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.