Almost from the beginning of Kenny’s 2009 Ride Around White Rim in One Day (RAWROD), I knew I’d be riding by myself a lot. After all, people rode away from me like they were trying to get away from me.
Except I knew they weren’t trying to get away from me (at least, I think not). I just couldn’t hang with their slowest acceptable pace. Nothing personal. I’ve been on that side of this coin.
And you know, there are worse things than riding alone on the White Rim: the biggest-feeling, most crazily sculpted place I’ve ever been.
I shall enumerate some of those things shortly.
Heading Out Loading up the truck for a weekend riding with friends shouldn’t be a big deal. But for me, it was. My sister Kellene was in town to take care of my family, and so when Dug, Rick Sunderlage (not his real name) and Brad pulled up to my house to start loading their bikes and gear into the bikemobile, I briefly swooned.
I was on a roadtrip with my friends — a perfectly normal thing a couple years ago, but right now, a really big deal.
The adventure was beginning.
Oh, and also, I just love the fact that my bikemobile holds four people, our bikes and camping gear for a weekend of riding, comfortably and easily. It makes me feel all smug about my purchase decision.
Driving toward Moab, I had the weird, nonsensical reaction I always do when heading toward a big event like RAWROD or Leadville: every time I passed (or was passed by) another vehicle with mountain bikes, I’d wonder if they were headed toward the same destination. I’d look at the bikes, searching for clues. A heavy downhill rig? Probably not riding the White Rim. A 29″ hardtail singlespeed? I’d bet money they were headed to the White Rim, and furthermore riding with our group.
Essential Traditions
Anytime we head out to Moab, we stop at the Chevron gas station in Wellington, Utah. For me, there’s an important reason why: this is where I buy my food for the long ride.
You see, there’s a Subway sandwich place in the gas station, and I always buy a footlong coldcut combo on white with swiss cheese there. No veggies, no dressings. Just meat and cheese, and then I throw a handful of mayo and mustard packets into the bag.
And I am always so happy to have that sandwich the following day on the ride.
That tradition, of course, is trivial. The tradition that is not trivial, however, is grilling brats the night before the ride.
I believe that Kenny and I could do this competitively and come out pretty well. He brings the bread and grill, I brought the brats, onions, pot, gas stove, and Worcestershire sauce. We scavenge for beer.
I boil the brats in my beer, onion and worcestershire stew, then Kenny grills them over the glowing coals of a wood fire. Then he serves them up with spicy brown mustard on his justifiably famous homemade bread.
Even as I type this, my sense of longing grows.
Every time we prepare brats, some people are at first wary, wondering why we would be making such a fuss over “hot dogs.” These people, of course, have no idea what they are talking about. And once they’ve had a brat, everyone seems to see the light.
Those bottles are seriously my favorite bottles, ever. Easy to drink from, easy to clean, and they don’t leak or dribble.
It was a perfect night for eating and relaxing around a campfire with a bunch of friends: so warm that I didn’t even need to get out a jacket.
Oh, and it was Mark’s birthday, so he brought cake. I ate a third of it. Not sure how the other 70+ people split the other 2/3 of it. Someone suggested we sing happy birthday, which we all happily failed to do.
Then it was off to bed with an ambien giving me a better-than-fighting chance of sleep. For some reason, I do not recall what I said after taking that ambien, but I do recall that it was all very witty and smart.
The Beginning And here we are, finally, at the beginning of the ride. I am so long-winded.
Anyway, as I mentioned a long time ago, at the beginning of this story, right from the beginning everyone was riding away from me. You can look at the video I posted yesterday to see what I mean. There we are, all together at the beginning, then a quick jump cut, and there everyone is at a distant point near the horizon.
And then, of course, are all the shots you’ll see in the video of people passing me, with virtually no shots of me passing them back. There are reasons for that, including:
I am fat
I am out of shape
I was still fighting a cold
Anyway, even if I was a fat, sick slob, I was at least comfortable, due in part to the very mild weather.
And due in another part to my subcutaneous layer of blubber.
Regardless, I was warm enough that I started the ride wearing shorts and short sleeves. And why not? Everyone knows that White Rim becomes searingly hot by 10am this time of year.
So naturally I didn’t put my long sleeve jersey, arm warmers, vest, or jacket in my sag wagon bag.
