05.5.2009 | 9:21 am
A Note from Fatty: Congratulations to Heather Gilbert for coming up with the winning name for what we can now call the Kona Cadabra! And equally importantly, thanks to all of you for helping Heather win.
As promised — and talked about on Kona’s winner announcement — Heather’s giving it to me to raffle off for the Lance Armstrong Foundation.
Heather’s still nailing down the details about timing, sizing, and so forth, so expect this raffle to start sometime next week-ish.
As a fat cyclist (as well as The Fat Cyclist), moments of cycling glory seem to be few and far between.
But every once in a while, I do have one of those moments.
Like last Friday.
The Plan: One Continuous Flowing Descent
The climb up Hog Hollow seemed very difficult last Friday, as it has each time I’ve climbed it this year. Much more difficult than last year, and even more difficult than the year before that. As my knees pressed into my paunch, I tried to figure out why this was so.
Once I made it to the top of Jacob’s Ladder, though, I got the same rush of anticipation I always get when I have a giant slice of uninterrupted downhill ahead of me. Upper Jacob’s Ladder, Lower Jacob’s Ladder, and then Ghost Falls. And since I was by myself, there would be no stopping to regroup.
I planned to do it as one giant, continuous descent.
Really, there’s nothing better in mountain biking.
There’s been so much rain this year that the texture of Jacob’s Ladder is markedly different than usual. Where you can usually count on it to be very loose and gravelly, this Spring it’s been as close to buff as it gets. Which means you can tear down it.
Which I did.
As I rolled across the road that Lower Jacob’s Ladder empties onto, I was thinking the same thing I have thought after hundreds of good rides: “I love riding my bike SO MUCH.”
And yes, I really did think in bold, capitalized italics. When I’m emphatic, I’m very, very emphatic.
I Am Mr. Helpful Friendly Person
There, on the road, about to drop down Ghost Falls, were two more mountain bikers. I could tell several things just by looking at them.
- They were younger than I am. I’d guess they were in their mid-twenties. This was one certain indicator that I should let them go ahead. They almost certainly had more testosterone and less to lose than I.
- They were in better shape than I am. No paunches in sight.
- They had big-hit freeride bikes and were wearing body armor. Clearly, they were cyclists to be reckoned with.
So as a middle-aged, well-paunched, fully-rigidized-singlespeed-riding guy, I stopped, greeted them, then said the right thing.
“You guys go on ahead.”
“Are you sure?” they answered, but I could tell they were visibly relieved.
“Absolutely. I don’t want to hold you guys up.”
And so they took off.
And I followed right behind.
Caveats and Whatnot
There’s a lot of pressure to perform when someone has explicitly yielded pole position to you on a mountain bike downhill. That pressure frequently actually has a negative effect: you think too much, you’re not loose, and you don’t ride as well.
Also, Ghost Falls (as currently constructed) was built to be a cross-country trail. It has a few whoop-de-do’s and such, but I don’t think I ever think to myself as I ride down, “Boy I sure wish I had suspension right now.”
Could I get an “amen” from the locals on this?
And also, a little switch seemed to flip for me sometime last season and I have become a not-half-bad downhiller.
And finally, I have never ever ever been so comfortable on a bike as I am on my Singlefly. I’m going to have to do the complete writeup on my Singlefly thoughts soon, but the short version is: it’s an astoundingly good bike.
The Bottom Line
All these points made, however, the fact remains: these guys were outfitted for serious downhillng. And I’m a middle-aged guy who was riding a rigid singlespeed.
And I fully cleaned their clocks.
So fully were their clocks cleaned, in fact, that I started talking to the guy in front of me as we descended. Telling him about the new freeride trail, and how he should try it out. Telling him about other trails in the vicinity. Recommending local restaurants.
He pulled over and let me by.
His friend yielded shortly after.
And I finished the descent about as happy as I’ve been in months.
Comments (44)
05.2.2009 | 7:20 pm
A few (OK, eight) years ago, Provo, Utah was bestowed a tremendous honor: it would be the newest host of an official Ironman. So of course, every local who had pretensions in any of the sports at least considered doing the race.
