10.10.2007 | 9:36 pm
I’m not funny today, or clever, or insightful. I’m worried and sad and stressed and angry and, frankly, more than a little freaked out.
It’s been getting harder and harder for Susan to walk lately. We figured this trend would reverse itself, since her tumors are shrinking and her bones look to be healing.
But last night Susan pretty much cried through the night she hurt so badly. The one Lortab she usually takes when she goes to bed to help cope with the pain didn’t do any good. So — for the first time ever — she took a second.
No help.
By 5:00am, Susan gave up trying to sleep and worked her way downstairs, thinking maybe I’d be able to sleep better if she weren’t in the room. Her left leg’s totally useless to her now, so she had to sit down and scoot her way down, pushing the crutches ahead of her.
Of course I couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t know how to help. Me: helpless, angry, scared, useless. Her: hurting like hell, still thinking about me.
So today we spent the day at the neurologist. His guess is somewhere on her spine, there’s a tumor that’s been pressing on a nerve. They’ll do more tests in a week.
Have I mentioned before Susan’s got tumors up and down her spine? Probably not. I’ve been so preoccupied with her lungs and liver that I sometimes forget how important the spine is, too.
So, until the tests reveal our next steps — almost certainly yet more tests — Susan’s got yet more prescriptions for “pain management.” That’s what they really call it.
I’m going to see if — for once — these neurologist tests result in a cure instead of just a bunch more drug prescriptions. If not, I’m going to use some money from those pink jerseys and buy Susan a lift so she can get up and down the stairs. That’s more mundane than Italy, but right now it’s more important. I figure most of you will understand and approve. And I’ll put the Italy trip on the credit card when the time comes if I need to.
Tonight, Susan took two Lortabs and a muscle relaxant (and I put two more within arm’s reach). Knocked her out; she’s sleeping right now. That’s the best thing that’s happened all day.
I’m sorry, this post probably feels like an ambush. I’m not about gloom and despair. I’m the guy who stays positive. And I will be again soon. Probably by tomorrow. I just need some sleep.
PS: I spent some time reading the 80+ comments that folks have left for us today, and I know Susan’s read them, too. Thanks from both of us. You have all long stopped just being readers to me and have become an extraordinary group of friends. Again, thank you.
Comments (127)
10.10.2007 | 5:28 am
A couple weeks ago, I talked about how I sort of stumbled into a climb up the Alpine Loop — 10 miles, 3200 feet of climbing — on my track bike.
What I have not talked about, though, is how that ride got me to thinking.
I’ve been thinking about how hard it was to do that climb in a 48 x 16 gear (81 gear inches)…but that it would be kind of cool to do it in just a slightly lower gear.
I’ve been thinking about how I didn’t enjoy the downhill much at all…but that I might have enjoyed it if I were on a bike with road geometry, instead of track geometry.
I’ve been thinking about how for the multi-mile descents I have every day, it would be nice to have a freewheel.
I’ve been thinking that water bottles might be a nice addition to the single speed road bike.
I’ve been thinking that a rear brake would be really nice to have.
In other words, I’ve been thinking I’d like the Bianchi Pista more if it were a different bike. A single-speedin’ road bike.
Testing the Theory
So I talked to Dug about my new idea. I expected him to pooh-pooh it. “Pooh,” I expected him to begin, in response to my idea. And then he would conclude: “Pooh.”
Instead, Dug attached himself to the idea. “Let’s figure out what the gearing would be and try a ride with our regular road bikes just in that gear,” he said.
Warning: This paragraph is geeky. You can skip it without consequence. It turns out that the Lemond Fillmore / Fisher Triton both are geared at 44 x 18: 66 gear inches. The Specialized Langster is geared at 42 x 16: 70.9 gear inches. For our test, Dug and I settled on the middle ground: big ring, third gear: 53 x 21: 68.1 gear inches.
We rode Emigration Canyon the next day, staying in that gear. I think we both agreed a little easier — the Fillmore / Triton gearing — would have been nicer for all the climbing we do.