Why would I?
Shaferand Beyond As people passed me for the first 20 miles or so, I began to wonder: at what point would people stop passing me? It turns out, they’d stop passing me about the time I ran out of people to be passed by.
Which makes sense, when you think about it.
So I dropped down Shafer, an intense descent switching back over and over alongside the face of a cliff. Every time I ride down this, I wonder: how did people build a road into this cliff? It just doesn’t seem possible.
After a forever-long descent — taking the corners ever so carefully — I reached the bottom, where people would continue to catch me, ask how Susan is doing, and then ride away.
Once you make that initial descent, you’re in what amounts to the bottom of a giant basin for most of the day. Sure, there are climbs, but there are also giant sections that are so long and flat and straight that you can see the jeep road come to a point on the horizon. Combine that with the outlandish landscape of cliffs and spires and arches and you can’t help but feel like this must be the place where they film the Roadrunner cartoons.
I rode along, happy with the niceness of the day — windy to be sure, but no big deal — and the chance to be alone with my thoughts. My thoughts, by the way, were usually along the lines of: “I wonder why chocolate is so delicious?”
You must admit, it’s an intriguing question.
I got to Musselman Arch feeling good. I — for the first time ever — walked across the arch, and then, as I turned and watched — Kenny did a handstand on it.
I knew right then that would be my closing shot in my RAWROD video.
On to Whitecrack Figuring I had enough video for a while, I swapped out my helmetcam rig and put on a lighter helmet.
Ahhhhh.
Dug — who, like everyone else, had pulled away from me at the beginning of the ride and was waiting for me at Musselman Arch — said he’d ride with me for a while.
Yes, Dug had made a decision to slow down enough to let me ride with him. I am not going to eat again until I have lost thirty pounds.
As we rode, the wind started picking up: a headwind, naturally. Which is not unusual on White Rim. It’s a big big area and is almost always windy in one direction or another.
What’s weird about gusty wind in the desert is that you can see when you’re about to get a blast, because you can see the wall of sand approaching. It usually gives you just enough time to duck your head so it doesn’t hit you full in the face.
As if that’s going to change anything.
Lisa R — a former neighbor and longtime friend — caught up with us and she and I started talking about our kids.
Dug got bored and shot off the front.
Then after a while, Lisa couldn’t hold my pace anymore…and she shot off the front, too.
A pattern was beginning to emerge.
I pulled into Whitecrack, the next regrouping spot for everyone. It was getting windier and windier, with gusts so strong they would almost stall me out.
“You’re looking strong, Nelson!” someone shouted, encouragingly. Which made me think, right then and there, that it is never a good idea to say “You’re looking strong” to anyone. Those who are strong know they are strong. Those of us who are weak and pitiful know it too. So the “Looking strong” schtick serves either as unnecessary confirmation or (in my case) cruel mockery.
[Note to person who said "Looking strong, Nelson:" Sorry I slashed your tires.]
And then it began to rain. Just a little. Then a lot. Then it would stop. Then it would start again.
Standing in my damp shorts and short-sleeved shirt, I began to see how it might have been wise to pack some extra clothes.
At which point Dug loaned me a spare short-sleeve jersey and his knee warmers — which worked just fine as arm warmers, thanks. So now I’m conflicted: should I hate Dug for being faster than I, or be grateful to him for saving me from hypothermia?
What a tough ethical dilemma.
Luckily, I would have plenty of time while riding by myself for hours in hard gusting headwinds without anyone to take a turn in front and possibly give me a break to consider it.
Murphy’s Hogback After a while, the White Rim starts to blend together for me. Did I see this crazy sandstone spire before or after one particular eternal stretch of sandy road? I can’t remember.
But I never forget Murphy’s Hogback. It’s a devil of a climb.
And, I’m quite pleased to say, I climbed a surprising amount of it. Because I have a little secret: while I am as fat as a walrus right now, my legs are actually really strong, and I have the power to blunt-force row my way up a steep pitch.
And then, on Murphy’s, we regrouped for the traditional group photo shot.
No, wait a second. That’s what we were planning on doing, before the torrential rain convinced everyone that what they’d really like to be doing is getting back on their bikes to warm up and finish this blasted ride through rain, cold, and sandblasting wind.