I, of course, was one of these people. I didn’t actually go so far as to sign up for the race, because that would have been exactly the same as telling my wife that I wanted a divorce. See, she was pregnant with twins at the time, and there was a reasonable likelihood that she’d either be on bed rest or delivering on race day (with twins, the delivery window is gigantic).
But still, I thought about it. And once, while Dug and I were riding the Alpine Loop together (on one of the parts where you can simultaneously talk and breathe), I made an outrageous claim:
“I think I could do an Ironman right now. No special training. Just pull it out of my butt.”
I wasn’t joking, but I said it in such a way that it could be treated as a joke. And I expected Dug to treat it as a joke. After all, I do make unfounded, outrageous claims from time to time.
“It’s funny you should say that,” replied Dug. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” And we went on to discuss how a fit cyclist could just roll up to the starting line of an Ironman and do it.
The Swim
Gear is essential here. You’ve got to have one of those specialty triathlon wetsuits. Have you ever swam in one of those? It’s incredible: you’re instantly twice as good of a swimmer as you are in real life. You float better, you slide through the water faster, and they’re all set up to give your arms a good range of motion.
I can understand why triathletes get worked up about their wetsuits. There are probably gradations and subtleties of wetsuits they can get all geeked up about, just like cyclists get all obsessed with their bikes. The few times I swammed with those wetsuits, I swear: it was almost like I knew what I was doing.
Even so, as someone who hasn’t swummed much, I know I’d tire out before long. And that’s what the backstroke is for. Flop over on your back and just troll along.
Hey, we weren’t saying we’d win the Ironman.
The Bike
Acknowledging that we would be two of the last three out of the water, we’d quickly find our bikes (because there wouldn’t be any others left in the rack), eating a nice, healthy lunch before starting the ride.
Perhaps, just to underscore the fact that we weren’t taking this thing seriously, we’d wear baggy mountain biking shorts and ride full suspension mountain bikes for the ride (but we’d put on slicks and lock out the suspension). Maybe we’d wear those BMX-style helmets, too.
Turning a nice easy gear, we could ride a road century in our sleep (though that may increase our chances of missing a turn).
The Marathon
You see how I’ve cleverly avoided titling this section “The Run?” That’s because there’d be little actual running involved. It’d be more of a hobbling, wounded-animal limpfest that lasted five hours, at least. Probably six, to be honest. We’d walk 75% of it. But we’ve both done marathons before. We knew we could push through another.
And then we could say we’d done it: an improvisational, no-specific-training Ironman.
Deep Introspection
The thing is—and I have no way to prove it—I really do think a reasonably strong cyclist with endurance riding experience could pull off an Ironman without any particular training in the other disciplines. And by “reasonably strong cyclist,” I mean me.
So the big questions are:
- Am I completely out of my mind, or is this possible? Both?
- For cyclists, pure swimmers, and pure runners: Could you do an Ironman right now? For triathletes: Could you do the Leadville 100 or Cascade Creampuff today? (For the Leadville part, pretend that Columbine mine is not presently buried in deep snow.)
- How much money would someone have to pay you to try? Would it need to take the form of a bet, or would it need to be straight-up payment?
For myself, I’m thinking a $3000 bet would do it, but the guy betting me would have to pay my entry fee and buy me a wetsuit, which I get to keep no matter what.
PS: This post originally published May 2, 2006, in my Spaces archive. And also, right now I’m pretty sure I could not complete an Ironman.
Comments (69)
05.1.2009 | 8:47 am
UPDATE: The voting has evidently ended, so I’m de-linking this post. However, on Monday you’ll definitely want to check the Kona site to see the final verdict.
A Note from Fatty: In a very longwinded way, today I’m going to ask you to go to this contest page on the Kona site and vote for Cadabra as the name for their new bike. There’s a great story behind why, but if you’re in a hurry, just trust me and go to the Kona site, scroll to the bottom of the page, and vote for Cadabra. Thanks.
A Big Thanks from Fatty: The 100 Miles of Nowhere registration is now over. And now that it is, I’d like to admit something: When I started it, I did not think anyone would sign up. I mean, seriously: Ask people to pay $75 for the privilege of riding either their trainer or a very short course for a hundred miles? Why would anyone do that?
Well, the answer, of course, is that you would do it to help fight cancer. And because evidently you have the same twisted sense of humor that I have.
