Socks

11.13.2006 | 12:59 pm

A Note from Fatty: I’m really pleased to have my good friend Kenny advertising on my site. Rather than doing an ad-for-schwag, however, Kenny’s offering 20% off to everyone who reads my blog. That’s an awesome deal. And let me point out that Kenny is not just a great rider; his photo lab turns out the very highest-quality photos I have ever seen. Yes, your pictures are actually going to look better if you have Kenny print them than if you go with some megadeveloper. No matter where you live (as long as you’re in the US, that is), I definitely recommend having Kenny print your photos. Plus, if you do, he’ll have enough money to race more often. And that would be good.

Last weekend, I did something truly altruistic. Something which, I daresay, proves that I am a genuinely good human being. It is, I suspect, one of the top three things I’ll use to make my case to St. Peter (or whoever it turns out to be) at the pearly gates.

Specifically, last weekend I let my Dad have a pair of my Smartwool socks on permanent loan.

You see, my Dad’s in the hospital right now, recovering from prostate cancer surgery. So I drove down to Grand Junction to spend the weekend with him (I also brought one of my mountain bikes — the Rig — so I could go riding with my sister, but that’s beside the point).

While I’m sitting with my Dad, he mentions that his feet have been cold ever since he got to the hospital, and that he hates the socks the hospital provides: the polyesther just feels gross.

I sympathize, observing that my feet are nice and warm, because once the weather turns cold, I wear my calf-length Smartwool socks full-time, whether I’m biking, working, snowshoeing, at church, or lounging at home.

My Dad — who in all other ways is a much superior outdoorsman to me — has never worn Smartwool socks. He therefore believes these socks will be scratchy and uncomfortable.

“Nay,” I reply, sagely. “These socks are the most comfortable socks in the world.” And then — even though I brought only two pair with me for the weekend, I go down to my car and get a pair of Smartwool socks.

Those of you who are familiar with Smartwool socks know what a sacrifice that was. But I did it anyway, because — as I believe I’ve made clear — I am a good and generous human being, not to mention the best son that has ever lived.

Of course, within a few minutes my dad is comfortable. Or at least his feet are, anyway.

Smartwool for Biking
During the Summer, I can’t think of a better sock to wear than the ubiquitous DeFeet Aireator socks. The light mesh breathes nicely, they last a reasonable period of time — they usually make it through a couple seasons before i wear a hole in the big toe — and, as near as I can tell, they’re free. I have never purchased a pair of Aireator socks, but have dozens from different bike shops, races, events, and other promotions.

I do not make any effort match these socks when I ride. As far as I’m concerned, the ”Carnac” sock I got free with a pair of shoes I bought years ago goes nicely with the lone “Cascade Creampuff” sock I’m able to find.

But once Autumn begins, it’s Smartwool, all the way. My feet stay warm when it’s cold, without getting hot when I luck into a nice day. They’re an order of magnitude better than any other cold-weather sock for cycling.

So, the questions are: what length of Smartwool socks should one wear, and what color(s)? Well, you might expect the answer to be, “whatever you like,” but that answer would be wrong. The correct answers are:

• Color: Any dark color, but choose carefully. Once you make your choice, you should stick with it forever. That way, as you lose the occasional sock, you’re not left with an orphan. Instead, you now have a spare. Huzzah! For myself, I chose dark green, but I sometimes wish I would have gone with black, because black goes better with non-biking clothes. Which is important to me, because I am all about fashion.
• Length: Calf-length. Nothing feels so nice as a pair of socks that stay up, and the calf-length Smartwool socks definitely stay up. And they do it without cutting into your legs. And you know what really looks dapper? Dark, calf-length socks on a cyclist who’s wearing shorts, as demonstrated below:

  

PS: This has been an uncompensated endorsement. Though I wouldn’t mind some compensation, should it come my way. (Attention Smartwool people who are no doubt curious why you’re suddenly getting a lot of hits from the fatcyclist.com domain: I wear size Large, and would like Adrenaline Lt Crew, Larch Green).