As I rode in these conditions, I confess: I was not having much fun.
With the weather so bad, I didn’t really want to film, and for a while, I didn’t. But then it occurred to me: this is exactly the time I should be filming. So when the sag wagon truck came by, I grabbed my helmet cam and switched it on, leaving it on for pretty much the rest of the day (an 8gb card will hold about 6 hours of film, waaaaaay more than any sane person will want to collect on a given day).
Besides, the non-ventilated helmet was warmer.
Let’s Finish This The more time you spend in the saddle, the more images blur together.
There was a lot of squinting into dust storms. There was Hardscrabble Hill: an agonizing push that I simply did not have even close to enough power to climb without some walking. And then some coasting. There was fishtailing in deep sand as Kenny took pity on me and rode for several miles with me.
And then, finally, there’s Horsethief Trail.
It does not blur together with anything.
I both dread and love Horsethief Trail. I know that it’s going to hurt. And this particular time, I didn’t even know if I was too weak and fat to do the climb without resting.
But on the other hand, this climb is majestic. You climb a cliff. On your bike.
Oh, and I love the pain of this climb. It’s a quiet, persistent rumbling pain, and while you’re doing this climb, there’s nothing else in the world. And really, how often do you get to have that kind of solitude and feel that kind of determination, while you are climbing a cliff on your bike?
Mark and I rode it together, trading turns being in front (but he finished ahead of me, which is what counts). He’s a good guy to do a hard climb with.
And after that, you’re done. You’ve just ridden a hundred miles over impossibly grand country, and you’re somehow back where you started. I’m sure people with a sense of direction see how that’s possible, but I don’t have a head for maps and am always boggled at how this huge long straight ride turned out to actually be a loop.
“What?” I want to ask. “Did we ride all the way around the world or something?”
Last weekend, I put on my helmetcam and taped hours and hours and hours of video as 70 or so of my close personal friends and I rode around in the desert.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell the story in words.
Today, though, I’d like to present one of the hardest days of riding I’ve ever had, in the form of a 9:24 video.
A Note from Fatty:The “Meet BSNYC” winners have all been sent email, and all the people who won a t-shirt have responded. The person who won the grand prize, however, has not. So. If you donated some money for this contest and haven’t checked your email in a while, well, maybe you should.
Another Note from Fatty:The response for the 100 Miles of Nowhere has been huge. I am getting really excited for this strange event. And you still have time to register. Go to yesterday’s post for details.
Also, I have added a section at the Fat Cyclist Forum for discussion about the 100 Miles of Nowhere. If you are looking for someone in your area to do the race with, post a message there.
I have been coping with a cold for about a week, now. I’ve been through the sore throat stage, the watery eye stage, and the stuffy nose stage.
Through it all, I have been taking daily advantage of one of cycling’s great little secrets: when you’re on the bike, you feel fine. Your head clears up. You can breathe. Your throat stops hurting, and your body stops aching.
Well, maybe your body continues to ache, but it’s a different kind of ache.
A couple days ago, for example, even though I had been feeling miserable the whole day, Brad and I went riding on Corner Canyon, to see if the warm weather we’ve had for the past few days has opened up Jacob’s Ladder: the highest trail in Corner Canyon, and a crazy, rocky, rollercoaster of a descent with sharp embedded rock everywhere and exposure on both sides.
The whole time I was riding, I felt great. In fact, I felt like I was descending better than I ever have in my life. Even Brad noted in his blog that I had a banner day, descent-wise.
So — even though I still felt awful — we went and did it again the next day, this time taking the helmetcam. Here’s the video:
Obviously, I’m still learning to use this camera. Lessons learned from this ride include that I need to adjust the mount on the helmet so it doesn’t point down so far, and to try to tilt the mount up for rear-facing mounts, so I get more of the rider instead of just the trail.
Still, you wouldn’t have thought, looking at this video, that I had been feeling sick as a dog the whole day.
Off to RAWROD
The thing is, I’m about to rely verrrry heavily on the “I feel fine when I’m on the bike” effect. Because today I head out for the Ride Around White Rim in One Day (RAWROD) 2009. Even though I have a near-constant hacking cough that is sometimes so fierce it doubles me over, I am not missing this.
