04.20.2008 | 7:33 am
A Note from Fatty: This post, rescued from my MSN Spaces archive, was originally published October 19, 2005.
One thing all cyclists — and nobody else in the world — know is that road biking and mountain biking are only distant cousins. They’re hardly related, really. Sure, both kinds of bikes have a superficial resemblance (though that’s disappearing, as many full-suspension mountain bikes have started looking more like motorcycles), but the way they work you out is different, the mood that makes you ride them is different, and the kind of fun you have is entirely different.
What I’ve been thinking about lately, though, is what I think might be the most telling difference of all: how you react to the unexpected is different.
The Treacherous Speed Bump
I’ve been riding the track bike a lot lately. Time will tell whether that’s because of the novelty of it or because fixed gear riding is going to be my thing, but for right now, that’s the bike I’m choosing when I have a choice (ie, when it’s not raining).
But I’m still making lots of mistakes.
There are some big speed bumps on the road through Marymoor park, which I go through on the way to work. On my regular road bike, I always stood up and coasted over those.
So of course without thinking about it, I tried to do the same thing on the fixie. But as I stood up, my crank stayed in motion, propelling me forcefully up and forward as the right crank rotated up. This happened, of course, as I went over the speed bump. This put me in a nose wheelie. On a fixie. At about 18mph.
In reality, the rear wheel probably was never more than six inches above the ground, but it felt like I was about to do a high-speed road endo. Luckily, I managed to sit down, and there was no traffic on the road, so my embarrassment was mine and mine alone to enjoy (until now, of course).
Crazy Legs
That’s not my only recent near-miss on the track bike. On short, moderate downhills, I’ve been trying to use my own power to keep the fixie’s speed under control. That’s worked fine.
When I tried to do that on a long, fairly steep downhill, though, I wound up going faster and faster — my legs weren’t able to exert reverse force quickly enough to keep up. Before long, the bike had my legs spinning so fast I started bumping up and down in my seat. I was close enough to out of control that I was afraid to move my left hand out of the drops even for the short time it took to grab the front brake. That was the only option, though, and I managed to bring the bike’s speed (and my legs) back under control before getting to the stoplight. Which I’m going to go ahead and call a good thing.
Hairpin
My closest call on a road bike, though, was when I was coming down the Alpine Loop one day. It was one of those rides where everything is going perfectly. You’re feeling fast, you’re nailing the turns, and your bike feels more like a part of you than a machine has any right to feel.
And then I hit a turn I didn’t expect. As I came out of a fast sweeping right turn, I expected the road to straighten. Instead, it turned sharply left. To the side of the road was gravel, then a steep bank that went down and down and down.
I was going about 35 entering the turn, and knew as I approached the apex there was no way I was going to make it. I locked up both brakes and — instead of high-siding like I should have — I skidded to a stop in the gravel. I got off the bike and walked around for ten minutes, ‘til the adrenaline shakes finally wore off and I could ride again.
Mountain Near Misses
The thing about mountain biking is, you have near misses all the time. On “Frank,” my closest mountain bike ride back in Utah, you start the ride by zooming downhill on ledgy singletrack, with a 50-foot drop six inches to your right. I’ve put a foot down to keep myself from falling off that cliff several times.
On Grove (another favorite mountain bike ride back in UT), you’re riding on loose shale with a steep, sharp slide 100 feet down to the river just one dab away at all times.
In Leadville one year, coming down the Powerline trail, I dropped my front wheel into an erosion trench and managed to clip out as I got ejected over the front of my bike. I’ll never know how I managed to land on my feet, but I did. Better yet, my bike came flying after me. I caught it, righted it, and kept on going. It was the most beautiful near-miss of my life.
The fact is, just about any time you’re on a mountain bike, you’re in a state of near miss.
The Big Difference
And that — I think — is the real distinguishing factor between mountain biking and road biking. When I’m on a road bike, I’m all about control. A near miss on a road bike represents a failure and is downright mortifying — not to mention terrifying.
