Yesterday afternoon, I seriously needed to get out on a ride. So I IM’d Ricky M — Senior Member of the Core Team — and asked him if he could get out.
“Grove Parking Lot. 15 Minutes,” replied Ricky. I have no idea why he initial-caps every word like that.
Now, I’ve been wanting to re-film the Grove Canyon ride ever since Kenny and I rode it earlier this season and my batteries died, just as we began the downhill.
So I made sure to grab a fresh pack of batteries and got out the door.
And this is what we did:
Following this ride, I have the following observations to make:
Grove is the hardest-working climb I know of. 1800 feet of climbing, in 2.6 miles. And you feel every foot of it.
Grove is much, much more fun on a geared bike. I love singlespeeds, but — unless you’re Brad or Kenny — there are times when it’s really great to be able to shift to the granny gear. When I did this ride on my singlespeed earlier this year, I suffered so much I didn’t want to come back. Riding this on my geared bike yesterday, the trail was difficult, but still enjoyable.
When I’m riding the downhill on Grove (or anywhere), I look at the trail to the exclusion of pretty much everything else. As a result, I have never before noticed exactly how freaky and scary the stuff off to my left is. Now that I’ve seen the video, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do this downhill with confidence ever again.
Somehow, even when I’m as scared / worried / angry as I am right now, mountain biking helps. It’s really great to take a two-hour vacation from your troubles like that.
Ricky is incredibly fast on this downhill. I had thought I’ve become a fast descender, but I lost count of how many times Ricky dropped me on this descent. And this after he had said, “I’m feeling kind of tentative; I plan to take this descent slow and careful today.”
Dramatic canyons. Gorgeous waterfalls (not well-captured in the video — I have no zoom with the helmetcam). Cliffside trails. All within a ten-minute drive of my house. There’s simply no getting around it: I live in an exotic locale.
I am keeping it together. Really, I am. I am taking care of my wife, I am taking care of my kids, my lawn is green and neatly mown.
But — and this was a surprise to me — I evidently have a little bit of anger, too. Anger that isn’t choosy about its target.
First, though, let’s talk about what I’ve learned about Susan.
Busted
When the doctor came over to our house yesterday, he took one look at Susan and said he’d bet money her collarbone was broken.
Later that day, after the portable X-Ray had been here — a kind of cool machine, really, mounted on its own hand truck, the camera arm pivots out and locks with a single spring-loaded pin — the doctor was shown right. Susan’s collarbone was weakened from the inside by cancer metastases; just lifting her arm while she rolled over was enough to finish the job.
The doctor says he’ll call back today and we’ll start talking about options.
After which I got Susan doped up on morphine, then went to my desk, ostensibly to get some work done.
half an hour later, I IM’d my boss and told him I needed to take the rest of the day off work. I was useless.
MTB Rage
So I went on a mountain bike ride. Which I thought would help, but wound up realizing — as I started the return descent down Hog Hollow toward home — that I couldn’t remember any details whatsoever of the ride.
Then — on the wide jeep road descent — I passed a couple with their dogs, walking in the other direction. I nodded as I went by.
And then one of their dogs bit me. Right calf.
I stopped, mostly out of surprise. It hadn’t hurt much. I looked at my calf. Slobber, but no blood.
But still, someone’s dog had bitten me! While the owner was right there.
Standing astride my frame, I pivoted around and looked at the man. He met my gaze, and did not say a word.
“Did your dog just bite me?” I asked, rhetorically, and frankly boggled that he wasn’t apologizing to me and disciplining his dog.
“Yeah,” he replied. No apology in his voice.
“And?”
He said nothing. Just kept looking at me.
“Just ‘yeah?’” I said.
I swung my leg over and started walking to him. I did not have a plan for what I would do once I got there. All I had wanted was an apology. But instead I was getting this casual arrogance. I was not going to tolerate it.
The woman he was with — wife, I’m guessing — intercepted me and gave me the apology I wanted, checking my calf to see if I had been hurt. I hadn’t, not really.
I turned back to my bike and went on my way.
And that’s when I told myself, “Something is wrong with me.” I’m not the guy who gets angry, certainly not over a dog nip — probably a playful one — that didn’t even break the skin. I’m the guy who would have turned around and yelled at the guy that he needed to get his dog’s teeth sharpened, because they’re clearly ineffectual.
Or at least, that’s the guy I want to be, and usually am. Right now, though, I’m the angry guy other people quietly say to each other “What is his problem?” about.
It’s short-term. I will cool down.
But I can’t help but wonder in what ways this is permanently changing me.
