A Note from Fatty About the Contest Winners: Congratulations to the big winners of the contest from last week!
Roger L, the winner of the custom-painted “FattyFly,” is yet another bike winner from New Jersey. I do not know why New Jersey-ites keep winning bikes. Maybe they are more likely as a populace to donate, and so the probability of their winning is higher? This photo is of Roger, evidently about to clear the water crossing. Roger says, however, “what you don’t see is me trying to dab a second after this photo is taken. Instead, my clipless pedals won’t let me out and I end up going for a swim. Those photos mysteriously vanished from the camera — the camera must have gotten wet. My trusty Gary Fisher Sugar let me down, maybe 29″ wheels would have been the trick.” Roger’s now faced with a conundrum: get the orange version of the FattyFly, or the pink? If it were my bike and I were choosing the colors, I’d go with the orange, but that’s just me. Feel free to help Roger out by weighing in on this very difficult choice in the comments. I’m sure he’ll take your advice under advisement.
David H, the winner of the Team RadioShack-autographed Trek Madone, is from Missouri. David’s bike is already on the way to him; he’ll have it in a few days. I have lost track of how many times people have said to me, “He sure as heck better not be planning to ride that thing.” Because, yeah, it’s definitely a collector’s item. David reports that “I’m a cyclocross fanatic and am a huge Richard Sachs and Jonathon Page fan.” And further, that he has “been riding and racing for 10 years and am the fastest 42 year old that lives on my street.”
Andrea S, the winner of the trip to see the Tour de France,is also from Missouri– but she doesn’t yet know she has won! You see, Andrea did not provide a phone number when she donated, and the email address she entered does not work. So, if you’re named Andrea S, and you donated, and you’re from Missouri, email me and prove to me you are therightAndrea by telling me your full name and address. And give me a phone number I can call, for pity’s sake.Update: Andrea has now checked in, and I have her contact info. Congratulations, Andrea!
Again, thanks to everyone who donated — with more than 3700 people donating reasonably small amounts of money — an average of around $35 — we were able to raise a huge — $135,000 — amount of money in a ridiculously short period of time. I can’t even begin to tell you how proud I am of my readers, who are evidently the most generous people in the world.
And now, onto the story.
Riding With The Shack, Part I – The Night Before the Ride
I could tell this was not going to be an ordinary trip before we even made it to baggage claim. (I say “we,” because as a beloved and increasingly famous and important cycling blog megastar, I deemed it necessary to bring along an assistant. The Runner would be acting in that capacity, though she was quite clear that her real reason for coming along was to accomplish one of her life objectives: to lick one of Lance Armstrong’s calves.)
You see, there was a guy — Glenn, of Capital Sports Entertainment — waiting there for us. And a cameraman (Daniel). They had a sign and everything.
(All photos from today’s post taken by Glenn Kasin, who is a great photographer as well as logistics guy and babysitter of award-winning superstar megabloggers)
We drove to the resort, talking the whole way. I of course had two very big questions on my mind:
What is the big surprise Johan has in mind for me?
What kind of ride was in store for me tomorrow?
They gave me no satisfaction — not even a hint — on the first question. For the second question, they did give me a hint: “Do you like lemons?”
A few years ago, that would not have been a very good hint. But that was then. Nowadays, it’s plenty. I got out my phone, went to the browser app, and did a search on “tucson lemon.” Within seconds, I knew that it’s actually Mount Lemmon (two “m’s”), which is both beautiful, and a monster of a climb.
We arrived at the parking lot, and while we were pulling out luggage, the second thing happened that made me realize this was going to be no ordinary trip: Johan Bruyneel — Director of Team RadioShack — walked up, shook my hand…and then gave me a big hug.
We talked for about ten minutes — him completely calm, me a stuttering swooning goofball.
I had just met Johan Bruyneel. Seriously. Furthermore, he told me that I hadn’t needed to bring a bike with me after all. They had decided to give me a bike to ride. “You mean loan, right?” I asked.
“No, this is for you to keep,” said Johan, offhandedly.
At which point I began to stutter, but I choose not to replicate that here.