A near miss on a mountain bike, on the other hand, makes you laugh. You seek the near miss out. Really, a near miss on a mountain bike means…well…that you’re out mountain biking.
Comments (10)
04.17.2008 | 11:57 pm
A week from today, I’m heading down to Moab for Kenny’s annual epic RAWROD event. You know what this means? I’ll tell you what it means:
- Beer-boiled, grilled brats with mustard on Kenny’s homemade bread (yeah, Kenny makes his own bread, and it’s delicious).
- Hanging out with 40 or so friends
- An epic ride on sandstone for 100 miles
- Bright sun and beautiful scenery
It’s really one of the best rides of the year…and this year I’m terrified to go.
Here’s why.
Let’s Begin With the Excuses
It has been an cold, windy, wet spring, which has followed on the heels of a cold, windy, snowy winter. And since I’ve decided this wasn’t going to be a big racing year for me, my motivation to get out and ride in bad weather has been…well, let’s say “weak.”
The degree to how far my fitness has collapsed (and to which my paunch has expanded) was brought home to me forcefully last Saturday and then again Monday. And then again today.
On Saturday, we had terrific weather, so a group of us set out on what was supposed to be a four-hour ride. Within an hour, I discovered that I am no longer one of the fast guys. I am also not one of the midpack guys. I am, however, one of the slow guys.
I will be more specific: I am the slowest guy.
Slow enough that people would ride for a while, then wait for me to catch up. And heavy enough that I noticed people were using the “Fatty” nickname without the irony I had become accustomed to. And — worst of all — weak enough that I made up an excuse to bail out of the ride early, so I wouldn’t have to climb Grove: “Sorry, I promised the kids I’d take them to the park.”
On Monday, I rode my bike to work: the 20 miles felt good. Riding home, however, was…problematic. Last year, I could do the 4-mile, 1500-foot climb in third gear, even carrying a fully loaded messenger bag.
Monday, I had to drop down to my granny gear for pretty much the whole thing. What’s worse, at one point I actually stalled out and unclipped, ready to stop and rest fro a moment. It was only at the last moment that I realized what an admission this would be — no longer able to complete a road climb I have done dozens of times before. I clipped back in and battled my way to the top.
Yesterday, I intentionally rode alone, because I couldn’t think of a single person who rides anywhere near as slowly as I do. And also because I didn’t want people to see how tightly my jerseys fit. I’m thinking of giving Twin Six a call and having them send me some bigger jerseys. You know, just ’til I lose a few pounds.
How I Will Get Into Extraordinary Shape In One Week
Am I the first person who has ever dawdled away the weeks and months when he should be training, only to find — with a week to go — that he is woefully unprepared for the event?
Doubtful.
However, I have a plan that will help me still turn in a spectacular performance at the 2008 RAWOD. I will detail it here, so that you can adapt it for your own purposes.
- Train Like a Banshee. For the next week, I will train myself to and beyond my limits. I will ride hard every single day, and will do everything I can to get in at least five hours on the road each day. Some people might think that all I will accomplish by pushing this hard so close to a ride is ensuring my utter exhaustion before the ride even begins. To these people, I reply: “Pshaw.” Have they never heard the axiom “Better late than never?” And is it not indeed late? So is it not self-evident that it is better for me to train now than not at all? My logic is irrefutable, I think you will agree.
- Starve Myself. I have proven in times past that if I really set my mind to it, I can lose up to seven pounds in a week. In this case, I intend to lose weight by eating nothing but laxatives for the entire week. Thus will I arrive at the beginning of RAWROD hungry, weak, dehydrated, and probably quite light-headed. I would therefore like to ask my fellow riders, in advance, to please have the consideration to call Lifeflight when they see me passed out on the side of the trail, or — worse — gnawing on a cactus.
- Wear Tight Bib Shorts. I shall wear one of the most constricting pair of bib shorts I can find. This will serve two important purposes. First, it will hide — or at least reduce — my enormous stomach. Second, it will make it almost impossible for me to breathe. Hence, I again implore my fellow riders to take necessary action if they find me blue in the face, clawing feebly at my bibs…the instrument of my demise.
