a Valentine from a politician

Worth as much as the paper on which it's printed. That sums up this blog, and it accounts for all your race results, too. Don't kid yourself- if it ain't ____ it's worth less. I fill in that blank with the word "FUN", you do what you want since you will anyhow.

It was off to the races, in with a shout, and ending with a whimper. I will allow I considered vomiting as a real option at one point. That sand pit(!), and the barriers at the top of the climb (especially the staggered 3rd...)? Dastardly. I enjoy that shit. Cyclocross racing (the riding never stops- it's the perfect bike for these parts!) is here again, and we cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war. Battle! I am a very middle of the pack racer, but. But, I love a battle where I find it. I enjoy stuffing people in the corners wherever possible. I find a deep satisfaction in kiping someone else's clean line. It pleases me to hear the grunts of effort and despair in my wake. I am sad when people come from behind and I cannot answer. There is joy in barbed heckles.



Where were you when we filled the tub of water with ice from the cooler and blasted the racers with stream machines (shoots up to 70'? lies. But it will hit a mean 15' in the face. You know, if you're OK with it. Don't wanna ruin any strangers' or contenders' race...)? What were you doing instead of waiting to pile on the goodie spray as the As swung their fists at the orca pinata? We stuffed it with 80's NIB flouro bar tape, cowbells, coozies, tootsie pops, and corn nuts. A couple pairs of gimme plastic sunglasses which, surprisingly happily survived the bashing. And we waited. We waited until the As for that stunt, thinking they are the ablest bike handlers, but it's a double-edged pinata bat on account of how serious they tend to take the racing part of the race...maybe Bs next time.

So. CCCX#1 went well. Back at it next week. If you hear this:



know that's us and come join the party.

hot pants

It has been said, and that truthfully, that September Cross sucks. But, wait! It's September Cross starting tomorrow...and that is not gonna suck itself. So if you are around California's balmy central coast, then get your ass stuffed all up in something tight and take it to the races tomorrow for some hard men of the 65-72degrees and sunny action. We got some fun planned.

be a bike racer or just look like one

One of the guys at the shop was helping some young girls with a new bike purchase. 19, or so, not 6 or 7. The one girl said she didn't really know what a fixie was, apropos of not being sure what she wanted in a bike. The employee said he thought they were the worst thing to ever happen to bikes, without explaining anything. I make it a point to not intrude (and attempt to make it a point to not listen in- sometimes with more success than other times) unless actual misinformation is being given, BUT. If I were to have been the talker, I'd have explained what a fixie is, from whence it has come, and how fun it is to ride a fixed gear bicycle regardless of the low position they currently occupy in the public mind. Lamentable trends do not determine my feelings.

Why, I took myself on a fixed gear solo tour of the moonlit peninsula just the other night. After an inspiring night of camping beneath the full moon, I was inspired to sprint from one hidden beer stash in the woods to another and I can tell you: turning circles is where it's at.

                                     you didn't show up, and your beers got drunk for you.

 


On the other hand, if you keep an open mind people will throw trash in it.

 CCCX#3 went off with several hitches. 1st time for me riding the CSUMB course. I crashed in that one long sandy section on account of a guy ahead of me had crashed and was bent over rerailing his chain. I thought it would be a funny idea to spank him on his ass as I passed, and (of course/deservedly/like a dummy) with only one hand on the bars I crashed immediately after. Almost took out that rat-tailed kid on the single. How it's done...

 Lots of juniors on cross bikes.

Good Times.

SSWC09 part the third- you're sick of this by now

image from Golden Age Comic Book Stories


Alternately titled: "What's your gear, Bro?"

Up and technical. Up was the word. Technical was a word. By now you've seen coverage and pictures other places (if you're innerested), which is nice because I knew I'd end up breaking the camera if I raced on it, and words are hard to come by. I actually registered for and paid for this race. #835 is my number.

