05.17.2010 | 11:51 am
I love it when someone takes me out on a new ride — whether it be a trail or road route close to home, or somewhere far out of town. Adding a new place to be on my bike is always great.
That said, I think there’s a good reason why, 95% (oh yes, I totally keep track my new v. old ride ratio; don’t you?) of my rides are on the same trails and roads I’ve ridden and known for years.
The fact is, the more I know a route, the more I love it.
Why? Well, the first reason is because the better I know a route, the better I am at riding it. I have a sense of how to mete out my effort. I know when I need to conserve energy on a climb because it ends in a false flat, and when to let it all hang out. I know the best, cleanest lines. I know what’s around the next corner without ever seeing it.
But the real reason I love the rides close to home is because they’re piled high with memories.
Let’s Talk
Yesterday afternoon, The Runner and I got out our mountain bikes. I admit I was giddy, because it was the first day the whole year I felt like I could wear a sleeveless jersey.
Not that I’m giddy about the prospect of sleeveless jerseys in general, mind you, but I was giddy about finally — it’s been a long winter — having a day when wearing a sleeveless jersey wasn’t an act of defiance.
“Should I bring an iPod, or are we going to be talking during this ride?” The Runner asked.
It’s a fair question. While I’m normally pretty talkative (though nowhere near as talkative as you might suspect from reading this blog), when I’m riding I often stop talking; I get absorbed in the ride.
“Leave the iPod at home,” I hazarded, not really sure I’d be able to back up that promise of being a good conversationalist.
Turns out I didn’t need to worry. I talked pretty much nonstop during the ride, just narrating things that had happened on the same route over the course of years and years of riding.
A First
As we climbed up Hog Hollow — a long, moderate dirt road that becomes narrower, steeper and more technical as you go up, I recalled that this was the first “away” mountain bike trail I had ever been on. By which I mean, up until then, the only trail I had ridden was Lower Frank, near my house in Orem.
Dug had persuaded me to come try out something different — go out to Hog Hollow, climb it, and then drop down the other side to the Sliding Rock.
Back then, none of the Corner Canyon stuff existed. In fact, back then, the whole Suncrest subdivision where Dug now lives didn’t exist, either.
I don’t remember the descent, in any case. All I remember from that ride is the climb. At the time, it just seemed impossibly steep and unbearably long. And ridiculously technical. I recall telling Dug that I needed to stop and take a break three times on that two-mile climb.
It’s strange, I thought, how your perceptions change. Now I think of the Hog Hollow climb as nothing more than a convenient on-ramp to get to the real attraction: Corner Canyon Park. It’s a good warmup, but hardly taxing, even on a single speed.
But it’s still a good memory of branching out for the first time, along with the feeling of triumph when I reached the saddle.
I could have also told The Runner about the many times the group of us would race to the top of Hog Hollow, and how I never tried to hang with the group — I was too slow. Or I could have told her about the time Jeremy filled Dug’s innertube with water for one of those races.
Another First
Being at the top of Hog Hollow really only means you get a short break before more climbing to Jacob’s Ladder.
As we get to the top of Jacob’s Ladder, I start thinking about another first — my first descent down Jacob’s Ladder.
Now, Jacob’s Ladder is about 3 parts jutting rock, 4 parts packed earth, 2 parts erosion gutters, and 6 parts pea-sized gravel. All on a sharply descending, often off-camber fin.
Yeah, it’s kind of technical. Nowadays, I love the descent. Even though I’ve crashed hard on it, I know that (almost) every time, I can fly down. The thrill’s worth the risk. (Except when it isn’t, of course.)
But it hasn’t always been that way. I remember the first time I rode Jacob’s Ladder, I was with a group of riding buddies, and as they disappeared off the front and I looked at the rocky ledges and loose sandy gravel in front of me, that I had a long walk in front of me.
And I took my time about it, too. Muttering the whole way, angry at them for showing me a trail that — eventually — I would come to love.
A Third First
A drop down Ghost Falls brought us to Clark’s, one of Corner Canyon’s main arteries. My first time up that trail was also the first time I had ever ridden a single speed. I remember Rick Sunderlage (not his real name) happily chatted (meaning that he wasn’t working hard at all on the climb) the whole way up, talking about how much he loved single speeding and how this was a perfect trail for it and wasn’t it awesome the way you had to stand and rock the bike for big chunks of the climb?
Or at least I think that’s what he was saying. I had a hard time understanding everything he said, what with the sound of blood pounding in my ears.
Meanwhile, I was wondering if Rick would be offended if I vomited on him. I certainly hoped so.
A Stunning Epiphany
And here’s the thing: just about every section of every road or trail I normally ride is like this for me now: I’ve got an anecdote for pretty much every little bit of everywhere I ride.
Which means, I suppose, I’m becoming (have become) that old guy on the group ride. You know, the one who’s always going on and on about the good ol’ days.
I shall now punch myself in the throat.
Comments (38)
05.13.2010 | 10:38 am
A Final 100-Miles-of-Nowhere Note from Fatty: Thank you again to everyone who sent in your 100 Miles of Nowhere Race Reports. I posted several of them, and read all of them. And I have a few observations to make now:
- My readers are more interesting than I am. You all took a silly idea — ride 100 miles on my rollers, by myself, in the dead of night, to show that I am bullheaded — and have turned it into an awesome event in interesting places, raising money for an important cause, and having fun in the process. I love the way you have taken this incredibly dull thing and made it rock.
- My readers have great support. I noticed that many, many of the stories had two important components: a person who did the actual riding, and family members who supported, awarded, promoted, and rode with the rider. I found it incredibly touching to see that so many of you have families who are willing to get behind your endeavors — no matter how twisted they might seem.