- Adjust Expectations. I plan to find ways to tell everyone I know my sad, sad story, hopefully conveying an impression of nobility and self-sacrifice, when the reality is that I am nothing but a lazy slob who’s been unwilling to ride except in perfect weather. With any luck, people will take pity on me and drop twenty minutes from my finish time.
- Cajole Myself. I have mastered a little-known technique in endurance cycling that always produces terrific results. I call it the “Internal monologue of disappointment.” Whenever I approach a difficult climb or feel tired, or otherwise fall short of the kind of cyclist I wish I were, I simply talk to myself. My favorite phrase is, “Please, just this once, can’t you be strong? Can’t you push yourself past your comfort level and give yourself something to be proud of?” I should probably point out that I do not like my interior voice very much.
Oh, and one other thing: I will also eat lots of avocado sandwiches. Those things are delicious!
Comments (47)
04.17.2008 | 1:31 pm
How strange is it that I get nervous about going two days without a post on this blog? Feel free to answer that question in comments, if you like.
First, I really want to thank everyone for their comments to my Tuesday post. We haven’t heard back from the doctor yet on the results of her most recent blood draw, but I expect we will soon. I’ll let you know.
The reason I haven’t written the past couple days is that I’ve been tired. Not tired of writing this blog, just emotionally and mentally beat. And that’s because Susan’s been really tired lately. This is because she’s been almost entirely unable to sleep for the past couple weeks. It’s worn her down, and I’ve needed to do a little picking up of slack. By late evening, the time I usually look forward to sitting down and writing, I’m cooked.
(Question to cancer survivors: Has anyone else noticed an inability to sleep after completing chemo? Have you found a solution? I’d love to hear it.)
Anyway, Susan got an OK (not good, but OK) night’s sleep last night, and we’re working hard to figure out a solution for her. And I’m going to find time to start writing on an at least close-to-daily basis again. Because it’s fun.
Again, everyone, thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this blog.
Comments (50)
04.15.2008 | 11:58 am
Susan has an appointment with the oncologist today. She has one every four weeks, to get a dose of Zometa and to get a blood sample taken.
Then, in a few days, we should hear back from the doctor’s office on whether Susan’s tumor markers have stayed good, or if they’ve started going up again.
They’ll go up again eventually. We know that. And when they do, Susan will have to start chemo again. We’re both trying to be prepared for that. But I don’t think we ever really are. When Susan has to start chemo again, it’s going to suck. Bad.
Most of the time, to tell the truth, we don’t even talk about when that eventuality comes up, because we’d rather live in the present — where, for now, Susan’s pretty much stopped using crutches altogether and gets around really well with a cane. And — this is very cool — she can take several steps with no assistance whatsoever.
Still, though, sometimes I get can’t help but think about how at some point Susan’s going to have to start chemo again, and the suffering will start for her again, and it sucks all the wind out of me.
I think that’s why I’ve currently got two different posts for this blog — ones that are supposed to be funny — half-finished on the computer. It’s weird, really: I stalled out on the first one and thought, “Well, maybe this isn’t a good idea after all,” and I started writing something else.
That second one stalled out, too.
I’ve been writing this blog for three years and it’s usually so easy for me (that’s the big secret to my blog: it’s actually not hard work). So when I’m staring at the screen and I’ve got nothing to say, I keep asking myself, “What’s wrong with me?” And — strangely — it often doesn’t occur to me that maybe I’m not funny today because I’m worried and anxious about my wife.
Our 20th wedding anniversary is this August. Two days after we get back from Leadville. We’re getting close to the tipping point where we will have spent more of our lives married to each other than not. During this time, I’ve become somewhat attached to her.
So you’ll have to excuse me today — and probably again in another four weeks — while I worry a little bit.