PPS: Family and friends: Christmas is coming, and some Smartwool socks would make an excellent and affordable gift.

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Fall Moab ‘06, Part IV: Redemption on Slickrock

11.10.2006 | 10:52 am

A note from Fatty: Before I get started today, I want to call your attention to the shiny new Vicious Cycles ad over there in the sidebar area. Vicious Cycles has very cool bikes and the most exquisitely outrageous paint jobs in the world. I’m excited to have them in the Fat Cyclist Ads-for-Schwag program — we’ll be running the first weekly schwag contest giveaway next week. Meanwhile, take a moment to check out the Vicious Cycles site and see what they’ve got, would you?

Dug’s Video, Part II
Dug’s uploaded part 2 of his Fall Moab ‘06 video. I highly recommend you watch it, for the following reasons:

1. It gives you and idea of how long we’re willing to stick around and try a move. The video shows at least twenty attempts on what we call the Gold Bar Crux Move. And you can bet that’s only a small fraction of the actual number of attempts made.
2. The video has a few really great falls in it (one by Bob, two by Tom), including one which I cannot believe he didn’t break his wrist.
3. It shows me cleaning some moves, though it’s hard to tell it’s me. I swear, though: it’s me.
4. It shows Kenny’s bare butt.

Really, what more could you want?

[youtube]f3df9Vc6jnI[/youtube]

Last-Day-of-the-Ride Resolution
As I mentioned yesterday, I was a little bit disappointed in my sissiness on Gold Bar Rim. For the final day, I decided, I would ride the Paragon so I’d have the advantage of gears. And I would try every move.

When I got to the trailhead, though, my geared bike just didn’t look like the bike to ride. I wanted to ride my singlespeed again. There’s no rational reason why singlespeed riding is so much fun, or why people who start riding them start to ride them exclusively. There’s no argument to be made for why riding a singlespeed is better or more fun than a geared bike. There really isn’t. And besides, I love my Paragon — it’s light, fast, it fits, and it works great. But I like riding that singlespeed even more.

And then we got to the first move — a zigzag, off-camber, climbing move with a U-turn that requires you to duck your head at the top to avoid hitting the overhanging rock. I’ve done this move dozens of times. It’s not easy on a geared bike, but it’s do-able. Nobody had every cleaned it on a single, though.

Until I blasted straight up the thing, eliminating the U-turn through sheer power.

Just kidding. It was actually Kenny who did that. But that set the tone for the day.

Halfpipe
If there’s one thing at the Slickrock trail I look forward to most, it’s a naturally-formed halfpipe. It has a lip at the top, making it so you can’t quite see what it looks like at the bottom. As long as you stay to the left of a painted line, though, it curves out nicely, then turns vertical up the other side.

Doing this drop means you have to have a certain amount of commitment, because you’ve got to let go of your brakes to have enough speed to coast up to the top. And there’s a brief moment of what feels like freefall as you begin. Then, before you know it, you’re flying up the other side, as if gravity no longer applies to you.

It’s terrifying and thrilling in much the same way a rollercoaster is, except for two things:

• You’re the pilot instead of a passenger
• There’s a much better chance you’ll crash.

For what it’s worth, I have never crashed on the halfpipe. I’ve seen someone crash on it, though. He went too far right of the white painted line, where the rock formation stops being a nicely shaped parabola and starts being a slope that terminates in an uphill wall. When the guy hit that wall, his front wheel taco’d unlike any wheel I have ever seen. It was like the way the front of a car crumples when it hits a telephone pole.

Here’s me riding the halfpipe. It looks (and feels) much steeper in real life — ask anyone who’s ridden it. Look for the white line in the video; you can see how nasty it might be to crash if you’re on the right side of it.