After all, I’m sure that the “I feel fine when riding” effect will hold over the course of a 100 miles of mountain biking.
A Note from Fatty: Winners of the “Meet BSNYC” contest are being notified by email today. Once I’ve got their OK, I will announce their names.
Finally. Spring is here. The weather is great, and I just can’t think of anything I’d rather do than get outside and ride my bike.
Except, that is, ride my rollers in the dead of night for 100 miles.
So, uh, why don’t you join me?
What The 100 Miles of Nowhere Is
The basic idea of the 100 Miles of Nowhere is that no matter where you are, on May 23 you’re going to either ride your rollers, trainer, or a very small outside course for 100 miles. Or if that sounds like too much, you can do 50 miles. Or 25.
But, ideally, 100.
And since you will be the only one racing in your age group, gender, category, and region, you are clearly going to win your age/gender/region/category group.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m guaranteeing you are going to win. How often do you get that kind of assurance in a race?
Oh sure, as you ride, you will certainly have qualms, and may find yourself saying things like, “I can’t believe I’m riding my trainer for 100 miles,” or “I can’t believe I’m paying to ride my trainer for 100 miles,” but then you’ll remind yourself, “But I’m doing this for a really, really good cause.”
And that cause, of course, is helping Team Fatty raise money to fight cancer. Out of the $75 registration you pay, $50 will go straight to the Lance Armstrong Foundation (the other $25 pays for boxing and shipping and stuff like that — trust me, nobody’s making a profit here).
And best of all, if you wear a GPS during your ride, you’ll get to upload an awesome ride track. One that looks like this:
Your friends will be so jealous.
What You Get
As I believe I have mentioned before, one of my most practical superpowers is the ability to ask people to give me stuff without feeling ashamed.
And for the 100 Miles of Nowhere, I have used this power on your behalf.
Here’s the valuable schwag you’re going to get when you do this race.
An event t-shirt, designed and produced by Twin Six . Twin Six designs all my jerseys and t-shirts, and they’ve never ever ever disappointed. This will be one shirt that definitely does not become a rag used to wipe the grease off your chain. Not for several years, anyway. Value: $22.00
A tube of DZ-Nuts. Yes, really. If you use chamois cream, it’s high time you try DZ-Nuts. If you have never tried chamois cream, I cannot think of a more perfect time to begin. As I have noted in my review, this is good stuff. Value: $22.00
A Banjo Brothers Seat Bag: These bags open wide and perfectly hold exactly what you need for a roadside tube change: tube, tire levers, mini tool, CO2 can and adapter. And a couple of rolled-up bills in case you need to buy a Slurpie. Every road bike should have one of these. Value: $10.99
TWOGarmin / Slipstream Camelbak Podium Bottles: I recently got one of these bottles for myself…and I liked it so much that I ordered a six-pack of them. They’re the only bottle I use now. Somehow, CamelBak has made the bike water bottle better. Alotbetter. And the Garmin / Slipstream graphics lookgreat. And how cool is Team Garmin / Slipstream for helping raise money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation? Value: $20.00
CarboRocket Single-Serve packs: How weird is it that one of my very best friends invented what I consider to be the very best sports drink in existence? You’ll get four single-serve packs (perfect for making one bottle’s-worth), letting you try each of the flavors: Kiwi-Lime, Raspberry Lemonade, and maybe some exciting new surprise flavors Brad’s cooking up in his kitchen right now. And, I daresay this is a good opportunity for you to try them out. Value: $6.00
Clif Shot Bloks: The fact that I will, if left to my own devices, eat Shot Bloks recreationally, tells you everything you need to know about them. They taste like jam, and look terrifying when microwaved. Value: $2.00
ProBar : These things taste far too delicious to be organic, and yet they are. And they’re far too delicious, I might add, to be an energy bar. And yet they are. Value: $3.29
All told, your 100 Miles of Nowhere schwag box has right around $84.29 worth of product, and it’s all stuff you’ll actually use, as opposed to the cheesy bag, limp shirt, lame hat, and coupons you won’t use that you get with a lot of your races.
But That’s Not All
Your entry into the 100 Miles of Nowhere also qualifies you for some frankly awesome random “door prizes.”
