Why I Love My Purple Bike

This is an ode of sorts to my favorite bike. My Purple bike. There are several reasons why this bike should be at the bottom of my stable:

1) It's way too big for me. The top tube is 54cm with a traditional geometry. Plus, it has a 100mm negative rise stem. I usually ride a 52.5 with a 75mm positive rise stem. While it doesn't feel that bad, I know that I'm majorly supermaning it.

2) It's not a flashy material. It's aluminum. With a steel fork. So it's heavy.

3) It's older, with older components on it.

4) It has a ton of trail to the fork, which makes it a little laggy and unwieldy. Going handless is difficult.

Combined with the above elements is the fact that it's not really "good" for anything. Cross bike? See numbers 1 and 4. Commuter? Possibly, except that it doesn't come with a mount eye to speak of, neither fender nor racks. Which would mean I would have to get one of those weird seatpost mounted things that look a little disembodied or wear a huge backpack all the time.

But while I was riding it this morning for the first time in months through the frigid winter air, the reaction was unmistakable. I adore this bike. I love it. I will never part with it.

Here's why:

1) It is truly one of a kind. It's a Zunow, supposedly. My boss, who is a world class (literally) expert in all things vintage, thinks that it's most likely a real Zunow, though he's never seen one like it. Ever. As far as he can tell, it's probably either a nice frame with fake decals, or a custom CX Zunow made for some rich guy way back in the day.

2) It's purple. I mean. It's purple.

3) It has awesome old components on it. Back in the day, these were Cadillac, and it's obvious that whoever built it put a lot of thought and love into the package.

4) It has bar end shifters. That's just neat.

5) I can fool around with it and not feel like I'm going to break anything. I was able to set the front derailleur's limit screws so it would ride like a single up front, but then was able to easily retool everything for this mornings ride so I would just be able to access the two outer rings, leaving the inner still inert. I love being able to do things like that and not feel like I'm going to mess things up. Even if I do, it's not a huge deal on this bike.

6) With it being heavy, it's actually a great winter bike, since I can go slower=less wind=much warmer while still getting my HR up where it needs to be.

6) It's purple.

So in spite of everything I've listed that's negative, I have to say, just love riding it. I don't mind that it's too big or handles like crap. Whenever I get on it I grin. So while it will never be my Go To bike, it will probably always remain my favorite.

Bikes of Christmas Past

Children and bikes. A simple, yet natural combination. Something universal. A person's first taste of freedom, a tool to connect to a wider network of friends and places. David doesn't live within easy walking distance, but now that you have a bike, David's house is fair game.

Which is awesome, because David has a pool.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Your first bike is the first true outlet to new adventures and possibilities and independence.

I remember my two childhood bikes with extreme fondness. The first, a red/white 24" bike that lived at my dad's house. With it, I perfected the swing-your-leg-over-the-top-tube-and-start-running-while-noisily-discarding-the-bike-on-the-lawn dismount. I also crashed it into several trees on a makeshift dirt jump at the end of the culdesac, peddled through streams, and tested how long I could ride on the local golf course without getting chased off by the groundskeepers (along with some neighborhood boys).

At my mom's house, a teal and hot pink Giant Awesome (that's right, Awesome) carried me to every connecting court and side street. Living in a housing development, there was no place to really "go," but I was lucky enough to live close to the smallest National Park in the country: Ball's Bluff. Thinking back on it now, I'm amazed that I willingly climbed the hill, which in my memory was huge, and down a long gravel pot hole filled road to get there. If I were to make that same ride today, I think it would wind me, possibly even intimidate me, but back then? Whatevah.

Because back then, the bike meant nothing but fun. That's it. Fun. When I wanted to have fun on the bike, I rode. When I didn't want to have fun on the bike, I didn't ride. Period. Brand or cost meant nothing. Lord knows I also had a Nintendo and Leggos and Rollarblades and MTV (back when they played videos) to while away the hours. But I still chose to get on the bike.

Which is why I think your first bikes are your best bikes. Your truest bikes, if that makes sense. Now you may have carbon electronic shifting this and titanium single speed fox shock that. But think about number one. Remember? Wasn't that great? Don't you wish you could go back to that?

I sure do. True, there are mountain bike trails, which even I can see have a greater sense of abandon than road riding provides. But you have to suit up, and get the right pedals, and drive to the trail head, and yadda yadda yadda. You don't just run off the bus and throw down your bookbag and grab the bars and go.

Sitting here this Christmas evening, I'm thinking about all of those little kids who ran downstairs to discover that Santa left them a shiny new bicycle under the tree. All of that impending fun in their futures. I'm excited to have been a small part of that.

In fact, I think it's probably the best part of my job.

The Bike is a Fair Weather Friend

It's cold.

No no. Let me rephrase.

It's prohibitive.

A blast of arctic air from Canada means that it's colder in the Carolinas are colder than in Denver, CO.

I'm checking the weather right now, and it says 29, but feels like 18.

18!

Now that the rant is over, let me tell you why I'm ranting.

Last year, I ran all through the winter. Sure, it was cold, but I survived. I ran in Bowling Green, OH when temps were, well, colder than they are here. I decked myself out in the balaclava, silk underwear, Mizuno Breath Thermal base layers, thick winter pants, two pairs of wool socks, a heavy running coat, two pairs of gloves, and a hat.

I was fine. After a few minutes of warming up, it was actually pleasant. The scenary? Gorgeous. The town? Charming. And coming home, I peeled off layers and received home baked cookies from smiling friends.

Even while in Greensboro, running on the trails in winter was a wonderland experience.

So why should cycling be so different?

Why indeed.

First off, and most importantly, the wind. Oh the wind. I used to run at a stunning 6mph, and most of that was shielded by the trees. On my bike, I'm out in the open, going around 15/16 mph on the slow side, and when that wind comes up, it takes your core temp instantly down a few notches, no matter how hard you've been working up to then.

Second off, I'm breathing harder, which means more cold air is sucked into my lungs.

Third off, my hands and feet, despite neoprene and ski thickness gloves, always go numb.

Fourth, my water bottles freeze. And yes, there are ways to prevent this, but please. Do I really have to start out my ride with hot water in the bottles?

Fifth, all of the added layers make riding a bike a bit, well, cramped. The gloves, for example, make riding the drops impossible since I don't have a confident feel of the brakes, plus grabbing the bottles (when they're not frozen) requires a bit more concentration.

Sixth, the scenery alongside the road is bleak and depressing. I can ride past trailer parks in the spring, summer, even fall. But winter?

Seventh, it's hard to find people to ride with in these temps. Even if I'm crazy enough to go out, most people are not. And some of my friends commute no matter what, but that's not 2+ hours worth of slogging it out on an endurance ride.

I know I need to HTFU and ride. It's hard, though. Harder than I thought it would be.

The trainer, the alternative, is not much better for endurance rides. For intervals? Awesome. Bring it. Trainer me. But for base rides? Even watching Whip It didn't make the time pass much faster.

And it's only mid December.

I know the weather right now is colder than average, but to me all that means is that I'm missing what little possible outdoor time I've got left.

But I also know that my dilemma is a standard one for the cycling ages. The pro riders in Ireland and England right now, where the weather is beyond insane, are logging 15 hour weeks on their trainers.

Things could be worse.

It's a bit of a let down to come to terms with the fact that a bike is a fair weather friend, though. I knew the theory behind it, but this is the reality. This is what everyone warned me about.

But at least all cyclists in the area share the same reality, and can commiserate with one another. Even if our bikes lose some of their romance, there's still a sense of community in the peleton. And ultimately, for me, the community is what it's all about.

Not "if" but "when"

Earlier this week, my Mom IMed me on Facebook, asking if I had read the article in the Times (as in NY) about cycling and crashing.

I said no, but asked what it was about.

"Well, it was about someone who crashed and broke their collarbone."

I waited for more information, but that appeared to be it. So I said, "that's it?"

That was it. I told her that lots of people I knew had done that very same thing. She said yeah, that sounds right.

Curious as to how such a commonplace cycling event made All The News That's Fit To Print!, I went back and read the article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/30/health/nutrition/30best.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1

Just FYI, it's an essay, not an article.