My personal observations and highlights:

bitter running guy- I celebrated this guy at first. He blew me away when I passed him on the climb out of town astride his itty bitty 16" Street Demon, not least because in the idle drunken speculations about the course it was mentioned by someone that it'd be a great course to trail run if you could carry your bike. Lo, here was running guy wearing a super gay running short outfit with an external frame pack to strap the bike to for the hike-a-bike sections. I (and upon hindsight probably 834 other people, too) heckled him lovingly (it was done out of love). When I crowed about beating him at the finish he was sour as green apple gum and bitterly told me "Whatever. You couldn't do what I did!", to which I replied "No, I couldn't nor would I want to. It was just a joke. Have some whiskey." But he would not get past his pout. Pity. He was a stud, just a bitter stud.

unicycle guy-Same type of deal. Only I didn't offer him any whiskey on account of that was just dumb, and plus no one had mentioned how unicycleable the course was...

realizations about attraction-I never really gave a lot of thought to sexual fantasies before SSWC09. No, really. Now, I can honestly report that I know I am fetishistic about very small women dressed as CHP officers in tight fitting uniform shirts and short shorts while carrying large black batons. And diminutive women riding singlespeed whilst wearing football pads (What is it with Durango and the football pads? And the knee high sports socks?) Also women dressed in checkerboarded fake leather bodysuits sporting false moustaches. Please to add ladies on skates wielding dull machetes. Regrettably the ladies on skates would not come down off their safely smooth cement pad onto the "neutral ground" of the gravel, no matter how I tried to sweet talk them.

beer stops in first 1/2 mile? 2 of them. The organizers were really on to something with their tactics for spreading out the race.

extended hike-a-bikes- Here I am on the conga line 1st hike-a-bike. Beers and other refreshments flowed up and down the line like...well, like beer and other refreshments. Someone would yell from above or below and someone else would pithily reply from below or above. It was a real smart move on the race organizers' part to break up the race like that. There was zero potential for place improvement through aggressive passing, so everone settled in to pace.

passing- Though I yelled "Track" and "On your left" as often as I thought of it, I only really got serious about passing fools once. Here's how it went down: Shortly after the top out of the hike, the ridge got fairly technical but it's a technical with which I am comfortable. (Look at the connectors in the slabby broken up sandstone, don't look at the cracks and holes, and the lines will be there for you.) I was in line walking behind 5-6 guys when I realized we were walking out of habit/tiredness, and there was a huge gap in front of the lead guy. So I said "We can ride this, y'all. Let's get on." and someone in front said "Yeah." but no one made any moves, just kept walking. I got on and clicked my levers and rode at walking pace "Let's go fellas, we can ride this. It's a race." and no one said or did anything but keep walking. So I got a little louder and said "Get on your bikes or get out of my way!" at which point people scrambled. The 2 yahoos immediately in front of me 1/2 assed it and left their bikes partially blocking the trail, so I had to zig a little. The lead guy (BIG PIG! woot woot) stood off to the side at the base of a 45 degree slab of sandstone that was maybe 6feet high and 12-13feet long. I'd ridden it in pre-ride and knew the line was high, so there I went. I punched over the top like a good race monkey. I did not figure on the dust from 600+ other racers having passed, and my rear wheel slipped shooting the bike away from me and sending me ass first down the slab to tangle up in the bike and bush. The lead guy, whom I'll call Chaos, had to help me up. I picked up my bike tossed "Sorry about all the big talk fellas!" over my shoulder and was gone.

crash-Shortly after that, I dropped my front wheel off a ledge and came to a dead stop. I began to pivot around the front hub, heading for endo. I shoved back as hard as I could and my feet came out but the rear came down and the bike righted. Trouble was, I was 3feet above it horizontal. I cleverly absorbed the impact with the lower left side of my abdomen, only to hear a screechy pop. No pain. Quick check showed the saddle rails to be well and truly _ucked, but not broke. I bent the saddle back into shape as best I could, readjusted the nose down, and raced on. Today I rode the bike down to the shop to use the long pry bar to fully realign the rails. Golden. Try that shi_ with your carbon fibre, bicthes. I would have been gutted by the sharp punjied seatpost. Titanium for life, yo. 200lbs of fury. Rails and post, and do not forget it.