- This is definitely going to be an annual Spring tradition. Until I read your writeups, I was thinking that I ought to move this event to the dead of winter, when going nowhere for 100 miles on rollers wouldn’t seem so criminal. Now, however, I see that the 100 Miles of Nowhere is becoming a primarily outdoors event, and I like it. So we’re going to keep it in May.
- You people inspire me. My own 100 Miles of Nowhere was a bland affair compared to most of the reports I got — me, The Runner, and The IT Guy spinning in the basement, watching Season 2 of Dexter. Staring at the screen and watching the miles tick over. Next year, I’m going to step up my game.
- You people motivate me. Reading your reports and feeding on your enthusiasm has made me want to work harder in the fight against cancer. Watch for more on this very very soon.
I’m (Not) Too Sexy for My Shirt
From time to time, I talk about being a beloved, award winning, hall-of-fame superstar blogging celebrity. But we all know that I’m being ironic, right? Because after all, Internet fame is not like real fame.
And cycling blog fame is not even like Internet fame.
So I’m maybe step-famous, twice removed.
But some strange stuff is going to be happening to me in the next couple of weeks. First off, tomorrow night I am going to be in a fashion show. As a model.
For crying out loud.
Specifically, I will be one of the models at the Cycle and Style Show at the Gallivan Center in SLC, tomorrow night. I will model a couple of different bike outfits, and apparently a couple of different bikes.
I’ll be photographed and everything.
I’m trying to generate some enthusiasm for my catwalk debut, but the reality is I’m mostly experiencing pure dread. My dread stems from the following:
- I am middle-aged.
- I am paunchy.
- I have no modeling experience at all.
- I am not what you would call “good looking” by model standards. Or by any other standards. I am short, my face works asymmetrically, and my eyes are droopy. In short, I am not good looking.
So this should be a lot of fun for me. I’ll report on my experience Monday. Probably with photos.
Unless, of course, my humiliation is severe enough that I choose to instead change my name and move to Australia.
I Am Going to California
Thanks to FatCyclist.com readers, Team RadioShack, and Johan Bruyneel, I’ll be flying to California next weekend to ride with Johan during the Tour of California TT on Saturday.
It’s been five months, and I’m still having a hard time wrapping my mind around that fact.
What’s really cool, though, is that Amgen’s Breakaway from Cancer initiative is so closely tied to the Tour of California. They’re doing some great things in supporting those who are affected by cancer, and I’m looking forward to learning more and helping them in their quest.
And you may want to check back here next week to see a kinda cool (cough cough) way you might want to join me. (Hint: “Kinda cool” is a little bit of a severe understatement.)
Comments (66)
05.12.2010 | 5:29 pm
A Note from Fatty: Let’s end this deluge of 100 Miles of Nowhere stories with one from Team CarboRocket. And be sure to read Mary’s bio. She’s awesome. And while you’re at it, check out the Team CarboRocket blog in general. Many of them participated in the 100 Miles of Nowhere, which makes them the coolest cycling team in the world.
“Hi Sammy!” Lisa called out every time we rode by the headless snake in the gutter.
She named him after about the 10th time we rode past him on our 33.5 times around a 3-mile loop in Surprise, AZ. Team CarboRocket of Arizona won the “Team CarboRocket AZ” division, starting early in the morning and finishing early in the afternoon.
We battled wind gusts, heat, one bee swarm, muscle cramps, and climbed over 1000 feet in 100 miles to nowhere. Mountains and farm fields and newly minted subdivisions framed our ride around the box.
Enthusiastic neighbors rode one lap with us rocking the flip-flop-beach-cruiser style; a triathlete lasted about 8 laps. In our final mile, we raced the neighborhood bmx gang.
CarboRocket fueled successful team bonding, and we hatched hillarious plans for Team CarboRocket bootcamp and bbq.
– Mary, Team CarboRocket
Comments (6)
05.12.2010 | 5:00 pm
I am so proud of my husband! He joined Fatty’s team and did the 100 Miles of Nowhere ride!
We raised $180 in cash donations, plus what was donated online, which last I heard was up around $175. The generosity of friends, family, and coworkers amazes me. Thank you to everyone who gave generously!
Unfortunately he was only able to complete 56 miles of the ride due to technical difficulties, but I am proud of him nonetheless. I was able to be there and support him, which was fun, but now I’m as red as a cooked lobster from sunburn.
I loved Tommy’s water balloon idea where for a donation, his coworkers could throw a water balloon at him as he rode by.
That was how we were able to raise so much in cash donations, and it was so much fun for everyone.
– Erin
Comments (6)
05.12.2010 | 4:01 pm
100 miles of nowhere was my first century ride. The day for me was both amazing and sad.
My friends (who are much more accomplished cyclists than I) and I chose a 13.75 mile loop to ride 7 times. The day was incredibly windy, with 25-30 MPH winds coming from the NW. My friends took turns providing me with a wind break on the windy side of the ride. I learned that day that I have the best friends anyone can have.
A lot of my friends wanted to quit, at one point we came up with a scheme to stop at the bowling alley and bowling the rest of the century, counting a frame as a mile. But 4 of us persevered and finished the ride.
The day was sad because I found out halfway through the ride that my grandmother died. After I heard the news I rode a lap completely numb. I didn’t know if I should keep going or if I should stop and go spend time with my family. I decided to keep going.
I don’t know if I made the right choice or the wrong choice, but I think I made the choice she would have wanted me to make.
I will never forget this day.
– Stephanie M
PS from Fatty: Want something a little lighter? Read here to see how Stephanie R. did her 100 Miles of Nowhere Tour de France style: in stages.
Comments (5)