You might win, for example, the use of — for up to five nights — a beautiful condo in Moab, UT:
Maximum of 5 nights, no pets, use it or lose it — but seriously, if you’ve ever considered coming to Moab for an MTB vacation, this could turn your trip into a seriously styling vacation.
And finally, you could win one of two subscriptions to Cyclocross Magazine. Nice!
Register Today
Registration for the 100 Miles of Nowhere is open now, and will run for one week — ’til 5:00PM CDT April 30. After that, it’s closed, so don’t wait ’til it’s too late!
Then, on May 23rd (or on a day close to the 23rd that’s more convenient to you), do the ride. Make sure you take pictures and send them in; I’ll post ‘em here.
Got questions? Comments? Ideas? Post them in the comments section and I’ll answer the best I can.
A Note from Fatty:Today’s your very last day to enter the cleverly-named “Fight Cancer, meet Bike Snob NYC” contest, wherein you can fly to New York, meet my Evil Twin,Bike Snob NYC, and find out for yourself that he is actually eight feet tall, is covered with a thick coat of bright red fur (he dyes it; his natural fur color is light brown), has a goiter the size of a tangerine, and has a peculiarly-shaped bone structure protruding from his forehead that whistles shrilly when he reaches 18mph.
No wonder he values his privacy so highly.
Read detailshere, or godonate here. I’ll announce the winners tomorrow.
Another Note from Fatty:If you’ve been considering joining Team Fatty but just couldn’t deal with the $50 sign-up fee, today’s your lucky day, because there’s a one-day-only sale on registration going on right this very second. Simply click the city you want to sign up with –Austin,Seattle,San Jose, orPhilly– and then from that page click the Join our Team link. Use “SPIRIT09″ as your discount code when you register and you’ll get $15 off the registration fee. Join us today and help us help the Lance Armstrong Foundation fight cancer.
And here’s something to consider: I am currently working out the details to start a weekly prize giveaway — but it will be strictly for members of Team Fatty. More info on this soon, but let’s just say that I’m going to do what I can to give Team Fatty members extra-good reasons to work hard on raising money to fight cancer.
Oh, and if you’ve got something so cool you think people would compete for a chance to win it,email me.
Yet Another Note from Fatty:Philly Jen — the Team Fatty Co-Captain for Philadelphia — has begun a FattyCast for Team Fatty. It’s a terrific way to learn about and get tips on raising money for Team Fatty members…or for people who are interested in joining Team Fatty. You’ll find thefirst installment of the FattyCast here. As a bonus, unlike most podcasts, Jen has an honest-to-goodness great voice
Still Yet Another Note from Fatty:I have created a newforumfor Team Fatty members for the different cities to chat, and for the team co-captains to start talking about any special Team Fatty activities we’ll be having before the event. I highly recommend checking it out. It should be a good place for you to meet your teammates. You’ll find the forum atwww.fatcyclist.com/forum. That seems like a reasonable URL, doesn’t it?
1-day sale on joining the livestrong challenge. which makes it a good day to join team fatty
OK, Seriously, This is The Last Note from Fatty:I currently don’t have a team Co-Captain for San Jose and I need one. If you live in that area, have experience with leading teams, and are willing to take on the bulk of the Team Fatty San Jose-leading responsibilities,email me. Thanks!
How to Name a Bike Trail
I’ve mentioned before how much I love Draper City for building and maintaining Corner Canyon. Well, I’ve got another reason now. Jamie P, one of the guys I sometimes ride with, started going to the City Council meetings and then proposed a new trail in Corner Canyon: a trail built to be a twisty, cross-country, bikes-only, narrow, downhill-specific slice of heaven.
And Draper totally went for it.
Everyone I know who rides is so excited that many of us plan to actually help build it. Yes, I know that seems crazy, but it’s true.
So yesterday, when Jamie sent out an email asking for ideas on what to name this trail, the response was as overwhelming as it was tragic. As it turns out, very few of us know the rules for properly naming a trail. And I do not exempt myself from this sad group, for my own suggestions (including “B#,” a clever in-joke programmers will find mildly amusing and nobody else will get at all) were perhaps among the worst.
So I thought. And I considered. And I came up with what I can now confidently assert are the definitive and authoritative “Do’s and Don’ts” of bike trail naming.