“Seriously? Another one? This must be the big surprise you were talking about, right?”
“No, you’ll learn what that is tomorrow,” said Johan. He was enjoying this.
And so was I.
Dinner
I checked into my room — an extremely nice room, I should say; substantially nicer than a Motel 6, for example — and headed downstairs, where Johan waved me over to join him at his table.
Dinner was buffet style: pasta with marinara sauce, chicken, potatoes, salad. Exactly what you’d expect. We started eating before most of the team had arrived — dinner was buffet style.
Viatcheslav Ekimov — “Eki” — was sitting a couple tables away. “Do you know who Eki is?” asked Johan.
Well, yeah.
“Eki, this is Fatty,” Johan called out.
“Hey, Fatty,” waved Eki.
“How’s it going, Eki?” I shouted back, not really knowing what else to say at that moment.
Surreal.
I got down to serious journalism, then, and asked Johan, “So, do any of your riders get fat during the winter?”
“Oh yes,” said Johan. “That’s one of the reasons we have these training camps, so the riders can see each other and put pressure on the ones who have gained weight.”
“Really?” I asked. “These skinny guys?”
“Some of them put on several kilos during the winter,” replied Johan. “In fact…” He began to point, and then thought better of it.
Somehow, I find it comforting that pro cyclists put on winter flub, too.
And then Lance came in. He waved and yelled, “Hey Fatty!”
As usual, I demonstrated my total suaveness, and said, “Thanks for being here.”
“Well, thanks for having me,” replied Lance, clearly curious as to exactly what kind of drugs I was on.
Yes, that is The Runner sitting beside me in that photo. Caught off-guard by his unexpected appearance, she did not at that moment ask Lance if she could lick one of his calves.
Around then, Levi Leipheimer and Chris Horner came in too, sat down, and began eating.
It took a while, but I screwed up my courage and went over to talk to them.
It turns out that I really hadn’t needed to worry, because right as I got there, Levi looked up and said, “I am so sick of pasta marinara and potatoes.”
“Yeah,” replied Chris, “But the giant cookies they have here never get old.”
You don’t get quotes like that reading VeloNews, folks.
By the way, Brad, you owe me $50 for wearing your shirt (Brad outbid Bike Snob NYC by $5.00)
After dinner, as I was heading back to my room, Lance hopped (not literally) into the elevator I was taking up. “You know we’re riding Mount Lemmon tomorrow, right?” he asked.
“Someone mentioned that, yes,” I replied. “Is that good or bad?”
“It’s a 25-mile climb,” said Lance. “And 6,000 feet of gain.” The elevator was at his floor now. Lance looked over as he got off.
It’s been a whirlwind of a weekend, and I am beat. But I want to put up a couple photos and give the bare-bones highlights.
First, I saw the Madone, signed by Team RadioShack. It’s a thing of beauty. Here are a couple photos:
Next, I got a big surprise — Trek and Johan decided that they wanted me to have a Madone as well. Not to borrow. To keep.
Yeah.
Check out my big goofy grin.
Prior to the ride, I gave giant checks to Lance — for the money we raised for LiveStrong — and to Johan — for the money we raised for World Bicycle Relief.
The ride was — intense. I had a ball riding with the pros, until they sent each other a mental signal to one another to drop me.
Check me out. Riding with Lance.
I’m pretty sure he’s checking out my quads.
And then, after the ride, Johan announced the big surprise he mentioned in his video to us.
That’s right, the big surprise wasn’t the Madone.
The big surprise is…they’re going to fly my family and me out to see a stage of the Tour of California, and I’m going to get to ride in the team car.
Here’s Johan and Lance telling me about this, shortly before my jaw hit the floor.
I have lots and lots of story to tell and even some video to show. I’m going to start working on that tonight.
Assuming I don’t sleep through the afternoon, night, and into tomorrow morning.
First off, I want to reiterate (as in, copy and paste) my thank-you I wrote last night when we crossed the outrageous goal of raising $100,000 — in less than three days (I started Sunday at noon, we hit $100,000 on Tuesday at 8:10 PM).
