09.22.2008 | 6:02 pm
Last night, Kenny — whom I have hired as my photographer, because as my Working Press badge makes clear, I am the publisher of FATCYCLIST.COM, as well as a freelancer for BikeRadar.com — and I started our voyage to Las Vegas, where we very soon begin our coverage of InterBike 2009, if only I can get Kenny to stop drinking and lounging at the pool.
Anyway, we only got as far as St. George last night anyway, because we had business to conduct there.
Specifically, we wanted to ride the Green Valley Loop and the Zen trail this morning. And I have to say, having never ridden either of these trails before, that after riding them this morning I was giving serious consideration to maybe pushing off my InterBike attendance by an extra day, in order to get some more trail time in.
Green Valley Loop
Imagine a rollercoaster made out of baked desert clay. That’s the Green Valley Loop. You climb for a while, and then just let loose, following the humpty-bumpty-ziggy-zaggy trail to the bottom.
I’m too far away for you to tell, but — trust me — I’ve got a big ol’ happy face on here.
This ride is perfect for a singlespeed and rigid fork, by the way.
Oh, and I got a cool action sequence of Kenny dropping down what in reality looks like a freakishly steep wall and here looks like it’s barely downhill at all.
And here’s Kenny, contemplating his mortality at the edge of a certain-death cliff:
And all of this leads up to the question: if I hired Kenny to be the photographer for this boondoggle, how come I’m the one taking all the pictures? (Answer: because I know who my readers would rather have photos of.)
Confession of Apprehension
After the ride, we finished the drive to Las Vegas. As we got close, my nervousness grew (and it hasn’t really gone away). You see, while I’m perfectly happy to ham it up with a small group of friends — or on my blog, which feels like a small group of friends — I do not like big cities, or convention centers, or crowds of any sort. I don’t go to big parties. I don’t hang out at clubs. I don’t break into sweats, panic, and bolt for the door; I just prefer quieter places, where I have a better chance of being the center of attention.
Between you and me, I’m a little worried that this bike-centric trade show thing is not going to be my kind of thing.
Tomorrow
Tomorrow Kenny and I are headed for the Outdoor Expo part of the show, and I am looking forward to that, because I am assured I will get to try out a whole buncha bikes. I expect to behave much like a kid in a candy store, where all the candy is really, really expensive.
And I’ll be wearing a messenger bag, stuffed full of Fat Cyclist t-shirts, which I have decided make a fantastic business card.
Comments (29)
09.19.2008 | 10:07 am
A Note from Fatty: I’ll be at Interbike all next week, getting the stories nobody else has the guts to report. On Wednesday, I’ll also be on a panel called “Just the Basics: What You Need to Know About Web 2.0,” which will be in Casanova Room 601 at 2:30. I plan to show up about half an hour early with a few Fat Cyclist t-shirts to give away. If you’re going to be at Interbike, come by and introduce yourself. Then, if you feel like it, stick around for the panel.
I have a crazy theory. I’m almost entirely sure it’s wrong, what with the teeny little problem that I have exactly zero facts (or even rumors) to support it.
But I like my theory, so I’m going to bring it up anyway, in the hope that you too will like this theory, and you’ll spread it as if it were fact. And then it will become rumor.
And — as everyone knows — most rumors have a kernel of truth. And if it has a kernel of truth, well, why can’t the whole thing be true? See, my theory will go from ridiculous notion to plausible possibility in just a few short steps, without me having to do any work.
I should write a book on this technique. I could call it The Secret 2: This Time It Requires Even Less Actual Work.
OK, I’m off track, aren’t I? Yes, yes I am. Where was I? Oh yes, my theory.
My Theory
As you learned in my world-exclusive announcement last week, Lance Armstrong is returning to professional cycling. What Lance didn’t tell me — that dude can be so coy sometimes! — is what team he’ll be riding with.
So here’s my theory.
Lance Armstrong won’t be joining a team. He’ll be forming one: Team LiveStrong.
OK, that sounds a little nuts, but hear me out. Armstrong has said, “I have decided to return to professional cycling in order to raise awareness of the global cancer burden.” And he’s said he’ll be announcing more on September 24th (probably while I’m presenting at that panel at Interbike, with my luck).
