So, I went to a trivia contest last night, came home, went to bed and woke up in the middle of the night with a violent gastric storm that had me contemplating the mysteries of the universe while dumping the contents of my stomach down the toilet drain. Fun times. Fun times.
So, that really blew my cycling schedule. I feel better, it only lasted an hour, but I'm tired and a little queasy. Spending an hour or two pretending I'm climbing a mountain in France while drinking Ultima Replenisher (aka Gatorade for Diabetics) I've chosen to sit here and get to know the recuperative process.
Because I don't want anger my stomach, I'm not seeing very much culinary adventure on my horizons. Gert,however, does not feel the same way.
"What would you like for lunch," Mom asked.
"I want a man-sized burger from Dairy Queen."
"Did she just ask for a man-sized burger?"
"Yes. Yes she did."
"Well, I'll be damned."
She's eating her man-sized burger as we speak. With man-sized fries and a man-sized drink.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Riding Indoors is Dangerous
I've hit my stride again. It's been cold, I've been sick, the bike was sick . . . in December and January everything conspired against my sitting my butt in the saddle.
No more! I'm back on my usual schedule of two on, one off of indoor training and have discovered an unnatural love of the more endurance style intervals. Sure, sprints are nice, but the long, slow build of a climbing repeat and the weird sensation that I'm actually stronger at the end of the third repeat than I was on the first is a giddy feeling.
NOTE: There is a Gert/Matilda story at the bottom of all this. I will tag it with the word "Shazam!" in bold, if you want to skip the cycling babble.
One thing I miss about riding outdoors, other than being outdoors and the actual sensation of riding, are the other cyclists. For the most part, cyclists fall into three categories:
1. Recreational: Serious, but out for fun. Often wearing weird clothes, with panniers sometimes, or in one case, on a black road bike with a pink basket. Seriously. Generally road/trail rule Nazis, but in a nice way. Tourists, retirees, fit families. Generally chatty and kind, will always stop to ask if you need help if you pull of to the side for any reason.
2. Hardcore: Self-explanatory. There are two types. Dickheads and nice guys. If they ride alone they tend to be arrogant, selfish, pissed-off dickheads. I don't say this in a bad way. Often, on a windy day, you can count on someone hanging on your wheel without letting you know they've shown up and suck your wheel for a while and then pass you on a hill without so much as a wave. The dickheads tend to think they are better than everyone else out there and that you, as the guy or gal who is not on their team or in their club, do not deserve to share the road with them. Key point: They never wave to other cyclists. This is important.
That being said, there are also hardcore cyclists that are out there and enjoy the community aspect of cycling. They'll announce themselves as they come up behind you, stop to chat, talk about bikes, etc. They'll always stop to see if someone needs help and will compliment you on a good ride of they come up and follow you. You'll laugh together as they watch you overcook a turn and nearly slide across the road and you'll admire their climbing skills as you slowly slip away from them on a long hill.
These guys always wave, nod and say hello to any cyclist on the road. Any cyclist. A local racer, who oozes respect around here, is fond of saying that no matter what you're doing acknowledge each cyclist you see. Because two miles down the road it may be their hand pump that saves your ass or their patch kit, tools, or anything else you might have forgotten when an unfortunate situation occurs.
I try to be the second type, but I'm too self-hating to think I belong to either group. I don't feel at that level yet. I probably am, but I still feel like the chubby guy huffing up a hill.
3. The spur of the moment cyclist. They generally come out on holiday weekends and ride big box store bikes. There is nothing wrong with this and I personally feel that anyone out on the road is a good thing. But safety-wise they can be a nightmare.
Why? Well, 90% don't wear helmets or are wearing the wrong helmets or are wearing improperly fitted helmets. That's okay though, since it's their thick brain pan that will be oozing out the very goo that gives them motor functions.
Simply put, they do not know the rules. They often ride in groups of four, spread across the road or trail. If they are on a trail they can't seem to stay on their side and come barreling straight at you. They do not know how to signal that they are stopping, turning, slowing, etc. They often don't even announce "on your left" when they pass people. You gotta let people know you're there. Walkers, riders, skaters, cars (though not by shouting). When you call out to let them know that you are coming by they freak out and yell at you. That happens to me a lot.
And then there's the weaving.
Those that come out more than one time quickly learn the rules of the road and trails.
I'm not complaining, mind you. Just my observation. Some roadies are dicks, some touring cyclists are weird, some roadies are nice, mountain bikers tend to be the nicest, holiday warriors are dangerous.
Let the hate mail flow.
Shazam!
Riding inside today I was feeling fantastic. I was back at my favorite ride time, doing my favorite indoor workout and having a great time. I'm going through a particularly intense section of the workout when in comes Matilda. I figure she's getting something out of the room.