missing a turn- What I said about Durango coming out in droves and ruling it with the course? Forget it. They must have not marked a turn because I got confused and lost on the ridge and skipped the final pitching downhill to the finish/time-check. I knew I'd missed it, but damn if I was climbing back up to come back down, so I cut the course.

whiskey- After the 2nd heinous climb, I wanted beers. I came upon a fellow in a neckbrace at a flat likely looking spot and said "Hey Neckbrace! Y'all got beers?" They had Early Times in giant plastic bottles. It is so lowbrow it only comes in plastic bottles, which is perfect because you're only going to fall on them and bust them in your pocket if they're glass right? Classy.

bacon stop- What it says. People had hauled a table, camp stove, griddle, and 20lbs of bacon to cook up fresh and serve with twinkies and beer. Also, they were blasting Louis Armstrong. They were out of beer. I had 4 of the 8 Schlitz I'd started with left, so I gave them beer. They appreciated the effort.

meeting J__- She was hanging around one of the many beer stops on that side, so as I came up some rotten climb and around a corner there was a friendly face yelling at me and holding beer. That's nice.

the little things- people pulling me aside for safety breaks because they "knew" me from the hike-a-bike. "Hey Pinky, stop! I know you want some of this!"...the amazing support course side...the guy in the black tutu with SEXY TIME written across his sweaty love handled back...the gal who heckled me with "Go Don Johnson!" (not real sure about that one)...the trampoline that some kooks from Carbondale had rigged up in the trees...all the Elvises...



All in all, just a Good Time. Durango, you are not as cool as you think you are, but you did pull off a hell of a race. Thank you.

The lame after party with the loud and boring and interminable basketball game to determine next year's locale between Italy and New Zealand (won) I truly could have done without. $3 for beers? Fuck you, Ska Brewing. I don't even like your beer.

Stage 2....in which ___________gets his oughts

We took some time out for fun. Are we not men?



What a bunch of degenerates.







A Good Time was had by all at the Santa Cruz stage. Somebody won it, I'm sure. It was chaos from where I stood. All's I know is, I had a firme grip on my youngest as the cars/peloton zipped by.


Another thing I know is: the way in which Lance Armstrong is portrayed in the hype surrounding the ATOC is disturbing to me. The terms "Immortality" and "Redemption" are loaded as hell. And not in the Good (stagger around and compliment all your friends on their fine life choices) way. Lookit this box of chalkhanded out by the LAF before the race. Are you kidding me? As much as the sheep need a shepherd Lance is no Jesus. While acknowledging that he has never been convicted of doping despite numerous tests, I must admit that I personally think he is on some future space meds that maybe 1.6 cancer research scientists even know about. However you feel about Armstrong's culpability in regard to doping it's got to be apparent that he is comfortable holding up cancer as a catch-all with which to deflect criticism. Nope, I can't be ________, I had cancer! Witness the exchange with Paul Kimmage making it's way around the web.

Heroes can only stay HEROES if they stay perfectly still. The giants of the past all took whatever was available at the time. Look at Coppi, Anquetil, Merckx. Why does the modern dope seem so much uglier?

I truly love the history and pageantry and epic scope of road racing. It means alot to watch those feckless hardmen leave it out there on the pave, knowing in my own bones how hard that must be- we've all given some fraction of that suffering a go. That suffering speaks to us. What it tells me these days is that the Glory and Power are not worthy. The admiration for winners solely because they win is tepid and dissatisfactory. Admiration bordering on worship is sickening.

For whatever reason we are how we are as cyclists, and it is a sport that elevates suffering as a Virtue. I'll take my suffering personally, thank you. Meted out in bike sized doses alone or with fellow penitents, voluntary suffering somehow offsets the little defeats of the everyday. I don't require a scapegoat or a master. What seems valuable to me is the ride.

winter with a small w

went to pick up the youngest on the Big Dummy the other day. He prefers the "trailerbike", but it's been a while since I rode the Dummy, so.