[youtube]y4G-vhiX1ds[/youtube]

And, just for fun, here’s a good photo of me dropping down that halfpipe. This photo gives you a better feel for how steep it is:

Kenny had a very close call, by the way, on the halfpipe this year. As he got to the bottom, his tire compressed down to the rim, nearly folding off, and burping out the Stan’s Tube Sealant. The back of his bike slid sideways and I thought Kenny was going to do a high-speed, downhill high-side. Kenny kept his head though, corrected, and rode away. Whew.

The Wall
Right after doing the halfpipe, there’s an off-trail move that just scares everyone. It’s a 30-foot (I’m guessing) near-vertical sandstone wall that terminates in a bed of sand and cactus.

The trick for this move is to stay waaaay back, keep your speed down, but don’t lock up your tires. And don’t endo at the bottom. 

Last year I tried this move and supermanned right into a cactus, which left me little prizes I’d be picking out of my hand for the next six weeks.

This year, like every year, people stood at the top of the move, looking at each other, trying to get enough courage to make the drop.

And that’s when I had a strange out-of-body experience. Without saying anything to anyone, without thinking about the consequences, without giving myself time to freak myself out about it, I just clipped in and rode down it.

Clean as can be.

You can see it on Dug’s video — though, again, for some reason video makes stuff look not-as-steep as it does in real life. Right afterward, thinking something along the lines of, “Well, if Fatty can do it, it must be easy,” Bob headed down.

Then he slid out sideways and crashed hard in the sand. Sadly, Dug doesn’t catch what happens immediately after: Bob picks up his bike and walks away, head down, to spend some time by himself.

You have no idea how happy it makes me to be able to say that not everyone in our group would try that move this day. Including people who are by far my technical superiors.

There’s probably a lesson in there for me: when it’s time to do a move, I need to just turn off my brain and do the move, not thinking about consequences.

But that’s usually not an easy thing (for me) to do.

Into the Sandpit
The Slickrock trail has a series of uneven ledges that drop into a sandpit; Dug’s video has shots of several people trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to climb out. Before you do that, though, you’ve got to drop in. Until last weekend, I have never managed to drop those ledges without doing an endo at the bottom.

This time, though, I got it on my first try. On a fully rigid bike, mind you. And furthermore, I rode through the whole sandpit, a not-minor thing (though I credit the big wheels for getting me through the sand).

Yay for me.

Wedge Move
Up next, there’s a sandy ledge move, with exposure on the right and a wall on the left. To clean the ledge without scraping on one side or falling off the other, you’ve got to ride up not just with power, but with control.

I tried that move half a dozen times before I almost got it. One more pedal stroke and I would have been up at the top, ready for the freaky drop that is on the other side.

So on the (approximately) seventh try, I put a little more juice into it. And I got it!

Almost.

Right at the top, I could feel myself stall out. I tried to turn the cranks over, but just couldn’t get one more.

And that’s when I started sliding backward. I fell against the wall, still clipped in and sliding, then kept sliding back down, tangled with my bike, eventually arriving at the bottom of the move in a twisted crumple.

Observers say my fall lasted 15 seconds. I do not doubt it. I didn’t resent the crash, though, because — finally – I had irrefutable evidence that I had been pushing my limits. Here’s the bruise I got just below my right butt-cheek (even now, I sit awkwardly):

And here’s my left arm:

It’s official: the trip was a success!

Penultimate Move
On the way back to the car, you’ve got to go through the sandtrap one more time. I usually don’t even try this move, and have never come close to it — if I couldn’t drop down those ledges, what chance did I have of climbing up them?

But I was having a good day.

Let me say this: I am lucky to have patient friends. By the time I had tried this move ten times, they had every right to say it was time to move on. But they didn’t. They let me plug away at it until I had satisfied myself.

And, finally, I got it right. I climbed that ledge.

I was having a banner day.

Big Finish
Having cleaned stuff I never have before, on the way back to the parking lot I decided to try the wedge move a couple more times.