Apparently not. She walks up to my bike, looks me in the eye and bellows (at inhuman levels), "Ooort! Ooort! Ooort! WAAAAAAAH! Oooort!" And she's gone. Why did she do this? I do not know. But I can assure you that it was, in fact, the most annoying sound ever to emanate out of a human mouth.
Later, when I was getting ready to "sprint to the line" at the end of my final interval, Gert comes in the room. She tackles the cat, then complains that the cat does not love her. Raising my cadence I grunt in understanding.
Then, for a reason that is not yet clear and that psychologists may never understand even after years of study she jumps in front of my bike, starts doing the Cabbage Patch, chanting, "Oh yeah. Uh huh. That's right. Oh yeah." And she's gone.
My wife apologized for teaching her the dance, but I still do not understand why she did it. In a way, however, it felt a little like being on a stage of the Tour and having some lunatic run along side of me while I rode up a mountain.
That being said, if one of the kids dumps water on me they are so grounded.
No more! I'm back on my usual schedule of two on, one off of indoor training and have discovered an unnatural love of the more endurance style intervals. Sure, sprints are nice, but the long, slow build of a climbing repeat and the weird sensation that I'm actually stronger at the end of the third repeat than I was on the first is a giddy feeling.
NOTE: There is a Gert/Matilda story at the bottom of all this. I will tag it with the word "Shazam!" in bold, if you want to skip the cycling babble.
One thing I miss about riding outdoors, other than being outdoors and the actual sensation of riding, are the other cyclists. For the most part, cyclists fall into three categories:
1. Recreational: Serious, but out for fun. Often wearing weird clothes, with panniers sometimes, or in one case, on a black road bike with a pink basket. Seriously. Generally road/trail rule Nazis, but in a nice way. Tourists, retirees, fit families. Generally chatty and kind, will always stop to ask if you need help if you pull of to the side for any reason.
2. Hardcore: Self-explanatory. There are two types. Dickheads and nice guys. If they ride alone they tend to be arrogant, selfish, pissed-off dickheads. I don't say this in a bad way. Often, on a windy day, you can count on someone hanging on your wheel without letting you know they've shown up and suck your wheel for a while and then pass you on a hill without so much as a wave. The dickheads tend to think they are better than everyone else out there and that you, as the guy or gal who is not on their team or in their club, do not deserve to share the road with them. Key point: They never wave to other cyclists. This is important.
That being said, there are also hardcore cyclists that are out there and enjoy the community aspect of cycling. They'll announce themselves as they come up behind you, stop to chat, talk about bikes, etc. They'll always stop to see if someone needs help and will compliment you on a good ride of they come up and follow you. You'll laugh together as they watch you overcook a turn and nearly slide across the road and you'll admire their climbing skills as you slowly slip away from them on a long hill.
These guys always wave, nod and say hello to any cyclist on the road. Any cyclist. A local racer, who oozes respect around here, is fond of saying that no matter what you're doing acknowledge each cyclist you see. Because two miles down the road it may be their hand pump that saves your ass or their patch kit, tools, or anything else you might have forgotten when an unfortunate situation occurs.
I try to be the second type, but I'm too self-hating to think I belong to either group. I don't feel at that level yet. I probably am, but I still feel like the chubby guy huffing up a hill.
3. The spur of the moment cyclist. They generally come out on holiday weekends and ride big box store bikes. There is nothing wrong with this and I personally feel that anyone out on the road is a good thing. But safety-wise they can be a nightmare.
Why? Well, 90% don't wear helmets or are wearing the wrong helmets or are wearing improperly fitted helmets. That's okay though, since it's their thick brain pan that will be oozing out the very goo that gives them motor functions.
Simply put, they do not know the rules. They often ride in groups of four, spread across the road or trail. If they are on a trail they can't seem to stay on their side and come barreling straight at you. They do not know how to signal that they are stopping, turning, slowing, etc. They often don't even announce "on your left" when they pass people. You gotta let people know you're there. Walkers, riders, skaters, cars (though not by shouting). When you call out to let them know that you are coming by they freak out and yell at you. That happens to me a lot.
And then there's the weaving.
Those that come out more than one time quickly learn the rules of the road and trails.
I'm not complaining, mind you. Just my observation. Some roadies are dicks, some touring cyclists are weird, some roadies are nice, mountain bikers tend to be the nicest, holiday warriors are dangerous.
Let the hate mail flow.
Shazam!
Riding inside today I was feeling fantastic. I was back at my favorite ride time, doing my favorite indoor workout and having a great time. I'm going through a particularly intense section of the workout when in comes Matilda. I figure she's getting something out of the room.
Apparently not. She walks up to my bike, looks me in the eye and bellows (at inhuman levels), "Ooort! Ooort! Ooort! WAAAAAAAH! Oooort!" And she's gone. Why did she do this? I do not know. But I can assure you that it was, in fact, the most annoying sound ever to emanate out of a human mouth.
