01.4.2010 | 9:28 am
Every New Year’s Day, Kenny has a group ride — a mountain bike ride on the snow up to the top of Squaw Peak. It’s a four mile climb, and usually rideable, since it’s a popular route for snowmobilers.
But there were two problems with this tradition this year. First, Squaw Peak is not rideable right now. Even Kenny couldn’t make it more than a few feet past the first mile.
And the second problem was even more dire: I was not in town on New Year’s Day. So, naturally, I asked Kenny to shift his tradition to a day later.
To my amazement, he complied. Evidently, my superpower of asking people to do stuff for me and having them say “yes” is even more powerful than I thought.
And so, on January 2, a dozen of us rode our mountain bikes to the Hot Pots — a naturally-occurring hot tub — on the Diamond Fork Trail.
Part 1 of The Ride: The Sucky Part
The ride to the Hot Pots — which, to be clear, are nothing at all like Hot Pockets — can be divided into two parts: The part that sucked, and the part that didn’t.
The first part was the part that sucked.
Kenny had assured us that the snow covering the moderately-uphill dirt road had been packed down by snowmobilers and ATVs. I would dispute that assertion, and propose the counter assertion that the snow was the consistency of cream cheese frosting.
I would ride, on average, about nine feet, before finding my bike steered against my will in a random direction. Then, in another nine feet, I would find myself off the side of the road, in soft, fluffy powder up to my eyeballs.
Also, I had overdressed.
Here’s me, right at the beginning of the ride, suited up in my shorts, tights, base layer, long-sleeve jersey, jacket, wool hat, and snowboarder’s gloves.
In my mouth, in case you’re curious, is the handwarmer I was about to insert into my glove.
Now, compare and contrast my clothing choice with Heather’s:
Yes, she is wearing a little black dress. Her armwarmers go stunningly with that getup, wouldn’t you agree?
I laughed at her insanity…until about ten minutes into the ride, at which point I was peeling off layer after layer of soaked-in-sweat clothes. Riding in cream cheese frosting is hard work, after all.
Fortunately, Steve was along for the group ride, and had brought a bike outfitted with an Xtracycle, having made himself the designated Hot Pots Beverage Mule:
Steve was kind enough to take on all my extra clothes stuff. Of which there was a lot.
Part 2 of the Ride: The Not-Sucky Part
As I churned up the road toward the singletrack trailhead, I dreaded what was ahead. Certainly, in the absence of ATVs and snowmobiles to pack the snow down, it would be even worse, right?
Wrong.
The Hot Pots are a popular destination, and most people get there on foot. As a result, the singletrack was packed and relatively easy to ride.
If you squint, you can see the singletrack on the right side of the river. It’s nice and rideable. Trust me.
You know what the best thing about riding on deep snowy singletrack is, though? When you fall over on your side, it feels awesome. Like falling into a cloud, except you don’t then continue falling and eventually hit the earth with a splat.
So I guess it’s not really like falling into a cloud at all. Maybe it’s more like falling into really soft snow.
Yes, I think that metaphor works nicely.
The Hot Pots
I’ve always enjoyed Kenny’s New Year’s Squaw Peak climbs, but I’ve never really enjoyed the destination. You get to the top of Squaw Peak, hot from the climb, and then you’re hit by the wind as you try to talk with the group.
Before long, you’re freezing cold and just want to get down from there.
Social interactions are therefore limited.
By making the ride’s destination the Hot Pots, on the other hand, we quite literally stayed for hours, talking, eating and drinking.
When you get too hot, you jump into the cold water — by which I mean snow runoff-cold — for a moment.
It feels wonderful.
Eventually, I got pruny and cold and had to seriously consider the probability that I was going to be riding home in the dark. So I climbed out of the water to put my wet clothes back on.
And then I had to stop and stand, bent over — and still wearing nothing but my shorts — for a while. I was totally lightheaded and getting tunnel vision, and wouldn’t have been surprised to have keeled back over into the water.
In a few minutes, though, I cleared up and got dressed, at which point I was — for the katrillionth time in my life — left to ponder the miracle of wool. It’s soaked and cold, having hung out in the near-freezing air for hours. You put it on, and it warms you up.
