We've had a really dry summer, which was good and bad. Bad for most living entities, good for me because I was able to ride outside for the majority of the summer.
I set the last day of August as the end of my summer and starting in September I was going to start moving into my "off-season" riding (I put quotes around that because I don't race, so the fact that I train like I do makes me look silly . . . but I enjoy it). Of course, my "off-season" also coincides with a heavy manuscript season for this editor, so it's part out of respect for the changing weather and part out of respect for my ramping up of responsibility.
This fall and winter I plan on adding a weight program to my usual trainer intervals and weather-permitting rides. The program is designed and ready to go and focuses on building core strength and upper body strength, which is good (I'm told by people who claim to know because they are former "elite" cyclists . . . those guys are a dime-a-dozen in Belgium). I'm not looking forward to any of that, except that I have new DVDs to watch during trainer sessions, some audio trainer sessions and I'm toying with buying a training DVD that has POV racing footage to go along with the mechanized torture they put you through. There's also a hill not too far from my house that my wife discovered that I hope to throw into my nice day rides. By the time spring rolls around, I want to have mastered that hill (it's long and pretty steep, with an insulting sudden pitch in gradient at the end that's right next to a park where children laugh at you as you realize you're out of gears, energy and oxygen).
anyway, the rain . . . It started to rain on Friday, seconds after I finished my ride. August ends on Thursday. The rain is schedule to be off and on through tomorrow and I needed to take two days off the bike because I've been riding a lot. I'm 69 miles from my end of month goal, which I was hoping to spread out into four days. But if the forecasts are right, I'm going to have to change my plans and either do two-a-days of short rides in between storms or a few big days to hit my mark.
Why is this so important? Because September 1 marks the one-year mark of me deciding to get back on a bike and the number I'm hoping to hit is important to me. Already on the 25th of this month I broke my previous records. In fact, this month I've posted four of my longest rides and six of my fastest rides since last September. My average speeds are up across the board and my endurance is astounding compared to just two months ago.
But this number is important. And I need those 69 miles to get that number. If I take a day off I can do it in one day. But I don't want to be a slave to the number. I want to do one of my usual rides for the next few days.
But I'm going to hit that number. Because I want to prove that you can go from a lazy bum to a pretty good weekend cyclist within a year with a little determination and dedication to pain, soreness and discovery of the upper limits of your cardiovascular system.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
That's Unpossible!
According to the computer that's on my bike, my maximum speed for today was 64.6 mph. All of the other data was on target for today's ride and, I'm pretty sure that if I even went over 60 mph the wet spot on my shorts would be a dead give away.
My wife wants me to take a picture of it because, according to her, that's the last time I'll ever see that number (and I have a feeling she's not just talking about my ability, but also her ability to break my knee caps if I ever even flirt with that speed).
I met another train today. I encountered it at about the middle and I was able to meet up with the engine before the tracks and I had to part ways. I didn't pass the engine.
I don't know what it is about the trains running parallel to the road that excites me. Though, honestly, I'm not alone. As soon as the train blows its horns, anyone with a road bike sits up and looks around the same way a gazelle pricks up its head if it senses a lion.
It's as if a challenge is issued by the mere presence.
Oh, and to the dude on the Cannondale who was taking turns on the front with me all morning until we hit the flood plains when he conspicuously, painfully and slowly disappeared. I waved when I passed you on the way back though. You looked like you could have used a cup of coffee. Or a testosterone patch on the family jewels (I hear they discourage that though). I'm sorry about that.
You can't be blamed. I was going 64 miles per hour, after all.
My wife wants me to take a picture of it because, according to her, that's the last time I'll ever see that number (and I have a feeling she's not just talking about my ability, but also her ability to break my knee caps if I ever even flirt with that speed).
I met another train today. I encountered it at about the middle and I was able to meet up with the engine before the tracks and I had to part ways. I didn't pass the engine.
I don't know what it is about the trains running parallel to the road that excites me. Though, honestly, I'm not alone. As soon as the train blows its horns, anyone with a road bike sits up and looks around the same way a gazelle pricks up its head if it senses a lion.
It's as if a challenge is issued by the mere presence.
Oh, and to the dude on the Cannondale who was taking turns on the front with me all morning until we hit the flood plains when he conspicuously, painfully and slowly disappeared. I waved when I passed you on the way back though. You looked like you could have used a cup of coffee. Or a testosterone patch on the family jewels (I hear they discourage that though). I'm sorry about that.
You can't be blamed. I was going 64 miles per hour, after all.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Dave Zabriskie is Funny
It's true. He's funnier than you. He's also weird. And, in a cyclist, that's a cool thing. Especially if he speaks English. Which Dave does. Though some may argue against that.