My second attempt, I got it. From far away, Dug even got it on video tape — it’s the last move you’ll see in his video.

You know, it’s nice to have a good day.

What Now?
I’m going to spend some time getting this site up to speed, doing all the things I said I was going to do. And I’m going to gain weight (I have already made significant progress on that front, actually). And I’m going to think about getting my shoulder fixed.

The season’s over.

And what a great finish it was.

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Fall Moab ‘06, Part III: The Measure of Success

11.9.2006 | 11:47 am

You know, I could pretty much take the day off today if I felt like it. Why? This morning Dug uploaded part 1 of his video of our Fall Moab trip. I personally have already watched it five times. Yeah, I like it that much. Of course, part of why I like it is that I know all the people in the video, but the fact is, most of you know these guys by name, because they’re who I talk about. So, I’ll just point out who’s wearing and riding what so you’ll know who’s who in the video:

• Dug: Wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt, khaki shorts (29″ rigid singlespeed Surly)
• Gary: My next-door neighbor, wearing long-sleeved white t-shirt and white shorts (rigid singlespeed Kona)
• Brad: Blue, white, orange “Racers Cycle Service” jersey, baggy blue shorts (29″ rigid singlespeed Moots)
• Bob: Long-sleeved dark blue jersey (Santa Cruz Blur)
• Botched: White jersey, black shorts (Canondale Scalpel)
• Tom: Long-sleeved white and blue jersey (Canondale Gemini, aka “The Pig”)
• Rocky: reddish-orange jersey (Titus something or other, full suspension)
• Kenny: Blue and black Gary Fisher jersey, blue helmet (29″ rigid singlespeed Gary Fisher Rig)
• Rick M: red, yellow, and blue Gary fisher shorts and sleeveless jersey (29″ rigid singlespeed Gary Fisher Rig)
• Rick Sunderlage (not his real name): white and black jersey (29″ Gary Fisher Rig with a suspended fork)
• Me: Black orange, blue, gray jersey (29″ rigid singlespeed Gary Fisher Rig)

[youtube]eXsd6fdG-Ds[/youtube]

Dug says he’s going to upload a couple more video installments to cover the rest of the weekend. I’ll post them as he does.

But I’ve still got my story to tell.

The Importance of Gold Bar Rim
Almost everything in Fall Moab is subject to change. Which ride we do on Friday changes, which ride we do on Sunday changes. Where we eat changes.

But riding Gold Bar Rim on Saturday is not up for discussion. We do it every year. And we always will. And for good reason: It’s an all-day ride with something for everyone. It’s got desert singletrack. It’s got slickrock. It’s got moves galore. And it’s tradition.

I had planned to ride the geared bike on Gold Bar Rim this year, but when it came down to it, I’ve just been having too much fun on the Rig (my rigid singlespeed). Plus, there was that whole peer pressure thing. Kenny, Dug, Rick M, Rick S, Gary, and Brad were also on singlespeeds — basically, if you had one, you were riding one.

It starts with a long dirt road, punctuated with deep sand. Unlike previous years, I rode right through that deep sand. In fact, everyone with 29″ wheels did. Big advantage there. Before long, though, you leave the sand, and the rest of the day will follow a preset pattern:

1. Ride for three minutes to the next move.
2. Try the move until everyone has completed it or has satisfied themselves that they won’t complete it.
3. Go back to step 1 and repeat the whole day.

Timid Fatty
A few years ago on Gold Bar Rim, I tried doing a technical double-ledge drop. This resulted in one of the best pictures that’s ever been taken of me:

Of course, that great picture came with a cost: I got smashed up pretty good. And as a result, I’ve had an irrational fear of doing high risk moves. Not just on Gold Bar Rim maybe, but definitely especially on Gold Bar Rim. So, time after time, as everyone else was working on tricky moves, I’d content myself with watching and taking pictures.