Sure, as a cyclist on Astana he could have some impact, but on a team of his own — a team branded not to sell a product or company, but to raise money and awareness to fight cancer — he could have a much bigger impact.
I know that — for the first time ever — I’d buy a pro team kit. And I would root for Armstrong and his team like I never have before. And I daresay there’d be renewed interest in next year’s Tour.
When you think about it, you know what seems likely? Team Astana — a Trek-supported team with Bruyneel leading the way, but evidently locked out of the TdF due to its name — will be bought by Armstrong, becoming Team LiveStrong.
Would ASO — the organizer of the Tour de France — turn away a team explicitly created to fight cancer, helmed by winningest TdF racer in history?
Uh, no. No it wouldn’t.
I really like my theory. Sure, it’s probably wrong, but a man can dream, right?
And besides, just in case I’m right, I want to be on the record as being the guy who saw it coming.
Side Bets
Just supposing this works out to be real, I furthermore bet the following:
- George Hincapie will find a way to join the team.
- Alberto Contador will find a way to leave the team formerly known as Astana for some other team. He’s at the top of his game; he won’t want to play second fiddle to Lance. Something tells me he won’t have a difficult time finding a new team to race for.
- Rock Racing will look even more ridiculous whenever they race alongside Team LiveStrong. Consider: one team is dedicated to fighting cancer, the other team is dedicated to selling very expensive pants (among other very expensive things).
- FatCyclist.com will make a case to many people at LiveStrong that it should be the official blogger of Team LiveStrong. This case will take the form of open letters. Ultimately, I believe that these pleas will not be successful. But it’s worth trying anyway.
What do you think Armstrong will announce on 9/24? By all means, feel free to augment, supplement, or debunk my theory with your own.
Comments (90)
09.18.2008 | 11:00 am
Madrid, Spain (Fat Cyclist Fake News Service) – In a post-stage team press conference today, U.S. National Road Race Champion Levi Leipheimer announced he is endorsing The Ultimate Cyclist CD.
"Since winning the 2007 Tour of California, the Ultimate Cyclist has become an indispensable part of my training arsenal,” said Leipheimer.
Added teammate Alberto Contador, apropos of nothing, "Phosphorus," at which point Levi Leipheimer stood up, climbed up on the table, and began clucking like a chicken.
Oddly, when Contador snapped his fingers, Leipheimer returned to his seat and resumed speaking normally.
"This has been an exceptional year for me," said Leipheimer. "I really feel that I have the will, fitness, and determination to win a major tour."
Interrupted Contador, "Sodium."
Leipheimer continued, in a stilted voice, "But the greatest thing I could ever do is reject my own selfish desires and to do all I can, regardless of consequences, to help my glorious and exalted teammate Alberto Contador win the Vuelta España."
Leipheimer then shook his head a few times, pressed his palms to his eyes, and then looked around as if he were lost.
After taking a few moments to evidently collect himself, Leipheimer asked, "Are there any questions?"
One reporter asked why Leipheimer had, recently, pulled over on the side of the road for several minutes, completely stopping until Contador had caught up with him. Unfortunately, Leipheimer’s response was not audible, due to a sudden — and quite severe — sneezing fit on Contador’s part.
Asked why, earlier in the stage that day, he had begun mooing like a cow for ten minutes, Leipheimer had no comment, nor any apparent idea of what the questioner was talking about.
At this moment, Contador’s coughing / sneezing fit became so severe — he covered his face with his hands and his entire body seemed to be shaking — that the press conference had to be terminated.
Created by cycling coach and category 1 bike racer Josh Horowitz, and renowned Australian clinical hypnotherapist, Dr. Rick Collingwood, The Ultimate Cyclist is the only cycling-specific sports psychology tool on the market.
It is not known whether custom versions of the CD, containing specialized messages and suggestions, can be ordered.
Comments (31)
09.17.2008 | 7:30 am
Dear USA Cycling,
I read with some concern and distress in Velonews today that my beloved mountain bike racing categories — Beginner, Sport, Expert, Semi-Pro, and Pro (I had to check on the naming of the last two since they’re not exactly in my list of personally-relevant labels at this time) — are being replaced with new category names: Cat 3, 2, 1, and Pro.