And, of course, you want the very cool stuff that the very cool sponsors are providing. So, I want to again thank Twin Six, DZ-Nuts, Banjo Brothers, Garmin-Slipstream, CarboRocket, ProBar and Clif for making an irresistable schwag bag.
Now, guess how many people signed up? C’mon, guess.
OK I’ll tell you: 421. Yes, that’s right. More than 400 of my readers have completely lost their minds. Please seek help immediately. It’s not too late. Well, maybe it is, actually.
And you know what, my crazy friends? You have used your insanity to raise more than $20,000 to fight cancer. Which doesn’t suck at all.
Let’s Help A Cancer Doctor Fight Cancer In A Very Unusual Way
Heather Gilbert is a doctor at the Huntsman Cancer Institute, specializing in the hematologic malignancies with an emphasis on lymphoma. She helped Susan when Susan was there for her hip replacement.
And Heather is also a self-admitted hardcore bikeaholic. Which I mean in the very nicest possible way.
In other words, Heather is the very best kind of person there is: A cyclist who has chosen to spend her life fighting cancer.
And she needs our help so she can do even more.
Help Heather Name a Kona, Then Win That Kona
See, besides being a hardcore bikeaholic and cancer doctor, Heather is also very creative. She recently entered a contest to name a new bike Kona is coming out with. Her idea? Call it The Cadabra.
That’s a very cool name for a very cool bike.
And it’s also one of the finalist names in Kona’s “Name Our New Bike” contest.
So Heather has said that if she wins the contest — meaning she gets the bike she named — she will give it to me to raffle off to help Team Fatty raise money to fight cancer.
Let me recap: Heather — who fights cancer for a living — has a great chance to win a cool bike, thanks to her good idea. But instead, providing she wins, she’s going to give it to me to raffle off so one of you gets it, so we can raise more money to fight cancer.
Right this second I’m trying to think of something cooler than that, and I just can’t. There’s nothing cooler.
So let’s help her do that. Right now, go to Kona’s voting page, scroll to the bottom of the page, and vote for the Cadabra. It’ll take less than ten seconds.
At this moment, the two finalist names are tied right at 50%, so your vote is crucial. So go. Now. Shoo.
PS: Team Fatty Co-captain MikeRoadie has asked me to pass on the info for a fundraiser he’s doing:
From May 1st through June 30th, Hall Wines Napa will donate 25% of sale. Just enter code “livestrong” at checkout!
This is an opportunity for people to purchase some fantastic wines that are usually only available to the Hall Napa Wine Club members! Their incredible Cabernet Sauvignon is only $40!
Comments (73)
04.30.2009 | 7:39 am
A Note from Fatty: Today is the last day for you to register for the 100 Miles of Nowhere. In fact, registration ends at midnight, Central time. If you’re going to register, you’d better read details here and then go register here (if you want a men’s t-shirt) or here (if you want a women’s t-shirt).
A couple of years ago, I traveled a lot. And more often than not, I traveled to New York. Now, I understand that a lot of people love living there — including two of my sisters. But the truth is, I don’t like traveling anywhere on my own, and I especially don’t like to be in a big city on my own.
So I was standing outside my hotel, waiting in a long line of people for a cab, thinking about how when I’m at home I don’t ever have to wait for a cab. And I was thinking about how when I’m at home, I know people. And I was thinking about how when I’m at home, I’d have a bunch of bikes at hand would have been able to go riding outside that morning, instead of riding on that cruel mockery of a bicycle: the exercycle.
And then, behind all the taxis, I saw the answer to all my problems: a bike taxi.
Yeah, I know some people call them “pedi cabs,” but that term sounds both alarming and creepy. I’m sticking with “bike taxi.”
Anyways.
I walk over to the guy with the bike taxi (Do I call him the “driver” or the “rider?” Neither seems right). I’m thinking about how awesome it is that I’m no longer waiting in a line. I’m thinking that while I’m not pedaling, I’m at least getting in a ride. And mostly, I’m thinking about how it’ll be fun to at least talk to another cyclist for a while.
Naturally, he doesn’t speak any English, and my Polish isn’t so hot, either.
That’s OK, though. I give him my destination — about eight blocks away, though I have no idea in which direction, what with my state of being perpetually lost — and he takes off.