These rules are as follows:
Do Not…
Use more than 3 syllables. This is not because I am lazy. This is because I am practical. If a bike trail has more than three syllables, I will not be able to curse it properly when I am climbing, because I will have to take a breath in the middle of the trail’s name. For example, if the trail is named “Revolution Revelations” (eight syllables), I will pass out if I try to say it during a climb. Also, it takes me about thirty seconds to type, and about nine minutes to text. Hence, I would simply call the trail “RR,” which wouldn’t be too bad of a name, except for the fact that it sounds like the way Mork laughed.
Call it something you cannot picture yourself saying to your grandma, or spouse, children, or ecclesiastical authorities. I just cannot imagine myself telling Susan, “Hey, I’m going to head out and ride the Dirty Mistress. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
Use trendy slang. The thing about trendy slang is that it either falls out of use, or it becomes cliche. And also, it sounds painful when middle-aged white guys say anything ending with “izzle.”
Name it with presumption, so that it is unlikely to meet expectations. If you name your trail “The Terminator” but winds up being more like The Sarah Connor Chronicles, well, that’s a bit of a letdown, isn’t it?
Make it sound horrible, dangerous and no fun. Trails should not be named “Scab Picker,” nor should they be called “The Disemboweler” or “Twenty Foot Drop Into a Pit with Sharp Iron Spikes at the Bottom.” This is a different kind of presumption — that your trail is unrideable — and it’s even less cool than the first kind. The exception to this rule, of course, is if the trail actually does have a twenty foot drop into a pit with sharp iron spikes at the bottom.
Use puns. As you know, puns are the lowest form of humor. So don’t name your trail “ReCYCLER.” Or “CYCLone” or “Spin Cycle.” If you do, I will be forced to call the trail by an alternate name. You know how people say, “No pun intended?” What other form of humor is usually followed by a disclaimer / apology?
Use alliteration. Alliteration is lucky it’s a rhetorical device, not a form of humor. Because if it were a form of humor, it might be even lower than puns. So don’t name your trail “Seriously Sick Singletrack.” Remember: alliteration is an absolutely abhorrent avenue for assigning an appellation.
End the name of the trail with “Trail.” Of course it’s a trail.
Name the trail after current events, a song, a band, or other transitory pop cultural puffery. What if someone had named a trail after the BeeGees? Think about that before you go naming your trail after a Metallica song. Or whatever it is kids listen to these days.
Name it after drugs. Or sex. Yes, yes, this trail is as addictive as crack. And it’s better than sex. Got it. But that gag is used. As in, used up.
Do…
Be non-comedically obscure. What does “Goldbar Rim” mean? I have no idea. How about “Amasa Back?” Nope, still no idea. And “Kokopelli Trail?” Well, that violates the “Don’t end the name of the trail with ‘Trail’” rule, but I still don’t know what it means. And yet, these are all great trails with names I remember. This highlights a key point in trail naming: A trail’s awesomeness stems from the trail itself. The name will take on awesomeness in time, so don’t get in its way with kitsch.
Be descriptive. Slickrock Trail is the best known trail in the world, and it has a simple, descriptive name. Timpooneke Trail is just named after the mountain it’s on. The Ridge Trail network is a network of trails on a common mountain ridge. I can see, right now, that my “Don’t end your trail name with ‘Trail’” rule is not holding up very well.
Be thematically random. If you think about naming all of your trails before you begin naming any of them, then you can choose a theme. For example, I recommend “Famous magicians and psychics” as a trail theme. Houdini, Krespin, Hennings, and Copperfield all make terrific trail names. The names of the characters on Gilligan’s Isle is another fine trail-naming theme that has so far been sadly neglected.
Use a first name, but one that was popular with people 60 – 70 years ago. This is by far the best way to name trails. And, fortunately, there’s a handly list already made. Dolores, for example, is a terrific trail name. As is Wanda. In fact, I would love nothing better than to say, “I’m going riding on a trail called Wanda.” Marvin, Floyd, Ethel, and Lester: all terrific trail names. In fact, if I were to run for office, I would use as my platform a promise that all trails would be named after popular names of the ’30s.
Oh, who am I kidding? This is all just sour grapes. In truth, I’m just disappointed that nobody suggested naming this new trail “Fatty.”