I came away with a sense of overblowness about the whole thing. While I certainly feel for the author, and sympathize with the suckiness of a broken collarbone, I'm not sure that it was so bad it would force me off the bike if I were placed in the same situation. I can't really imagean accident so catastrophic that it would force me off the bike forever. Unless godforbid it involved paralyses or death, (Hi Fate! It's me! Want some icecream? Yumm!), which it COULD involve, because ycling, due to cars, high speeds, pavement, and other things (blown tires, slick patches, gravel, dogs) is inherently dangerous. Even mountain bikers have their fair share of lurking peril.

The other thing is, LOTS of things involve paralyses or death, including living. Living is hazardous to your health. I mean, take driving. Every time you get into your car, you are risking your life. But we don't turn the key and constantly think about this fact; it would debilitate us.

Just like every time I hop on the bike, I don't constantly think about every car that passes or every dog that comes barking up to the shoulder. It would debilitate me.

The essay winds up centering around the statement that crashing on a bike isn't a case of "if," but "when," and this fact drives some people away from the sport. But, many many sports have this mantra (skiing, horseback riding, gymnastics, etc). Some people can get up and get back on. Others feel like the risks aren't worth the payoffs. This is a personal decision, not a judgement against the activity at hand or a reflection of worth/intelligence/bravery of the decider.

To extend the example, the same person who can cycle after being put into traction may never ever consider hopping onto a horse because it's "too dangerous." An avid horseback rider who retrains problem youngsters for a living may look at a bike and think, "why would anyone in their right mind share the road with that deathtrap?" Is one person smarter than the other, or better? Does one person "wise up" while the other lives in ignorance, or worse, denial?

So given that fact, I guess what miffed me the most about the essay is the tone that yes, this is in fact the case. People should "learn their lesson," and that lesson is learned in minor crashes for more intelligent people, and sometimes takes calamity for thicker people. Or some truly poor specimens never end up learning, despite crash after crash. Cyclists who choose to get back on are somehow stupid or crazy for riding the bike, given the "inevitable" disaster that awaits us across that wet metal bridge, or from that crazed squirrel, or maybe that squirrelly new rider in the paceline. Ultimately, cyclists in general are crazy.

Sure, NY Times, crashing may be a "when" not "if" aspect of cycling. But I would argue that crashing is also a "when" not "if" aspect of living. Cyclists are not naive for embracing that mantra.

We are the most reality bound of realists.

Paying Off!

As you all know, I decided to hire a trainer about 3 months ago (Ashley Powell - www.catup.com - he's f-ing awesome). Several factors went into this decision:

1) I wanted to rehab my knee the right way

2) I wanted to keep my cycling future injury free

3) I felt like I had some natural aptitude on the bike, and wanted some guidance to tap into it safely (see one and two).

When I started out, the goal was to just get back on the bike and rebuild up my endurance. The rides were short compared to pre-injury length, and went by time instead of distance, a new concept for me. After a few weeks of nothing but endurance, we went on a ride that established my training zones.

Again, a heartrate monitor was a completely new ball game for me. I felt like a leashed dog, constantly yanked up short right when I wanted to chase, and I saw my average speeds come plummeting down from where I was used to seeing them.

Next step were tempo rides, first with 20 minute, then with 30 minute intervals that put my HR into Zone 3. These were hard, finally, or at least harder than usual. I could stretch out and go. The longest was 3x30 (number of intervals x time of interval) with 10 minutes of rest between intervals. I called Ashley after that week and told him how well it had gone. I felt pleased with myself.

His response? "Ok, now we can really get going."

Cue AT interval initiation.

He explained that these intervals were meant to condition my body to get used to being just slightly anaerobic for longer periods of time. Not hard enough to go "full gas," but almost that hard. Hard enough that my muscles burned juuuust slightly, but not enough to completely wipe them out. For an analogy, I was to imagine a sink with the water running fast enough to pool a little at the bottom before going down the drain, but not fast enough to overflow entirely and spill over the edges. I was also to down a can of soda immediately following the final interval. "Carry it with you in your jersey and crack it open right after you're done. Literally."

The zone? 167-173.

"In two months," Ashley said, "you're going to be a completely different cyclist."

I started the intervals with 4x10s, with 10 minutes of rest in between. And it was tough. I remember going home after the first workout completely wiped out. But AT intervals I did, twice that week.

I did two weeks of 4X10. Then it went up to 5x10. Then 5X12. Then 6x10.

Each week I became a bit more apprehensive of the intervals. Why? Because each week they became slightly harder to do. One time I couldn't get my HR up to the required zone, no matter how hard I tried, and I returned to the car put down, drained, and pissed.

At the same time, though, my average speed for the endurance rides slowly started to creep up. 16.5, 16.8, and then I was regularly getting into the low 17s. The low 17s and never leaving the endurance HR zone.

When it came to the 6x10s, it was raining out, and I was required to borrow a friend's trainer to get the job done. Each time I had to ramp up the intensity, I had a small doubt that this time I wouldn't be able to do it. I was too worn out, too tired. Then once it was up, it was nothing but concentration to keep it there. I still wasn't going "full gas," but if my mind slipped for a second or my cadence went down, that was it. HR went below the 167 line.

Then I got sick. My body said, "ENOUGH!" and caught a cold in a crowded movie theater.

Fortunately, this happened during a scheduled rest week.

In any training, the rest week is the magical week during which you actually get stronger. The training weeks? That's designed to wear you down, not build you up. When you rest, your body springs back from the brink you placed it upon, remaking your muscles and revamping your cardio system to handle the craziness you obviously insist on placing upon it.

Or at least that's the theory.

Last week, I came back for more intervals. Harder intervals. 2x20 intervals with 15 rest between.

I started out in dread, remembering the constant effort of a few weeks ago, and imagining trying to stretch that effort into 20 minute efforts.

Then I started.

And I thought my HR monitor on the new Garmin was busted. Why? Because it was so much easier to establish, and then maintain, my HR. Easy enough that I could actually think about other things for seconds at a time, easy enough that I didn't have to look down every two seconds just to make sure it wasn't slipping.

I rode with two Garmins (new and old) the next day, and sure enough, both were reading the exact same numbers.

This week, I was presented with two challenges. The first, a 2x25 AT interval workout, the second, a new HR zone: 170-175.

Yesterday, I climbed aboard the trainer and started pedaling, with the intention of giving the new HR zone a shot, but not being disappointed if I couldn't do it.

But I could. And without any extra effort. 173/174, no problem. 25 minutes? I honestly felt like I could have done 30.

Which is good, because next week, I may have to do 30.

So what does all of this mean?

It means that, Hallelujah! Training works! It's actually paying off! I am, as promised, a new cyclist! It means that the HR monitor no longer a leash, but a friend to help me along the way. It means that on group rides, I can watch the main group pull away with no blow to my ego, since I trust my training schedule and know that saving energy one day means I have that much more energy to go where I need it.

That being said, I shall close with a small anecdote:

Tuesday, I headed out for the Farmer's Market social ride at 11am. It's a ride that's supposed to average 16/17, but usually, there's a guy (you know..."that" guy) who insists on pushing the pace slightly. So this time, it was more like 18-ish. At times during the ride, I saw him get down in the drops, head to the front, and up the pace for no real reason. I didn't join in. I saw him hammer up hills and take much of the group with him. I didn't join in.

On the way home, I found myself directly behind him. About a mile from home, he decided to turn on the afterburners and sprint, hoping to drop us all and ride in triumphant.

Not a chance.

I jumped up out of the saddle, shifted into high gear, and chased.

I sprinted at 31.6 miles an hour, according to the Garmin. A solo sprint speed that, three months ago, would have been impossible.

Sure, my HR spiked up to 168.

But it was totally worth it.

A Very Strange Paintbrush Indeed

Before you read this post, there is a bit of homework involved.

Cut and paste the link below. Watch the whole thing. If you're pressed for time, at least watch the first three minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj6ho1-G6tw

Finished? Good.

I saw this link via a friend's facebook page this morning. I watched it in awe, of course. I ogled at the tricks, the control, the precision. Obviously, this Danny MacAskill character has some skills.