I need to buy more Smartwool base layer clothing for Winter riding. That is the best stuff there has ever been (Full disclosure: I have never been given any free stuff by Smartwool, have no relationship with them and have always either bought it myself through retail channels or sometimes been given it as a gift from friends and family).
Oh, here’s one more picture of Kenny lounging in the Hot Pots. For the ladies.
Yeah, he’s looking at you.
The Shame and the Resolution
During the ride to the Hot Pots, I ran across a number of people who asked how far it was ’til the Hot Pots.
I had to admit: I had never been there.
Yes, that’s right. There’s a mountain bike trail — about forty minutes from my house — leading to a natural hot-springs soaking pool, and I had never ridden there before.
I’m just stupid. That’s all there is to it.
And the thing is, the Diamond Fork trail is just a single example of my problem, which is: there is so much excellent riding to be had starting from my home that I tend to ride the same trails over and over.
I’ve never mountain biked in Payson off the Nebo Loop. I’ve hardly explored the riding outside Salt Lake at all.
To be honest, I haven’t been anywhere near as adventurous in discovering the incredible variety of bike rides around here as I should have been.
I’ve been a comfort zone rider.
Which leads me to my New Year’s Resolution: This year, I am going to leave my comfort zone. I am going to find new stuff — both road and mountain — that I haven’t ridden, and I’m going to explore it.
And I’m not going to limit this resolution to riding, either. In some ways, I’ve been coasting — sure, I’ve had my reasons, but still — for a long time.
2010 is the year I’m going to take some risks.
Comments (68)
01.3.2010 | 9:44 pm
I have just returned from what can be reasonably and honestly called a whirlwind vacation in New York, flying out the day after Christmas, and returning New Year’s day.
I did not go alone.
I took my four kids. And The Runner. And two of her kids (hereafter known as The Swimmer and The IT Guy). And we met two of my sisters — Lori and Jodi, both of whom live in Brooklyn — and their families there. Bringing the crew to 15.
As I may have mentioned, I was not alone.
In just under a week, we saw Wicked on Broadway, ate NY-style pizza in NY (a few times), had bagels for breakfast, eating them in a Brooklyn city park, rode the carousel in Central Park, went for a run in the bitter cold around Prospect Park in Brooklyn, went on another run over the Manhattan Bridge, through China Town, and back over the Brooklyn Bridge, saw the Tim Burton exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, rode the Staten Island Ferry at night to see the skyline and the Statue of Liberty, bought new wardrobes for the twins, saw the Cirque du Soleil, ate brunch at Bubby’s in the DUMBO (Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass, I think) neighborhood, saw Mary Poppins on Broadway, fought through an incredible sea of humanity in Times Square the night before New Years’ eve (hence convincing us not to come back on the actual New Years’ Eve), ate at Smiler’s, checked out Lori’s art studio, went to the Sony Wonderlab, and saw New Years’ fireworks from the roof of a Brooklyn apartment building.
That, by the way, is not an exhaustive list. Though by the time we flew home we were definitely exhausted.
We also, for example, rode the subway — a lot. To entertain ourselves on the ride, we sometimes had face-making contests.
Uh, yeah. I won.
Some of us — The Runner and her kids, my boys and me — also saw the Phantom of the Opera on Broadway.
From left to right: The Runner, The Phantom, The Swimmer, The IT Guy.
It is a matter of some dispute between The Runner and me as to how much time I spent sleeping during The Phantom. I maintain that during the scene where the heroine sings in the graveyard I got the main point of the song — that she was sad — pretty quickly, and just nodded off for a moment.
The Runner asserts there is no way I can know for sure how long I was asleep and that it certainly seemed like more than “a moment” to her.
Let’s just say that I fell asleep for a short period of time during what was The Runner’s very favorite part of the entire trip, and leave it at that, shall we?
Please?
The Most Important Part of the Trip
While I often — okay, very often — like to point out my status as a very important and beloved cycling comedy megablogger, I have to admit that there is another cycling comedy blogger who has, somehow, reached what was previously thought unattainable: mega-superstar status.