Comments (77)
04.14.2008 | 8:57 am
There are three broad categories of bike noise tolerance among cyclists:
- Absolute Silence: Some riders want no noise coming from their bike whatsoever. They regard any click, creak, buzz, or rattle as an affront to them, and a condemnation of their machine. All noises must be corrected immediately, even if it means halting the ride. People like this are almost all roadies. Or, in extreme cases, they may be triathletes, in which case they may need to be treated pharmaceutically.
- As Long As It Rolls, It’s Fine: On the other end of the spectrum are people who simply don’t care about noises their bikes make. Creaky chain? So what. Chuffchuffchuff sound from the brakes? Hey, as long as they do their job. A loud metallic twang every time you go over even a slight bump? Whatever. These people generally ride wearing iPods, and eventually, they wind up riding alone.
- As Long As I Know What It Is: Somewhere in between these first two types is the group of cyclists — the sane cyclists — who realize that a bike is nothing but a contraption in service to your cycling experience. As a machine, it will wear, and it will have imperfections. And that means it will make noise. However, it’s a good idea to know what those noises are, so you can be aware of whether they’re serious. Do they need attention now? In a week? Never? As long as we (for I put myself in this group) know what’s going on, the noise is unimportant.
And that is why my ride into work today just about drove me insane.
Perfect Weather
It’s been a long, cold, windy, snowy, rainy winter, so today’s weather is especially welcome. When I rolled out the door at 7:15am, it was cool but not cold. My long-sleeved jersey was zipped up all the way, but I didn’t need the bulk of a jacket. My Ibis roadbike felt smooth and fast.
Even better, I knew I had a wonderful commute home to look forward to this afternoon, where I’ll be able to where shorts and short sleeves. Forecast calls for mid-70’s.
I was just so happy to be out on the road again, and excited at the prospect of getting in about 40 miles a day of riding each day, just by riding my bike to work and back (not to mention the fact that I’ll be saving about $50 / week in gasoline alone by biking to work).
But there was one problem. A really annoying, confounding one.
Clackaclickaclickaclackaclick
Just a few minutes into the ride, I noticed a strange sound intermittently coming from below. A clicking sound, with no rhythm to it at all.
I started the ritual of bike noise discovery.
First, does it continue when I coast? Sometimes it does, for a second, but then it stops.
Does it happen always when I pedal? No. Weird.
How about when I stand and pedal? Yes, that’s when it happens. Whenever I stand and pedal, I’m getting that weird clickaclickclickclickaclack sound.
And sometimes when I’m sitting, too, but not always.
So I get off my bike and take a look, trying to figure it out. I can’t. The bike’s totally quiet. Thinking maybe the magnet’s too close to the cadence sensor and is knocking it when I pedal hard enough to flex the frame, I tweak it back a little, and start riding again.
And there’s the intermittent sound. I can’t even tell where it’s coming from is what’s driving me crazy. I turn my head side to side, triangulating, trying to figure it out. I can’t locate it. All I can tell is that the sound’s coming from somewhere below, which isn’t especially helpful.
Maybe the bottom bracket? Hard to imagine it being that — the sound’s too erratic.
By now, this thing had gotten into my head. I was no longer enjoying the ride. I was no longer watching the road. I was just trying to figure out where that stupid random clicking sound was coming from.
And then, suddenly, I figured it out. I made one simple adjustment, and I was on my way, the problem permanently resolved.
Your Diagnosis The Answer
I’m curious to see whether anyone — or maybe everyone — can tell what the source of the noise was, based on how I’ve described it. All the clues you need are here, and I will add that I felt a little bit silly that it took me so long to figure the source of the noise out.
I’ll post the answer here later this afternoon, after seeing what kind of responses are posted in the comments section.
As many — surprisingly many, in fact — of you have deduced, the sound was…my jersey zipper pull striking my helmet strap fastener. Which actually made it hard to discover the problem, because the sound was coming from right below my chin — which is not a spot my ears are used to pinpointing as a source of mechanical issues.
Oh, who am I trying to kid? It was just goofy of me.
Comments (117)
« Previous Page — « Previous Entries Next Entries » — Next Page »