A HUGE “thank you” goes out to Johan for putting together an outrageous challenge — one so insane I just couldn’t say no.
An even HUGER “thank you” goes out to Team Fatty — by which I mean anyone who donated — for proving, once again, how incredibly generous people can be.
Also, big thanks to Trek for providing the Madone, to Gary Fisher Bikes for providing the FattyFly, to Nick Howe for providing the cool bonus-prize jerseys, and to Trek Travel for providing the Tour de France trip.
This has been the nuttiest contest I’ve ever done, and all the more awesome because it totally fell from the sky.
And now I get to spend the weekend in Arizona, riding with Team RadioShack. And — even more exciting — I get to give away two incredible bikes and the trip of a lifetime.
Sometimes, it’s good to be Fatty.
I understand that sometime today, Johan Bruyneel is going to post a video “thank you” of his own to Team Fatty. When he does, I’ll either embed (if I can) it here, or link to it.
I have to say, I am really, really looking forward to meeting Johan. In addition his being an accomplished person, he’s clearly got a sense of humor and a big heart. And an enormous cleft in his chin.
On the other hand, I am also a little bit concerned.
You see, this morning when I woke up, there was a very disconcerting email message in my inbox. It was marked with the “triple high priority” designation — three exclamation points — which I had not even known exists.
After reading this email, I am no longer at all certain I should even go to Tucson. I just don’t know.
I hereby submit this email for your consideration.
From: Lance Armstrong ([redacted]@[redacted].[redacted]) Sent: Tuesday, December 15, 2009 To: fatty@fatcyclist.com
SUBJECT: DO NOT COME TO TUCSON. PLEASE. I AM BEGGING YOU.
Dear Fat Cyclist,
As you receive this, I know you are excited to come to Tucson and ride with Team RadioShack. You have earned this right, and if there were any other option at all, I would not contact you with this request.
But I have no other choice.
You may wonder, Fatty, how this message is arriving to you from the future. Well, without giving away too much, it’s not as hard to send email to the past as you might think, and I did it by rigging a Pomegranate Raspberry Michelob Ultra to a USB cable (between you and me, the only thing it is actually good for), uploading the email in question to a memory stick, connecting that stick to one end of the USB cable, and then connecting the other end to the input port of any programmable RadioShack radio-controlled device (a car works best), and then propelling that device backward at maximum speed.
Also, nineteen inches of duct tape is involved. I’ll say no more.
Anyway, I — along with most of the rest of the team — have just returned from the hospital and am composing this message to you in the hopes you will do the honorable thing and, for the love of all that’s good in the world, STAY HOME.
I will explain.
Your weekend at the training camp started off well enough. You were clearly nervous when you met all of us, and you might have made a better (ie, less awkward) first impression if you had not tried to hug each and every single rider.
There was a bit of a scuffle when you got to Levi Leipheimer and Viatcheslav Ekimov, though. I guess neither of them have forgotten or forgiven the post you wrote a couple years ago where you made fun of Ekimov’s Mullet and gave Levi a new hairstyle (shown below, just to remind you).
As you went to give Levi a hug, Levi instead spun you around into a full Nelson, which seemed fitting. Eki then began punching you repeatedly in the stomach. This might have been a more successful plan if Eki had any mass at all in his arms, and if Levi weighed more than 84 pounds.
To Levi’s surprise, you dropped to a crouch, bringing him with you, and then sprung backward, flying nine feet through the air (your quads are impressive, by the way), and landing with your (considerable) full weight and momentum on Levi. Which — naturally — crushed him, leaving few if any bones unbroken.
Levi hopes to walk again about the time the Tour of California starts. Nice work, Fatty.
Dinner hardly went any better. Unaware of your super power, the chef did not lock the door to the kitchen. So, imagine our surprise when we arrived at the dining room and found an empty table. You had evidently arrived first, and had brought an appetite.
All that was left were some brussel sprouts (which remained uneaten, because nobody in the world likes brussel sprouts) and the team chef, who was cowering in the corner of his kitchen, weeping.
Two days later, he remains unable to speak, and screams in his sleep. What kind of monster are you, Fatty?