Bike Snob NYC.
What you may not know is that he and I are actually the same person.
No, wait. That rumor’s not true, although I hereby grant you permission to spread it around as if it were.
Actually, BSNYC (as his close friends call him) and I met at a bar in Brooklyn, where we talked for a good long time.
Unfortunately, I cannot for the life of me remember what it was we talked about. Between his extremely heavy Armenian accent and the fact that he speaks in nothing but heroic couplets, I was seriously distracted.
Doing my best to break through the language and linguistic barrier, I took notes. General topics of conversation included:
- How awesome we each are (very).
- Racing the Leadville 100 (he’s interested in giving it a try someday).
- Travel time to get to really excellent singletrack (me: four minutes; him: 90+ minutes).
- Whether we should trade blogs for a month and see if anyone notices (we’re both pretty sure they would).
- His Bicycling magazine column (he sends them a thirty page draft each month, they publish the first three paragraphs).
- His forthcoming book (to be printed on vellum in a cursive script).
- Whether the letters “K” and “Q” have any unique purpose in the English language (he became quite agitated on this point and demanded I reduce my usage of Q by 30%).
- Which is more delicious: chocolate or cheese (I went with chocolate, he went with cheese).
- A comparison of our editorial processes (we both pretty much write whatever is in our respective heads and then publish the first draft).
Fortunately, I did get a couple of pictures. Here’s the first:
That (smallish) falling piano missed us by inches. Boy, I can tell you the bar owner was embarrassed!
So we took another picture. This time we were luckier with the photo:
So now you know why — until now — Bike Snob has protected his anonymity: he’s the Phantom of the Opera!
Yeah, it surprised me, too. Took me several minutes before I got so I could look away from his mask, and people kept coming up to him, asking him to sign stuff. Whereas during our entire time together, no more than six or eight people asked me for my autograph. It was incredibly disappointing, especially considering I had brought along 25 glossy eight-by-tens for that purpose.
And you know what? Not even he could satisfactorily explain why that girl in the graveyard was so sad.
Though to be fair, I maybe kinda dozed off when he tried. Just for a moment.
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12.31.2009 | 11:00 pm
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12.23.2009 | 12:02 pm
When I was sixteen years old, I worked a summer for my uncle in Wilson, NC, mowing lawns — commercial and residential (one memory I will never ever be able to erase from my mind is the odor of one of my uncle’s clients: a pig rendering plant).
Toward the end of the summer, my uncle took me aside and gave me some advice. “Elden,” he said, “I have never in my life met someone who is as easy to read as you. Everyone always knows what you’re thinking, and what you’re feeling, before you ever say a word.”
He went on to tell me that I needed to learn to present a neutral expression, to be able to look interested when I’m not, to look happy when I’m angry.
I did not take his advice then, and I never really have since, either. Whether in person or when I write, it’s pretty obvious to most everyone how I’m doing.
And judging from the comments I’ve read the past couple days, it’s obvious to a lot of you that I’m seeing someone I’ve referred to as “The Runner.” Furthermore, it’s obvious that I’m pretty darned happy.
So let me introduce her to you a little less obliquely.
Misnomer
First off, The Runner definitely is a runner. She’s run several marathons (3:33 in her most recent one a couple months ago). She runs several times a week, and has for about ten years.
However, calling her “The Runner” because she runs is a horribly misleading nickname. See, she is also a cyclist — both road and mountain. She’s done Lotoja, a popular 200+-mile road race. And — much more importantly (in my mind) — she’s done the Leadville 100…five times. And she just sent in her application for number six.
Here she is, with the bike she’s planning on riding:
Guys, I’d like you to please stop checking her out for a moment, and look at the bike.
Superfly. Singlespeed. Yeah.
So: a hot chick that rides a 29″ singlespeed mountain bike, and loves the race I love.
Gee, what a surprise that I’m attracted to her.