I would like to strongly urge you to reconsider this decision. I have many compelling reasons why.
- I Really like the name “Sport.” I have been a “Sport” category racer ever since my third mountain bike race. And it’s all I can ever aspire to. And I like being a Sport. It sounds…sporty. Like, you know, I’m no longer a beginner, but I’m also not particularly expert. I’m here to race for the sport of it.
- I’m scared of what being called Cat 2 implies. While being called “Sport” is a reasonably accurate description of my attitude toward racing — although perhaps if the category were called “Ambivalent” it would be more precise — Category 2 sends all the wrong messages. This numbering system implies some sort of path or progression. Like, “Hey, I used to be a 3, now I’m a 2, and someday I’ll be a 1.” Except I’ll never be a Cat 1. I’ve been racing in this category for more than ten years, and have never yet won a race. This is where I belong. Putting me in the middle of your numeric spectrum just reminds me that I’m not going anywhere.
- I can no longer obfuscate my mediocrity with jargon. When friends and family ask me what category I race in, I answer — without explanation — “Sport.” Since most people I know don’t know anything about how mountain biking is categorized, some (and hopefully most) assume that “Sport” is pretty high up there. I like to imagine, for example, that they assume the ranking goes like: Novice, Beginner, Highly Accomplished, Well-Regarded-By-Peers, Semi-Pro, 3rd-Degree Black Belt, Sport, Pro. But when I say “Cat 2,” they won’t even have to ask me whether it’s better to be Cat 3 or Cat 1 (I’m not clear on that myself, to tell the truth; logic tells me I’d start at Cat 1 and work my way up…is that right?), because Cat 2 is right there in the middle of the pack. Average. Undistinguished. Ordinary. Bland. Mediocre. And I haven’t even cracked the thesaurus yet.
- New opportunities to sandbag. I’m listing this one last, because since it doesn’t affect me, I honestly don’t care about it. But the fact is, the biggest thing this change does is force people not quite good enough to cut it in the Pro ranks to decide, “Do I want to spend the rest of my life racing way off the back of the field by going for Pro, or would I rather race in the front of the field by going in Cat 1?” Gee, I wonder what most of them will decide. My friends Brad and Kenny are about to never win another race again. Sorry, guys.
All of these reasons, however, pale compared to my primary motive for objecting to your new racing category names:
They’re boring.
Seriously: 3-2-1-Pro? That’s the best you could come up with? Even if you don’t take into account that you abandon your naming methodology right at the conclusion of the schema, it’s not like the names are memorable. Or logical. Or interesting.
Luckily for you, I am here to help. Taking it as given that you definitely want to abandon your perfectly sensible existing categories and want to replace them with something different, I think I can at least help you come up with a set of categories that are both more evocative and internally consistent.
I hereby present you with several options. Please feel free to pick your favorite.
Metamorphic Stages
If you’re looking to reduce the number of racing categories and you want to use a continuum, you could hardly do better than the metamorphic stages of a butterfly. Specifically:
- Eggs: This category is a nice metaphor for the very beginning stage of a racer’s career. You’re new to the world. You have so much potential. Soon you’ll hatch and flourish. This is so beautiful, I believe I am going to cry.
- Caterpillars: I’m confident that racers formerly known as “Sport” won’t object to being called “Caterpillars.” Why would we? The similarities between Sport racers and caterpillars are striking. We inch along slowly, and we eat everything in sight.
- Cocoons: This is of course the inert stage a caterpillar goes through before becoming a butterfly, though, when as a child I ever put a cocoon in a jar to watch it transform, it never worked. The cocoon would always just sit there, forever, staying a cocoon.
- Butterflies: If the rest of us have to have category names, so do the pros. Besides, the description’s apt. They’re light. They fly. They are colorfully adorned. And above all, they seem to be remarkably fragile.
How You’re Planning to Race Today
I’ve often been of the opinion that racing categories shouldn’t be so rigid. The truth is, I often don’t know what category I belong in until I get to the race and see how other people are planning to categorize themselves. Further, my objective for the race determines how fast I’m going to be (with the obvious severe upper limitation of capability, or lack thereof).