We should have paid attention, should have seen these events for what they were: harbingers of the horror to follow the next day.
We began the ride, and everyone on the team quickly realized you are a danger to yourself and all those around you. As you swiveled your head around this way and that — trying to get lots of good shots with your helmetcam I suppose — you were simultaneously reaching into your jersey for the next picture. Meanwhile you’d be going on and on about how much you’d like a ham sandwich right about now, and would anyone else like a sandwich, and would we all perhaps be interested in turning around and stopping for just a few minutes at the Quizno’s we just passed?
You, Fatty, are a chatterbox. A gluttonous, non-line-holding, erratic pedaling chatterbox.
But we expected that.
What we did not expect, Fatty, was when — while we were still riding — you pulled out an extra-fat Sharpie pen. I remember rolling my eyes, thinking, “Oh, great, he wants another autograph.” But I was wrong. You didn’t want an autograph, you wanted to make some on-the-fly edits to the new Team RadioShack jersey. “This will only take a sec,” you said, trying your best to modify the RadioShack logo to look like your Clydesdale logo. “And it will be a huge improvement.”
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
Having had enough, I surged forward, intending to drop you fast and hard. To my surprise, your reflexes were surprisingly quick, and you flung an arm out, hoping, I suppose, to grab my jersey or something.
Instead, you tossed your Sharpie, which — through some anti-miracle of physics — landed right between two spokes in my front wheel.
I flew like an angel. Briefly.
I landed in a crumpled heap just ahead of you, putting me in perfect postion for me to cushion your fall as you braked hard, got sideways, and high-sided right onto the top of me. Glad I could be of service, Fatty.
After that, the domino effect went into high gear.
Zubeldia crashed into the tangled mess that was us. Rubiera landed on the quickly-growing pile, and then Popovych endoed onto the top, earning him ten “king of the mountain” points.
Kloden skidded sharply and avoided us, but shot into a ravine. Leipheimer — riding despite being in a full body cast — followed his wheel and landed on Kloden, which did not injure Kloden at all.
From there, the pileup just grew and grew. Eventually, emergency vehicles were called, and — I believe this was a first — the Jaws of Life were employed to extricate us.
I am not certain, but I believe this is the first time an entire cycling team has been sidelined before the team jerseys were even finalized.
So again, Fatty, let me ask you. No, let me beg you. Please, stay home. For your sake. For the team’s sake. For my sake.
Regards,
Lance Armstrong
PS: Chris Horner also crashed at the same time, but it was apparently unrelated to this incident.
Of course, this is all ridiculous. None of this sounds anything at all like me. I’m sure everything will go perfect this weekend.
PS: I was interviewed on Bicycle Radio last night. If you want to listen to it, go to this page and listen to the 12-08-09 edition of “Escape the Peloton.” My interview begins about 43 minutes into the program.
A Note from Fatty:Meet Ted A, today’s Team Fatty Movember Model. I like this photo not only for the Mo Ted’s got started, but for the clues to his life he’s helpfully provided in the background. For example, the toolbox. And the beer. And the flowery curtains.
Says Ted, “Here’s the beginning of what promises to be an eye-popping marvel of bristly goodness.”
Indeed.
Fiscal 2010 Fall Moab, Fruita Edition: The Video
I love having a helmetcam. My VIO POV 1 makes it easy to get record hour upon hour of video (Disclosure: I have no relationship at all with VIO, and bought my VIO POV 1 on amazon.com, getting no special discount for it). I was tired of using the BMX brain bucket I bought as my first helmetcam mount, though, and last week bought a new helmet for the purpose.
Unfortunately, the positioning of the lens still needs a little tweaking. I can see that now. It points up a little too high, making it so it films too much sky. Which washes out a lot of the shots.
Still, I like this video. Especially since people seem to have become so used to the camera on my head they no longer think about it.
Leaving them free to dance in the parking lot without concern of whether it’s going to make the reel.
Yeah, it made the reel.
PS: This video surprised me in one way. I really, truly, and honestly remember there being a rock wall to my left when I crashed, but the video shows very clearly that there was actually no cliff to my left at all — the rock I hit with the left side of my handlebar was free-standing. It’s funny how inaccurate memory can be.