Fight Cancer, Meet Famous People, Go to Fancy Big Budget Movie Premiere
My interaction with famous people is limited to the fact that people keep telling me I look like Stanley Tucci.
Separated at birth? You decide.
My sister Jodi over at Pistols and Popcorn, on the other hand, knows famous people. And her friend Michelle Williams recently finished a film called “Shutter Island,” directed by Martin Scorsese. The cast includes Leonardo DiCaprio, Mark Ruffalo, Ben Kingsley, and Max Von Sydow. And me!
Except for the “and me!” part.
Anyway, Michelle’s giving Jodi a couple passes to the to the Red Carpet Premier of “Shutter Island“, to take place in New York, in September/October of 2009. And Jodi’s going to use those passes to raise money to fight cancer. The winner — you, I hope — will get to hang out with Michelle, and probably other people. I’d say more about what your night will be like, but it’s simply too unimaginably fabulous for me to comprehend.
I could not be prouder of Jodi for putting this together. I’m trying, but I just can’t.
Go over to Jodi’s blog to learn the details, and enter. Oh, and promise me that you will wear a “Team Fatty” jersey to the premiere.
We’re less than three weeks away from the first LiveStrong Challenge: the one in Seattle (June 21). I think this is a good moment to point out a few interesting facts about Team Fatty in general and Team Fatty-Seattle in particular.
The combined Teams Fatty have 439 members, making us the largest team, by far.
The combined Teams Fatty have raised $252,482 as of this moment, making us the top-earning team, by far. We have — as of this morning — crossed the QUARTER MILLION mark!
Team Fatty-Seattle is the second smallest of the Teams Fatty, but has raised the second most amount of money — $84,692 — and is very close to overtaking Team Fatty-Austin.
Team Fatty-Seattle is the top-ranked Seattle team, and has raised more than threetimes as much as the second-place team. Who is the second place-team? Microsoft. By the way, as a former ‘Softie’ myself, I issued a challenge for a friendly fundraising competition to Team Microsoft, giving them a generous handicap in spite of the fact that they’re a giant multinational corporation with a charitable contributions matching policy, and I’m…a blogger working out of a corner of my bedroom. They declined. Which is just as well, because we would have crushed them anyway.
The Team Fatty-Seattle Co-Captain — and very frequent commenter — ClydeSteve, is by far and away the top-raising Team Fatty-Seattle fundraiser, having raised an incredible $17,535 so far. In fact, ClydeSteve is currently the top-raising individual of all of Team Fatty. ClydeSteve, you are a superhero.
The only Team Fatty member — and coincidentally the only company in Team Fatty — to have earned more than ClydeSteve is Twin Six, currently at $26,986. Team Fatty-Austin is lucky to have Twin Six, because otherwise Team Fatty-Seattle would be way ahead. Twin Six, you guys are incredible.
And now for a few factoids we can — and will — definitely improve upon:
There are 51 members of Team Fatty-Seattle (more than half) who haven’t raised the $250 necessary to participate in the LiveStrong Seattle event yet.
There are 16 members of Team Fatty-Seattle who haven’t raised any money yet.
But I’m not here to bust your chops, Team Fatty-Seattleites. No, indeed. I’m here to give you a reason to give it all you’ve got for your final sprint.
These wheels are in such high demand that they’re sold out ’til July. Which means the only way you can get a pair is by winning them.
And the only way you can win them is by being a member of Team Fatty-Seattle.
Here’s What You’ve Got to Do
First of all, let me make it perfectly clear: this contest is only for members of Team Fatty-Seattle. So Team Fatty-Seattle members — all 96 of you (I’m making ClydeSteve and me ineligible) — are the only ones who can win this nice wheelset.
To win, between now and Sunday (June 7) at midnight (MDT), you need to raise money, donated to your own LiveStrong Challenge page. For every $5.00 you raise, you get a virtual ticket, and then I’ll choose a number randomly for the winner.
Bear in mind that this contest is for money you raise between now and Sunday, not for money you’ve already raised.
Extra Incentive For Those Getting Started
As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, there are quite a few Team Fatty-Seattle members who haven’t hit the $250 mark, and several who haven’t raised any money at all, yet.
Well, here’s a reason for you to start sending out email to your friends.
If you haven’t raised anything yet, you will get an extra 5 tickets (as if you had raised an extra $25) just for getting started.
If you haven’t raised $250 yet, you will get an extra 5 tickets if you can get to that magic $250 mark.
So, yes, if you haven’t raised anything yet and during this next few days can get all the way up to $250, you’ll get an extra 10 tickets — 5 for getting started, and 5 for reaching $250.