Later today at work, I brought it up on the big screen out front so some mountain bike customers could watch it. Usually when you are at a bike store and you play a video on youtube, the response is lukewarm. But this time, everyone was silent. Riveted. The only sound was an occasional "wow." The handling of the bike was nothing less than masterful.

Again tonight at home, I pulled it up and went through it. And this time, finally, I saw it for what it was:

Art.

Here is a person who is using the bicycle as his medium and his surroundings as the canvas. Each sequence of movements is a paint stroke, or a sentence; a conversation with the bench, or the monument, or the fence, or whatever else he happens to be in the space. There is a constant interaction. He isn't limited by what surrounds him in any way, quite the opposite: he's inspired by it.

Show me an artist who doesn't have the same types of interactions, conversations, or inspirations when crafting their work. What artist doesn't invoke an image or a thought, what author doesn't pull from life, what musician doesn't try to capture the feeling of an object?

Which is yet another reason why I love this damn sport.

Of course, a bicycle is an odd type of paintbrush. And of course, not everyone who rides a bike is an artist, just like not everyone who draws a picture is an artist. But trials riding isn't done for the purpose of physical exertion. You aren't going to be racing, or doing intervals. And while you may compete, the competition is to see who can create the most exciting composition, not to see who is mightier. It's to see who can become the most cohesive part of the bicycle, who can internalize it the most seamlessly. What other sport, honestly, can have the same niche that trials fills? The same improvisational, skillful, and yes, beautiful relationship between person and equipment and place?

Exactly.

And let's face it. Who wouldn't want to be able to do that, have that sort of complete and automatic internalized skill, that it happens seemingly without thought; an instinctual comfort with the bike?

The good thing about bikes, though, is that if you ride them enough, if you practice enough, you can be functionally comfortable and natural on them. Not an artist, but at least an amateur, able to glide around a trail or remove your arm warmers in the middle of the hammerfest or track stand at the stoplight. Everyone can get on and spin in circles and move from point A to point B. I am living proof of that. Not everyone can sit on their top tube and touch the ground while cruising down the road at 17 mph. It is this distinction that separates someone who bike rides and someone who rides with their bikes.

It is the "with" that is special, that can elevate sport to art.

Think I'm full of it?

Go watch the clip again.

Now try to say the same thing.

Rules

This week is the first "optional" week in my training. Easy way to sum it up: everything is optional. To a point. My rides are kept in order through the following rules:

1) You are only allowed to ride for fun. If you don't feel like riding, don't ride.

2) You are only allowed to not ride for 3 days. Then you have to ride.

3) You are not allowed to do anything that is "training." No efforts, no times intervals, nada.

4) You should ride for one less day than you normally ride.

Being a rule follower extraordinaire, this week has been the most confusing for me. One of the best things about having a coach is that I don't HAVE to think about where I will ride, for how long I will ride, and what I will be doing on my rides. The only real rule is"follow the program." That I can do.

But when the rule is to "have fun"? That's a little too grey for my black/white self.

As difficult as these rules are to follow, though, they are perhaps the most important ones to think about.

First off, I'm sick, which complicates things because there really isn't ANYTHING that's fun to do when you're sick except lay on the couch watching Hulu and reading books whilst sipping tea.

Second off, I've had to think about what IS fun when I ride. What makes cycling fun? For me?

Third off, there is no third off, but lists sound better in trios than pairs.

Riding with friends would definitely be the top on the list. Not so much a large groups ride, but a small group of people that you would also invite out to a movie. There is something about riding with people you know and trust, people with whom you can cruise down a flat road one minute, and then chit chat about life the next. A group who will not see a hill and automatically also see an invitation to hammer. A wheel you feel confident sucking onto.

The next fun thing on the bike is being epic. This encompasses many different types of rides, for sure, but a good example would be a large organized ride with sag stations, in which the ride's purpose centers around epic-ness. At the end of this ride, you have energy to do nothing else but stagger from your bike and start eating whatever is in site and is edible. Following this, you get a massage. You talk to your fellow riders about average speeds and what beasts you all are, and then you go home and fall onto the couch in a coma.

The next fun thing on the bike is exploring new roads, especially when it's as gorgeous out as it is now. The best time for road exploration is mid-day, when traffic is low and the sun is high. Bring lots of water, and be prepared to get lost. (Note: also bring your cell phone).

The next fun thing on the bike, for me, and this sounds lame but please remember I am somewhat of a Hermione type (yes, that's a harry potter reference), but the next fun thing on the bike is training. I like to train. I like to follow the plan, do the intervals, accomplish the checklist, because I know it all goes towards the larger goal of becoming a better rider. To that end, the endurance rides, the ones where I slog along the same route in the morning before work, those are actually at least a little joyous. I go home, I plug in my Garmin and dump it, and voila! Evidence of dedication to my training plan. That is fun.

Fun is different for everyone, of course. A lot of the things that other people would jump at the chance to do, like mountain biking, I steer away from due to the anxiety it currently produces. Some people find the idea of training an antithesis to cycling enjoyment. Some people crave hills and climbs. Some people are loners, and love the solitude of the open road.

So while this week has been minimal in terms of physical stress, it has given my mental aptitude a run for my money. I think being sick has messed up my overall impression of what the week can really be like, since my nose feels like raw meat and my legs are clearly not getting all of the rebuilding attention they deserve from my rebuilding resources. In the weeks ahead, though, as I am back to "training," I'm going to do some serious thinking/prep work for my next option week.

Because I am going to have fun, damnit. I am going to play by the rules.

WHOA HORSE!

Today, I awoke rarin' to go for my second cyclocross race.

Tonight, I sit here with the decision to give myself a year on the bike before I race cyclocross again.

I know, right? Huge jump. There are all sort of well meaning stock responses to a decision like this:

a) You'll be fine, just go for it!

b) The only way to get better is to do it!

c) It's not that bad, if you fall it's not like you'll get hurt!

d) You're just nervous, once you start the race it will be fun!

The thing is, it's not really cyclocross I'm afraid of. I mean, I know that it's grass and dirt, and that I won't be going that fast. I saw the women lining up for my race today, the race that I decided to pull out of because the course made me too nervous, and they were all fine. Nobody died. And while there were riders there who were miles better than me and more experienced on mountain bikes/bikes in general, there were some who were not.

So what was the difference?

They saw the course, and maybe felt nervous, but said, "Heck, looks tough, but I'll give it a go."

I saw the course, and then felt a rising panic of being forced into doing something that I was nervous about, and then felt exactly like I did when I was twelve and was forced to ride my horse, Shiloh, through his manic bucking bolting sprees.

Did I lose you?

It's the same sort of stuff that takes place when adults are scared about public speaking. It's not the event that causes panic; it's the relation that event has to the first time they ever felt that panic. Make sense? The body takes over; they can't control how their body reacts. Even if their mind says, "This is silly, you're an adult, nothing bad is going to happen if you step out on that stage," their body is all of a sudden zinged back to day one.

So what did this Shiloh character do that was really that bad?

Oh goodness...

Imagine the feeling of having a 2000 pound animal underneath you, tensing up and ready to blow, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. That was me. I just had to hold on and hope he would eventually stop on his own accord, or bail if he was pointed towards something dangerous. It got to the point where I rode with a paper bag, because I would hyperventilate after it happened. Still, I was not allowed to dismount, leave the lesson, or stop riding the horse. My (awful) trainer also did nothing to prevent the problem or try to fix it. I still had to ride him three times a week, and show him as well. I just had to, "deal." It was either ride Shiloh, or not ride.

Amazingly, and I cannot say how amazed I am, I wasn't ever seriously hurt, though he did force my sister out of riding after severely injuring her hip doing the same thing (guess who got the hand me down horse?).

Throughout my riding career, I've always known that I had issues with ill behaved steeds on account of Shiloh. My skills were at a professional level, it wasn't that I couldn't ride, I just froze and tensed up when faced with a horse who habitually spun, or bucked, or bolted. This time I had no choice because it was part of the job, and I did ride through all of it and came out alive. I dealt. I also got ulcers. This reality was another part of why I ultimately decided not to be a professional anymore. I wanted to have the option to not ride for any reason, and let that reason be enough.