And here is where Dug and I are different. Dug continued — and continues, as far as I know — to ruminate on whether he’d like a single speed road bike.
I, on the other hand, placed a call to Racer of Racer’s Cycle Service and asked him, “Which should I get? The Triton or the Fillmore?”
“They’re exactly the same bike,” Racer responded. “But there aren’t any Tritons in your size anywhere in the U.S. There is one Fillmore, though.”
“Order it,” I said, my discomfort with Greg Lemond notwithstanding.
You see, I’m perfectly comfortable with my impulsive nature. Besides, it’s been more than a year since I’ve bought a new bike (if you don’t count the tandem, I mean), and I need new blog material.
Yes, that’s right. I’m claiming I bought a bike to give you something to read about.
First Ride
So I got my Fillmore last Friday afternoon. Apart from swapping the saddle out to the Flite SLR I love and adding bullhorn bars instead of traditional road drop bars — I had this notion that bullhorns would be great for holding onto while I rowed the bike up the climbs, plus I never use the drops anyway — the bike is stock.
(Click for a larger version)
As always, I was so excited to ride my new bike I thought I would burst.
And so of course it rained all through the weekend.
Monday, though, I finally got in a ride, once again up to the top of the Alpine Loop and back.
How’d I like it? I loved it. I was right: the single speed on the road has an equivalent, non-explainable quality to a single speed on dirt. It feels simple, quiet, and on a hard climb, pretty darned painful.
I love how the bullhorns go exactly to where my hands want them on the climb, and the position of the brakes on the descent.
I love being able to coast on the downhill. I love having front and rear brakes. I love the stable feel of road geometry.
I love how this entire bike — including the different saddle, handlebar, Jethro Tool, and brake levers — cost less than I have come to expect a wheelset to cost.
So yesterday after work, I climbed the North side of Suncrest — 1500 feet in under four miles. That hurt. And it was exquisite.
Can’t Explain
People ask me, though: why a single speed? And I don’t have an answer. I really don’t.
There might be a vanity aspect to it — I keep hoping that someone will catch me summiting a difficult climb on this bike, though it hasn’t happened yet.
And the whole elegance-in-simplicity has something to do with it, too.
And maybe the do-or-die aspect of climbing with a single speed is part of it. You can’t shift to a lower gear, so if you’re going to get to the top of the hill, you’ve got to find the power in your legs to do it. That adds an intensity to the rides I really enjoy right now.
And — let’s face it — I’m kind of a goober and like to do things a little differently, just because it’s fun to be different.
And there’s always the “it’s a new bike, therefore it must be wonderful” factor.
But I don’t think any of these reasons really capture why I’m digging the single speed road bike. In the same way I really like climbing on my single speed mountain bike, I really like climbing on the single speed road bike.
I don’t know why it’s fun, but it is.
Really, really fun.
Comments (49)
10.8.2007 | 6:29 pm
A Note from Fatty: BikeRadar has posted my weekly humor (erm, humour) piece. I’ve posted a preview of the story below, or you can just go straight to the whole article by clicking here.
Here’s a little non-relevant piece of trivia about this article. I wrote it while sitting in the family car while waiting in a parking lot at a local lasertag / video arcade as my son and his friends had his birthday party.
Another Note from Fatty: The Pink Special Edition Fat Cyclist jerseys are now totally sold out. Thank you to everyone who bought one!
How to Talk With Non-Cyclists
The fact that you are reading this tells me all I really need to know about you. You’re a cyclist. I’m a cyclist. We therefore both know what’s really important in life (riding). We see the world as it truly is (a place to ride our bikes). If we were each to answer the question, “What would you do with a million dollars?” our answers would vary perhaps in what equipment we’d buy and where we’d go to ride, but in little else.
If we were to have a conversation, we’d have an understanding of how each other thinks. Maybe you’re a Cat 2 roadie and maybe I’m a cross-country endurance geek, but we both know that turning the cranks in a perfect circle is the ultimate form of self-expression.