Waitasec, what was I supposed to be talking about here? Oh right, her name. See, between the road biking, the mountain biking, the swimming — more on that in a second — the lifting, and the yoga, nicknaming someone “The Runner” seems kind of limiting. Almost as odd as calling someone “Fatty” just because he’s got a middle-aged gut, even though said Fatty is also a handsome, multiple-award-winning superstar internet cycle blogging megastar celebrity. With his own line of apparel, thank you very much.
OK, I’ve lost my train of thought again. Where was I? Right, her name. It’s Lisa.
But I think I’ll still mostly refer to her as The Runner. Since she calls me “Fatty” in real life. Which isn’t necessarily as flattering as you might think.
History
The Runner has been a Friend of Fatty since there was ever such a thing. Check it out, she’s got a first-edition Fat Cyclist jersey (only 250 of them in existence) and everything:
I gotta say, though, I like this picture better:
As you can see in this photo, she loves being photographed, repeatedly. She’s not irritated with me here at all.
The truth is, though, she’s been a good friend — both to Susan and me — for about fifteen years. Which means there’s been an — um, interesting — mix of oddness about being in a relationship with a woman who has always been just a good friend, combined with relief that you don’t have to worry about whether the person you’re seeing is actually who they seem to be.
I.e., I already know she’s a smart, funny, hardcore athlete with varied interests and a no-nonsense attitude. She knows I’m a goofy dork who gets fat each winter and never thinks about anything but bicycles.
Gee, I wonder who got the short end of the stick?
Day Job
The Runner is a nurse, working in the Pain Service team at a local hospital. You would think that would be an incredibly useful skill for me to leverage, but whenever I complain of achiness, she just tells me to take ibuprofen.
Seriously, I have to say that her being a nurse is one of the things I really, really like about Lisa. If the past five years has taught me anything about the medical world, it’s that nurses are its backbone, muscle and heart.
And I am perfectly willing to stand by and defend that mixed metaphor.
Compromises
Of course, nobody is perfect. And The Runner’s problem is: she’s interested in triathlons. And not just any. She’s currently training, in fact, for the St. George Ironman this May.
Honestly, though, I’m excited for this event — much more excited for it than if I were going to do it myself. It will be fun to be able to sleep comfortably the night before a big race, and then cheer her on, offering useful and practical advice. Such as, “Keep your chin up!” and “Only 14 hours to go!”
Yeah, I know. You’re thinking, “What a lucky gal.”
Compromises
Dating The Runner has broadened my horizons. Sort of. Mainly, as I desperately try to keep up, I’ve discovered that I really like trail running. Enough, in fact, that I have signed up to run a marathon with her in a few months.
Partly because the training gives me a way to spend more time with The Runner, and partly because I just cannot stand another winter of riding the rollers.
Merry Christmas
This will be my last long post until after the new year. I’m taking my family — along with The Runner and her family — to New York, where we are all going into full-on tourist mode. I plan to take photos and post short notes from time to time, but the truth is, I’ll be in vacation mode and may not post anything at all.
It’s been a helluva year — about as awful of one as I could imagine in some ways, but with some incredible high notes as well. Right now, I’m genuinely happy — I think it shows in this blog — and I owe a lot of that to The Runner.
Thanks for sticking with me through 2009. I hope you have a Merry Christmas (or a good whatever-you-celebrate), and a great start to 2010.
Comments (194)
12.22.2009 | 8:38 am
A Plea For Votation from Fatty: As you know, I am an extremely vain man. I have purchased a special high-optic mirror, constructed for its perfect reflection, so that I can see exactly how handsome I am as I stare in that (very expensive) mirror for hours. I go to only the finest salons to have my hair styled. I wear the fanciest clothing REI has to offer.
I shave my legs twice per day.
This kind of vanity doesn’t feed itself. Well, actually it kinda does to an extent, but work with me here, because I’m leading up to a point:
My vanity must be fueled.
By awards. Lots and lots of awards. Acknowledgement that I am not merely awesome, but somehow more awesome than other bloggers. And I cannot do this without you.
So. I have been nominated by EverymanTri as one of the top Endurance Sports Blogs for 2009. And I’d like you to go vote for me.