Dave's famous for his one off interviews from his old blog, where he'd ask riders if they like Star Wars or, in the case of Thor Hushovd, how it feels to have the best name in the peloton. These interviews are generally one question and a response. Strange, funny, sometimes sick.
Well, you need to listen to these. Specifically, listen from "Dauphine & Mullets" on up. Some of these . . . um . . . thoughts, are freaking brilliant.
Dave's famous for his one off interviews from his old blog, where he'd ask riders if they like Star Wars or, in the case of Thor Hushovd, how it feels to have the best name in the peloton. These interviews are generally one question and a response. Strange, funny, sometimes sick.
Well, you need to listen to these. Specifically, listen from "Dauphine & Mullets" on up. Some of these . . . um . . . thoughts, are freaking brilliant.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Booked
This is where we're staying for our anniversary trip. Here is the itinerary:
1. Drop off kids.
2. Drive to KATY Trail trail head.
3. Ride bike, stopping at various points along the way including places to eat.
4. Check in.
5. Shower.
6. Visit winery.
7. Go to dinner here, where I will have to drink the Tannhauser Pale Ale because of that damn Pengelly.
8. Relax.
9. Wake up, eat breakfast, wander town.
10. Ride our bikes back to our car.
Total mileage, not including off the trail riding through the town, 47 miles, round trip. That's nothing. I've decided that, in addition to my patch kit, I think I'm bringing a bunch of tubes. I figure it will be faster to swap tubes and fix later than to try and find a leak on the trail.
I think we'll buy a quick swap rack for the wife's bike and I'll lug a backpack. I just hope after a day of bad eating and beer drinking that I'll be able to make the final climb back up to my car. It's only 1/4 of a mile, but it's a bitch of a quarter of a mile when you're stuffed with cheese.
1. Drop off kids.
2. Drive to KATY Trail trail head.
3. Ride bike, stopping at various points along the way including places to eat.
4. Check in.
5. Shower.
6. Visit winery.
7. Go to dinner here, where I will have to drink the Tannhauser Pale Ale because of that damn Pengelly.
8. Relax.
9. Wake up, eat breakfast, wander town.
10. Ride our bikes back to our car.
Total mileage, not including off the trail riding through the town, 47 miles, round trip. That's nothing. I've decided that, in addition to my patch kit, I think I'm bringing a bunch of tubes. I figure it will be faster to swap tubes and fix later than to try and find a leak on the trail.
I think we'll buy a quick swap rack for the wife's bike and I'll lug a backpack. I just hope after a day of bad eating and beer drinking that I'll be able to make the final climb back up to my car. It's only 1/4 of a mile, but it's a bitch of a quarter of a mile when you're stuffed with cheese.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Nothing
I've got nothing to say. But we have a hearty debate (okay, four people) going on down below. Join us. I have a feeling I'm going to be trounced because, well, I've taken the side of the intentional walk which, I've learned, actually trumps a cancer kid. I never knew how much people hated the intentional walk.
But, then, I haven't actually watched more than .01 seconds of baseball this year. And that includes flipping around the channels.
Anyway. My update is to say that you shouldn't expect updates for a while. Because of that dirty rat bastard Ryan, who thinks I should listen to him because we shared a locker in eighth grade, I need to re-read the entire Kurt Vonnegut cannon for the first time since 1996.
After that, I will be philosophical Gary, spouting off important comments like, "We all need someone to help us get through this thing, whatever it is."
Except I didn't actually say that. Kurt Vonnegut did. Stupid old man being all smarter than me.
Oh, hey . . . if you happen to have a PhD, would you mind recommending a current science book that would get me to think about the more philosophical side of science? It's been a while since I've read one and I haven't seen one I like in the stores. You know what I'm talking about. The kind of book that makes you think, "Wow, the universe is so (small, complex, large, ordered, chaotic, cruel, wonderful, etc.) and I'm so (small, simple, stupid, pale, wide-footed, etc.)."
Oh, maybe later this week I'll post my list of possible sequels to Snakes on a Plane. It's a list of things on things. Example? Mormons on Fire Island.
See? Two things you wouldn't expect together. Kind of like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, only with more uncomfortable stares.
But, then, I haven't actually watched more than .01 seconds of baseball this year. And that includes flipping around the channels.
Anyway. My update is to say that you shouldn't expect updates for a while. Because of that dirty rat bastard Ryan, who thinks I should listen to him because we shared a locker in eighth grade, I need to re-read the entire Kurt Vonnegut cannon for the first time since 1996.
After that, I will be philosophical Gary, spouting off important comments like, "We all need someone to help us get through this thing, whatever it is."
Except I didn't actually say that. Kurt Vonnegut did. Stupid old man being all smarter than me.