Sadly, not everyone is like you and I. I am sad to say that there are people out there who rarely — if ever! – ride bikes at all. It’s possible you even know someone like this. A coworker. A family member. You’d be surprised at how common non-cyclists are, actually. You probably encounter them several times per day and simply don’t notice them, because they aren’t interesting.
Mostly, you can safely ignore these people, simply by riding away from them. Sometimes, though — at a company party, say — it is impossible to avoid non-cyclists. Surrounded, you have no choice but to communicate with them.
Don’t worry. I’m here to help. Just follow these five simple rules.
Click here to read the rest of this article over at BikeRadar.com.
Comments (36)
10.7.2007 | 8:24 pm
Last week, I ran a contest asking for you to relate your surreal moments on bikes. Really, it was just a lame ploy to get you all to write my blog for me while I try to hammer out a big-deal report for my job.
I got 134 replies.
That, my friends, is a lot of stories.
Clearly, my ruse to get in an easy post has backfired: I have spent hours reading your stories, probably another hour choosing a few finalists, and I’ll still have to go to the post office to mail out the prizes. Yes, prizes — I decided I didn’t want to choose just one winner.
I swear, I need an intern. Anyone want to be the Fat Cyclist intern? I’ll let you do all the stuff I don’t like to do. I won’t pay you, but I’ll make up for it by also not giving you any credit. Doesn’t that sound great?
So, out of all the great stories — a surprising number of which were about suicidal deer and rodents and evil magpies in Australia — I picked a horror story, a sublime story, a bizarre story, and a haiku.
All are excellent examples of the surreal.
When Teenagers Attack
by Kim
One cold fall night I was doing a night riding with a male friend in the Pandapas area outside Blacksburg, Virginia. We stumbed upon a big bonfire party of about 20 teens with several 4-wheel drives, parked all around on a fire road section of the trail.
Instead of back-tracking 4 miles to get to the end of our ride, we decided to pass by the party in the edge of the woods, just off the trail.
We turned off our lights and waited until the timing seemed good. As far as we could tell no one had seen us. We had about 1/4 mile to go to the trailhead and hoped that we could cover the distance without any trouble.
Then, about 200 yards into the run, a full beer can whizzed by me, then another, then another. I rode hard, until I felt like my heart would burst. Then I heard the trucks starting and I was sure I would die — either from pure exertion, adrenalin overdose, or death by the hand of a drunken teen. All I could think about was mob mentality and that I was a girl and that there was no way my companion could protect us. It occured to me too that many people carry guns in their trucks in the area and it was hunting season.
This was bad.
It became glaringly apparent that we could not get to the trailhead before the trucks with their spotlights caught us. In the name of survival we knew that we had to get into the woods and that did not mean on our bikes. I ditched my bike in the edge of the dense woods and lost a shoe in the process.
From there we ran as fast as would could down off the ridge into the pitch darkness. We took cover under the downhill side of a large fallen tree. The trucks drove back and forth spotlighting the woods as we called 911.
Within a half hour the sheriff’s department came to the rescue, busted the party, and let us know it was safe to come out. After another half hour of searching I had both bike and shoe back.
The sheriff could not get us and our bikes back to our car so we finished the ride. I shook the whole time and well into the night as I tried to sleep. I sported one very bruised foot for a while, and still to this day I get creeped out on night rides but can’t resist.
The Owl’s Leading Now
by Phil in VA
This happened on a dusk descent of Massanuten Mountain in western Virginia. Picture a warm Spring evening, almost dark, decending the last 3 miles of forest road. It’s a nice, easy, double-track downhill, which is good because we’re tired and it’s already dark in the woods and we don’t have lights. It’s the time of day my Grandfather used to call “rabbit dark.â€
Cruising along, quiet, lost in our own thoughts, when an owl silently overtakes us from behind and drops in about 20 feet ahead. He’s coasting too, matching our pace, about 12 feet above the trail. He’s big. Probably 3+ foot wingspan.