One guy on a road bike caught me on the pave climb to take the trail to the other trail to get here:

and he asked me how I lik my ride, and was cool and friendly. We had a nice chat about cargo bikes and cross bikes, and I took him for granted.

Later on, another guy on a road bike caught me on the flats out Carmel Valley Road and he snickered "Good Luck!", and I remembered what a bunch of dicks there are on road bikes.





It is true, it really does ride better when loaded. The rear end feels more. More hookup, more feedback.

That is some good cargo.

We got a flat and hung around roadside patching the tube. 2 cars stopped and asked if we needed help. 1 mom lady was very concerned. 0 problems were had. All patched up (because we roll with a pump and patch kit, yo) and we rolled on and on.

*************************************************************************************


Later on we got home to find a package from Swobo containing a cap. This is worth mentioning because I had received an email from Sr. S. Smith, a representative of that organization, exactly 2 days prior informing me that he had "somehow, some way" gotten wind that I was in possession of a defective winter cap, and asking me if I wanted a replacement free of charge. I replied that it was weird that he had that info, which was true info. And further, I had requested an RA# at minimum 4 years ago which I had received and then not acted upon for so long I just let the hat rest in my accessories drawer. A hat full of silent reproach.

So now, at least 4 years later, he wants me to have a replacement.

Heck yes!

New one on the left, old one on the right. The problem with the old one was that the brim flippy flopped down in your eyes. The new one does not do so.

So, if you wanna buy with confidence I recommend Swobo. They have good products and good people.


*************************************************************************************


The timing of this whole Swobo plug is ironic, too. Because this weekend past was the Josshole's Training Camp I rode with some new-to-me folks. One of the people involved was very pointed in noticing my Swobo knickers (c.1999). When the sag vehicle met us and (Give Thanks!) there was beer in the cooler, I opted to drink a bottle. I opened it on my Time pedals; it's like they were made for just such a purpose. One (1) of the other guys wanted a beer, but couldn't figure how to open it. He saw that I had one open and asked how I'd gotten mine open. I told him, and the same noticer said, "Oh, he's wearing Swobo pants, of course he knows!" So there is that going for them, which may or may not be nice. It is more true than not, I guess.


Anyhow, here are some pitchers:

That's my full suspension(!) rig in the foreground. Forgot about that one, huh? Me, too. It is the 2nd time I've ridden it at all since last summer's Colorado Trip. I felt squirrely all day. It saved me from a beatin though.


It was some of the same bike geekery ("you got a nice bike and you just had to go and put those bars on it and make it...") as on Friday, but Mr. Coach B______ thinks I interpret it all wrong- that it's not amazement and wonder at the fact that I ride what I do, but at how crusty and degenerate I am while still (barely, barely) hanging on to the group. I'd say that's probably as true as anything else.

Barely. Hanging on. These are up the Grind towards Laguna Seca, and we'd already put in several fast loops on the old race course by the Scout Camp and such. Fast loops.


Remember that story about the sprinting dog and thinking I could probably outsprint a predator? Same thing. I had the vaguest of notions that I had speed and could place (if not show) if I wanted...not after chasing those racers around. I cheated on Friday's Fremont Climb (taking a motor pull), skipped their ~80miles of road on Saturday in favor of work, and cheated again on Sunday and still could just keep them in sight if someone at the back waited a little. Huh.

So here is where I spent my ill-gotten time bonus. I cut out Couch Canyon in favor of riding from Laguna Seca across the saddle to a safety break, lounging in the sun, eating a nice lunch, and lying around. You see the trail down there? That's the beginning of the climb up Hurl Hill...


seen here, nearing the top.



And summitting.



The welcome sight of the sag...