For example, here’s Rocky doing a move I didn’t try:

And here’s Rick M, cleaning a move I didn’t try:

Which isn’t to say, however, that I didn’t try anything. Once I decide to work on a move, I’ll keep trying it over and over and over, long after everyone else has cleaned it, memorized it, lost interest, and moved on. Eventually, though, I will get it. Rocky did a great job capturing a series of me finally getting a nice ledge move, complete with an overhanging lip:

  

I think I tried that move nine times before I got it.

The climbing moves are my favorite. The thing is, with a singlespeed, you can’t shift into the granny gear and finesse your way up at 0.5mph. You’ve got to jam up pretty hard. The great thing about this approach is it forces you to commit. The bad thing is if you fail, you crash quite a bit harder. Here’s me climbing a wall (thanks again to Rocky for the photos):

  

You can bet, though, that I didn’t even attempt the scariest (in my very wise opinion) kind of move of all, though: a wheelie drop across a gap. Here’s Dug, bravely attempting the move (he’s not even close to getting it this time, though he eventually does clean it):

And here’s Kenny, in mucho mucho trouble:

After I took the above picture, Kenny fell into the crevice, then fell forward. I was certain he was going to break a leg. But he didn’t.

Thus Far, I Lack Souvenirs of the Trip
As the ride wore on, I started noticing something: everyone but me was scraped and bruised up. A couple people had borrowed a couple inches of duct tape off my seatpost, to be used as bandages (yes, duct tape makes a fine bandage). Tom, typical of the group, was sporting a fine bruised and bloody elbow, gained in a fall so bad that he lost all feeling in the left side of his body for a while:

I, on the other hand, was hardly scraped up at all. All I had to show so far was a barely-skinned knee. In fact, I hadn’t even dislocated my shoulder even once during this trip.

What a pansy I am!

By the time we got back to the car, I resolved: on the last day of the ride, I would try every move. I would not worry about consequences.

One way or another, I would have something to show for this trip.

The Best Restaraunt in Moab
After the ride and a shower (nothing in the world is quite so nice after a long day in the saddle), we headed out to La Fiesta Mexicana, a newish (just a couple years old) restaraunt in Moab.

This place is, without question, the best place to eat in town. Here’s why:

1. They serve Mexican food. After a long day of riding, nothing is as good as Mexican food. Except maybe Italian. No, I’m going back to my original position. Mexican wins.
2. They serve good Mexican food. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s the best Mexican food I’ve ever had — because it isn’t — but it’s good. Moderately authentic. Really good salsa, too.
3. They serve a lot of Mexican food. Their portions were enormous. I got the Chicken Fajitas, and could not finish them all, even after a long day of riding, when my appetite is at its most powerful. The burrito Botched ordered was so big it took a couple of people to carry it in.
4. The service was extraordinary. Really, really nice, helpful, and attentive staff.

In short, if you go to Moab, you must eat at La Fiesta Mexicana. I hereby decree it as law.

Tomorrow: I make good on my promise to find technical glory, either through completing moves or crashing while trying. Or both.

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Fall Moab ‘06, Part II: Something New

11.8.2006 | 6:44 am

The Fall Moab trip has always been about tradition. The first day is for riding the Slickrock trail — the most famous mountain bike trail in the world. The second day is for riding Gold Bar Rim, the most technical trail in Moab (at least, it’s the most technical trail around the way we ride it). The third day is for riding Amassa Back.

This year, though, we changed things up a little bit.

Dug, in his pre-trip pronouncement of what we’d all be doing (which he always writes in the form of, “You’re all welcome to do whatever you want, but what I plan to do is…” format), indicated that we’d be riding Bartlett Wash as our first ride — a trail most of us had never tried before.

To help make his case, though, Dug provided this link, describing Bartlett Wash. After looking at what the ride had in store for us — an endless expanse of freeform, exquisite, rolling sandstone, nobody had any complaints about Dug’s proclamation.