And of course, no matter how much you’ve already raised, every $5.00 you can get someone to donate at your Team Fatty-Seattle LiveStrong page gets you another chance at those wheels.
And For Those of You Not on Team Fatty-Seattle
Don’t you worry; there will be contests for each team as your LiveStrong Challenge event gets close. Nobody will be left out.
And if you’re not on a team at all yet, well, maybe it’s time you join one and start getting seriously involved in the fight against cancer. There are links to each Team Fatty city page in my sidebar; click the city you want to sign up with, then click “Join Our Team” from that page.
There are going to be more and more giveaways, and raising money to fight cancer as a member of Team Fatty is going to be one of the best ways you can win.
A Final, Personal Note
Right now, I’m sitting at home, waiting for a company that does home X-Rays to come take some pictures of Susan’s left shoulder and collarbone. Yesterday when she was rolling over in bed, there was a nasty “pop” from that area, followed by a huge amount of pain — pain that a serious amount of morphine and Lortab have only been able to lessen, not stop.
I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m pretty freaked out. I hate the sense of helplessness I have: a husband should be able to take care of his wife, and when stuff like this happens, I can’t help at all.
What helps — a little — is to know that I, along with you, am at least doing something in this fight. It’s not enough to help Susan, and I hate myself for not having done more sooner.
But it is something, and you’re all helping me feel like I’m doing something important. And that helps me. Thank you for that.
PS: If you don’t plan on attending any of the LiveStrong Challenges, you can now join Team Fatty withno signup fee. Just go to the Team Fatty HQ page for one of the cities — Seattle, San Jose, Philly, or Austin — and click the Join Our Team link from there. In the Fees area, select Virtual Challenge, and you won’t have to pay an event fee. So, if you’ve been sitting on the fence about joining Team Fatty, there’s your reason to join up.
Some people like to be taken care of when they’re sick. Others want to be left alone when they’re sick. And I think that pretty much covers everyone.
I don’t think, for example, there is anyone out there who, when sick, really likes to take care of five other people, some of which are also sick, and some of which are teenage boys, which is worse than being sick.
And in short, I would have really enjoyed being someone besides me for the past couple days.
An Excellent Excuse
Looking back, I now understand that I’ve been sick since Friday. In fact, in my post from that day I mentioned my first symptoms: a sore throat. I just didn’t realize that the sore throat wasn’t from the race last Thursday; it was the beginning of the mother of all colds.
And the truth is, I’m excited at the prospect of using what I now realize was the onset of illness to explain the fact that on the group ride Friday afternoon, Jill easily kicked my butt.
Which is to say, the largish group of us were all riding together until after the Tibble Fork turnoff, which is where the road really turns uphill. Jill, in a display of cruel kindness, stayed with me as everyone else dropped me hard.
“Go,” I said, “Don’t let them get away.”
And she did. Jill bridged the gap nearly instantly. That woman has a serious motor.
At the time, I thought I couldn’t hang because I’m fat and out of shape. Now, of course, I realize the real reason I couldn’t hang is because I was getting sick.
Ha.
[Note to Kenny: You owe me big time for not making this entire post be about why your shoulder in the below photo is bloody. But I'm not going to talk about it because your point about "I hate riding with bloggers" got to me.]
The Future
Saturday, I woke up miserable. Sore everywhere, eyes runny, nose snotty, unable to breathe. I just wanted to go into a cave and be alone. I’ll come out when I feel better. Honest.
But the twins had other plans. I had promised to work with them on riding their bikes.
How could I say no to that? Or more to the point: even though I was sick, I didn’t want to say no to that.
So we found an empty parking lot, and got to work. And I’m glad we did, because yesterday was the day when it all finally came together.
Here’s Carrie, making it look easy:
And leaning into the turns:
And here’s Katie, with exactly the expression I want to see:
Thinking about how in a few years we’ll be hitting the singletrack together, I forgot all about being sick for an hour.
Arts and Crafts
Susan doesn’t have much use for things nowadays. Out of everything she owns, the list of things she actually uses on a daily basis is pretty short:
Her powered easy chair
Her down comforter
Her Kindle
Her iPhone
The thing is, when she’s in bed it’s been hard for her to reach the Kindle and iPhone when they’re laying on the windowsill being charged.
And so, Saturday, I managed to break through my brain cloud and come up with an easier way for her to reach — and charge — those two things.
Behold:
Yes, it’s a pair of nylon pouches that hang from the rail on her hospital-style bed. I made it by cutting down a Banjo Brothers Pocket Messenger Bag, using a torch to melt the nylon at the edges so it doesn’t fray, then stitching it and fastening it in place with about twenty zipties. The charging cables are ziptied in place, too, so they won’t fall to the floor when not in use.