And now back to cyclocross. (phew!) Cyclocross was supposed to be a fun way to increase my bike skills. I have been riding bikes for all of six months. I am not a natural on the bike. I mean, go back and re read my first attempt at using clipless pedals. Go back and read about my first ever group ride, where I had my heart in my throat the entire time and fell down about four times.

Please, people. Please.

What I did do, though, was take it slowly. At my own pace. I had a wonderful, supportive group of people who were willing to go out and cycle easy with me, showing me the ropes. I gradually increased my rides. I gradually gained confidence. In short, I was allowed to stop riding Shiloh, and get on a nice quiet pony instead. In the end, there was no Shiloh at all. Just a bike ride.

I did not leap into a criterium hoping that criterium racing would make be a better cyclist.

No. Cyclocross is not criterium racing. But neither is it the only way to gain bike skills. What I've learned about myself today is that while I love the idea of jumping in head first, I really do not do very well when jumping in head first. My thinking brain says, Yay! My emotion brain says, WOAH HORSE!

There are slower, more gradual ways of gaining bike skills.

I have a mountain bike. I have a group of wonderful, supportive friends who will no doubt ride with me, slowly. I have a wonderful resource of beginner trails with which to practice on. And I'm sure that as I gain confidence, I will discover, again, that there is no Shiloh.

Just a silly cyclocross course.

Until then, though, I choose to say, No Thanks.

Sure, one could see all of this as an elaborate excuse. Then again, who am I making excuses to? My friends? Myself? It's not as if I'm saying the dog ate it, or I can't, I'm washing my hair. Cyclocross was supposed to be fun. It's not fun. Not yet. So instead of being hard on myself, I'm trying to understand where the reaction is coming from, and then acknowledge the reaction as valid, and then cut myself some slack.

Because I am NOT going to start carrying around a paper bag with me when I ride my bike.

Who let the dogs out?

Dangers lurk in every sporting arena. Athletes are punched, kicked, tackled, and run into by their opponents in some venues. Skiers crash at breathtaking speeds. Gymnasts leap into the air and flip on beams four inches wide. Tennis players wrench their knees this way and that with massive amounts of torque. Even golfers have errant balls to contend with, and watch out for those cleats.

Usually, though, these dangers are actually a part of the sport itself, and in some cases, part of the appeal. In football, you expect to be tackled, just like in gymnastics you expect to possibly land on your head while learning how to tumble. This adds excitement and adrenaline to the mix.

Cyclists have their own brand of adrenaline inducing incidents to deal with while riding their bikes. Cars, of course, are one such example. Potholes, railroad tracks, and rough roads are another.

And then, there are dogs.

Oh...are there dogs.

Yesterday whilst riding my bike on a lovely two hour ride through the gorgeous fall scenery, I encountered dog after dog. I have no clue why. Maybe it was the time of day, the late afternoon, that brought them out. Maybe it was my choice of roads. Maybe my bike smelled like snausages. Maybe it was just bad luck.

For the most part I was able to avoid them using the normal tactics. Outrun them. Yell, "NO!" if they get too close. I've yet to squirt a dog with my water bottle, though this of course often works wonders.

Finally, I turned onto NC-65, a road oft travelled with pleasure. Flat, well paved, and amazing eye candy to enjoy. As I rounded one particular corner, I saw a man in his front yard surrounded by dogs. One of them made to go, but he told them to stop. Finally! A nice, thoughtful man, keeping both myself and his dogs out of harms way. I smiled, slowed, and raised my arm, shouting, "Thank you!"

That's when the dogs actually attacked, after a cue from their master. He hadn't been holding them back to prevent them from running after me; he had been waiting for me to get closer.

So here I am, sprinting, seven hounds barking and snarling at my heels, some of them getting around the front of my bike, forcing me into the other lane (thank God there wasn't any oncoming traffic), and eventually even forcing me to stop. They started to circle me, so the ol' keep your bike between you and the dog trick was a no go. And the owner? He was watching it all, silently, hands in his pockets. I looked at him. He slowly started to turn and go into the house.

I'm sorry. If you are a minor, do not read the next sentence. But if ever there was a red neck motherfucker, this was it.

Fortunately, none of the dogs attacked. I dismounted and walked away, with them still barking but starting to turn back. My heartrate was definitely not in the coach mandated "endurance" zone. It was in the scared out of my gourd zone, and entering the mamothley pissed off zone.

I had two choices, one of which was smart, one of which was wildly stupid.

Guess which one I chose?

I turned off my Garmin (I mean, come on, have to preserve that average speed), turned around, and walked back to the house. The dogs once again started going crazy. I bared my teeth and shouted, "NO! BAD DOG! BACK!" It worked. They still barked, but retreated. Even as I marched up the driveway, I could feel them at my heels, but I knew they wouldn't actually mess with me. I leaned my bike against the car, took off my sunglasses, and went up to the glass side door.

There he was, sitting in an armchair, not looking at me.

I knocked.

He ignored me.

I knocked again.

His wife came to the door.

I explained to her that the dogs ran after me and he did nothing to stop them. I explained that I could have been severely hurt, not to mention the dog would have been toast had I hit it at 20 mph.

Her response?

"Well darlin', of course they're gonna chase you if you yell at them."

....................

To that, I replied if they could please post a sign saying, "Do Not Yell At the Dogs," the only counter I could come up with, explaining that yelling is one of the only tactics cyclists have if, as in this case, the dogs start to run out into the path of the bike or force the rider to dismount.

She saw me on my way, this time yelling at her dogs NOT to chase after me. They listened.

Interesting, isn't it, that the dogs obviously wouldn't run after me if the owner did in fact tell them to stop? Where was the husband's voice, while I was frantically yelling, "No! No!" and being literally chased down like an animal?

Of course, all I could do was ride away, completely at a loss as to why, because I choose to ride a bike, I become a symbol of liberalism, anti-Americanism, elitism, or any of the other -isms that cause such reactions from some rural residents. Enough rage to sic dogs on me.

I am not going to hold my breath for any "Do Not Yell at the Dogs" sign.

The worst part? Cyclists are expected to simply deal with this. As told to me by my local state representative, cyclists and their concerns are not even a blip on anyone's radar screen. And really, what can anyone do? Leash laws? In the rural south?

Excuse me, I just laughed so hard my dinner came out my nose and onto the keyboard.

Google in "cyclists and dogs" into a google search, and you get 789,000 hits. Type in "Dog bites cyclist," and you get 916,000 hits. Just like getting buzzed and run over by cars, dogs are just another live-with-it part of this sport.

Which of course begs the question. Why cycle? I mean, are those 110 minutes of freedom worth the ten minutes of terror?

Was Cujo a horrible horror film made in 1983, the heyday or horrible horror films?

::takes a bow::

Next time I go out past that house, as I must since NC-65 is a pretty major connecting road, I will take with me a canister of pepper spray.

And I will employ every ounce of willpower not to use it on the owner.

Latest Bicyling Magazine, Page 34....really?

Ladies and gentleman. Above is a photo of singer/songwriter Tristan Prettyman (I know, me too...tristan who?). This is a photograph that was featured in the latest issue of Bicycling Magazine. Apparently, she is on a crusade to make San Diego a more "bike friendly" community. When, of course, she's not endangering the rest of the bicycling community and herself.

I won't go into details, but the interview contains the following gems:

"My friends often do a 25 mile loop up the coast to grab a beer, so I often join them."

Yes, riding 12 miles, dehydrating yourself, then downing beer for the ride home sounds like a fantastic idea.

"My last ride was sixteen miles to the beach with my friend Tricia...when I got home my tire was flat."

So, basically, you were riding on the rim without even knowing it? For how long was that occurring?

But readers, choosing a "celeb rider" with a lack of basic roadside skills/preparedness was not the most blatant error Bicycling Magazine made. Truthfully, this sort of thing can probably happen to many people if the tire just had a small hole or the air was leaking slowly. Nor was choosing a "celeb rider" who admittedly mixes alcohol and road cycling, though I'm sure some of you readers probably don't think that's such a horrible proposition, either.

