And on this day, it was even more perfect for riding and talking than usual, due to the weather. For the first time I can remember, the weather on the White Rim was absolutely perfect. Warm, but not hot — maybe 71 degrees (not Celsius).
Even more importantly, there was exactly the perfect amount of wind: enough to cool you and feel good against you, but not enough to kick up the sand or slow you down.
It was wonderful.
I got to catch up with my friend Paul, who was riding his first 100 mile mountain bike ride. In fact, it was his first 100 mile bike ride, period. Or maybe I should make that period a comma, because he was doing the ride on a single speed. Impressive!
It was fun talking with him in no small part because he and I each have a kid — with similar personalities — who just finished (or is finishing) his first year of college. Which seems so odd to say.
The Hammer, meanwhile, did not get to talk much at all, because she was discovering that a singlespeed gear set up for climbing (32 x 22) is not a singlespeed gear set up for rolling on the flats. Astonishingly, though, she kept up, turning an incredibly fast cadence the whole way.
Distance?
As we rode along, looking at the immense, beautiful landscape, I occasionally wondered how many miles we had gone.
But not often.
See, I had forgotten to bring a mount for my bike computer, and so was riding without tracking any of those things I usually am pretty obsessive about (how far, how much vertical, how much time).
And I really, really liked it. It was nice, not knowing — or caring — how far along the ride was. In fact, I’d say that the ride went quicker because I didn’t know.
Lunchtime at Vertigo Void
One of the oddities of riding around the White Rim is that the average cyclist can travel faster than the average sag wagon driver.
What this means is that after all the cyclists got to Vertigo Void and had taken the requisite scary look down from the overhang, there was still about half an hour of nothing to do ’til the truck caught up to us, bringing us more water to drink and our lunches to eat.
We used this time extremely productively.
Sometimes having nothing to do for half an hour or so can feel pretty darned awesome.
Still, after a while, you kind of start hoping the truck will get there soon. You know, because you’re getting pretty hungry.
And then a joyous cry went up: the truck had been spotted! For The Hammer and me, this meant:
- Subway Sandwiches: We had bought these at the Wellington Subway (the one inside the Chevron gas station) on the way to Moab the day before. I find a Subway Club to be the perfect mid-big ride food. The trick is, when you have the sandwich made, to not have them put mayo or mustard on it, but instead to give you packets to put them on yourself when you eat.
- Macadamia Nut / White Chocolate Chip Cookies: I can’t place the exact moment these replaced the chocolate chip cookie as my favorite, but I think it was sometime in my mid-thirties. Anyway, The Hammer had brought along about thirty of them, of which I believe I ate my fair share. Approximately.
- Diet Coke: Why a no-calorie cola in the middle of a big ride? Because I was getting calories elsewhere. I wanted a Diet Coke because I really like Diet Coke. The Hammer had Mountain Dew.
I ate just enough that I felt moderately gross getting back onto the bike. As if my legs were squooshing into my belly just a bit more than they usually do.
Red-Letter Day for The IT Guy
I don’t think I’ve ever charted the elevation profile for the White Rim. This is due to the fact that the elevation profile would look a little bit ridiculous: A gradual up, a big drop, a long flat, two blips up and down, and then one big climb.
But those two blips and the big climb are pretty big deals. There’s a lot of chest-thumping rights for cleaning (i.e., riding all the way up without stopping or putting a foot down) those pitches.
And The IT Guy cleaned all of them. All three. Boom. Boom. Boom.
This is awesome on its own merits, but is especially interesting because The IT Guy has been complaining a lot that since his crash last August, he just hasn’t been able to get back into shape and didn’t think he could do the whole White Rim.
And then he cleans the big three of White Rim: Murphy’s Hogback, Hardscrabble, and Horse Thief.
Pretty impressive, but I’m going to give him only partial credit since he wussed out and started the ride at mile 30 (i.e., he skipped the easy part of the ride).
And also, I’m going to post this picture of him I took as he was complaining the night before that he just didn’t feel very strong:
PS: Tomorrow, I shall post part 3 — the conclusion — of this story. It will contain an anecdote that features me endo-ing, as well as a moment where I was a hero.
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