It’s absurdly easy to do. Click here to go to the voting page on the site, scroll down to the voting widget, select my blog, and then click the “Cast Your Vote” button.
No registration, captcha nonsense, or anything like that. Easy as pie. And you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight, knowing you’ve done your part to sate the ravenous beast that is my vanity.
For the moment.
What It’s Not Too Late to Put in a Cyclist’s Stocking
Each year, I put together a list of stuff cyclists might like to get as Christmas presents. Ordinarily, I publish this list in plenty of time for you to order online, browse your local bike shops, and otherwise comparison shop.
This time it didn’t work out that way. I’ve been kinda sorta preoccupied with that little “Win a Whole Truckload of Awesomeness and Send Me to Team RadioShack” saga.
But you know what? I think that’s a good thing. Because I’m guessing there are a few of you who haven’t bought gifts for the cyclist in your life. And by “cyclist in your life,” I am of course including yourself.
This year, we’re going to focus on small things — stuff that fits in a stocking. And since it’s a little late to do mail order, we’re also going to keep it down to things that can be bought at your Local Bike Shop.
And they deserve and need your business anyways.
So let’s get started.
- Tubes: This is one gift you absolutely positively will get used. I love having a stack of five or six tubes in the garage, so I don’t have to go shopping for tubes anytime I get a flat. Make sure you get the right size of tube. If you know the kind of bike the stocking recipient has and what kind of riding s/he does, a bike shop guy will be able to help you get the right kind of tube.
- A good bottle: Every cyclist has a near-infinite number of bottles, but that’s not the same as having good bottles. Buy your cyclist some Camelbak Podium bottles. If they don’t mind getting an IOU in their stocking, maybe you should order some with the Fat Cyclist logo on them. Just a thought.
- A replacement Camelbak bladder: If your cyclist rides with a Camelbak, does so frequently, and puts a sports drink in it, chances are s/he’s got some gunk in the bladder. Keeping the bladder clean helps, but that tube’s just going to get nasty eventually, no matter what. So buy a replacement bladder. There are lots of sizes and kinds, so sneak the current bladder to the store with you so you can get a replacement that matches.
- Socks: Here’s an interesting fact: most cyclists like cycling socks so much — they really are comfortable — that they wear them even when off the bike. Smartwool socks are especially awesome. And once again, I’d like to throw the IOU idea out there and suggest getting them some Fat Cyclist socks.
- Shoe covers: Cycling shoe covers turn a miserable cold ride into a very nice ride. The thing is, they wear out. So even if your cyclist has some, if s/he’s had them for a few years, chances are they’re falling apart. Get some new ones.
- Gloves: Here’s another thing that every cyclist already has, but which every cyclist can always use more of. I’m a big fan of Specialized gloves. The Body Geometry thing is no mere marketing ploy.
- Energy bars / gels / chews: Instead of chocolate, fill the stocking with food your cyclist can use on the bike. I’m currently really digging ProBars. I also love Clif Shot Bloks.
- Lube: Every cyclist goes through it and will always need more. If your cyclist is already committed to a particular lube, make sure you get that kind — most cyclists don’t like to hop around from lube to lube. It’s a superstition, I think. For myself, I’m currently using and loving Rock N Roll Extreme Lube. Because I’m extreme, that’s why.
- A multitool: If your cyclist doesn’t have a multitool, s/he needs one. Be sure to ask the guy at the bike shop for one with a chain tool.
- A box full of sandwich bags: This may be a weird-sounding one, but I love having a box of sandwich bags in my garage. Before I go out on a ride, I put my phone in the bag, so it doesn’t get sweat, grime, and other miscellaneous crud on it during the ride.
- A gift certificate to your LBS: You’re supporting your local guys, and you can have perfect confidence that your present will be used.
- Rags: Cut up a few old cotton t-shirts, and make a present out of them to your cyclist, for bike cleaning and chain lubing. It’s a free gift, and incredibly useful. I guarantee this gift will be appreciated.
And when your cyclist compliments you on your awesome stocking-stuffer prowess, please take all the credit for yourself. That’s my gift to you.
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