No, ladies and gentleman. The cardinal sin of Bicycling magazine was to show a picture of Tristan Prettyman, clutching at an ill fitting messenger bag while fully turning around and not looking where she's headed...

...without a f-ing helmet.

.......

Cycling without a helmet is as stupid as driving without a seatbelt, which is as stupid as picking up a red hot skillet without a pot holder. It's such an easy, basic, simple step to protecting your own life, and the lives of those who care about you. Sure, you can say to yourself, "It's my head, damnit!" But what about all of the people you will leave in the lurch should the unspeakable happen and you become brain damaged, or die? And for what? For the sake of "looking cool?"

Please people. wtf.

I myself have already suffered a concussion, one that started when my head hit a rock after falling off my horse and ended with being led back to the office by my coworker after she found me wandering aimlessly around the barn not sure of where I was and with no memory of what happened. She found my horse sans Sophie and became worried. I still don't remember the specifics, but I do know that had I been sans helmet, I would have been dead.

I'm preaching to the choir here, as you all DO wear helmets hopefully every time you get on the bike (just like you hopefully buckle your damn seatbelts every time you get in the car).

But.

This is Bicyling Magazine. This is the magazine for the masses. This is the magazine where the general population gets its idea of what is and what is not appropriate for cycling. This is the magazine that people take into bike shops saying "I just read this review about this bike..." This is the magazine that is, for lack of a better term, our public persona.

And what message does the public get when Tristan Prettyman gets a full blown up picture of her likeness cooly cruising, her hair gorgeously tousled by the wind as she flies backasswards down the road without a helmet?

That was a rhetorical question, btw.

Letter writing campaign, people. I think that every local cycling club needs to draft a letter in a similar vein of WTFness, and send it off ASAP to Bicycling Magazine.

Tristan Prettyman is in danger of becoming brain damaged.

If the above photograph doesn't prove she already is.

Houses of Cycling Worship

Cycling, as with most sports, revels in the glory of the outdoors. Whether the agenda is a grueling training ride or a group outing with your peeps, it's hard not to at one point or another say to yourself, "wow, it is a gorgeous day," or see some beautiful roadside vista that for an instant blocks out the thought of your heart rate/power reading. For me, there are several tin barns that never fail to draw a lingering eye. One is a bright fire engine red specimen out on Iron Works Road, the other is a multicolored hodge podge on Miller Chapel. In short, the joy of the bike shares the stage with the awesomeness of being outside and experiencing the world.

So what happens, you may ask, when the outdoors doesn't cooperate? When it's raining, or snowing, or the daylight goes too fast, or the temperatures drop below tolerable levels? What is a cyclist to do?

....what indeed...

Runners have their treadmills. Runnishers have their ellipticals. People who want to be cyclists but really aren't have their recumbent machines.

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you for your enjoyment and/or horror,

the trainer.

"What's so awful?" you may ask. "This looks perfectly innocent to me, perfectly harmless. Why such potent feelings one way or the other?"

Because when all is said and done, when it really comes down to it, cycling is nothing more than spinning your legs in circles. Endless circles. Around and around and around in circles. More circles than one sane person could count, and that's on a short ride. And spinning your legs in circles is boring. Very very boring.

What's worse, even the very best trainers can't replicate the feeling of the road underneath you, the feeling of generating power to go FORWARD in the world, to go FAST, or to at least GO. On the trainer, you pedal in circles and go noplace fast. A lower end magnetic trainer is like pedaling through mud, the very best fluid trainer barely grudges past feeling like wet sand. Some of them let you rock your bike back and forth (yippee), others set up computer screens with "simulated" hills, descents, and group rides (please, give me another simulated hill, that sounds like exactly what's been missing from my life). The alternative, rollers, give a much more realistic feel, but also force you to pay strict attention every second, lest your mind wanders and you find yourself suddenly rolling off the rollers and into (or through) your living room wall.

Yes, in the wintertime, we cyclists retreat to our personal torture chambers and make as much peace as we can with our trainers, maintaining base miles and sometimes, as in my case, actually trying to improve fitness as we go.

"But surely you're not made of salt or sugar, dear writer. Why don't you just go out and ride in the cold/rain/dark/snow if trainers are so horrible?"

Well, it's true that when I ran, I would brave just about any weather condition before being forced onto the treadmill. One only has to read my post about runners being gross to know that I am not one to shy away from rain or cold weather. But running isn't like cycling. In cycling, you have to remember that when it rains, your traction suffers. When it's dark, cars can't see you. When it snows, salt and other road crud makes things slick and mucks up your bike. Plus, with cold winds and 16-18mph speeds, well.....let's just say the term "frozen boogers" takes on a whole new meaning. In short, I can handle the elements; my bike or my safety may not be so adept.

Today was my litmus test on the trainer, so to speak, in that it was my hardest workout to date: 5 ten minute AT intervals with 10 minutes of rest inbetween. And the thunderstorm shaking my window when I awoke at 6am meant one thing: I would have to do it entirely on a trainer.

Fortunately, the bike shop where I work has a fantastic trainer set up in the fit area that's much better than the one I use for base/endurance miles at home. It's still a trainer, but the fluid resistance stays smoother once your cadence is established. Armed with water bottles, a towel (there's no wind to instantly dry off the sweat), and my iPod, I climbed aboard and got to work.

The result? I did it. I did the entire workout, exactly as it should have been, on the trainer. And know what? It wasn't that bad. Honestly. I mean, it was 2 hours on the trainer, so it wasn't amazing. But being on the trainer and not on the road let me completely focus on the act of pedaling in circles. On the one hand, its boring On the other hand, it's the very zen core of cycling. It's the foundation without any of the distraction. It's just you and the bike and the motion of moving your legs. Once I revved up to the correct heart rate, I closed my eyes, hunkered down, and PEDALED, only taking passing glances at my heart rate, which stayed just as consistent as during my road rides. As I finished my fifth interval and popped open my Cheerwine, I felt a little like I was coming out of a meditative state, which is something I've never experienced on the road, or on the treadmill, or on the elliptical. Maybe I'm still riding on a road, only this time, it's a metaphysical one.

The great outdoors is the church of cycling, but maybe the trainer is the buddhist temple.

Nuts and Bolts

When I let on to people that I used to be a professional horseman, the next inevitable question is, "Oh! What did you do?" Instantly, a slew of images flies into my head, though the easiest way to answer is, "oh, a little of everything, I basically did whatever they needed me to do." Need someone to watch the barn and ride while you're away at a show for a week or two? Need someone to teach the occasional lesson? Need someone to muck out the barn, hay, water, turn out? Need someone who can poultice, wrap a leg, unbraid a mane (or braid a mane in an emergency), talk to USEF, give an IV injection, fill out entry blanks, take a blood sample, pull a shoe, ride a baby, flat a jumper, dust, sweep, fill the hayloft, go to Southern States, longe, feed, medicate, clean tack, give a bath, clean a wound, and generally do what needs to be done?

That's me.

It was this all around knowledge that made me so valuable to people, and ultimately, how I defined myself as a horseman and not just a rider. It was also this sense of self sufficiency that gave my work purpose; whatever came my way, I could deal.

When I started riding bikes, I didn't even know what all of the parts were called. Stays? Dropouts? Bottom brackets? Nonsense words, and that was just parts of the frame itself. Nevermind all of the components, in all of their hundreds of variations. Nevermind all of the different types of bikes, all with their individual quirks. Plus the accessories, plus the shoes, plus the plusplusplus.

Cycling, as I've come to realize, doesn't have the same sense of all-a-rounder-ness as the horse world does. Nobody really seems to mind if you don't know how to fix mechanical issues on the bike, or understand exactly how your disc brake works. There is no special status given to the cycling equivalent of a Horseman. You have the bike. You ride the bike. Nuff said.

For me, though, it's the all-a-rounder-ness that's rewarding. In a perfect world, I'll become just as adroit in the cycling sphere as I was with horses. To that end, I've tried to build as many of my own bikes as possible, and always keep my ears open around the mechanics in the back of the shop. On Sunday I was able to diagnose why a chain kept falling off the big ring when a customer upshifted (the outer limit screw was set improperly), and felt an inner, "yes!"