There’s a reason, after all, that Dug picks the rides: Dug’s good at picking the rides. I tell you, I’ve never seen him so happily absorbed as when he’s looking at a map. He’s as good at envisioning trails he’s never ridden as I am bad at it.

Pre-Ride
So a few miles before Moab proper, we pull into a dirt parking lot. “You’d better leave your car here,” says BotchedExperiment (who, for the sake of convenience, I shall henceforth refer to simply as “Botched”). “The road gets a little rough from this point.”

That would be an understatement.

Riding in Kenny’s Jeep, we got bounced around as he navigated deep erosion trenches, big rocks, dry riverbeds and more. My car wouldn’t have made it the first 100 feet.

Then we got to the trailhead parking lot to find Rick’s Hummer already sitting there. It had been there 20 minutes. Turns out there’s an easier route (but my car still wouldn’t have made it).

Everyone quickly suited up and got their bikes ready, anxious to get going. As they did, I walked around, handing out sandwich bags with the Matisse & Jacks homemade energy bars Bob and I had made the previous night. Some people politely accepted a bag; most people declined. Nobody gets excited about energy bars. So I stuffed a couple extra bags in my jersey pocket to see if I’d get a better reaction when people were on the trail.

I now had to decide: singlespeed or geared bike for the first ride? Figuring that this was a ride without sustained climbing (and also bowing to peer pressure), I went with the single.

The Wash
A quick ride along a damp, sandy streambed brought us to Bartlett Wash. The descriptions I’ve read don’t do it justice. It’s an extraordinary expanse of beautiful sandstone mountains. There’s no marked trail (eg, painted lines on the Slickrock trail), so you just tool along, looking for interesting things to do.

Bartlett Wash is, in short, an enormous sandstone mountain bike skills park. With hardly anyone in it.

At first we contented ourselves with riding up and over stuff, as well as experiencing the indescribable pleasure of the grip sandstone has on rubber. You can climb stuff — and descend stuff — that would be pretty much impossible on any other surface.

For example, there’s a nearly-vertical wall I would never have even thought possible to climb, on any bike. Before long, though, everyone was getting a good run at the thing and rolling right up it. Check out this video of Kenny zooming up — on his singlespeed, natch.

[youtube]SFJ9Lfp67E8[/youtube]

I never managed to get the courage to try that particular move — the image of me stalling out 2/3 of the way up, then falling over backward, was too strong to overcome. For what it’s worth, I did roll down that wall, which was plenty freaky, thankyouverymuch.

Sadly, I didn’t bring my own camera on this ride, which meant I didn’t get to capture some of the most aweome moments of the day:

• Dug nearly dies: Dropping down an extremely steep, technical basin, Dug’s rear tire lost traction as he tried to navigate an off-camber, downhill U-turn. He slid, overcorrected, re-corrected, and managed to stay upright. I’m pretty sure the penalty if he had fallen there would have been a concussion or broken bone at the very least.
• Dug is no longer used to big suspension: Dug was riding his rigid singlespeed, while letting Tom — who had flown in from out of state — ride his big-hit Canondale Gemini (which we all call “The Pig,” because it weighs around 400lbs). Dug swapped back with Tom for a moment, though, to try a technical ledge move. But when the fork compressed six inches, Dug wasn’t ready for it and did a face-first endo right into the corner of the ledge. To me, it looked like some giant unseen hand had just swatted Dug off his bike, just for laughs. Dug was looped for several minutes, and sported a scab on his chin for the rest of the trip. To his credit, though, Dug didn’t back down even a little. I don’t know how he stays aggressive after a big fall. When I go down hard, I’m timid for a month.
• Botched Can Fly: One of the things I like about Botched (apart from the whole working-full-time-to-cure-cancer thing) is that he takes requests. “Hey, go jump off that four-foot ledge,” you can say, and Botched will go do it. “Hey, go and drop off that wall,” you might say, figuring there’s no way he’ll do something like that, and he’ll go do it. Botched’s bike-handling skill and apparent lack of fear of anything has made me involuntarily gasp at least twenty times by now. No exaggeration. To give you an idea of what Botched looks like, here’s a shot I got of him hopping over a crevice (which was deep and wide enough for me to stand in). This photo’s out of order (ie, not from Bartlett Wash), but I want you to have a good idea of what this mild-mannered, cancer-fighting, blog-commenting guy is like when he’s on his bike (and yes, he did clean the move):
  