Nobody says a word.
We just keep riding, and he just keeps flying. At this point, your sense of time becomes skewed simply because of the experience. Minutes seem extended, but suffice it to say he led us for at least a mile. Then just as quickly as he appeared, he veered off and was gone. Surreal. Dare I say religious? (Yes, I do.) My thought was he was hunting and using us to scare up game. If anyone has another theory, I’d love to hear it.
A Simple Question
by Bryan
I was propositioned by a hooker … while on my bike, waiting at a stop light, on the way home from work.
I didn’t even know what to say.
Lucky Squirrel, Unlucky Rider
by Glenn
Riding side by side
Chris never saw the squirrel
Face Plant Squirrel lives
Congratulations to the Winners
I don’t think I’ve ever given away four things with one contest before, but I’m going to this time. Winners, please email me with your address, the size of T-shirt you wear, and the size of socks (S/M and L/XL are your only two options). What I send you will depend on what I have available.
PS: You know, I don’t think I’ve ever posted a poem as a blog entry, which is a shame, because I am an awesome poet.
Comments (32)
10.4.2007 | 8:19 pm
Today, I shall begin by talking about something that has nothing to do with bikes, and then I will magically transition over to bikes. That is my game plan, such as it is.
Stress
I am currently a tangled snarl of stress, wrapped up in a burlap bag of stress, being pounded by Thor’s Hammer of Stress.
In fewer than ten days, I must turn in a report — a report that is the distillation of about three months of intense research and analysis.
It occurs to me: most of you would be surprised at what I do for a living. You’d be surprised at how intense of a job it is. You’d be surprised that I’m actually kind of respected for the quality of work I do. And more than anything else, you’d be freaked out at my methodology. Coworkers walk into my War Room — yes, I actually have my very own War Room — and are startled by the amount and quality of information confronting them. Some begin to experience vertigo and have to leave.
I’d post pictures, but then I’d start getting a bunch of unwanted job offers, and right now I just don’t have the time to fend off the hordes of headhunters.
Anyway, as I was saying: I’m down to ten days ’til that report’s due, and I’ve got tons left to do on it.
Except that ten days is really more like six days, because before I knew my due date would be October 15, I set up a nice little four-day family vacation, going from October 10-14.
Excuse me. I need to throw up.
Bad Timing
Since I am so busy, I have hardly had any time for riding. I’m quickly falling out of shape, but I can live with that, because I know that staying in shape right now would be a futile effort. After all, once I have the shoulder surgery I’m going to be off the bike for a bit anyway. Not much point in trying to stay fast right now, is there?
So: now, when I am so busy I am staying up late each night, when I am so busy I don’t have time to ride, when I am so busy I am fully losing my mind, is a manifestly bad time for me to find a time-sucking work of genius: Bike Snob NYC.
And yet, I can’t stop reading this guy. He’s incredible.
The Difference
I’ve been reading newest-to-oldest, so I may not have the context right, but Bike Snob NYC (BSNYC, as he calls himself) loves his fixed gear bikes, and has a healthy disdain for the fixie foppery fad that’s sprung up around him.
Here’s how far apart he and I are: I didn’t even realize there is a fixie fad. I just have one — my stock Pista — because back when I lived in Washington, I thought it would be fun to race track.
He laments top tube pads on fixies. I have never even seen a fixie top tube pad.
He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the urban fixed gear cycling scene and its foibles. I just think about whether I could possibly climb a big mountain on my fixie without my knees shattering.
He has a treatise on how and when cyclists should greet each other that frankly has me thinking of plagiarizing and submitting it to BikeRadar, so I can take the week off.
I’m gushing, I know. But Bike Snob NYC is that funny.
I admire him, and I fear him.
PS: I now fully expect at least fifteen comments telling me that I am the last person in the world to discover this blog, and that the rest of you have been reading him for months. In which case, thanks for telling me.
Comments (52)
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