Today, though, my basic skills were put to a real world, real condition test:

I had my first flat.

This is a skill that every cyclist should have, as eventually, every cyclist will blow a tube. This is a skill that I have practiced in no pressure situations many times. Being stranded 15 miles north of Greensboro at Iron Works and NC65 with nothing but a cell phone? Not a no pressure situation.

I calmly did everything I knew to do: Remove wheel (rear wheel in my case, so I shifted down into the small cog behind), remove tire with levers, check tire for punctures, check rim, see if the old tube can be patched (it couldn't), get the new tube, blow enough air in to make it round, put one side of the tire back on the rim, place the new tube inside the rim, put the other side of the tire on the rim, wiggle the whole thing to make sure you won't get a pinch flat, use (in my case) CO2 cartridges to re-inflate tire, replace rear wheel making sure it's securely in the dropouts.

The moment of truth would occur when I rode away, and either successfully or unsuccessfully made it back to the parking lot.

Ladies and Gentleman, I, Sophie Ballo, changed my first tube.

No parades are in order, of course, but it's a step in the right direction. I know I'll never be at the level of professional wrench, but I do think it's important to know how to make basic repairs, how to keep your drivetrain clean and how to lube your chain properly. How to diagnose and fix problems with your derailleurs. How to service your crankset or how to rewrap your handlebar tape. In short, how to not only ride, but also maintain your bicycle.

And when all is said and done, I would rather maintain a bike than maintain a horse any day.

Courage Pills

When I was a kid, I remember a distinct time of being terrified before a foxhunt, or any trail ride for that matter. My pony, Sox, hated water. He hated water so much that upon any encounter of a stream, no matter how small, he would poise right on the edge, coil himself up, and launch. If the stream was wide, I was in for multiple, wild launches. Launches that more often than not separated me from his back. He also loved to buck during gallop stretches. I mean, what awesome chestnut pony allowed to run wouldn't? I kept Foxhunting not because I wanted to, but because my dad made me. Isn't that what he bought Sox for in the first place? Wasn't that what well to do children did? Foxhunt on their pony?

Then, a funny thing happened. Sox's leaps stopped scaring me. They became predictable. I learned how to ride them. His bucks became the same. Just another natural part of his stride. My body learned how to adjust, and I started to LIKE his bucks, LIKE his gangly attempts to fly over water. It became fun.

I learned from a young age, though, that I'm not naturally a very brave person. My flight/fight instinct most definitely lies in the before the slash part of the phrase. Yes, it is true that I rode horses. I rode horses for a very very long time. And yes, many times, riding horses tipped me over into territories that made my flight instinct kick in. Still, I rode. But what you may not know is that I never ever became "brave" with horses. I didn't nonchalantly lead three horses in at a time, unworried about getting trampled, or stay unnerved when the horse I was riding tensed and coiled, ready to unleash an epic buck, spin, rear, or other aerial maneuver. True, I still led three horses at a time, and rode through my fair share of bucks, spins, and rears, but they never became non-events to me, because every horse would buck, spin, or rear in a new and unique way. In fact, one of the reasons I ultimately decided to get out of the business was I grew tired of riding the babies, the crazies, the stoppers and buckers and rearers.

Riding a bike, especially at first, gave me the same sort of nervousness that horses gave me. I remember falling over for the first time still clipped in, feeling my heart smash against my ribcage, and my hands death gripping the bars for the entirety of the brief slow ride. In fact, for the first month or month and a half, every ride brought with it the same sense of "uhoh" prior to the start. I knew the only way to get passed such a sensation was to keep doing it, and eventually, the feeling went away. Things became routine, predictable. The same. Now riding on the road is a non-event, and even accidentally toppling over while clipped in (which I actually did two weeks ago trying to get started up a steep hill, don't tell anyone) elicits no panic or fear. Only rage.

When I first heard about Cyclocross, I was stoked. It sounded like foxhunting's bike related sibling. And wow, once I got used to Sox, did I LOVE to foxhunt. Galloping through fields in the wintertime, jumping over walls and coops and trees, taking nips of hot chocolate during checks (periods of standing around waiting for the hounds to come back) while the adults took nips of whiskey, returning to the barn for a hot, greasy hunt breakfast with the rest of your riding friends. Cyclocross centered around bikes, mud, beer, and cowbells. Easily comparable to horses, mud, whiskey, and horns. No brainer right?

Wrong.

I didn't take into account the appearance of my old friend, Mr. Anxious.

Tonight was my first "race," but really just a more formal practice session. I had already gotten used to jumping on/off the bike, and picking it up, so I figured this would give me a taste of the steering/conditions aspect of it.

I geared up, and went for my first practice lap, something you're allowed to do for every race.

In the first corner, a tight one, my compression cap told me it wasn't tight enough by allowing my handlebars to turn without the wheel. I fell, I laughed, I went up to the car and fixed the problem.

I tried again.

I came up to the same corner, turned, slid, but stayed upright, and kept going.

But wait, what was this? Was this nerves that I was feeling? Nerves about what, softly landing in the mud?

I kept going.

I entered the wood for my first ever taste of single track. It was slick. It had some roots. And some rocks. And once again in a corner, my front wheel came out from under me and down I went. Into the soft mud.

Yes, I was laughing, but my body wasn't. My body was getting tenser.

Out of the woods, I encountered another usual cyclocross course offering: sand.

Once again, the front wheel went out. Once again, I laughingly went down. Once again, I brushed myself off and kept going.

Except that my body wasn't accepting the "fake it till you make it" attitude I was trying to impose on it. My body kept bracing for the next inevitable slide or skid. And even though I knew I wasn't going to get hurt, I couldn't shake the nerves.

I did eventually finish the practice lap, and go back to the parking lot seriously debating whether or not to jump into the "race." Part of me started making excuses about needing to practice more solo. Part of me said to HTFU and jump in.

I talked to Cullen, who encouraged me to do the latter (though not the HTFU part), saying that it was the most casual setting I was going to get at a "real" race, and it would be slow going for everyone.

So jump in I did.

But I still couldn't shake the nerves.

Even on the starting section, the section with nothing more than a few slick turns on the grass, I couldn't get rid of the tension and the feeling like I was on a horse about to bolt. Entering the woods for the single track, it started to go better, until a root bounced me off my line and into the path of a tree. I did avoid the tree. I did not avoid the bush next to the tree. I went down, entangling my bars in the surrounding vines. And yes, I was laughing, and yes, I did and do see the humor in the situation. But I couldn't get my body to laugh along with me.

I made it through the rest of the single track unscathed and upright.

My goal after that, though, changed from finishing the race to simply get back to the parking lot remaining upright the entire rest of the lap.

When I did, I pulled off the course.

Prior to this race, I read article after article of the road rider who launched into Cyclocross with zero experience, the rider who fell down a zillion times in their first race but still loved it and loved it the entire race, the rider who was hooked after the first lap even though XYZ happened to them. They were fearless and nerveless. I so wanted to be one of those people.

I am so not one of those people.

But.

I am someone who can fight the flight. I am someone who can do things over and over until they become natural, until they achieve a level of same-ness that trumps my nerves. Sox was the same pony. He bucked, but they were the same bucks.

My bike hit bumps, but I can learn to ride the same bumps. I can learn to ride the same sand. The same turns, the same barriers and uphill runs. Repeat repeat repeat until, like toppling over while clipped in on my road bike, it loses its nerve wracking newness. Yes, the courses won't be identical, but they will have enough sameness to them, in different combinations, that eventually, I can start to have fun.

So while it would be nice to pop some courage pills, for now, I'm going to have to fake it till I make it, whether my flight instinct likes it or not.

Interbike Round Up

The play by play is bogus. So many cool things to discuss, but until I know exactly what will come to fruition and what isn't meant to be I don't want to reveal too much.

But the overall roundup? That is something I can go into. Boy, can I go into it.

In a nutshell?

This industry rocks.