It’s as functional as it is ugly. Which is to say: very.
Saturday Night
Cancer — or any other serious illness — can hurt you in two ways. The way everyone thinks about is by the damage it directly causes. But it can also hurt you through indirect damage — your body is designed to move, not be kept in one place and one position all the time. If you never get to move around, your body suffers in more ways than I would have expected.
And that indirect damage can be incredibly painful.
I don’t want to get into specifics, but starting Saturday afternoon, Susan started hurting pretty darned bad due to some of that indirect damage. By Saturday night, it had gotten unbearable. A nurse came out and helped improve things, and I headed north on a 20-mile drive to the nearest 24-hour pharmacy.
It was late at night. I was sick. My wife was suffering. I was in a dark place.
And then I found out that one of the kinds of medication Susan needs isn’t covered by our insurance.
Then at this pharmacy — the first time I’ve ever been to this particular pharmacy — the pharmacist asked for the patient’s name.
“Susan Nelson,” I said.
“Is that by any chance the ‘WIN Susan’ Susan Nelson?” he asked.
And of course it is.
He expressed his concern, wished us the best…and waived the cost of the non-covered pills.
I have lost count of how many times people — sometimes people we know, often people we don’t — have been kind and generous toward us, but I appreciate it every single time.
I’m still sick. And it’s been a very hard weekend. But there have been some good moments.
If Dug were a car racing video game, he would be one of those where you have to earn your turbo boost — but once you’ve got it, you get to keep it.
If I were a car racing video game, on the other hand, I would be the kind where you have Nitrous and Turbo Boost right from the first moment of the game, but you only get a finite amount of each. I would also be the kind where somehow the console senses you’re about to press Start and immediately turns on the Nitrous, Turbo Boost, and mashes the Gas button clear into the controller without asking whether you really want to go that fast right from the gun.
And in short, in spite of the fact that Dug clearly explained before we started the race that he was going to hang back and let me cook myself to a crisp, I went right to my redline and kept it there. By the time I got to the bridge that signals the base of the big climb on the first lap — Clark’s — I had already put enough distance between us that I could no longer see Dug.
And I would not see him again for the rest of the race.
Whaddaya know. My total lack of a strategy and boneheaded approach to racing worked. While Dug suffered badly for the big climb, I put enough of a gap between us that even though I knew I had a good chance of completely discombobulating on the second lap, he wouldn’t be able to catch up.
Theory of Subjective Speed
This is not to say that I did not crane my neck around ten thousand times (usually at switchbacks, sometimes where there was a long straight section behind me) to see if Dug was closing in. Because — especially during the second lap up Clark’s — I felt eminently catchable.
Which brings me to a couple of things I noticed during this race.
First, in the absence of any kind of real measuring device (a bike computer, GPS, or even a watch), my sense of speed got incredibly subjective. During the first ascent up Clark’s, my iPod played about three songs: I started the climb halfway through one song, listened to two complete songs, and finished about halfway through another.
On the second time up Clark’s, I was certain Dug would catch me. At several of the mini-summits, I nearly stalled out. I was weaving on the trail. I had nothing that even resembled a cadence.
And yet, I started the climb about halfway through one song, and finished about three complete songs later.
In other words, I did the climb in three songs when I was fresh, and 3.5 when I felt completely broken. Now of course, songs can be of variable length and I might have been more than halfway through a song at the beginning of one of the climbs and blah blah blah, but still: while I felt like on the second climb I was twice as slow, in reality I probably was just a minute or three slower.
By the way, I have just now decided that from now on I shall measure all climbs in Song Units. Please do likewise.
More Subjective Speed Theory
Actual amount of time notwithstanding, it felt like I was crawling during the second climb up Clark’s, and multiple times considered getting off my bike, resting while I waited for Dug to catch up, and then proposing that races are stupid and that we’re both closer to our mid-forties than early forties and what business do we have racing one another?
But I kept going. For you.
During this subjective crawl, I noticed that I was noticing things (which is pretty darned meta, I admit). I noticed, for example, that the distance between trees was greater than I had previously suspected. And that the distance between a couple of landmarks on the climb — a signpost and a gate — is about eight feet, where I had always before thought of them as being within just three or four feet of each other.
Also, I noticed a lot more false summits than usual.
Adrenaline is Not My Friend
Of course, since the course is a loop, it can’t be all uphill (and if a loop course were all uphill, I’d be mighty upset). The big downhill was Ghost Falls, a switchbacky, wide, clean stretch of singletrack with several bridge crossings and a few whoop-de-doos up top.