We all agreed to skip the planned Toro Park addition, which by then was A-OK with me. Once we got back (by way of the tortorous 3 Bitches and Ewok) to the East Garrison side somewhere around the 45 (that's it?! felt like a LOT longer to me) mile mark, I peeled off for the secret spot and some quiet beers in the shade.
Bikes. And bike riding.

Foghat says it best:

But first: turn it up, maaaaaaan!



It cannot be coincidence that Mr. G____ Stoner played this (loud as hell) during my cross experience today.

J lounging in the staging area...




Last minute advice from the parents...check out the kid in the middle getting in character. Mr. Farright won.




Getting the Game Face on. All the kids got Brazilian flags (WTF?) and a water bottle full of candy (yes!!) upon registering. These Peak Season folks have it dialed. Very well put together event. Walkietalkies, computers, megaphones, and a booming system. And this guy:

, who was apparently running the timekeeping.


Nice crowd, friendly people. Cyclocross seems to be like that.



D rode strong. At the front right out of the start, he held his place for the 1st lap...then the 2nd...where he let the lead go as he was passed on a longish, deceptively flat uphill section in the last 1/4 lap. I saw him sag and let it happen. No amount of vocal pushing helped at that point (and I really do see he could have rejoined and won), as he was focusing on wanting water and feeling tired.

He got whiny. We've all been there, but it is hard to swallow from a parent perspective. No damn whining! (He doesn't read this blog.)

We encouraged him and told him (truthfully) that he put in a really solid effort for his 3rd place finish. It was fun riding with the kids and cheerleading. They have refreshing attitudes.


J doing his dance on the podium,

and on the way up
and on the way down.




Look at me go!



Oh! That guy is gettin' away...




This is how we do it.



Zipping up for the DFL...mens A singlespeed.


The fixed Crosscheck was my weapon of choice on this day. Aptos High as the venue; which Joe the Enigma may remember as the site where there was ankle deep standing water at the start, and 4" deep streams last time. I wore through front and rear brake pads at that race. Today's cold and cloudy yet dry gear option of fixed 42x18 was mmmmm, steep. I'd love to blame my performance on that, but it rests solely on my habits. I had a nice crash on the top side:

The heckling at the top of the run up ("It's a RUN up, not a walk up!") was outstanding. I was abused in several different ways each time I showed up, and was so out of breath I could only smile and wheeze in response. Excellent. Then there were Modelo handups for a couple laps. Eggsellent.

Joe the Enigma may remember that run up as one in which we had to tolerate wheels to the head from the folks above/in front of us while holding them up with a hand to the bum just to keep them off us. Excellent.

Looking at these words, it is hard to grasp why we would do this. But it sure is fun.

Shall we adjourn to the race corner?

We shall, bitches. Sho Nuff!!! The Shogun of Cyclocross is here!

I ____ing love cyclocross! It's such a good scene. Diverse crowd, friendly people, families. I worked the booth, and so did not race. But, if I had, I'm sure I would have won. D did race. His 1st race ever, of any sort. I ran the course with him on his preride (well, 1/5th of it- it was hard so I quit) and we worked on dismounts (he already had that down), and how to pick your bike up to clear the barriers. He wanted to pick up the frame with both hands and let the handlebars fend for themselves. We settled on a left handed down tube grab and right hand on the grip.

This is him ruling it, in 2nd place, over the final set of barriers. They were cleverly placed at the bottom of the sandy downhill. L was here with her cell phone to record the moment. Like the quality parents we are, we did not bring the camera to our son's 1st cyclocross race. From this point he really poured on the speed (just like we talked about) because it was the finish straight away.



Here's the podium. 10 and unders. Race Free. D took 2nd! It was super rad. He's stoked about the series and won't stop saying he's "probably going to win because it'll be no problem getting top 5". I think he heard the term "top 5" today and really liked it. Some kid passed him in front of folks who were cheering, and D repassed him, saying "Nobody keeps their lead forever."

The ladies are threatening to race next week. I am beside myself.

Way to suffer, D_____!