I am caught between trying to enjoy the ride and feeling very silly. On one hand, it’s nice to be getting around this way instead of in a taxi. On the other hand, it feels wrong for me to be going somewhere on a bike, without being the one pedaling.
I seriously consider asking — via hand gestures, I suppose — whether the guy wanted to trade me places, so I could pedal for a bit. Of course, this has the largish problem that I already mentioned before: the major reason I’m taking a taxi in the first place is I have no idea how to get anywhere.
So I ride. And I think about what a fine story this will make, and how I’ll have to make a habit of riding in bike taxis more often, because they’re more in line with what I like, and they’re environmentally friendly, and how I can hardly wait to tell my sister that I just rode a bike taxi instead of a regular taxi, and why doesn’t she start doing that to get around when she needs to travel in the city?
We arrive at my destination, eight blocks away from where we started
The driver / rider / pilot says his first English words since picking me up and nodding his understanding of my destination:
“Forty dollars.”
My ideas of transnational biking camaraderie and sharing a story about how everyone should ride bike taxis vanish. Instead, I had just been on a taxi ride that cost roughly five dollars per minute. Which is almost twice as expensive as phone sex. From what I hear.
This, it turns out, is not a story about how cool bikes are. It’s a story of a small-town rube getting suckered because he thinks everyone who rides a bike is cool, and therefore didn’t ask about fare rate before the ride began.
This, it turns out, would be a story that would leave me so deeply embarrassed about my naivete that I would not tell this story to anyone for more than two years.
I got him back, though: I did not leave a tip.
Comments (36)
04.29.2009 | 11:00 am
A Note from Fatty: Tomorrow is the last day you can register for the 100 Miles of Nowhere. Remember, in addition to all the cool stuff you get, you’re also helping Team Fatty help the Lance Armstrong Foundation (LAF) fight cancer: $50 of your $75 registration goes to the LAF. Men, sign up here. Women, sign up here.
And also, you’ll be able to tell people you participated in the most ridiculous, far-ranging race that has ever existed. I’m also pretty sure we’ll also be able to claim it simultaneously covered more ground and less ground than any other race in history (i.e., it will occur in hundreds of places, but go literally nowhere).
By the way, so far 168 men and 58 women (226 people altogether) have signed up, which means that so far the 100 Miles of Nowhere has raised $11,300 for the LAF. Thanks to everyone who has signed up!
Another Note from Fatty: Some of you were wondering if you can buy extra t-shirts for your crews. First of all, I think it’s awesomely bizarre that some of you are planning to have crews. Second of all, once registration is over, Twin Six is going to make the t-shirt available as a separate item to order. I’ll post a link as soon as there is one!
Yet Another Note from Fatty: At long last, we can declare a winner of the Meet Bike Snob NYC contest! Brad W of Virginia called from Alcatraz (yes, really) to accept the prize. Congratulations, Brad!
Mr. Grumpy Legs
Thanks to a hectic work and life schedule, I haven’t been able to ride my bike at all this week, and I won’t be able to today, either.
This has brought on a peculiar sensation, and I’m curious if anyone else has noticed the same thing happening to them when they go cold turkey off the bike for a few days.
Specifically, my legs have become grumpy. Irritable. Restless.
This is not just a mental thing. I swear. It’s physical. Last night, I was sitting with one of the twins during her 1:1 reading time and my legs — specifically, my quads — were driving me nuts. They literally ached for me to get off the couch and stretch them (I made do by doing constant leg lifts and flexes while sitting on the couch).
Really, the symptoms are pretty similar to how they describe Restless Legs Syndrome, except I already know my cure: go get out on a ride. And as a bonus, this cure doesn’t turn me into a compulsive gambler.
Which is something, I suppose.
Still, I am going to be in an all-day meeting today, where doing constant leg lifts would surely go noticed. Which means that the only way I’m going to be able to stave off my Grumpy Legs Syndrome will be to stand up on a frequent basis and run around the conference table to the whiteboard (I’ll take the long way around) and then make an emphatic and energetic point.
Preferably, one that requires me to jump up and down and perhaps do some squat-thrusts.
So, my question: when you have to go cold turkey off the bike for more than a couple days, do you get the same effect?
Because if I’m the first one to identify an actual, verifiable syndrome here, I totally want it named after me.
Comments (30)
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