When you go to a trade show, it's impossible not to come away with a flavor in your mouth; a taste of the type of person who makes the livlihood their life. I've been to publishing trade shows, where intellectuals constantly attempt to out intellectualize each other. I've been to high end jewelry trade shows, where "intellectual" probably wouldn't describe any of those in attendance. The former has attendees in rumpled, slightly dirty khakis, frumpy tops, and old Nike sneakers. The latter has women with boobs up to their chins teetering around on pixie stick heels and men with slicked back hair in Gucci suits.

Then there is Interbike.

It's not so much that I didn't see women with boobs up to their chins, or men in rumpled, slightly dirty khakis. It's that none of that seemed to matter.

Cyclists are cool people, pretty much across the board. I don't know how this phenomena came to pass, but there it is. Cyclists are also really stoked about bikes, and not in an uppity kind of way. In a five year old with the latest GI Joe figure kind of way. In a joyful way. The people who work at all the various companies are really, truly excited about the latest/greatest thing that their company is putting out, because they all ride bikes, and they are all excited to get to ride/use the newest, latest, and greatest themselves. I don't care if it's sunglasses, blinkie lights, clothes, wheels, gloves, shoes, socks, handlebars, handlebar tape, tools, lube, cleaners, hubs, stems, messenger bags, spokes, rims, pedals, cleat covers, helmets, cables, cable housing, bells, baskets, racks, trainers, storage systems, cranksets, or chainrings: someone at that show is super excited about them.

What that makes for is a whole room full of mostly cool mostly super excited people talking to other mostly cool mostly super excited people about bikes.

Awesome.

Also, the entire cycling community represented. BMXers had a rail jam party, and dominated their corner of the show with loud music, tight jeans, and ear gauges. The Italian Pavilion was swathed in red carpet, with each bike being presented as a work of art (which they were). You had the townie bikes and the single speeds and the mountain bikes and the road bikes and the folding bikes and the electric bikes and the big names and the small names and the even smaller names and the no names and the so huge we will crush you names, all in one place. Every booth had its own atmosphere and pizazz, its own story to tell. If that story grabbed you, fantastic. If not, you still had the chance to see some amazing new machines.

And that is pretty much that. I wish I had more to say about it in a larger, overall sense. But I don't, I met great people, I saw great stuff, I had a great time, and I learned a great deal.

And, for everyone who is reading this entry with jaded eyes thinking, "She's so naive, just wait a few years, she'll become blasé and bored about it all eventually."

Maybe. But your boredom doesn't equal wisdom, and my enthusiasm doesn't equal naivety.

Interbike: Part One

You know that I know that you know that I hate writing these XYZ sort of entries; however, Interbike lends itself well to that style, so here we are. Interbike XYZ-ing.

Yesterday we arrived in Vegas at 9:30am, having awoken at 3:30am in order to make a 5:30am flight from Greensboro. First event? Fit Kit Seminar with Kyle at 12:30pm.

Until 8pm.

Now before you start to say, "8 hours on nothing but bike fit?" let me tell you that bike fit is perhaps the most important part of cycling. You can ride the latest carbon fiber Di2 Zipp 404 tubular speed sparkle dust speed machine to your heart's content, but if the fit ain't right, you ain't gonna get your money's worth, and more than likely you will get hurt to boot.

What did I learn?

While I want to say "a lot," it's not so much that I learned anything I didn't know before, as I was truly able to see how reliable and easy using the Fit Kit is in order to establish a solid framework for your fit.

I also found out that in reality, I need a custom frame: 53.5cm seat post and a 59.4cm top tube + stem combination. Which is why my seat is so totally jacked up and my handlebars are so totally scrunched up as close as they will go.

Today I got into the meat and potatoes of Interbike, and the day I was most excited about: Outdoor Demo Day.

I took an early morning bus out to the location for a 26 mile Tour de Lake Mead ride, a staple of the event and a ride for which I lined up an Amira S-Works. I met a fantastic woman, Susi Wunsch (www.velojoy.com <--her blog, awesome, go read it now), whose mission was to scope out the latest/greatest women specific items in the bike industry. We talked on the way out about women in the industry, the developments, the atmosphere, the products, and the attitude that surrounds the topic.

A stimulating conversation about bikes with an awesome lady cyclist at 6:30am? There are worse ways to start your day.

Upon arrival, I made a beeline for the Specialized tent, which was already swarmed, and was told that I was expected and I could grab any bike that would fit.

Umm, yes please.

Turns out the S-works Amira was spoken for, so I grabbed the exact model of Amira that I have. Shortly, though, I realized that I didn't come all the way to Vegas to ride what I already own, so I scoped out some more. The result?

An SL3 S-Works Roubaix with...wait for it...

D12.

Cha Ching.

I actually didn't even realize it had D12 until I got it into the stand, because, come on, who is going to bother to put that on a 49cm frame? Thank you, Specialized.

I also felt extremely bad ass because not all of the Sp. team had arrived yet, which meant that those who were there were swamped with bike getting readying before the ride. I asked if I could just put my pedals on myself and get it ready to go or if there was a liability thing and they had to do it. They were more than grateful for my pitching in, and pedal putting on/taking off has become pretty routine for me at this point. I also lubed the chain, made sure it was shifting ok (though I wouldn't have been able to make any adjustments on the...wait for it...Di2), and adjusted my saddle height to 69cm.

The ride itself? Gorgeous. Also more than I bargained for. 13 miles speeding downhill, during which I was more than happy to cruise. Being so light on such a light bike (and I mean probably 12 pounds) and going downhill is actually a disadvantage, because I can't use gravity /momentum as much as heavier riders. No skin off my back, I wasn't there to win any races (though some people definitely were).

So what was the bargaining? 13 miles uphill getting back. And I mean uphill. No mamby pamby rollers. I mean...I mean take Baker's Crossroads, and extend that for 13 miles.

Yeah.

The upside?

I got to spend that much more time on a Di2 bike. Let me tell you, it is not hype. It was amazing. AMAZING. On the way down, for kicks, I went from little to big to little to big to little to big at an annoying light-flippy speed, and the shifting didn't bat an eye. And cross chaining? What cross chaining? What may that be?

Returning the bike was hard to do. While I found my Ruby to be a little flexier than I would have liked, the S-Works Roubaix never put a wheel wrong during my ride. The Dura Ace wheels didn't hurt either, of course.

With the ride out of the way, it was time to actually demo demo. First up?

The Cinelli Strato

http://www.cinelli-usa.com/bicycles/91?build=62780869-1F59-4555-8FBE-124B6A073CEF

I didn't know much about it before I rode it, I had seen it earlier that morning and noticed it was my size and definitely wanted to give it a go.

When I ride bikes at de Oro, I have to admit, they all feel somewhat the same to me.

Not this time.

Ladies and gentleman, I am in love.

This was the first bike where I could actually tangibly FEEL the stiffness of the bottom bracket, I could FEEL the immediate power transfer, I had a different sensation in my pedals and my legs compared to other bikes I've ridden. Going downhill was screaming fast and accurate, cornering was a breeze, and even climbing back up with my rubber-ish legs proved no problem. What I hated was the Campy Chorus on it, wtf, but the bike itself? Magical.

Next up I wanted to ride the new Masi Evoluzionne bikes, but they only had the 56 and 58 frames done in time for the show, so I settled on a Steel Gran Criterium instead.

Poor me.

I've heard that Steel is Real, but this bike showed me how. I know it's not the top end steel frame on the market, but it felt like....like the road had an extra layer of smooth on it. And even though it was a heavy bike in comparison to carbon, it climbed easily. And I know this because I was dreading the climb back up, waiting for mashing that never came. I wouldn't describe it as sprightly on the ascent, but definitely efficient.

Next up? Well, I decided to go try out the competition. Trek. They had a 50cm Madone 6.7.

The result? Underwhelmed. It felt like just another carbon bike, nothing new or exciting like when I was on the Strato.

Of course, by that time, the wind had kicked up pretty seriously, and I was getting blown all over the road on those carbon feathers. I decided that I wasn't going to be able to really get a feel for the bikes since it was all I could do to stay in a straight line, and there wasn't anything else there that I really was itching to ride, so I called it a day in terms of bikes.