Later, when I was getting ready to "sprint to the line" at the end of my final interval, Gert comes in the room. She tackles the cat, then complains that the cat does not love her. Raising my cadence I grunt in understanding.
Then, for a reason that is not yet clear and that psychologists may never understand even after years of study she jumps in front of my bike, starts doing the Cabbage Patch, chanting, "Oh yeah. Uh huh. That's right. Oh yeah." And she's gone.
My wife apologized for teaching her the dance, but I still do not understand why she did it. In a way, however, it felt a little like being on a stage of the Tour and having some lunatic run along side of me while I rode up a mountain.
That being said, if one of the kids dumps water on me they are so grounded.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Tour of Missouri
Route has been announced. Huzzah.
Interesting. A time trial in Branson, of all places. Huh. I wonder how they'll react to that. Branson seems like a bunch sprint type of town. Columbia would be more of a TT type of town.
I'll go to the St. Louis stage, of course. Though a circuit through town isn't so exciting. I wonder what the actual route will be. Could be interesting. I'm looking forward to seeing the profiles of each stage. When I find that out I'll decide what day to take off and visit.
It's a shame there's no stage from Hannibal to St. Charles instead of Jeff City. That would have been a cool stage, lots of fun hills. Though, there are some interesting points for hills on this route I can't picture any big ass climbs. So it'll be a fast race.
Now to wait to find out who races. I'm sure Dan Schmatz, and whatever team he's riding for (I can't remember) will ride. Navigator's? Toyota-United? I just don't know . . . Will be fun though.
Interesting. A time trial in Branson, of all places. Huh. I wonder how they'll react to that. Branson seems like a bunch sprint type of town. Columbia would be more of a TT type of town.
I'll go to the St. Louis stage, of course. Though a circuit through town isn't so exciting. I wonder what the actual route will be. Could be interesting. I'm looking forward to seeing the profiles of each stage. When I find that out I'll decide what day to take off and visit.
It's a shame there's no stage from Hannibal to St. Charles instead of Jeff City. That would have been a cool stage, lots of fun hills. Though, there are some interesting points for hills on this route I can't picture any big ass climbs. So it'll be a fast race.
Now to wait to find out who races. I'm sure Dan Schmatz, and whatever team he's riding for (I can't remember) will ride. Navigator's? Toyota-United? I just don't know . . . Will be fun though.
She is a Scientist
While I'm getting over the sting of Gert telling me that I was annoying her in the car this morning (and I deal with the fact that my office mate, a 45 pound Border Collie, has hellacious gas) I thought I'd recount happier times when I wasn't getting on Gert's nerves and the dog still had gas. Note: did you know that hellacious is actually a slang word? I did not know that.
Last night we were watching some movie on the Disney Channel about tweens in trouble or seeking understanding or trying to fit in or learn an IMPORTANT LIFE LESSON while looking fabulous and perfectly balanced both hormonally and mentally. Not like real kids, who turn on you in an instant. Like this morning.
I'm getting over it.
Anyway . . .
"Dad, that boy must be a scientist," my frighteningly verbose five-year-old says to me while watching a frightenling scientifically adept tween used beakers, test tubes, bunsen burners and what not.
"What makes you say that?"
"He's mixing chemichers." She twisted her face for a moment. "Chemi-CALs."
"That's right sweetie."
"Uh oh," she said as the chem lab exploded, "that wasn't a good idea." And then a series of events were set into motion, caused by the spilling chemicals, that only being submerged in water could solve.
We cuddled and continued to watch the movie. Or, more likely, I blanked out for an hour after asking why, if water fixed the problem the characters weren't cured earlier. They stated that the movie took place over ten days. No one showered in that time?
Ew. Gamey.
Last night we were watching some movie on the Disney Channel about tweens in trouble or seeking understanding or trying to fit in or learn an IMPORTANT LIFE LESSON while looking fabulous and perfectly balanced both hormonally and mentally. Not like real kids, who turn on you in an instant. Like this morning.
I'm getting over it.
Anyway . . .
"Dad, that boy must be a scientist," my frighteningly verbose five-year-old says to me while watching a frightenling scientifically adept tween used beakers, test tubes, bunsen burners and what not.
"What makes you say that?"
"He's mixing chemichers." She twisted her face for a moment. "Chemi-CALs."
"That's right sweetie."
"Uh oh," she said as the chem lab exploded, "that wasn't a good idea." And then a series of events were set into motion, caused by the spilling chemicals, that only being submerged in water could solve.
We cuddled and continued to watch the movie. Or, more likely, I blanked out for an hour after asking why, if water fixed the problem the characters weren't cured earlier. They stated that the movie took place over ten days. No one showered in that time?