How about if racing categories reflected the reality of racer intentions?
- Racing to See If I Like Racing: Exclusively for people who have either never raced at all or who haven’t raced in at least five years. The course should be adjusted to be a nice moderate downhill for these people, and semi-pros with a chip on their shoulder should not be allowed on the course until the last person from this category is finished.
- Just Cruising: For racers who came along mostly as support for an insecure friend who didn’t want to come to a race alone. They’re here to ride the course just for fun. To ride in this category, you must start with a full Camelbak, even if the race is 40 minutes long. You must also bring a camera and be able to demonstrate at the finish line that you stopped a couple of times to take pictures.
- Training Race: For those who aren’t here to win it and don’t care how they place, but rather are here because it’s a good way to trick yourself into doing an interval-level workout.
- Reaffirming my Sense of Self-Importance: If you’re here to prove to yourself that you are faster than the locals, you should race against other people who are also there to show they are faster than other locals, so the rest of us can enjoy ourselves. Although, now that I think about it, this category isn’t going to have its stated effect for most of the racers. That’s a real shame.
- This Race is Really, Really, Really Important to Me: Everyone picks a race that matters more than any other race to them for the year. If this is your race, you should be given a special place in the start line, and a special-colored bib (yellow, probably), and when people see your special-colored bib, they let you by. The only catch is, nobody gets to race in this category more than once per year.
- Racing Is My Life: People who race all the time should race against other people who race all the time, regardless of their speed. This way, they’ll get to know each other, and in time they’ll perhaps realize that they’ve got a sickness and need help, and then they’ll already know everyone in their support group. How convenient!
Sandbaggers / Not Sandbaggers
This very minimalist categorizing system only has two divisions. People who normally sandbag should race each other, while people who don’t sandbag race each other.
Interestingly, I suspect that while everybody knows a sandbagger or two or nine, the “Sandbagger” category will be lightly attended.
USA Cycling, I am confident that one — or more — of these options will be to your liking, although I am happy to present additional categorizing schemas should you so desire (by bird type, by frog metamorphic stages, alphabetically by last name are just a few ideas that spring to mind right now).
I look forward to your timely response, which will — I am confident — be an acknowledgement of the superiority of my ideas.
Kind Regards,
The Fat Cyclist
Comments (73)
09.15.2008 | 10:35 am
6 May, 7114
I spent all of last night unable to sleep, worried that I would soon meet my maker, worried that I would be forced to defend myself from — or even attack — one of these uncivilized Dirty People.
And sure enough, as dawn broke, there was a disturbance in the forest, and then the Dirty People broke through. They looked much as I described them yesterday. But if it were not for their arms — the Dirty People have muscular forearms, usually completely covered with primal markings — they would be nearly indistinguishable from the natives that I have come to know.
And then the battle began.
I am not a soldier, by any means, but — quite bravely, I thought — I picked up an irretrievably out-of-true aluminum frame (the natives here could not bear to use any serviceable cycling equipment as weapons) and waded into the fray.
And that is when I discovered two remarkable things.
- I am by far and away the mightiest warrior on the island. In a matter of seconds, I had felled three of the Dirty People, as well as one of the road-riding natives (the latter was completely by accident, I assure you). Then primal instincts overtook me and within three minutes, I had a good sized pile of human wreckage surrounding me.
- Nobody on this island can fight at all. Through the thick haze of bloodlust, I heard someone say, “Dude, just chill!” And that’s when I realized that while everyone else was fighting, nobody was getting hurt. The people of both tribes are completely inept at hurting one another.
I apologized and began tending to their wounded. Fortunately, nobody had been seriously hurt, and evidently the Dirty People have developed the ability to heal quickly, as well as a cheerful acceptance of pain as a fact of life.
Then, as a show of brotherhood and no hard feelings, I assisted some of the Dirty People with heavier bikes — evidently the Dirty People have subclasses, much as the Thin Ones (as the Dirty People call the natives I have been staying with call them) — as they slowly pushed their bikes back up to the top of the mountain where they dwell.
I find the tribes and subtribes of this island worthy of study. I believe I shall stay here indefinitely, where I shall endeavor to learn their ways. I will send reports of my success in this regard as events warrant.
Comments (30)
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