BUT! There were other awesome things to check out. Which I did.

LeMond Trainers:

http://www.lemondfitness.com/product_listing/19/revolution-bike-trainer

When Dale sent me an email about this trainer, I got really excited. Though trainers, along with just about everything else in the bike industry, are not my specialty, I thought the concept behind it was fantastic. I've ridden several different brands of trainers, some of them top of the line, but they all felt draggy/muddy/sandy. I was told the only way to steer clear of that was rollers.

Not anymore.

How did it feel? Let's just say it felt so realistic that I kept going for my rear brake to "slow down," only to remember that there was no rear brake, because there was no rear wheel, because it was a trainer.

Also, you don't have to worry about wearing down your tires or bringing an extra wheel to races. You don't have to worry about putting a skinny on your mountain or cyclocross bike. You can just hook it up and ride. And I mean RIDE. Resistance is controlled by your shifting. The bike also has a little bit of play, so there's a more realistic rocking feel.

Yay for LeMond Trainers.

BePop Pedals:

http://www.beboppedals.com/prod.htm

Before you say anything, I know.

Bebops are dork pedalz.

Why, though? They give Speedplay a run for their money in terms of weight (across the board lighter). No, you can't adjust the float, but they also don't pop out on hard efforts due to the cleat design. They have step down entry. They can be both road and mountain pedals. They may not be the pedal of choice for a serious racer, but for the person who walks into your store who wants a do-it-all pedal that can go on all of their bikes? Why not this one? How did they get the cache of "dork" pedals anyways? Say what you want, based on what I saw/read, I like them.

And that's about it for Demo Day. I met up with Leigh Carter at Quality Bicycle Products, a former Greensboro native who used to be a manager at REI before Dale hooked her up at QPB. She was awesome, gave me a good contact person at Giant who I will look up tomorrow at indoor Interbike. It was also just nice to talk to someone who knew the same people that I knew.

So that's that. Interbike Day One: Complete.

Tomorrow:

- Speedplay's Vector power meter

- Chris King questions for my friend Jeremy that will probably be way over my head but the information will nonetheless be faithfully relayed

- The Fashion Show

"That Person"

I've thought about different ways to go about this entry, and since I want to write it while events are still fresh, but my brain isn't firing on all cylinders, a play by play would probably be the best method.

First off, I raced. Yay!

Second off, I crashed. Boo.

Now that the nail biting is out of the way, since we all know how it ended, let's go back and try to figure out how I got there.

I woke up not abnormally nervous. I kept telling myself that racing was going to become a routine occurrence soon enough, so I may as well get used to it now. Just be with the nerves, instead of dwelling on the nerves.

Arrived at the race. Still good. Got my number, changed, went down to watch some of the race, went to start my warm up.

Warm up was also good. Got on the trainer and spun for a while, did 3X1minute spin ups on it before heading out to the road for my three pedal stomps. My HR was maybe a bit higher than it would have been otherwise, but I knew some of that was due to nerves. Cut and paste the link below.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/48775509

Got back, noticed the other two ladies who were warming up with me had already headed down to the start, so off I went. Realized I forgot my water bottle once I got down there. Moment of panic. Water bottle lent (thanks Jared!). Panic subsided.

I went to the start...was I nervous? No, I wouldn't call it nervous. Excited? Maybe. I had zero expectations for the race, I just wanted to see what it was all about.

And, we're off!

First lap, all is well, I kept waiting for it to get super fast/hard like I was warned about, but didn't really find it. I stayed in third behind two super experienced looking ladies, trying to cool my jets. Tried to stay smooth, not make any sudden moves, picked my lines, paid attention to how the other ladies were riding.

There were a couple of attacky placed, and once I was part of a possible three lady breakaway, which in retrospect I should have pulled through and kept the breakaway going, but I decided not to and the group caught back up super fast.

Sometimes I was further back in the pack, but I really tried to stay up to the front, which wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be.

Then came the last lap. I wasn't in the position I wanted to be. Looking back, again, I probably should have stayed way to the inside and tried to go for it, but I decided to stay behind and see how things were looking as we went into the last turn in the back. I was still feeling good.

Then, after the hill on the backside, a woman came up on my right. It was getting pretty narrow. I felt her start to lean into me just a little bit, probably nothing that wasn't out of the ordinary. But I overcompensated. I think I leaned too hard back, and started to fishtail, and just didn't have the skills to get it back.

So off we went to the right. Crash.

All she said to me as we were sitting there as our friends looked over the bikes was, "You got too close to me, hon." She had blood down her face. My knees were all tore up. I asked if she wanted to finish, she said yes, so up we got and off we went.

Of course I feel like an asshole now. My main goal was to have fun. But even more than that, I the unspoken goal, was to not be "that person." "That person" being the beginner in the race who does something stupid and makes it a bad situation for everyone else. I wish I had a video camera so I could actually see what it was that I did. I know I didn't randomly lose my line or lose control of the bike, and I DID feel her start to push on me. Ultimately, though, it was probably my fault.

So what did I learn?

Two important things:

1) BIKE SKILLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I NEED THEM!!!!!! PRONTO!!!!!! I need to go out to a parking lot with some people and just have them bump into me, elbow me, lean into me, etc etc etc until I know how to handle it. You don't get that sort of experience on group rides.

2) Racing is awesome. AWESOME. If there was another race next weekend, I would be doing it. Cyclocross? Can't wait. Next season? Can't wait.

In terms of performance up until then, I did better than I expected to. My HR may not reflect it (look at my HR! WTF!), but I wasn't working that hard. I felt fresh. I felt like I could have REALLY gone for it. I definitely wasn't feeling like I felt on some of the battle rides, barely holding on to the wheel in front of me. There was even some time in the third lap where I was in front pulling, though I slowed down to encourage people to pull ahead of me, since people had advised to sit in the group and chill out until it was time to sprint.

Of course, that doesn't really matter since I crashed. And took someone else down with me. Yes, I know it's a race, and things happen, and it's over now so no used crying, spilt milk and all of that. But when you're "that person," that feeling trumps all the others.

Here is the official read out. Again, cut and paste it:

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/48775507

WWJD?

This morning I had a 90 minute ride scheduled in my endurance zone. Easy peezy. The weather was slightly overcast and temperate = lovely riding weather. Since work started at 10, I figured I would be on the road by 7:30, back by 9, showered, coiffed, and prepared with plenty of time to spare. A lovely AM ride. What could be a better way to start a Tuesday?

I calculated my route: with rush hour traffic heading INTO town, I would take the "back door" out of town through Summerfield, heading onto Scalesville where it started at Oak Ridge Rd.

Bad idea.

Without going into specifics, let's just say that I could feel the hatred radiating at me from cars eager to blow by and get to their offices. I morphed from a human being to some sort of evil bicycle conglomorated being whose sole purpose in the universe was to make them a few seconds later to work than they would otherwise have been. I endured 5 buzzes (one of them a hand's breadth of my handlebars), seven angry car honks (4 paired with said buzzes), and one ranting monologue which of course will forever remain a smattering of shouted noise and hand waives.

Irony of ironies? It occurred on a thoroughfare aptly named Pleasant Ridge Road.

This is not the first encounter, nor the first post, to deal with road aggression against cyclists. We have already lost too many valuable members of the community to this ridiculous symptom of entitlement (I WANT TO GET THERE NOW!) that so completely permeates our society.

What puzzled me as I continued my ride, being completely safe on the entirety of Scalesville, Church, and 150, was that most of the cars, I kid you not, had some sort of Christian connotation on them. Either a fish or a WWJD sticker or a church affiliation. Which got me thinking. What WOULD Jesus do?

He would ride a fricking bicycle, that's what.

Think about it. You are the son of God. Your father MADE the earth. Would you really contribute to its destruction by riding around in a gas guzzling car? No way. Your ass would be grass. Jesus would have a sweet fixie.

I would love to get a Jersey made that says in big bold letters on the front "WWJD?" And on the back, "Jesus would commute by bike."

I'm not a religious person. But if I were, I think that God the Father would totally approve.

And Jesus the Son would be like, "Dude! I'm on a jersey!"