Ew. Gamey.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Remembering the Bike Man
Last week an elderly couple in Utah died of hypothermia after getting stuck in the snow. It's a sad, tragic story. But it was the life of Reed Palmer that caught my eye. He served in the Utah legislature, worked for a bakery and was a realator.
More importantly, Reed Palmer was the Bike Man in his neighborhood. He'd fix flats, repair bikes and scooters, fix dropped chains and adjust whatever kids needed adjusted on their bikes. If they could pay him, he'd accept it. But, usually a hug would do. He even had a sign outside that read "Reed's Bike & Trike." Admittedly, it wasn't much of a business. But he would rehab old bikes and, I assume, it made him happy.
According to the articles, when a new family would move into the neighborhood he would introduce himself and ask if the kids had bikes. If not, he'd give them one. There were a lot of happy Christmas mornings thanks to Reed Palmer.
More importantly, he passed along the love of cycling to children. This is not the same love that I have, but that which Gert oozes every day. The wind in their face, the freedom of movement, the fun of going as fast as you can under your own control, riding to your friend's house or just riding around the neighborhood with your friends. It's the purest form of cycling. Kids do it not for the exercise, but for the sheer joy of it.
Reed Palmer left an indelible mark on the world and the community he inhabited. He wasn't just a neighbor, he was the Bike Man. He dealt in smiles.
How much of an effect did he have? When he and his wife were laid to rest today, kids brought their bikes in tribute to the man who spread his joy to another generation.
They often talk about the life worth living. Reed and Fae Palmer may have died in tragic circumstances and before their time, but they lived in a way that will be felt through a whole new generation. It's a touching story of a life that was certainly worth living--and well-lived. I didn't know the Palmers, but after reading about them, I wish I had.
The world could use more Bike Men.
More importantly, Reed Palmer was the Bike Man in his neighborhood. He'd fix flats, repair bikes and scooters, fix dropped chains and adjust whatever kids needed adjusted on their bikes. If they could pay him, he'd accept it. But, usually a hug would do. He even had a sign outside that read "Reed's Bike & Trike." Admittedly, it wasn't much of a business. But he would rehab old bikes and, I assume, it made him happy.
According to the articles, when a new family would move into the neighborhood he would introduce himself and ask if the kids had bikes. If not, he'd give them one. There were a lot of happy Christmas mornings thanks to Reed Palmer.
More importantly, he passed along the love of cycling to children. This is not the same love that I have, but that which Gert oozes every day. The wind in their face, the freedom of movement, the fun of going as fast as you can under your own control, riding to your friend's house or just riding around the neighborhood with your friends. It's the purest form of cycling. Kids do it not for the exercise, but for the sheer joy of it.
Reed Palmer left an indelible mark on the world and the community he inhabited. He wasn't just a neighbor, he was the Bike Man. He dealt in smiles.
How much of an effect did he have? When he and his wife were laid to rest today, kids brought their bikes in tribute to the man who spread his joy to another generation.
They often talk about the life worth living. Reed and Fae Palmer may have died in tragic circumstances and before their time, but they lived in a way that will be felt through a whole new generation. It's a touching story of a life that was certainly worth living--and well-lived. I didn't know the Palmers, but after reading about them, I wish I had.
The world could use more Bike Men.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Holy Crap It's Cold
It's been below freezing for what seems like months. But, really, the past two weeks or so. In the last 45 days I've been able to ride outside once. And it was short and depressing.
How cold is it? Well, my normal route goes through a park with a lake and a "dripping" waterfall. For your pleasure here are some photos:
A phonecam pic of Gert standing in the water last August.
Roughly the same spot today.
Other side of the lake, boat launch.
The "dripping" springs drip no more.
So, as you can see, there's no way in hell I'd be out there riding these last few weeks. Oddly, I've seen some of the hardcore guys out there riding. I respect them, but I am not envious. I'm nuts, but I'm not completely crazy.
How cold is it? Well, my normal route goes through a park with a lake and a "dripping" waterfall. For your pleasure here are some photos:
A phonecam pic of Gert standing in the water last August.
Roughly the same spot today.
Other side of the lake, boat launch.
The "dripping" springs drip no more.
So, as you can see, there's no way in hell I'd be out there riding these last few weeks. Oddly, I've seen some of the hardcore guys out there riding. I respect them, but I am not envious. I'm nuts, but I'm not completely crazy.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Prince of Thighs
Hey, oh Purple One, I heard about your hip problem. Floyd Landis can probably give you some advice there.
Granted, I don't know if he can help you get your groove back, but the dude is already flying up mountains on his newly resurfaced hip. Don't need to be a grandma to enjoy the cool relief of a new hip.
Granted, I don't know if he can help you get your groove back, but the dude is already flying up mountains on his newly resurfaced hip. Don't need to be a grandma to enjoy the cool relief of a new hip.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)