• I’m getting better at the technical stuff: I was riding down near-walls, climbing up ledges, and descending scary technical stuff the whole day. I think there are two reasons for this. First, the tricks Botched taught me have really helped; I understand how my bike works better now than I used to. And second, I think I’m stronger technically on a singlespeed, because there’s just fewer things for me to worry about. I don’t worry about my bike ghost-shifting in the middle of the move. I don’t worry about whether having my fork compress at the bottom of the move is going to shrug enough momentum to pitch me over the front. And the bike just feels more direct / immediate somehow. I’m not going to say that I’m now a fully-committed rigid singlespeeder, but I can understand why somebody might be.

Post-Ride
When you’re with a big group of guys on a big ride, the ride post-mortem can be every bit as important as the ride itself. This was particularly true for some of the guys on this trip, many of which currently hate their jobs (I’m one of the lucky ones; I recently switched to the best job at the best company I’ve ever worked for). Everyone was tossing around a football, some were having a beer or two (or three), and a couple of dopes were smoking stinky cigars. I made it clear to anyone smoking that I didn’t care for the second-hand smoke. Sorry, I just don’t get the cigar thing. Now, a nice pipe while wearing a deerstalker cap, that at least makes sense. Especially when sitting in a remote parking lot in Moab after doing a big ol’ mountain bike ride.

By now, people were hungry. Again, I offered up the home-baked energy bars. This time, people tried them.

And then, they devoured them.

It turns out that these Matisse & Jack’s Bake-at-Home Energy Bars are the best-tasting energy food, ever. Especially the chocolate chip ones. I’d suggest, in fact, that the Matisse & Jack’s folks shouldn’t call them “energy bars,” because we all know that energy bars are hard to chew, taste dry, and are generally unappealing. These should be called “energy cookies” or “energy brownies” or something like that. ‘Cuz these things taste like dessert. I’m a fan. And they held up just fine in my jersey pocket over a three-hour ride, so they’re trail-ready. Sixteen thumbs up: eight people tried ‘em, and we all liked ‘em.

Tomorrow: Gold Bar Rim (with lotsa pics and video) and the Best Restaraunt in Moab. Yeah, I know I was going to get to those today, but things are hectic at work; I’m lucky to get this much written.

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My Weekend Ruled. A Lot. (Part I: Preamble)

11.7.2006 | 7:32 am

There was a time when I used to go on weekend-long mountain bike vacations to Moab all the time. They were usually impromptu. On Thursday, someone would give someone else a call, an email thread would start, and we’d settle on what time we’d leave the next day. I’d give my wife a day’s notice (or less); I knew she didn’t mind, because that meant she’d have a weekend to herself to read Jane Austen books, hang out with her craftsy friends, and watch DIY shows on TV.

That time is over.

Now I have a job that requires me to think and focus, not just show up. Now I have kids I want to spend time with. All my friends, of course, have the same kind of restrictions. So pulling off a three-day Moab trip is a big deal. It takes planning and maybe a little bit of sacrifice.

It’s a big enough deal that I’m going to write about what happened the whole rest of this week.

Oh, and it’s also a big enough deal that Kenny makes a poster for the event:

 

Two Days Before
As part of the early planning for this trip, someone proposed that we camp for Fall Moab. To be clear, everyone already knows that I do not like to camp. And yet, consensus was reached, I was overruled, and it was decided that we would camp.

Nobody took into account, however, that I can be a subtle and manipulative jerk when I feel like it.