PPS: For those using iPhones or other non-Vimeo-using-browsers, I also uploaded a version of the video to Youtube, which you can see here — at least, until they pull it or strip the soundtrack.
PPPS:KanyonKris has made a good video too, with lots of footage from the first day’s ride, before I got there. See it here.
Yesterday, I should have had a video to post. Really, I should have. But here’s the problem: I let my helmetcam record, mostly nonstop, for most of two big, beautiful rides. I let it record until the 8Gb card was full.
Which is to say, I recorded around six hours of video.
That’s a lot to sift through.
And then there’s the problem that whenever I start trying to extract chunks of video, I wind up just letting the video play and play, reliving the ride instead of editing it.
All of the above is my list of excuses for why:
I did not post a video yesterday.
I did not post anything at all yesterday.
I still do not have a video to post today.
So, today a description of the weekend. Tomorrow — hopefully — a video.
Adapting
I love certain traditions, and don’t like to see them change. For example, I go to Leadville every year for the Leadville 100, and I always try to get the same room at the same hotel. And go to the same restaurants. And do the same ride the day before the race. And catch up with the same people.
Fall Moab is like that, too. It’s the Core Team going to Moab sometime around the beginning of November. We ride Slickrock, Gold Bar Rim, Amasa Back, and Porcupine Rim. We spend a lot of time in one place, taking turns working on technical moves.
It’s a great formula. Why would you want to monkey with it?
Well, we started changing the formula when we all fell in love with Gooseberry Mesa (and surrounding trails), near St. George, Utah. To suit our collective craving for this incredible network, we decided that “Fall Moab” was a description of an event that centered around the Core Team getting together to ride in the Fall, not necessarily a description of location.
In other words, Fall Moab could be in St. George.
And if in St. George, why not elsewhere? Like Fruita, Colorado, for example?
And the fact that I have family in Grand Junction (which is next door to Fruita) made Fall Moab in Fruita very attractive. I could drive the girls down to Grand Junction (the boys are too teenagery to want to go), leave them with Kellene (thanks, Kellene!) for the weekend, and — abracadabra — I’ve got a weekend with the guys.
Camping
It used to be that we always got hotel rooms for Fall Moab. Then, a few years ago, we tried camping. And it’s been camping ever since. Now, I’ve been accused of not liking camping, but that’s just not true. I love camping. It’s just the trying-to-sleep-on-a-cot-in-a-cold-sleeping-bag part that has been a problem for me in the past.
As I’ve mentioned previously, however, that is no longer a problem. Thanks to the miracle of Ambien. Seriously, that stuff is magical. 5 milligrams and a cold sleeping bag turns into a warm, fluffy bed with lullabies playing softly in the background.
And since sitting around a fire, listening to stories (believe it or not, I primarily listen — I’m not much of a storyteller in person) is likely the most time-tested form of entertainment there is, I think I’m safe in saying that people are hardwired to enjoy it.
Really, the only way it can be better — and more primal — is if you’re eating a lot of meat while you’re sitting around the campfire.
Which brings me to bratwurst.
My Favorite Tradition of All
I love good bratwurst — and by “good bratwurst,” I mean “any bratwurst, properly prepared.” And you know what? I love preparing bratwurst.
I was looking forward to brats — both the preparing and eating — so much, in fact, that I skipped the second ride of the day, instead preferring to go to the store to buy everything I needed to make the brats: bratwurst, a pot and tongs (I forgot to bring my own this time), beer, a couple onions, Gulden’s spicy brown, mayo, and a bottle of worcestershire sauce.
It’s a small shopping list for such an incredible meal.
Then, I love opening and pouring — in rapid succession — 12 cans of beer into a pot. Love the smell of brats boiling in a stew of beer, onion, and worcestershire sauce. Love the way they darken on the grill, gathering the smoky taste and crisp skin.
But of course, I mostly love how a brat tastes, served with Gulden’s spicy brown mustard (and for me, mayo, which I understand is a minor sacrilege) on a slice of Kenny’s homemade bread. Everyone sits around the fire, eating and talking. It’s mellow and perfect.