Oh, hey . . . if you happen to have a PhD, would you mind recommending a current science book that would get me to think about the more philosophical side of science? It's been a while since I've read one and I haven't seen one I like in the stores. You know what I'm talking about. The kind of book that makes you think, "Wow, the universe is so (small, complex, large, ordered, chaotic, cruel, wonderful, etc.) and I'm so (small, simple, stupid, pale, wide-footed, etc.)."
Oh, maybe later this week I'll post my list of possible sequels to Snakes on a Plane. It's a list of things on things. Example? Mormons on Fire Island.
See? Two things you wouldn't expect together. Kind of like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, only with more uncomfortable stares.
Friday, August 11, 2006
This May Be Callous
And you may hate me, but I have to make a comment on this.
I feel for the kid and all he went through. I really do. But, I have news for everyone who is upset about this. It's the way the game is played. What the coach did was not compassionate, that's true. But his job is not to make sure that the next kid playing feels good. Even if that kid has cancer. Do I feel sorry for him? Yes. Do I think the coach made the right call? Absolutely. Was it callous? Sure was. But he was playing the game as the game is played. If any other kid had been on deck, I bet he would have made the same choice.
What did the other team expect, anyway? That having a cancer patient in that slot on the order meant they deserve to win?
Someone said, what are we teaching our kids? To pick on the weakest?
In this case, I have to say "no". You're teaching your kids to play fucking baseball, not become a traveling monk and heal the psyche of the sick. Losing is part of baseball and an intentional walk is part of the game. A smart part of the game in that case.
You know what we need to stop teaching our kids? That everyone wins and that you can leave every situation a winner. It's not true, and we're not doing our kids any good by teaching them that it doesn't happen. What's next? Don't pitch to the kids with ADD? Don't strike out the kid with poor depth perception? That kid has esteem issues?
I feel sorry for the kid and his family for the battle with cancer. But, that doesn't mean that he deserves special treatment in the championship game, with the game on the line. That's bullshit. If anything, the kid learned that sometimes you're a hero, sometimes you're not. Even better, read the end of the story. That little guy learned a lot more from losing than he would have from winning. Now he wants to be a better player. Good for him.
But don't insult him and pander to his weakness. Why rub his weakness in his face? Seriously? It's his mountain to overcome and if you remove all obstacles, he will always have weakness. Ask Lance Armstrong.
What if he had driven in the game-winning run? What would we be talking about then? I think those that are trying to protect him from heartbreak, or the opportunity for greatness, are doing him a great disservice.
In fact, I think he's the winner here and I'm extremely impressed with his attitude. He's striving to be a better hitter now. He's not taking defeat as the end. He's rising up, dusting himself off and moving on to greater glory. Too bad the adults around him can't do that.
As Nuke LaLoosh once said, "A good friend of mine used to say, 'This is a very simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains.' Think about that for a while."
I feel for the kid and all he went through. I really do. But, I have news for everyone who is upset about this. It's the way the game is played. What the coach did was not compassionate, that's true. But his job is not to make sure that the next kid playing feels good. Even if that kid has cancer. Do I feel sorry for him? Yes. Do I think the coach made the right call? Absolutely. Was it callous? Sure was. But he was playing the game as the game is played. If any other kid had been on deck, I bet he would have made the same choice.
What did the other team expect, anyway? That having a cancer patient in that slot on the order meant they deserve to win?
Someone said, what are we teaching our kids? To pick on the weakest?
In this case, I have to say "no". You're teaching your kids to play fucking baseball, not become a traveling monk and heal the psyche of the sick. Losing is part of baseball and an intentional walk is part of the game. A smart part of the game in that case.
You know what we need to stop teaching our kids? That everyone wins and that you can leave every situation a winner. It's not true, and we're not doing our kids any good by teaching them that it doesn't happen. What's next? Don't pitch to the kids with ADD? Don't strike out the kid with poor depth perception? That kid has esteem issues?
I feel sorry for the kid and his family for the battle with cancer. But, that doesn't mean that he deserves special treatment in the championship game, with the game on the line. That's bullshit. If anything, the kid learned that sometimes you're a hero, sometimes you're not. Even better, read the end of the story. That little guy learned a lot more from losing than he would have from winning. Now he wants to be a better player. Good for him.
But don't insult him and pander to his weakness. Why rub his weakness in his face? Seriously? It's his mountain to overcome and if you remove all obstacles, he will always have weakness. Ask Lance Armstrong.
What if he had driven in the game-winning run? What would we be talking about then? I think those that are trying to protect him from heartbreak, or the opportunity for greatness, are doing him a great disservice.
In fact, I think he's the winner here and I'm extremely impressed with his attitude. He's striving to be a better hitter now. He's not taking defeat as the end. He's rising up, dusting himself off and moving on to greater glory. Too bad the adults around him can't do that.
As Nuke LaLoosh once said, "A good friend of mine used to say, 'This is a very simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains.' Think about that for a while."
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