The first time down Ghost, I was terrible. For two reasons. The first — and most important — reason is that I was still all amped up. I wasn’t riding the trail, I was attacking it. And on a twisty course like that, that just doesn’t work. I kept overbaking the switchbacks, surging in any little straightaway, and in general was a herky-jerky mess.
I’d guess that I was slower than when I just ride this trail normally, flowing with it and enjoying myself.
The Worst Downhilling Song Ever
The second reason I did so badly on the first descent was that my iPod chose to shuffle Johnny Cash’s cover of “Hurt” into play.
Now, let it be known that I love this song. Cash brought soul and an ache to it that makes his version vastly superior to the original (and I like the original too).
That said, I cannot imagine a worse song to downhill to. However, just for fun, I just took a look at my “One Good Gig” playlist (a carefully-chosen set of songs to fit on a 1Gb iPod), and decided that if my iPod decided it really hated me, it should play the following songs from that list the next time I’m on a nice, long downhill:
“Hurt (Nine Inch Nails cover),” Johnny Cash
“Loser,” Beck
“Under the Milky Way,” the Church
“Round Here,” Counting Crows
“Baby Got Back (Sir Mix a Lot cover),” Jonathan Coulton
“Superstar (Carpenters cover),” Sonic Youth
“Pennyroyal Tea (Live),” Nirvana
I am curious as to what songs you have on your PMP (that’s “Personal Media Player” for all you non-tech-savvy people) that you dread having turn up right as you’re turning down.
As long as I’m at it, though, here are the seven songs on my “One Good Gig” playlist I would most like to get shuffled into play during a downhill:
“Renegades of Funk,” Rage against the Machine
“Don’t Take Me for Granted,” Social Distortion. (As an aside here, I’d like to proclaim that this is my favorite song from my favorite album from my favorite band. This song is the archetype for straight-ahead rock and roll.)
“Under My Thumb (Rolling Stones Cover),” Social Distortion
“Uncontrollable Urge (Live Version),” Devo
“Nice Guys Finish Last,” Green Day
“Whisper to a Scream,” Icicle Works
“Bad Reputation,” Joan Jett
Also, as a note to myself, I need to do a post about the hardware I’m using to listen to music when riding nowadays, because I believe it may in fact be the most perfect solution for cyclists possible.
I Contemplate Cheating
After climbing up Clark’s, there’s a mostly-downhill stretch of dirt fire road connecting you to Ghost Falls. As I rode along it my second time, I noticed something on the left: new trail — which I hope will be named “J-Line” — has been cut. I already knew that it empties back into Ghost — about two-thirds of the way down.
I had not ridden that trail yet. And I was sorely tempted.
It looked soft and would probably have been slower than taking the route I was on. And it would have been clearly a disqualifying event to head down it.
So I didn’t.
Which means, I’m pretty sure, that my priorities are screwed up.
Defiance of Physics
After climbing Clark’s and descending Ghost Falls, the race course had us doing a short little loop of Singletrack I call “Last Dance” (I’m not aware of whether it has an official name) because it’s generally the last thing we ride before finishing the ride.
Last Dance starts with a climb, and then drops down to the main Corner Canyon artery trail.
It’s that climb that boggles me. For some reason, it’s the easiest climb in the world. Even though my legs are cooked from a hard climb and working descent, I seem to just float up that climb. It only lasts a minute or two, but — even on the second lap of a race, where I was fully out of gas — I zipped right up it.
Later, I asked Dug if he noticed the same thing. He did.
It’s a climb that rides like a downhill. Weird. And wonderful.
Afterward
I am not, generally, an intense person. But I am when I race. I take each and every race very seriously. So I finished the race pushing myself as hard (albeit much much slower) as when I started, and kept looking over my shoulder to the very end.
Reaching my truck without Dug in sight, I hurriedly put my bike up on the rack, took off my helmet, got out a drink, folded down the truck bed’s gate, and sat down, doing my best to look like I wasn’t in danger of throwing up.
A few minutes later, Dug rolled through the parking lot, no-handed and casual. We sat and talked for a while, while Dug picked off the dozens of caterpillars that had accumulated on his jersey.
Now, the next morning, my throat is still raw from two hours of open-mouthed hyperventilating. I have a hard time walking down stairs. And I find myself worried at the prospect of this afternoon’s group ride to the summit of the Alpine Loop, especially since I told Jill she could borrow my geared road bike; I’ll ride my singlespeed road bike.
Oh, what am I worried about? I’ll be fine. I’m sure it won’t turn into a race.
My sister 