And with 40 brats made for 15 people, running out is unlikely.
I tell you what: The post-ride brats feast was my favorite part of the trip this time.
Two Bikes, One Crash
I brought two bikes with me this trip — my Waltworks SingleSpeed, and my geared Gary Fisher Superfly. The Superfly was an afterthought. Just a “Well, I’ve got room for the bike, why not bring it?” kind of thing.
I was glad I did, though. Because during the first ride on Saturday (I missed the Friday rides because I didn’t want to head out ’til my kids were out of school) — Gunny’s Loop and Holy Cross — I crashed my Waltworks pretty thoroughly.
Specifically, on a very tight section of singletrack with a rock wall on one side and exposure on the right, I hit my left handlebar grip on a rock that was jutting out. This of course wrenched my wheel left and I hit the cliff wall. Then, following the “equal and opposite reaction” principle, I bounced and fell right.
I landed on a ledge to the right of the trail, while my bike continued on down to the next ledge, about five or six feet below. I banged myself up about as much as you’d expect: scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious.
My bike, on the other hand, needed some work. The front wheel was seriously out of true (not a horrible problem since I’m using disc brakes), and the saddle is destroyed. Also, the splines on the rear hub hesitated for about 3/4 a turn of the cranks before catching.
If I’d brought only one bike, it would have meant hours of work — work that I don’t know how to do, frankly. As is, however, it meant that I rode tentatively for the rest of the ride (for whatever reason, after I crash, I am simply unable to get back into the spirit of aggressive riding for the rest of the ride), and then swapped bikes.
A delicious luxury.
The Trail
Another way this edition of Fall Moab differed from previous iterations is the way we rode. Which is to say, these trails were new to most of us, and so we didn’t feel so much of a need to try to find unusual or oddball “moves” to make them fun. The first time you ride a trail, it’s nice to just experience its flow.
And the trails we rode had excellent flow. High desert singletrack, with rocks and ledges to make the course interesting and challenging.
Which brings up a crucial mountain biker’s dilemma: which is objectively the best surface for mountain biking: high desert singletrack, or forested mountain singletrack?
I have a sense that the answer is, “Whichever you happen to be on right that moment.”
What a weekend. I declare 2010 (Fiscal) Fall Moab (in Fruita) a success.
PS: Everyone in the group agreed: my brother-in-law Rocky (Kellene’s husband) was the ultimate tour guide, selecting cream-of-the-cream-of-the crop rides for us on this trip. Thanks, Rocky!
PPS: If you’re with Team Fatty for Movember, why don’t you email me a photo of how your mo is going? I think I’ll start posting a “mo of the day” with each post.
Roger L, the winner of the custom-painted “FattyFly,” is yet another bike winner from New Jersey . I do not know why New Jersey-ites keep winning bikes. Maybe they are more likely as a populace to donate, and so the probability of their winning is higher? This photo is of Roger, evidently about to clear the water crossing. Roger says, however, “what you don’t see is me trying to dab a second after this photo is taken. Instead, my clipless pedals won’t let me out and I end up going for a swim. Those photos mysteriously vanished from the camera — the camera must have gotten wet. My trusty Gary Fisher Sugar let me down, maybe 29″ wheels would have been the trick.” Roger’s now faced with a conundrum: get the orange version of the FattyFly, or the pink? If it were my bike and I were choosing the colors, I’d go with the orange, but that’s just me. Feel free to help Roger out by weighing in on this very difficult choice in the comments. I’m sure he’ll take your advice under advisement.
David H, the winner of the Team RadioShack-autographed Trek Madone , is from Missouri. David’s bike is already on the way to him; he’ll have it in a few days. I have lost track of how many times people have said to me, “He sure as heck better not be planning to ride that thing.” Because, yeah, it’s definitely a collector’s item. David reports that “I’m a cyclocross fanatic and am a huge Richard Sachs and Jonathon Page fan.” And further, that he has “been riding and racing for 10 years and am the fastest 42 year old that lives on my street.”