Two days before the big event, I called the hotels around Moab and discovered that you could get a room with two beds for $50/night. Not bad. So I called Bob, ostensibly to finalize when I’d pick him up at the airport, let him know his bike was at the bike shop and ready for him, and so forth. Here’s how the crucial part of the conversation — ie, the real reason I called – went, though:

Me: So, you’ve got your sleeping bag, right? (note: I did not tell him I have plenty of sleeping bags, one of which he could borrow)

Bob: Yeah.

Me: Got a pillow and a pad to sleep on? The ground’s going to be cold. (note: I did not tell him I have several cots and pads, any of which he could borrow)

Bob: Yeah, I should be able to find those in the garage somewhere.

Me: I wonder what the low temperature’s going to be in Moab. Let’s check weather.com….Whoa. It’ll be in the 20’s.

Bob: I guess I’d better bring a good coat. (Note: I did not tell him that he could borrow any of the several coats I own)

Me: No doubt about it. Man, you’re going to have to check a lot of luggage.

Bob: Yeah, that’s going to be a pain.

Me: I guess we can buy groceries in Moab, though.

Bob: You know, I’m beginning to think it would be easier to just get a hotel. It’s probably too late to reserve rooms, though.

Me: Well, actually, I just happened to check this morning and the Aarchway Inn has plenty of availability and they’re now in their winter rates. It would only cost us $25/person/night.

Bob: I think I’ll send out an email proposing we stay at hotels.

Me: Hm. That’s an interesting idea.

So Bob emailed the group, I replied with a supportive-though-disappointed note, and the deal was done. We’d be biking during the day, but getting a hot shower and eating at restaraunts at night. Perfect.

The Day Before
Thursday, Bob flew out from Seattle; Tom flew out from Iowa (or is it Ohio? I can never remember which is which). Yeah, this trip is important enough to fly out, no matter where you live (I flew out for it myself back when I lived in Washington).

Since Bob would be staying at my house, he got to help me make something new: Mattisse & Jack’s Bake at Home Oatmeal Energy Bars. Yep, Connor over at Matisse & Jack’s sent me a couple boxes — about the same size of cake mix boxes — to try out their product: mix in some yogurt and applesauce, mix, and bake.

Here’s what the result looked like:

I may not be the best food photographer that ever lived. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen an energy bar that you could actually call attractive. Well, we’d see how they taste when we shared them with everyone at Moab the next day.

Day 1
Bob and I had planned to get out the door by 8:30am, but first there was a small matter of me pestering him to try out the Teeter I keep in the backyard. Here’s Bob — on the high setting — doing it in his jeans and without a helmet, making it look easy:

I maintain, however, that Bob is a numbskull for not wearing a helmet. As you can see, it’s a long way down.

We left late, because I stalled for several minutes, trying to make a tough decision: should I bring my geared bike, or the singlespeed?

Finally I decided to not decide, and brought both. I’d decide on a ride-by-ride basis.

We all met at Racer’s, where Kenny was passing out the posters he had made. Then he thought about it for a moment, and decided that he’d tape them to our cars, instead. So we all — me in my tiny Acura RSX, Rick in his monstrous Hummer H2, and Kenny in his nondescript Jeep — loaded up our bikes. Bob, Tom and I had geared bikes, everyone else had a singlespeed. I got a sense that I’d be peer-pressured into singlespeeding a good chunk of the weekend. But at least I had the option to use whichever bike I wanted.

From Provo, it’s a quick three hour drive to Moab. During this three hours, I get progressively wound up, and I can tell I’m not alone. We traditionally stop in Wellington to grab a sandwich, and I can see that everyone is already acting different than when we left Provo. We’re giggling, joking, jumping around.

The group of friends has gathered. The road trip’s begun. In just a couple hours, we’ll be riding on sandstone. I’m so excited, I occasionally burst into song.

Tomorrow: Part II: Bartlett’s Wash, energy bars, Gold Bar Rim, and the best restaraunt in Moab.

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